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strang3lov3 · 7 months

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GameStop

Summary: Mall Rats 4! (Can be read alone or, catch up with the mallrats in my masterlist) Joel tells you not to fuck with the Nintendo he stole from GameStop. His one rule. You fuck with it. That’s okay, though. Joel makes you play Mario with his fingers knuckle deep inside you.

Warnings: JOEL IS WEARING GRAY SWEATPANTS THIS IS NOT A FUCKING DRILL🚨‼️ fingering, teasing, edging, orgasm denial blowjobs, unprotected piv, creampie, jjoel is so tender and such a dick, arguing, inglewood up to no good, domestic moments, minor injuries, when will these two fucking kiss!?? Idk

W/C: 4.6k

A/N: thank you very much @papipascalispunk i appreciate you taking the time to edit this. I love you so much. did you know that? And everyone else, do you know how much I love y’all for reading and engaging? I do. In case you didn’t know already 🥰

Joel stands in front of your house early afternoon on Saturday, a box of cords and plastic in one hand as he urgently knocks on your door, “Open up,” he barks, “This shit’s heavy.”

“Fuck,” you groan, walking up to your front door wearing nothing but an ill-fitting t-shirt and some old boxers. You can see Joel waiting impatiently through the window. You open the door and squint at Joel, the daylight too bright for your eyes, “What do you want, Joel?”

“Need to use your TV,” he demands, stepping inside your home and placing a hand on your hip to move you aside, “Move.”

“Why?”, you resist.

Joel motions toward his box with an annoyed expression on his face and your eyes light up. “Oh yeah,” you say, leading Joel to your living room where he sits in front of your old and boxy television, flipping up panels and tinkering with buttons before plugging in cords, “Can I play too? Will you show me how?”

“If you listen to me, maybe,” Joel mumbles as he’s setting up the console before turning to you, “Are you gonna be good and listen to me?”

“Of course not,” you smirk.

“Figures.”

You didn’t listen yesterday, either. You never do.

Something had caught your eye and you went ahead of Joel, something he absolutely hates. He tells you your place is next to him or behind him. He leads. You follow.

“Would you quit fuckin’ wanderin’, Inglewood?”, Joel hissed at you in the second level of the mall, “I give ya an inch, ya take a mile.”

You rolled your eyes, “Why do you call me that?”

“Cause you’re always up to no good.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“I know you don’t,” Joel sighed.

An odd clicking noise startled you both. It wasn’t quite that signature sound of a clicker, but it was enough to set you both off. You turned to Joel with wide eyes, and he reflexively pulled you close, one hand over your mouth and his other arm wrapped around your waist. Behind me, he mouthed.

You nodded and took your place behind Joel, heart pounding in your chest. He walked forward slowly before stopping, pulling out his gun and his flashlight. In front of him was a dark silhouetted figure, something he couldn’t quite make out. It stood in front of a store with a broken sign, white and red glass lettering shattered. As he tiptoed closer with you following close behind, his eyes began to piece more things together. The figure was unmoving, and upon closer inspection it looked to be wearing almost…tactical gear? Was it FEDRA? He wondered what the clicking noise was. Probably just the mall deteriorating. If there were infected in the mall, they would have shown themselves by this point.

The figure stayed still, unmoving. Finally, Joel saw it. On the figure’s chest read, ‘Call of Duty: Out October 29, 2003’. Joel let out a breath of relief and put his gun down, “False alarm,” he said. “Wait.”

“What is it, Joel?”, you asked as he took quick steps toward the unmarked store. “Oh, fuck yeah,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, “Get your ass over here. Follow me. First good thing in this godforsaken mall. Do you know what this is?”

“You know I don’t know what this is.”

Joel explained that it was a GameStop. They used to sell video games and stuff, had all sorts of fun things. He looked like a kid in a candy shop, stealing consoles and cartridges and gushing about how much he loved these games long ago.

When you and Joel had returned from the mall, he practically sprinted into Ellie’s room, setting up their shared TV with a PlayStation and introducing her to some games. Ellie was ecstatic, and Joel knew she and the TV would be inseparable.

Which leads him here, to your house, in front of your TV.

“So I take it Ellie’s excited about the games and stuff you got her?”, you ask amused.

Joel fumbles with a controller to a Nintendo Entertainment System. “Big time,” he says. “They’re attached at the hip. So I’m commandeering your TV for today.”

“You could’ve asked, you know,” you tease, “I would’ve given it to you, asshole.”

“Don’t need you to give me nothin’. Just here to use your TV for a bit,” as he draws the curtains in your room, turns on your TV and adjusts the input, then sits back on your couch, legs outstretched on your coffee table, “It’s more fun when I take it from ya, anyway.”

You wonder if Joel gets physically ill at the thought of being polite, being kind to you. Nothing’s ever easy with him. He’s always ready to argue, ready to instigate. You roll your eyes, then leave Joel to take a shower and get dressed. You’re not sure what you were planning on doing on this Saturday, but video games with Joel seems to be your fate.

By the time you have showered, Joel has already been playing for nearly 2 hours. You dress yourself in some comfy sweatpants and a hoodie, expecting to hunker down in front of the TV with Joel all day. You can hear the soft music from the video game from your room and Joel’s strings of expletives, or his cheers, depending on what’s happening in the game. You make a couple of sandwiches, some sliced apples, and pour a couple of glasses of water before you greet Joel in the living room. Standing in front of the TV, you watch as Joel tries to continue playing. There’s a little guy wearing a red hat, jumping over blocks and stomping on mushrooms. He makes a cute little ‘boing’ noise when he jumps, and the music playing in the background is playful, melodic.

“Sweetheart, y’make a better door than a window. Get out of the way,” he gruffs. Joel’s got some fucking nerve today. He could have just kindly asked you to move. Tauntingly, you wiggle your ass in front of him, so he reaches over the coffee table and smacks it, “What’d I say about listening? Do you wanna play the game or not?” With Joel’s eyes still transfixed on the TV in front of you, you sit down next to him and place your two plates on the coffee table. “Everyday it’s somethin’ with you. Always tryin’ to get under my skin, always-”, Joel’s voice trails off as he glances at his plate, “Did you make me a sandwich?”

You shrug, “You’re extra cranky today. Figured you could use a snack.”

“I’m not cranky,” Joel argues, “And I don’t need you makin’ me any snacks. Can make my own food.”

“Okay,” you say, eating your own food, “You don’t have to eat if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna shove it down your throat.”

Joel stays focused on his game until he hears the crunch of you biting into a slice of apple. “Wait, are those apple slices?”, he asks in a low tone.

“Mhm.”

“You didn’t happen to cut any up for me, did you?”

“I did. Sprinkled cinnamon and sugar on top,” you smile proudly.

You watch Joel grumble to himself and play the game silently until he beats the level he’s on, then he pauses the game and sets his controller down. He picks up his plate of food and eats a couple of apple slices before inspecting his sandwich, “Did you poison this?”

“No, not the sandwich. The apples, yes. Don’t you taste the rat poison?”

Joel rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his sandwich, “Gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart. Up the dose next time. Tasty sandwich, though.”

“Noted,” you smile. Joel smiles too, almost imperceptibly, but you see it, the sparkle in his eyes and the way his face lit up when you told him you sliced up some apples for him too.

“Tell me about your game.”

Joel raises an eyebrow, “It’s Mario. You don’t know Mario?”, and you shake your head no. “Jesus…you age me,” Joel takes another bite of his sandwich before continuing, “Mario’s a video game. Super Mario Brothers. He has a brother, Luigi. They’re plumbers and they fight Bowser to save Princess Peach. So that’s what I’m doin’ here,” Joel motions to the TV, “Savin’ Peach. Eventually.”

“Is it hard?”, you ask.

“Kinda. Haven’t played in forever. But Tommy and I’d play all the time. Were always fightin’ over the damn Nintendo,” Joel chuckles, “Drove Mom fuckin’ nuts.”

“Maybe we should invite him over then,” you muse.

“Nah,” Joel says, “Just me and you today.”

You smile, “Just us?”

Joel nods, finishing the last of his sandwich and his apple slices, “Unfortunately.” He stretches his legs and his arms out long, then rubs his soft belly with a groan. “You’re trouble,” he tells you, “Tryna’ make me fat. I’m gonna go home and change into something cozier - jeans are fuckin’ tight.”

“Bet I could make them tighter,” you bite your lip and nudge his thigh.

“That’s a nice offer. You’re a charmer, Inglewood. Maybe later.” You huff as Joel picks up both of your plates and walks them to your kitchen sink, scrubbing and drying each one before pulling on his jacket. He walks back over to where you sit on the couch and points to the TV and his Nintendo, “Do not touch this,” he says, “It doesn’t have a memory card. So if you fuck with it, my progress is gone. Don’t unplug nothin’, don’t touch the TV, don’t–”.

“What if I–”.

Joel doesn’t let you get another word out, “Nope. Don’t do that either. Just leave it be, sit pretty and behave yourself. I’ll be back soon.”

You scoff and cross your arms as Joel leaves while staring at the paused screen of Joel’s game, then flicker your eyes lower to the controller Joel left on the coffee table. He didn’t say anything about playing the game. What’s the worst that could happen?

You reach for the controller and begin messing with the buttons, playing with the D-pad until the screen changes and you press ‘Start Game’.

The game starts. It catches you off guard. You fumble with the buttons until you figure out how to make Mario move, how to make him jump. A couple times you hit an angry looking mushroom and he dies. You snicker to yourself. Figures. Before you know it, you’ve passed Level 1-1 and you’re onto Level 1-2.

Level 1-2 comes and goes, and then Joel’s back at your door. You pause the game as he lets himself in. You wear a mischievous smile when you see him in his gray sweats and a t-shirt – your weakness. You can see the outline of his dick in those pants, and it sends a pang of arousal to your core. “Well don’t you look handsome,” you purr.

“Pipe down, horndog,” Joel sits down on the couch next to you. Before he can reach for the controller, you slide your hand over one of his thick thighs and palm his bulge, then slip your hand under the waistband of his pants and play with his cock. He sighs as you stroke him, his sweet sounds getting you all hot and bothered. His cock is thick and warm, half hard and growing harder, but he grabs your wrist and pulls your hand away. “Later,” he reminds you, “C’mon. I know you can wait. I don’t have much of the game left to play.”

“Okay,” you mumble. You scoot closer to Joel as he picks up the controller, wrapping your arm around his and resting your head on his bicep. You squeeze your thighs together tightly, trying to relieve some of the pressure at your core. He tries to shake you off of him, but you don’t budge. “I’m cold, Joel,” you protest.

“So get a blanket. I ain’t your heater,” he complains, but you feel him relax with your touch, snuggling up to you a little closer like maybe he’s cold too, “God, you make me nuts.”

You say nothing as Joel reaches for the controller, presses a couple buttons before the game starts again. He starts playing, then squints and furrows his brows. “Woah, woah, woah,” he says, “This ain’t right. What - why - what happened? Did you touch this? Tell me you didn’t touch this.”

“I didn’t touch it,” you lie.

Joel turns to you and glares, “What. Did. You. Do.”

“I tried out your game,” Joel continues glaring at you and you raise your arms in surrender, “What?”

Joel cups your cheeks in both of his big hands and shakes your head gently, “Why would you do that?”

“You told me not to unplug anything. I didn’t unplug anything.”

“I also told you not to touch anything,” Joel groans, “Do you know how long it took me to beat those levels?”

“Just pick up where you left off, Joel.”

“I told ya, it doesn't work like that. No memory card, no progress. I have to start over now,” Joel whines, “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“Beats me,” you say, “But–”, you take one of Joel’s hands from his controller and suck his fingers before slipping it under the waistband of your sweatpants, “Now we can get down to brass tacks. Hmm?”

“One rule,” Joel hisses as cups your mound, “I gave you one fuckin’ rule.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But now that you’re not playing Mario anymore, you can make me come. And then I’ll make you come. And you’ll forget you were ever mad at me.”

Joel sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before turning to you, his eyes now mischievously lit up. “You’re right,” he says, “I’m not playing Mario anymore. You are.” He places the controller in your hands, “I told you I wanted to beat the game, and mayb then I’d fuck ya. So now you’re gonna get me back to where I was so I’ll finish up the game, and maybe, maybe after that, I’ll fuck you. Cause I’m not doin’ all of this again. I’ve got other games I wanna play too.”

“Piece of cake,” you reply confidently. Though really, playing Mario is harder than it looks.

“Oh, really? Is it that easy?”, Joel says, raising his eyebrows in amusement at your confidence as you nod, “If ya say so. I thought you said it’s harder than it looks. Whatever. Go on, then.” Situating yourself next to Joel, you adjust your grip on the controller. Joel’s hand is still beneath your pants, fingers resting against your lips. You look at him, wondering if he’ll pull his hand away. “You put it there,” he says. “It’s stayin’.”

Whatever. You start the game feeling confident in yourself, and then Mario hits a mushroom and he shrinks. And then he hits another mushroom, and he dies. Joel hums in amusement and you shove your elbow into his side. “I didn’t say anything,” he smirks.

It takes you about ten minutes to get the hang of it, but eventually you do. When you start a new level, Joel presses two of his fingers against your pussy and it startles you. Mario hits a turtle and he shrinks again. “Joel,” you gasp, “What are you doing?”

Dragging his fingers up and down your folds at a leisurely pace, Joel shrugs, “Nothin’.” He’s definitely not doing “nothing”. It’s getting harder to focus now, and you’re making mistakes, getting hit by enemies, missing those little mushroom power ups that come at you every so often. You huff in frustration, and Joel chuckles to himself, “You suck, sweetheart.”

“Shut up, Joel.”

He presses the tip of his middle finger against your entrance, pushes inside before pulling his finger back out and dragging it up to your clit, smirking when your breath hitches in your throat, “Do you need some help? Pointers, maybe?”

“No,” you grit, “Shut up, Joel.”

“Hmm, alright,” he hums, his thick fingers now circling your sensitive bud. You can feel his intense gaze on you as you play the game, squashing Mario’s enemies to the best of your ability, but you were right the first time, it’s harder than it looks. Joel turns his attention back to the TV, “Hit that box with the question mark.” You raise your eyebrow in suspicion. It’s probably a trap. With Joel, it’s always a trap. “Watch what happens,” he instructs, so you hit the box and a flower emerges. Joel tells you to jump on it, so you do. Warily, though. Mario changes outfits. “There you go. Now if you press B,” he taps the other button on the controller, “You can shoot those guys with a fireball. Try it out.”

Mario does in fact shoot fireballs at the enemies. This advantage makes the game come along smoother, so Joel ups the ante, drawing tight circles into your clit. “Joel,” you moan, “Quit it. You’re distracting me.”

“Thought you wanted me to make you come,” Joel taunts.

“I do, but not like thi–fuck–Joel, stop.”

“Tough luck,” Joel responds, “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

You do your best to ignore the sensation of Joel touching you, but it’s hard. He knows exactly where to touch you, how to touch you to make you squirm and moan for him. You have to fight yourself to keep your eyes from rolling back when Joel pushes two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out for a moment before abruptly curling them upward, hitting that sweet spot he knows and loves. “Jesus, Joel,” you moan, accidentally pressing the lower end of the D-pad. On the TV, Mario slides down a pipe and is brought to a new area. He’s able to run across the top of the screen, then finds an area with a bunch of pipes called the Warp Zone. This changes the game. You’re able to skip levels, making this whole thing go by even quicker. You’ll be on your way to fuck town in no time.

“Was wonderin’ when you were gonna figure that out,” Joel rubs his thumb over your clit as he fucks you with his two middle and ring fingers. You’re able to find a couple more pipes that allow you to go to Warp Zones, which doesn’t require quite as much focus on the screen. You allow yourself to savor the way Joel touches you, that warmth building up in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you moan. That familiar edge begins to creep up just as you’re finishing another level. Your breathing quickens, your pussy dripping and gushing with every movement of Joel’s thick fingers. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t–”.

“Thanks sweetheart. That was a big help,” Joel yanks the controller from you with his free hand, then pulls the other away from your core. Now that you’ve gotten him to where he left off in the game, he focuses all of his attention on the TV, as if he was never touching you.

“Are you serious?”, you’re in disbelief but Joel doesn’t answer, “Joel, I was about to–”.

“I know.”

You scoff, “Fuck you, man.”

“Yeah, I know you wanna. But I told you, you gotta wait til I’m done. You’re very forgetful, you know that?”

Frustrated, you shove your hand under your sweats and pick up where Joel left off. He clears his throat, “You can play with your pussy, or I can. Pick one but we’re not doin’ both. It’s up to you.”

Jesus fucking Christ. This is bullshit. Joel can take control of your TV, but not your pleasure. You watch him in astonishment, how he pays you no mind as he plays the game. His eyes are glazed over and his lips slightly parted, deep in focus. It’s like you’re not even there. You lower your eyes from his face to his lap where his fingers move deftly, still slick and shiny with your juices. His thumbs dart back and forth over the D-pad and the buttons, and you wish he was still touching you like that. Expertly, with dedication and precision. And then it catches your eye – the tent in his sweatpants, that little spot of dampness where his head rests against the fabric. He’s fucking rock hard from playing with you, leaking precome. You’re impressed with Joel’s ability to ignore his own arousal. Good for him. You, however, won’t ignore it.

In a swift maneuver, too quick for Joel to even process, you pull down his sweats and let his cock spring free, setting the waistband under his heavy balls. You don’t even think, you just do it – lifting up his arm, you dive under and grip the base of his cock. You guide his tip to your mouth, swirling your tongue around his swollen head before letting it part your lips. Joel groans, “Think you can play dirty too, huh?”

“Mhm,” you mumble against him.

“Knock yourself out,” he tells you, “You’re forgettin’ I have something you don’t – self control, my darlin’.”

You don’t care. This is more for you than it is for him, anyway. You haven’t gotten to taste him yet and it’s been on your mind. He tastes heady, salty, and slightly sweaty on your tongue. He’s warm and thick, you like the way his cock feels in your mouth. His smooth skin, how he squirms when you slide his cock to the back of your throat.

Joel groans as you work his shaft, one hand gripping his base, the other fondling his balls. You hum against him, sending vibrations down his shaft. He rests the sides of his hands on your head as he plays with the controller, pushing you further down on his cock. “Last level,” he tells you. You suck him mindlessly as he plays, listening to Joel hissing expletives. You smirk with him in your mouth knowing which of his curses are directed at you and which are directed at the TV.

Joel’s cock stiffens and twitches, he’s getting closer. You know it and so does he. “You know,” he says in a soft, warning tone, “If ya make me come, you’re shit outta luck. Can’t fuck you.”

Oh, shit. You weren’t even thinking about that. You pull your mouth off of him instantaneously, smacking your head against his controller and sending it flying out of his hands. “Fuck,” Joel barks.

The controller lands upside down on the corner of your coffee table, the buttons hitting the edge just so, and Joel watches in horror as Mario disappears from the TV and is replaced by the main menu.

You rub your head where you hit it on the controller, but Joel is no longer staring at the TV in disbelief. Instead, he’s looking at you. “Shit. I’m sorry, Joel,” you apologize, “I didn’t mean to do that. I’m really sorry.”

You expect Joel to be angry like usual, but he instead pulls your hand away from your scalp, lowers you so he can check the area you hit and give it a kiss, then lifts your chin back up while rubbing your bump. “It was an accident,” he speaks soothingly, “Mario can wait. Are you hurting?”

“Not terribly,” you tell him. And it’s the truth.

“No? You sure?” You shake your head no and Joel nods. He rubs your head for a little bit longer, his big brown eyes are soft and sweet and worrisome. The kindest he’s ever looked at you, kindest he’s ever been to you. And all you had to do was smack your head on his video game. He holds your chin with his thumb and forefinger, then pulls you close and whispers quietly, “Would you still like me to fuck you? We don’t have to if you’re not up for it anymore.”

You grin and nod your head, “Yes, please. I want it.”

“Get your ass over here, then,” Joel says as he lifts your hips and pulls your pants off, then pulls his own further down his thighs. He guides you to straddle his lap, holding his cock loosely between his middle and index fingers and his thumb. He drags his tip through your folds, then notches himself at your entrance before pulling your hips down, burying himself in you all the way to the hilt.

You grip his shoulders and press your forehead to his own, sighing softly as you get adjusted to his girth. “I missed your cock,” you breathe, “Missed it so much.”

“I know you did, sweetheart. I missed you too.”

When you’ve adjusted, you begin to roll your hips, rubbing your clit against that soft patch of hair at the base of his cock, moaning and grunting softly, “Oh, Joel. Feels good.”

“I know it does,” he sighs as he leans forward to lift up your shirt and pulls it off of your body, then takes off his own, “That’s better.” He runs his thumbs over the soft curve of your tummy, then slides his hands up your rib cage before cupping your breasts, twisting and rolling your nipples.

The way he looks at you makes your cheeks feel hot. You lean forward to hide your face, grinding your hips into him. He holds you close to his body with his hands wrapping around your back before gripping your ass and bouncing you up and down on him, stretching and parting your insides. You allow yourself to rest against him, letting him do the work and take care of you. His cock feels incredible. So thick, so hard, hitting against all of your favorite spots. “So good, takin’ me so good, sweetheart,” he praises, “Ya always do.”

Joel squeezes your ass tighter. He can see your reflection in the TV, loving the way your body moves, how you tremble, how you rock your hips, how you whimper his name. It’s all for him. “Wanna, fuck,” he sighs, snaking his hand between your bodies as he finds your clit with his fingertips, rubbing circles around it, “Wanna make you come on my cock. Make those pretty noises for me.”

With Joel’s cock hitting you right where you need him, his fingers playing with your clit, it’s not long before your orgasm approaches. “Right there, Joel. Like that, just like that,” you moan breathlessly, “I’m gonna come for you.”

“Yeah, gimme a good one,” he says. He fucks you expertly, each of his thrusts deep and intentional. It’s all for you. He just wants to watch you come, hear you moan his name, feel you soak his cock. Your breaths quicken and your moans quiet as you near your climax, and you come with loud cries and moans. Joel pulls you close, fucking you through it as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you. “Fuck,” he hisses rocking his hips into you once, twice, three more times before he comes with a groan, painting your insides with rope after rope of his hot seed.

You fall forward, resting your face against the couch as you both catch your breath. He rests his head next to you, looking deep into your eyes before flicking his gaze to your lips, then back up to your eyes. You stare at his lips too.

“Your head still okay?” he asks, “Smacked it real good.”

“Think so.”

“Gonna keep an eye on it anyway,” Joel whispers, “What am I gonna do with you, Inglewood, hmm?”, bringing his hand to your face and rubbing your cheekbone with his thumb. You’re still staring at his lips. His pink, pouting lips that have never kissed your own.

“I’m not sure,” you murmur, “What do you think?”

Joel runs his thumb along your bottom lip, pulling it down before letting go, “Haven’t got a clue.”

Joel leaves you to grab a warm wash rag and clean you up, then helps you back into your clothes. He reaches for the controller and starts up Super Mario Brothers one more time, and you snuggle his bicep like before. This time, he doesn’t try to move you.

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tommydarlings · 1 month

Text

reckless driving | c.l

pairing: mean!dom!charles x reader

warnings: mentions of reckless driving, blowjob, forced blowjob???, gagging, hair pulling, dacryphilia -> extended version! (2.2k)

w/c: 1.4k

summary: After you’ve had an heated argument with your boyfriend — Charles, you decided to leave the house that the yelling took place in, not expecting the night to end with a sore throat…not only from all the yelling.

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The cold air of Monaco hit your skin in a crucial way as you walked through the quiet streets of the luxurious country. Your hands were tightly hugging your body, desperately trying to keep yourself warm as you took deep breaths, eyes focused on the darkness in front of you.

Fighting with Charles was never fun, it was always just annoying and made you either completely shut down out of pure rage, or cry in pure annoyance.

Sometimes it was both. Like today.

You were so mad at him tonight after your argument, that you swiftly left him home alone and walked without another word out of the door, angrily slamming the front door shut before you wandered through the quiet neighbourhood.

“G-Gosh,” you huffed as your hands trembled, it had gone very, very cold by now and the fact that you were only wearing a top and thin sweatpants did not help.

Suddenly, bright headlights from an upcoming car behind you made your eyes widen. You slowly turned around and rolled your eyes as you saw your boyfriend sitting in his red Ferrari with no emotion on his face as you clutched onto your own shivering skin.

“Get in,” Charles huffed before he leaned over the middle console and opened the passenger door for you, barely looking at you though.

You bit your inner cheek, shaking your head at his demand before you turned back around and started walking forwards again.

Charles huffed again, slowly driving right next to your freezing figure, “Get in, now, c‘mon,” your boyfriend sighed loudly, eyes now fixated on your frame, trailing then shamelessly down your shivering body before he licked his lips, “I’m serious, mon amour… I’m not asking again,” the monaguesque raised his brows.

Those stupid nicknames, they were you’re absolute weakness, and he knew that.

You were always quite good at winning arguments, you were always an argumentative person and Charles was very much aware of that.

Just like he was very much aware of the fact that him calling you those silly nicknames during an heated argument was your weakness, the point where you were on the verge of losing while he was on the verge of winning.

You gulped, “No,” you answered in a quiet tone but Charles heard it loud and clear.

Charles huffed, “Get in the car, right now.”

You only picked your pace up and shook your head, the coldness of the air really taking over your barely covered body now, “No!”

With glassy eyes — due to the slight breeze that ran through Monaco tonight — you watched how your mad boyfriend swiftly opened the door of his Ferrari and hastily stepped out of the vehicle with annoyance written all over his face, making you stop in your tracks and stare at him.

Your boyfriend was suddenly standing in all of his tall glory in front of you, dark eyes looking down at you. You gulped as he suddenly gripped your upper arm with his hand, pulling your closer to him.

“When I tell you to get in the car, then you get in the car, am I clear?” He mumbled deeply, fingers squeezing your flesh.

You hissed and looked down at the concrete, clearly trying your best to avoid his intimidating gaze.

But Charles wasn’t a fan of that. In a quick motion, he grabbed your chin with his other hand and pulled your face closer to his, noses almost touching each other while you trembled beneath his touch.

“Am. I. Clear?” He repeated in a slow motion and quiet tone, thumb running along your trembling bottom lip as you swiftly nodded,

“Y-Yes, I’m sorry charles,” you mumbled as you felt his thumb touching your bottom lip in the most gentle way possible.

He took a small step back to get a better look at your face again, “When I tell you to do something, you do it, okay?” He nodded along his words, forcing a nod out of you as well.

“When you t-tell me to do s-something, I do it,” you repeated in the most submissive way as Charles still held your head in place with his big, veiny hand.

He nodded before he slowly leaned forward and kissed your forehead, “good girl,” he whispered, hand brushing some hair out of your face now before he placed it softly on your cold cheek.

After a few seconds of staring into each others eyes, he leaned down and softly kissed your lips, cold lips caressing each other in the most gentle way that you could ever imagine,

“You’re so cold,” he whispered more to himself before he quickly removed his coat, putting it over your shaking body and closing it with it's big, brown buttons.

You mumbled a tiny 'thank you', hands still clutching onto your shaking figure as you leaned into his touch, charles arms pulling you tightly close to him with a sigh.

Charles fingers squeezed your arms, face buried in your hair, “will my pretty girl get in the car now?”

You bit your lip and smiled before you raised your head and looked up at your boyfriend, brows slightly furrowed as your smirked.

He furrowed his brows as well before he sighed whilst his palms caressed your cheeks, “you wanna act like a little brat again, huh?”

You giggled and slowly nodded, “I think I just walk home, get some fresh air, you know?”

Charles only chuckled at your bratty behaviour before his hands left your cheeks, “I think you’ve gotten enough fresh air, don’t you think so?” He said before he leaned down and softly picked you up bridal style, lips grazing your cold forehead as you wrapped your arms around his neck with a smile.

“Charles!” You screeched as he carried you towards his Ferrari, swiftly opening the door of the passenger side and basically throwing you into the rich leather seats with a deep chuckle before he got into the car himself.

He looked over at you, “put your seatbelt on,” he nudged his chin towards your seatbelt.

You huffed and obeyed, slowly putting it on, eyes not leaving the side of his perfectly sculptured face.

“Are you aware of how handsome you are, baby?” You mumbled with a smug smile at him.

Charles chuckled, briefly glancing at you with those gorgeous pair of eyes before he started the engine and focused on the road, obviously — as always — driving with one hand while his other hand was gently placed on your thigh, thumb running up and down your cold skin.

He licked his lips, not looking at you, “Don’t try to charm your way out of this now, baby… it’s absolutely no use, okay?” He raised his brows at you before he looked back at the road with the same smug smirk.

You bit your lip before you opened your mouth again, not backing off, “no use? I don’t believe that…” you shook your head before you looked at his biceps, “have you been working out more lately? You look so… good and muscular.”

You reached forward and lightly squeezed his big biceps with your fingers, eyes focused on his facial expression, gulping in suprise as your focused looking boyfriend only smirked, his fingers squeezing your skin as well.

“If you don’t shut your mouth in a matter of three seconds, mon amour…” he threatened in a quiet and deep tone, eyes focused on the road, not even sparing one glance at you or your hand.

You gulped again, “what are you gonna do then, hmm? If I don’t shut my mouth, charlie…” you mumbled almost tauntingly.

Charles bit his inner cheek before he glanced at you, his hand suddenly leaving your thigh.

After a few seconds, charles reached his hand over to his pants and slowly opened his belt and his jeans, making your eyes widen.

You stuttered, “C-Charles? What are you doing, b-baby?-”

“Oh don’t 'baby' me now…you can see what I’m doing, can’t you?” He smirked at you as he drove a bit slower but still didn’t stop the car, making you adjust yourself in the rich leather seats.

Your boyfriend quickly freed his big cock, palm slowly pumping himself as you watched him with big eyes. His top was already leaking with pre-cum, making you lick your lips whilst your boyfriend looked completely unbothered by all of this.

“What? Now you’re not running that little mouth of yours?” He chuckled deeply before he continued, “little mouth might be a bit wrong, your mouth isn’t so little if it can take my cock now is it?”

CONTINUE READING THE STORY HERE ON MY PATREON! -> 2.2k

#fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #Charles Leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #Charles Leclerc x fem!reader #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 x you #f1 2024 #classic f1

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letorip · 1 month

Text

i heard your name [ii]

“i want you so, i can hardly let you go, please be mine for a time, now and forever”

===+++===

pairing: cairo sweet x reader

summary: after several weeks of trying to run in the opposite direction, you find you can no longer evade the magnetic pull yanking you towards her

warnings: explicit but gender neutral sexual content, being used both physically and emotionally, 'lover boy' is used ironic and is still considered gender neutral, implied teacher-student relationships

word count: 6.4k

A/N: definitely making another already because it’s kind of getting juicy. again inspired by pale fire and hot summer nights.

===+++===

You had always heard that people looked like their pets, but it had never occurred to you that someone could look like their house. Standing in front of Lovell Hill, it was impossible anyone else but Cairo Sweet lived there.

The building stood tall, with white towering ionic columns that reached to hold up the dark clay tile roofing like soft angelic hands lifted to the sky. Everything about the house was big, with a giant, wide cedar porch and a towering balcony that looked out over the small garden in front of its door.

You had figured Cairo was well off from her clothes and general overabundance of education, but this screamed a wealth so extreme it almost wasn’t computing in your brain. Not with your own tawdry house that had only been built two years ago and was about the size of Cairo’s home if you sliced it by a quarter.

You had seen homes like these in movies or on the home improvement channels. Most motels had the home improvement channels on the TV, and you had watched with a sense of awe, sitting on the mouldy carpet late at night with your mom asleep behind you, looking at the muted tours of the homes with a private envy.

Such grandeur was incomprehensible and didn’t exist beyond the screen and TV magic. Or, that’s what you thought until you stood at the end of her garden, with all its greenery and a few lines of flowers, looking up at the front door.

It was quite the dilemma, to knock or not to knock. You could turn around right now, save yourself a whole bunch of sleepless nights and half a brain if you just told her you felt sick and had to cancel. She’d be annoyed, sure, but maybe Cairo being angry was better than Cairo being hungry.

You weren’t all too sure you wouldn’t try to satiate her hunger, and that was a dangerous game to play. Since she had sat down beside you in class, fleeting had been slowly drifting away, and you found yourself clutching onto what little of it you had left, rebuking the witchcraft that seemed to tug you to her.

You were about to do that, walk away, but then the door to the balcony swung open, and out Cairo came, leaning over the railing with a smile, and you felt your own heart clutch to your ribs. She propped her head up on her palm, peering down at you.

“Are you coming in?” She asked, laughing. “You’ve been standing there for ten minutes.”

“I’m just looking. At the landscaping,” you called up to her, and it was mostly true, though Cairo laughed like you were being funny. You felt a blush rising to your cheeks. Fleeting, you idiot.

“It’s my parents’ house. I know it’s a bit much,” said Cairo, standing up straighter.

“A bit?” you said, the sarcasm worming its way into your voice. It was a lot much.

“Yeah,” she replied, smiling at you again all bright. “A bit.” You smiled back, holding a hand up to cover your eyes so you could continue to stare at her on the balcony in the sun, like your own Juliet.

“Can I come inside?” You asked, taking a few steps forward into the shadow the roof of her house casted over the ground. Cairo seemed to find a playfulness with the question, and you were left there like a moron, wondering why she was laughing again.

“No, actually,” she said. “I invited you here to make you walk over here and then walk home.”

“Did you."

“I did,” she nodded, having fun. “I’ll be down in a minute when I’m done with something; the front door is unlocked."

"That seems unsafe," you said.

She raised her eyebrows at you. "Why, are you worried for my safety?"

You shrugged, deciding neutrality was the best policy. There wasn't anything wrong with saying you were worried about her as a friend, but you knew she would draw some strange entendre. "I would worry about random people wandering in, to be honest."

Cairo shook her head. "Not here in Tennessee. Now go inside. The longer you stall me the longer it takes me to finish what I'm doing." With that, she disappeared back inside, leaving you on her porch. You swallowed the lump in your throat and went inside.

Cairo Sweet's house was much like her soul, in grandeur and in wealth. Even in the foyer, which was where you found yourself, the walls seemed to reach up much like the pillars, raised towards the covered sky. A grand staircase led up to the second floor, and with the soft closing of the door behind you, Cairo called out from up the stairs.

"You can go into the kitchen, I left some wine out on the counter."

You blinked. "Wine?" You said back, making sure you were hearing correctly. Cairo's laugh floated down from the second floor.

"Yes, 'wine.'" You had never had anything like wine before, though the way she threw it out so casually made you think she was no stranger to the concept.

The kitchen was the room right off to the left of the foyer, with a large bay window and some checkered ceramic tiling on the floor. In the centre sat an old gas range stove, a similar shade of green as the walls. The brass handle curved down to the drawer on the bottom, and it looked like a droll little mouth underneath the knobs.

On the white marbled countertop that boxed the stove in was a set of two glasses and a bottle of reddish wine that was three quarters full. The entire room was immaculately clean, with the perfectly angled chairs sitting around the nook table in the corner and the utterly spotless surfaces, both floor and table.

It looked just like those staged houses on the home improvement channels, and you wandered over to peer into the glass hutch, which was piled up with books in stacks around it. The top cabinet held an array of glassware, some of them gathering dust. They were pretty, and you leaned in to the ceramic ones with antique designs etched into the sides. You wanted to own dishes like those, someday.

"The plates are pretty, aren't they? It’s a real shame about the led.” You spun around to find Cairo behind you. Your heart immediately started doing a backflip in your chest. Cairo was no longer in the soft shirt and shorts she had been wearing on her balcony— no. Instead, she was now in a silky cream-coloured dress, one that clung to the curves of her body and hung elegantly from her shoulders in a way that made the tips of your ears warm.

She walked right up to you as if there was no difference, staring at the plate you had been looking at with what couldn't possibly be a genuine curiosity. Up close it was clear she had put on some makeup, her lips glossy and pink and her eyes dark. She had to know she was playing you like a fiddle.

You watched her in laser focus as she nodded at the plate. "My parents bought that one from a village in the Swiss Alps."

"What?" you mumbled, clever as always.

"The plate," she said, like it was obvious. "Most of the plates in there are from Switzerland or China."

"Oh...cool."

Cairo brushed past it, gesturing back to the bottle that sat on the counter. "Would you like some?" she asked, clasping her hands behind her back.

"But what would your parents say?" you asked. Mostly you were looking for any excuse not to, but you were also filled with curiosity. Cairo Sweet hadn't just fallen out of a coconut tree— she was the product of whatever her parents were like and you desired to put two and two together, and for that to make it make sense.

"They're not here right now," she replied, walking right over to the bottle and pulling the cork straight out. You swallowed but followed her over, and Cairo grabbed a glass to pour it into.

"So you live here?" It was a genuine question, and part of you was still struggling to understand that this was just someone's everyday lifestyle. Cairo nodded.

"That's what Winnie asked me too, when she first saw it. People say my house is haunted."

"They do?"

"Yeah," she said. "Lovell Hill. It's famous, or at least around here it is."

"Well... is it true?"

Cairo shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint. Only thing that lives here is me."

"And your parents?"

Her mouth thinned into a line at the question, but she spoke quickly. "Yes, them too." Then Cairo held up a glass. "Would you like some?"

"Uh, no thanks. We should probably start on the assignment...," you trailed off. Cairo was staring you down with a certain glint in her eye. “What?”

"You've never drank before," she said. It wasn't a question, and you could feel heat going back to your face. To any other person, you'd have no problem saying no, but to her you felt your breath catch in your throat.

"Uh, I have, I just don't want any right now," you lied. And Cairo knew you were lying, judging from the smile she watched you with. But she only shrugged.

"You can have some of mine later, then," she said, straightening up and walking out of the kitchen. You followed her like a proper guest, like she was a tour guide helping you through the jungle. You warily tailed her out of there and up the stairs.

On the landing there were even more books, in large, towering stacks near the railing, ended on each side by potted plants and small floor decorations. You stopped, taking a thick paperback from off the top of one stack and turning it over to read the back. “Have you really read all of these?” You asked. Cairo turned.

“Not all of them, no. Most of them belong to my parents, so they’re cheesy spy thrillers and soapy romances.”

You nodded. “My mom reads those ones too.”

“Anyways, what do you read?” Cairo asked, walking over to you and taking the book from your hands to look at it herself. You shrugged.

“For a while there, anything I could get my hands on.”

She tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"Uh, just that my mother didn't take me to bookstores a lot," you said, having gotten comfortable with lying. In reality, you had mostly read travel books and magazines from gas stations, since those were really the only places you and your mother stopped often. You didn't start actually reading book-books until you were about ten, and your mom bought you a kindle for your birthday.

But giving Cairo the truth would mean telling her you were on the road a lot, which would mean telling her about why it was you moved so often, which would mean telling her you would probably be leaving soon, so you lied. It was typically a better idea to vanish without warning one day, off to another state like you had been one giant bad dream.

"Mm," she hummed it agreement, putting the book back down and leading the way into a door that stood at the far end of the hall. "My parents didn't either, when they realised I bought like ten or twelve at a time," she said, tugging you into her bedroom.

It was exactly like you could have imagined it, with a darker shade of green and ebony wainscoting that matched the grand bed in the middle of the room with fluffy, lush bedding and a near mountain of pillows in the centre.

"Well then," Cairo drawled. "Shall we?"

The smirk she was staring at you with sent a shiver down your spine. You gave her a cautious nod and pulled your backpack off of your back.

===+++===

You had your paper almost completely done within an hour of laying down on Cairo's bed to write it, though in the corner where Cairo sat typing hers, she seemed incredibly frustrated. You had only been observing her a little, watching her type what could've maybe been a few words and then immediately holding down the delete key until they were all gone.

You understood to a certain extent— windows were so unbelievably symbolic it was possible to go in millions of directions when writing your story. But you were almost done, and inspiration had hit you from the moment you knew what your symbol was meant to be.

You put the final finishing sentences in where they were meant to go, and put down your pen, sitting up to crack your fingers and stretch your back. Cairo looked up at you, eyes glaring.

"You're finished?" Her tone was sharp, and you looked around the room in surprise.

"Yeah?" You replied. Cairo narrowed her eyes at you.

"How," she demanded sitting up in her chair and slamming her laptop shut.

You shrugged. "I don't know, I kind of rushed it anyhow."

"Let me read it, (Y/n)," Cairo said, holding her hand out. You leaned forwards and tossed the paper to her, rolling over onto your back to stare up at the ceiling while she read it. She had one of those popcorn roofs, with bumps all over it, and you found yourself tracing a little path in your mind.

"This is..." she said after a few minutes. You turned your head to look at her sideways. "This is really good," said Cairo, but in a way that made your eyebrows furrow.

"Why'd you say it like that?" you asked, sitting up from where you had been laying.

"Like what?" She asked standing up from her chair and walking towards you, to lean on one of the bedposts. You swallowed.

"I... don't know," you muttered.

"Hm," she hummed. "I have a question."

"Yeah?"

"The astronaut. The one who goes crazy in outer space from looking out the window on his solo mission. Is that supposed to be you?"

"Oh. No, he isn't. He's just a character I thought of," you shook your head. Cairo raised an eyebrow at you.

"But he is a lot like you, isn't he? Alone, I mean. That's why you lied to Winnie about lunch." She got you with that line. You stared at her, frowning. Your mind screamed LIE over and over, but you knew there was no point. Not when she was reading you like a book. She took another step towards you, until she was standing in between your legs where you sat. You hadn't realised there was any connection with the astronaut when you thought of him, but maybe he was?

"Are you lonely, (Y/n)?"

"No? I mean, I don't think I am." It came out in a whisper; you didn't need to speak loudly when Cairo was so close. You could feel her hot breath on your cheeks like a fan.

"I've been thinking of you, since you arrived," Cairo murmured. Her fingers crawled up your knee slowly, the pads of her fingers brushing the hem of your shorts. She looked down at the small space between you.

"Yeah?" You asked.

"You're captivating," she said. "It's annoying. Shrouded in mystery and answering to no one."

"Yeah?" Pink was flushing towards your cheeks.

She smiled, looking up at your face again. "Yeah. It would be less distracting if you didn't come with such nice eyes."

You swallowed. It felt like everywhere her fingers went she left behind a trail of pure fire, churning up your insides. Your mind was screaming at you to not be an idiot. You'd probably regret this in a month or two when your mom told you you would be leaving again. Stop, right now and save yourself so much sleep, you idiot. That would've been the smart thing to do.

Her hands came up slowly, skimming gently up your neck until they landed at the nape, and you were reminded of the lollipop she had plucked from your lips to place in her own for a moment.

"Cairo, what're we doing?" you managed. Cairo shrugged.

"You ask me that but I'm not entirely sure. I just know it feels nice," she whispered to you. "So shut up and let me feel nice," she said with a smile.

Within an instant, her lips pressed hard into your own. You pulled your head back in surprise but Cairo's soft palms held you firmly where you sat, and you found yourself melting at the feeling. It was messy and it wasn't graceful, but it spoke of the passion that bubbled under Cairo's removed exterior. She started to move against you then, and you against her.

You found yourself entranced at the sensation, and pulled away just to get a look at her face. She was breathing heavily, lips red and eyes wild, and you only came back wanting more, reconnecting the both of you, your hands moving to her waist and then up her back.

"Cairo..." you mumbled, her lips moving to your jaw and then hastily to your ear.

"Mm," she hummed.

"Cairo, I can't," you managed, trying to pull away but finding her still on you. Your mind was yelling at you horrible, horrible things, not only about yourself but about what you wanted to do to her.

"Mm," she sounded again, moving down your neck in a way that left you tingly.

"Really, I just—"

"Take my hands off of you, then," she challenged, in between peppering kisses and sucking on a spot directly over your pulse. You shivered.

"I can't."

"Well, I guess we're at a crossroads," she said. Her right hand slid down your chest to the hem of your shirt, sliding gently underneath and laying itself flat against your stomach. She smirked when she reconnected your lips, knowing she was winning.

"This is a really bad idea."

"You talk too much."

"No, because this is really a conflict of interest. We're supposed to uh..." you stammered, getting distracted by he hand on your stomach slowly getting lower and lower, creeping towards the top of your shorts. "We're supposed read each other's stuff and be honest."

Cairo stopped, pulling away, raising her eyebrows at you. "Are you serious? You don't want to have sex with me —when you've been practically eye-fucking me since we met— so that you can be an honest peer grader???"

"Well, when you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

"That's because it is stupid."

"I— I just can't do that with someone."

She scoffed. "Are you waiting until marriage or something?"

"No."

"Are you asexual?"

"No."

"Is it Winnie?"

"No."

"Do you like boys?"

"No!"

"Then why? I mean, come on. We both knew this would end one of two ways."

"We're better off as just classmates, trust me."

Cairo blinked at you for a moment, like you were the most confusing person she had ever met. Then she got up off of you. Your lap felt lighter, but also emptier, and you wanted to scream up at the stars for not being able to just indulge this one little desire.

"Fine," she said, and her tone caught you off guard. Most people would probably be upset or angry, but it just seemed like Cairo was challenged and endeared. Like she was going to work out your problem and get right back to this situation, only this time she'd get exactly as she wanted.

She wouldn't, you promised yourself. Never ever. The heartbreak wasn't worth it. Cairo checked her watch. "Could you come over tomorrow too? I'm not done with my story yet, and I want you to read it."

"Uh," you thought out loud. You didn't see why not. Maybe you wouldn't be lovers, but just innocent friends? You weren't so much a monster that you wouldn't be able to stop yourself if you hung out with her. Innocent friends were much easier to forget anyways. "Sure," you said, unknowingly giving her exactly what she wanted.

===+++===

You had gone to her house almost every night for the past week, laying on her bed while she sat in the corner in the same familiar chair, typing the same bloody story that she refused to be satisfied with. It was becoming a pattern, even an unconscious one. The next day had been entirely as awkward as expected, with you trying to act as unbothered as possible.

The friendship was going better than you had anticipated, and you were very pleased with your own self restraint. Winnie had come over too, once or twice, and you enjoyed existing within the context but still on the periphery of a friendship.

Cairo Sweet would hunt you down as her friend or as her whatever-you-were, so you figured giving into one would be the path of least resistance anyhow.

She must have been an insanely picky writer. She wrote every word with an overabundant caution, like she was trying so hard to craft perfection. It was like she wanted her keyboard to drip liquid gold onto the page, and the critics to all collectively clap when she finished a sentence.

"You're like George R. R. Martin with how slow you finish a story," you had said once, out of the blue. Cairo looked up at you, offended, and thrown a pillow in your direction that connected with your face.

"I'm trying to cultivate perfection of the written word," she said, and you rolled your eyes.

"God, writers are so pretentious," you wrinkled your nose. "The only people who like to read annoying writers' books are annoying people."

Cairo scoffed. "Yeah, what, you want to be surrounded by James Bond fans? Stephen King fanboys?"

"That's cool, though," you shrugged. "Gets the point across, isn't badly written, and makes a sometimes beautiful passage along the way."

"Oh, so your writing," she joked, smiling at you. It was an innocent smile, and one that so starkly contrasted the lustful one she had looked at you with only a few days ago. Even in memory, her eyes sent a shiver up your spine.

"Yeah, well, people seem to like it. I guess I’m doing something right," you said. Cairo frowned.

"I don't get it," she shook her head. "And you still won't let me read that first one you wrote."

"It's not exactly something I want to talk about to you."

"Why? Is it bad?" she asked, sitting up straight. You knew she meant 'tell me your dirty secrets' by that.

"I just don't want to."

"Hm," she grumbled, laying back in the chair. "And anyways, if what you say about that thing is true, I don't know why Miller liked it. His book is full of the flowery stuff you complain about."

"He wrote a book???" You were incredulous.

Cairo nodded. "A while ago. Apostrophes and Ampersands."

"Never heard of it."

Cairo shrugged. "It didn't exactly make massive waves. It was ingenious though. Grand and tragic."

"You read it then?" You asked, sitting up and turning towards her.

"Yes, I did," she replied nonchalantly. "I enjoyed it."

You looked out the window for a moment, then back to her. Friends should be friends. "Can I borrow your copy?"

===+++===

"God," you groaned, reading Mr. Miller's book with it held over your head, laying on your back. Cairo had given it to you two days ago and now you were slogging through it, waiting for it to get interesting. "'Human ruins of a madman's love,'" you mocked.

"It's gorgeous," Cairo said. She wasn't in her usual chair, she was sitting by the window with it cracked open, a cigarette in her hand.

"It's not— wait, are you smoking?" You asked, sitting up. Cairo rolled her eyes, grinning at you.

"No, I'm just sitting here with a cigarette lit in my fingers."

"God. Wine and a cigarette, what are you, thirty-four."

"Shut up," she said, putting the cigarette in between her lips and puffing out the window. "And anyways that quote is beautiful."

"Maybe," you challenged. "But what is it actually saying?"

"She means everything to him and he's going crazy for her," Cairo said, like it was obvious. You nodded.

"That's the thought and THAT'S what's good there. That's universal. He's losing the plot— getting lost in the sauce— of trying to sound like he's saying something, to the point where he's losing the entire meat of the message."

"Maybe," said Cairo. "But you said one of your books was If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Not exactly the height of literature."

"And I stand by that," You said. "That's actually enjoyable. You don't enjoy reading this, you enjoy being clever enough to read this, when it's saying something you've heard a million times in a million more decipherable ways. And those ways end up being more beautiful, too.”

"Perhaps," she said. "Or maybe I think the writing is beautiful."

"Well then, I think you're crazy."

"You're welcome to do that," Cairo replied, smile still wide. "You probably will."

===+++===

You managed not to cave until a warmer day, about a week after that. Cairo Sweet had previously been a sweet exterior with absolutely nothing on the inside for you to feel a deep pull towards. Only now, after slowly becoming comfortable, was the magnetic pull becoming physically painful.

Winnie had been absolutely beside herself, miffed at Cairo coming down and swiping you for herself. For a friend or for something more, it didn't matter. You were indisputably hers. And after a life of belonging to no one, you thought maybe Cairo took some sort of glee over making you belong to her.

Class was boring, Mr. Miller was fine, your mom seemed to be doing better, and school seemed to drone on. So when you came back to Cairo's house like normal, you were entirely unaware of how quickly you would fail your mission.

You were barely in door before she was running down the stairs, and the look of worry and surprise in your face only worsened when she got so up close to you, just for a second, and then just as hungry and hurriedly as before, kissed you with a brutal ferocity.

You were taken aback. Something was off. You pulled your head away and Cairo's palms pressed to your cheeks, thumbs brushing against the side of your face. She pulled you back and you had to turn your head away. "Cairo, what—"

"Shut up for once, please. Just kiss me the way a girl wants to be kissed."

You could feel every neuron telling you to get away from her. This was exactly what you had said you didn't want. And then there was the other side of you. The one that wanted to take her right then and then. You swallowed.

"I can't do these kinds of connections, Cairo. I told you."

"That's fine," Cairo rushed, her hand resting on your shoulder blade now. "I need one thing from you, and that's it. I don't ask for much, but I really need this."

Your eyebrows furrowed at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You've said you don't want anything, and okay, that’s fine. At least give me your body for the night. No strings attached.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I don’t owe you anything, you don’t owe me. We just do whatever this is. You make me feel good, and that’s it.” Her fingers had slithered back up to your hair, scratching gently at your scalp in a way that pulled your focus.

It just took a final glance at her face, for the dam to break. Her cheeks were a dusty red, eyes dilated and staring at you, and though you cursed yourself and your idiot Cro-Magnon mind, your palms went to her legs, tugging her up harshly and wrapping her legs around your waist.

“Shit,” you muttered, highly aware this was probably a bad idea. Cairo wrapped her arms around your neck, kissing you with a smile, and then once that broke, a passionate fervour. It was so much but it was so good. You carried her like that, up the stairs to her room, throwing her down on the bed.

She flipped you over, sitting on your lap like she had been back when the both of you first tried this, and it was all too intoxicating. Cairo’s hands went to your shoulders, pushing you back against the mattress before she leaned over, kissing you softly for a moment until it grew into more.

“Wait—” You said, and Cairo sat up, glaring at you.

“You did not get me all the way up here just to back out now,” said Cairo, annoyed beyond belief. You shook your head, tugging her back onto you. Her hair fell around you like a shield to your little private moment.

“I’m not backing out,” you promised, whispering because you felt like you didn’t want to be too loud. “I mean I’ve never … before.”

Cairo smiled at you, looking into your eyes for a moment. “Me neither,” she whispered back.

“Really?” you asked. Cairo raised her eyebrows.

“Fuck you.”

“No,” you shook your head, hand reaching up to move some of her hair out of her face. That wasn’t how you meant it. “…Really?”

She paused, eyes boring into yours. Then she gently nodded, and lowered herself down onto you, placing her lips on yours for another divine moment. It was all too hot in there. She let out a gasp when you tugged down her skirt.

===+++===

It was about five weeks after you had arrived, and you had gone to Cairo's house almost every week day, to continue exactly what had latched around your throat and tugged you harshly towards her.

There, in the milky white lighting of Cairo's table lamp, with her body snugly laying back against you and her book out in front of her, you fell in love for the first time. Really, fell in love.

Not the kind of "love" that swirls around your head as a child and wraps around the leg of the pretty girl in your class who has shiny hair. That kind of “love” where you can't get out a real sentence while talking to her. In comparison to the heavy feeling growing in your chest like a tumour, that was a mild liking.

No, this was the real thing. Adults had always said cryptic things about love, like "when you know, you'll know," and it hadn't ever really made sense, until it did.

As you looked down to watch her nose scrunch from the Nabokov, those three little words took on a whole new meaning. Her dark hair tickled the bare skin of your chest where she laid. Unlike her you still hadn't put your shirt back on, and you shivered a bit, even from under her blanket and her body heat. Her eyes, dark and focused, scanned across the paper, before elegantly flipping past the page with her thumb.

It was one of those renaissance paintings people cried for, in the Louvre, only it was playing out right in front of your eyes. And with that sudden rush of messy emotion, came the dastardly realisation that you were truly fucked.

"You're staring," she said, pulling you from your thoughts. She looked up at you, curious eyes focusing on your own. "What're you staring for?"

You shrugged, the movement shaking her against you. "What's the book you're reading?" You asked. "You seem mad at it."

She hummed, leaving her finger as a bookmark and flipping the cover towards you. The cover read Pale Fire. "That's because it's mostly incoherent rambling," she said. "Makes no sense."

You raised your eyebrows at her. "You don't understand Pale Fire?"

She tilted her head back, challenging you. “And you do?" You nodded. You had written a report during the two months you were in Maine. "Of course you do,” Cairo groaned, rolling her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked.

Cairo shook her head, patting the side of your leg with her free hand. “Nothing.”

You sat up. “No, seriously. What do you mean?”

She sighed, closing the book around her index finger to hold her page. Cairo shut her eyes for a second, choosing her words carefully. “I mean... you’re annoyingly clever at something you don’t really care about.”

You laughed. "Careful, Sweet. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're jealous."

"Well, I am," said Cairo. "I care about writing so much, and here you come along with literally no passion for it, and you're out-writing me."

"Uh, sorry?" You said with a smile. But the frown you saw on her face told you she wasn't really joking. Cairo scoffed, sitting up and turning towards you.

"No, I'm serious. You barely even try and you spill some amazing few paragraphs, and Mr. Miller loves you like you're his favourite student," she lamented, throwing her hands up in frustration.

"I promise," you sighed, "that I really don't mean to. I don't get it either, so—"

"—See, but that's what's so frustrating!" She cut you off. "You don't mean to. You don't mean to get in my way, but you do because you're so unbelievably perfect at everything, and Mr. Miller loves you so much."

"Okay, wait a minute," you said. "That's not fair."

"What's 'not fair' is me working my ass off until senior year to get to do what I've ALWAYS wanted to do, WRITE, and then you come along and pull all the praise and probably the recommendation letter too!"

You sat there for a moment, taking her words in, your mouth open in surprise. There had always been an inkling that Cairo was unhappy with having you in her class, but you had drowned the thought out with her lips on yours and treasuring every moment you made her smile with something stupid you said.

You cleared your throat and Cairo was already apologising. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," she said, reaching towards you. "It's just so important to me, I get really worked up..."

"It's fine," you rushed. You knew people screamed and said nasty stuff when they were mad. It's just how people were, and it made sense to you. Your mom was like that too, with the yelling and stuff. "Do you..." you mumbled, trying to figure out how to solve her problem. "Do you want me to stop trying?" You asked.

Cairo's eyes lit up within an instant at the idea. "That would be amazing," she breathed. "Thank you so much." She reached across the space between you, kissing with a softness that hadn't previously been there. It was sweet, just like she was, and you breathed a sigh of relief, with the confrontation being over.

You nodded. "Sure." Then your gaze went out the window, realising the sun was starting to set and rain clouds were starting to form. Your hand flew to your leg, having forgotten you were only in your underwear.

"You left it downstairs, remember?" Cairo said, almost playful. When the two of you had gotten to her house, her lips had been so firmly ravaging your neck that your pants hadn't even made it up the stairs before she tugged them off and flung them to the marble bust that stood nearby. You sighed.

"Do you know what time it is?" You asked, getting up from the bed and around to the other side to pick your shirt up off the floor. Cairo also got up, throwing the sheets off herself and walking right over to her closet.

"No, I left my phone at school on accident," she replied, opening the door and flicking through the hangers. You pulled the shirt on over your head and fixed the soft collar. On the opposite side of the room, Cairo pulled out the same cream-coloured dress she had been wearing when you first came to study with her. You paused.

"You're getting all fancy?" You asked, turning to her floor mirror and attempting to fix your absolutely messy hair in a way that it wouldn't be clear Cairo had run her hands through it and gripped on tight.

"Mhm," Cairo said. "Having a guest over tonight."

"Oh. They work with your parents or something?" You said, turning to watch her with curiosity over her answer. Cairo pulled off her shirt so that she was now completely naked. She turned back to you with a smile.

"Do you like what you see?" said Cairo, and it made you blush a bit. You nodded.

"You're absolutely beautiful," you said. If you weren't worried about getting home before dinner, you would have walked right over to her and tugged her back into her bed. Cairo waved you off.

"You're too kind," she said. "Now run on home, lover boy." Cairo disappeared into the bathroom with the dress in her hand, and you heard her rustling around with the sink, probably doing her makeup.

"I... I guess I'll see you, then," you said, left alone in the room.

"Mhm," she called from the bathroom. You frowned, but did a final scan for anything you needed to take before heading out her bedroom door and down the stairs, to where your jeans were clumsily thrown over the Roman statue's head. You tugged your phone and keys from the pocket.

"Fuck," you cursed. Only around thirty minutes to get the whole way across town to your house before your mom started worrying. You walked right over to the door... only to find it was also pouring down rain, now. Dammit. You tugged on your jacket from where it had been hanging on a steel coatrack by the door, pulling the hood up.

You walked out onto the porch, shut the door behind you, and took off running, going as fast as you could down the garden and then up the street into the woods. You got about a hundred metres from her house, that was, until you stopped.

Driving right past you, barely able to see him in the storm, was Mr. Miller. Driving right to Cairo's house in his little sedan. You froze, stopping dead in the rain to watch him go. Even after his license plate retreated in the distance, you felt a sickening sense of dread begin to pool in your gut, one that was already tarnishing your prior bliss.

===+++===

part three perhaps? i also have a tara carpenter one in the works and a lorraine day that's mostly done so hopefully i'll be updating more frequently

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #miller's girl #letorip #jenna #jenna ortega imagine

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inuyashaluver · 2 months

Note

just read your newest alexia fic and it was fantastic!! please write more for her (ideally rivals x lovers but I don't really care what trope because both your alexia fics are fantastic so I'm sure I will be happy with any alexia fic you write!)

past reminders - alexia putellas

alexia putellas x reader

description: in which you and alexia rekindle a old flame you both thought was completely destroyed

warnings: angst but happy! mentions of past situationships, heartbreak, swearing, spanish in bold italics! suggestive content, long - BUCKLE IN

a/n: i’ve been itching to write this lmao, thank you so much, my love!! i’m a sucker for enemies to lovers no word of a lie, please enjoyyyyy xx❤️

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

if someone was to describe the relationship between you and alexia, it was simply pure hatred.

to put it quite simply, you fucking despised each other, and you both thought it was for good reason.

—

even though yours and alexia’s pit of hatred ran deep, it wasn’t always like this. you and alexia were originally best friends, going back to years and years of friendship ever since the both of you were 7.

the two of you were inseparable, playing football together, going to school together, spending each and every afternoon together. it was the best, you truly had so much love for each other, twin flames that couldn’t be put out.

as the years went on, you and alexia grew older. and as the two of you grew together, so did affection bubbling under the surface. you and alexia had feelings for each other and never said anything of it.

well until one day at 19, you and alexia were hanging out at her house after training for barcelona, both of you getting signed at the same time after your booming success in the spanish teams.

you and alexia were side by side on her bed, the both of you giggly as you chatted and debriefed, even though you saw each other at every moment.

you weren’t exactly sure how the conversation started but alexia brought up that she hasn’t slept with anyone yet. your eyes were so wide at the conversation and her forwardness, not really comprehending what was going on out of pure shock.

you both knew you hadn’t your first times yet and alexia proposed something that took your breath away.

“if we sleep together for our first time, it’ll be good practice for later” alexia said like it was nothing, turning her head to look over at you. your cheeks were bright red, refusing to look her in the eye,

“ale” you breathe out nervously, “it’ll just be one time, friendly sex, nothing more” her body moved to perch up on her elbow, looking at you expectantly, “i trust you the most”

you glance over at her and harshly swallow the lump in your throat, alexia’s eyes drifted to where your neck had movement and smirked gently.

“one time?” you say so softly, alexia almost couldn’t hear it, she chuckles with a nod, her finger lightly tracing along your arm, smirking when goosebumps trailed on your skin.

“mhm, nena (babe), one time” she grabs your hand gently, her smirk only growing when you nod slowly “okay”, she kisses the corner of your mouth,

“mamá and alba aren’t home tonight” she whispered, reading your mind before her hand slipped up your shirt.

“don’t be nervous, it’s just me” she smiles softly, your breath hitched when she presses her lips to yours, moving together messily before her tongue licked into your mouth, a groan escaping the back of her throat when your hands carded through her hair and gently tugged.

—

and to put it simply, it wasn’t a one time thing. it was regular. very regular. almost every night. especially when she moved out of her mother’s house and had her own apartment.

alexia refused to put a label on anything. you were her best friend and nothing more, it was casual, platonic sex in her mind. and unfortunately for you, your heart yearned for her. you loved her, how could you not?

your heart would lurch at how kind she was after sleeping with you, kissing you affectionately and always cleaning you up afterwards with utmost care and diligence.

“so beautiful” she’d whisper, pressing gentle kisses along the length of your nose before pecking your lips multiple times.

alexia would send you suggestive smirks when she saw you at training, her eyes lingering as you changed and making sure to wink at you whenever you’d watch her change.

she would touch you more than necessary yet no one caught on. her hands would linger on your hips or waist as she moved passed you, giving you subtle kisses when you’d get a goal or just played well.

alexia was a very affectionate person, so everyone just thought the two of you were doing your regular best friend routine, unaware that alexia would drag you to her apartment almost every night to leave you breathless, marked up and shaky at the knees.

she was still your best friend of course, she just saw it as an added bonus. but for you, you wanted to call her yours, for you to be hers but the catalan didn’t want that.

she’d tell you almost every moment she could, “you’re my best friend” a chip in your heart that only grew bigger as the years progressed.

this went on for years, almost 5 consecutively and it was shocking no one caught on. she didn’t just sleep with you, she slept with other girls and you knew that but she’d always come back to you.

“they’re not you, they don’t know me like you” she’d tell you like clockwork, always making your heart a little fuzzy when you knew it shouldn’t.

it was torcherous for you, you tried to stop giving into her every time, but she’d give you those puppy dog eyes as she interlaced your hands together and you were done for.

and funnily enough, everything came to a stop when alexia got a girlfriend. when alexia got a girlfriend, she threw you away at the expense of her girlfriend’s words, “why do you need a best friend when you have me?” and because alexia ‘loved’ this girl, she dropped you.

she never returned your calls, she only talked to you at training when it was necessary. she wanted nothing to do with you. it killed her and you.

the once happy, bubbly duo went through an extremely dark stage at this point. you filling the void with random girls from team bonding nights at clubs and always regretting it later.

and whenever you would, alexia would fucking rip you apart over it. even after weeks of not talking.

“you look a little desperate, no?” she spat out as she walked up next to you at the bar. “fuck off” you glare at her, about to move away before she grabbed your wrist and pulled you back,

“it’s pathetic” she stares down at you, you roll your eyes in response. alexia could be with other people but god forbid you did.

“you’re pathetic, you can be with someone and i can’t?” you laugh humorously, alexia’s gaze growing colder by the second, a contrast from the warm alexia you loved so much.

“i have a girlfriend, i'm not throwing myself at anyone” another chip at your heart. from then on, alexia was truly nothing to you. you pushed her away harshly, promising that she wouldn’t have to see you anymore.

you left in a rush that night, making an effort to text your manager that you wanted to transfer in the upcoming window. so when the contract for madrid came along, you accepted.

—

you didn’t mind madrid, it was good for you. you were away from alexia and were actually strengthening your playing style and making some friends. and for you, a bonus was how mad it made alexia.

whenever madrid and barcelona would verse each other, people would definitely notice how much you and alexia hated each other.

the filthy looks said it all and not to mention the harsh words and dangerous tackles that would be made by the both of you.

when your spanish teammates would come over to you with bright smiles and warm hugs, you loved to watch alexia’s pissed off expression.

she’d get pissed when you wouldn’t even hug her as congratulations, you would shake her hand dismissively and take yours back like hers was made of fire. and yeah, maybe you were being a little childish, but she was too.

“you won’t die if you touch me, you know? but it’s fine when you fucking push me to the ground everytime i get the ball” she’d grit out, only make you grin in satisfaction,

“poor alexia, tell your girlfriend to kiss you better” you pout sarcastically, making an effort to bump her shoulder with yours as you walked past. you knew alexia was currently single, but you knew she hated when you brought up the girl. so you did it frequently.

you’d both get worried expressions from teammates after each time you interacted with each other, gaining a dismissive wave from both of you.

no one knew what happened, and you wouldn’t tell anyone what happened, and neither would alexia.

so everyone had to deal with the two of you being insufferable whenever in the same vicinity.

—

during camp for spain, you’d both give each other hell. it didn’t matter if you were on the same team, the arguing actually got worse.

“your passes are sloppy” alexia would say when you touched the ball, making you roll your eyes with a groan.

“okay, la reina (the queen), sorry we’re not all perfect” you narrow your eyes at her, making a show of kicking the ball harshly to her, hitting her shin as you sent her a sticking sweet smile.

she hated that that nickname when it fell from your mouth, wanting to just wipe that fucking smile off your face.

“don’t be jealous” alexia says smugly, you scoff at that, crossing your arms over your chest, “i would never be jealous of you” you look her up and down, the two of you approaching each other slowly as the argument heightened.

“oh really? isn’t that why you moved to madrid, couldn’t handle that i was better?” she’s up close to you now, your chests mere centimetres away from each other.

you breathe heavily as you look up at her, “yeah, i did move to madrid to get away from you” you argue, making her chuckle condescendingly, “good to see you have no loyalty” she darts her eyes between yours, trying to rile you up and it was certainly working.

“you want to talk about loyalty? remember you dropped me all those years ago?” you laugh in disbelief, body tingling with how close alexia was to you, a vast contrast to what you would do in the past at this proximity.

“i had my reasons” she says warningly, not wanting to get into this subject in the middle of training. “yeah, don’t worry i remember the texts, ‘i can’t be around you anymore, sorry’” you mock her,

“all because of that fucking girlfriend of yours, you dropped years of friendship with me” you send her an icy glare, one she was quick to return, “again with the jealousy” she mocks, you’re quick to give her a shove, “fuck off, putellas” you grit, alexia comes right back, her eyes boring into yours.

“you’re a child” she challenged, “excuse me?” you bite back, “you’re. a. child.” she breaks down each word intentionally, making sure it lingered in your ears. you’re both heavy breathing at this point, faces dangerously close to each other.

“i’m the child? you’re the fucking child, alexia!” you exclaim, now mapi and jenni coming over to separate the two of you.

“you’re both children, enough” jenni warns, pushing alexia by the chest away from you as mapi held you back.

“best friends for years and now you can’t even talk to each other like adults” mapi scolds, you and alexia sending each other glares and mouthing insults at each other.

“she knows what she did” you spat out, letting ona drag you away. alexia watched as you left, sighing heavily when her mind raced with all those good times you had. she missed you, dearly. she was just terrible at showing it.

—

it was childish for the both of you, but alexia had broken your heart so many times, you felt like you were just protecting your peace.

alexia did feel bad for the way she dropped you, she did love you, truly as much as you did with her. but she couldn’t bring herself to put a label on things with you just out of pure fear.

at first, she didn’t want to lose you, alexia wanted to shield you from everything bad in the world and tell you everything was going to be okay with a kiss.

but alexia thought she fell in love with her ex girlfriend and listened to her, even when she had feelings for you.

she didn’t know how harsh the consequences would be. losing you completely tore out a piece of her soul.

—

it was during a random match between madrid and barcelona in 2020 where things took a shift, just before off-season. the score was neck and neck, a typical harsh match between the rivals.

you and alexia still ‘hated’ each other but were much more tame about it, just choosing to ignore each other rather than outwardly argue.

you were on the ball when a defender from barcelona came up from behind you out of no where, making you attempt to dodge around her until a sharp pain shot up your knee. a pop.

you went down with a piercing scream, the sold out stadium going quiet at you clutching your knee in pain. and funnily enough, the first person to you was alexia.

“move away from her” she spat out, her hand coming to the back of your head and placing it on her thigh. you weren’t even comprehending who it was at this point, just enveloped by the comforting scent that once gave you a sense of home.

“you’re okay” she breathes out, cradling your head to her stomach as you cried out, “ale, my knee” you choked out, alexia hushes you, her thumb brushing your cheek as she held you close, waiting for the medics to come arrive.

once they were assessing you, alexia was about to move but you clutched her hand, “no-” you start, “just, stay for a second” you look up at her pleadingly, she nods, her hand giving you a gentle squeeze.

once you got told the dreaded three letters, your tears started again, rolling down your cheeks as you held onto alexia. she welcomed the contact like a second nature, both of you gaining a sense of security you hadn’t had in years.

“breathe” she says softly as you get situated on a stretcher, “you’re okay, i promise” she says while looking right into your eyes.

you feel like you’re 19 again, absolutely head over heels for this girl, some of those old feelings lingering in the pit of your stomach.

you get carried off and barcelona wins the match, alexia comes to find you without a second thought. she takes a deep breath before you she knocks on the door of the physio room, hearing a sniffle and a soft “come in”.

“hey” she swallows, hovering near the door as she saw you with your knee braced and iced. “you can come inside” you chuckle, alexia stiffens but walks in, sitting in a chair next to you as you stare up at the ceiling.

“i have surgery in two days” you blurt out, alexia never takes her eyes off you, watching as some tears still roll down your cheeks. “who’s taking you?” she questions softly, you let out a deep sigh.

“i haven’t gotten that far yet, my knee just popped” you tease, making alexia smile softly. the both of you never thought you’d be this civil after all this time.

“i’ll take you” alexia said simply, your head snaps to where she was, “i can’t ask you to do that” you stumble out,

“you’re not, i’m offering” alexia shrugs, “then i can’t accept your offer” alexia huffs in annoyance, “fine, it’s not an offer, it’s happening” alexia says sternly, you knew there was nothing to argue about.

there was no way you could go all the way to madrid in your condition, staying in barcelona for surgery was just a no brainer at this point.

“are you sure?” you say hesitantly, “positive” she says earnestly, smiling at you gently while you returned an appreciative one.

alexia forced you to stay at her house, getting your stuff from the hotel and setting you up in her guest room. it was a little awkward, not really knowing how to converse with a girl you’ve known for years of your life yet was your borderline enemy for years as well.

though with a little help of your injured knee, alexia and you managed to chip away at that awkwardness.

when you woke up extra sleepy from surgery, alexia gave you a comforting smile as you came to your senses, only leaving the hospital room if it was completely necessary.

“how are you feeling?” alexia said softly as she adjusted the pillow behind your head, fussing with the blankets until you swatted her hand away with a soft laugh.

“i’m fine, calm down” alexia drops the blanket with a sheepish grin and sat down on the chair next to you,

“ale?” you breathe out, she hums as she looked up at you, “thank you” you look over at her, her eyes are a little glossy but you chose to dismiss it.

“you don’t have to thank me, you’d do it for me” she smiles, you nod slowly, it was true, no matter how much you thought you disliked her throughout the years, you would help her in a heartbeat. no matter the time or place.

suddenly you start laughing and alexia gives you a questioning smile, “sorry i just,” you start, turning your head to look at her properly, “i didn’t think this would be happening after all these years” alexia nods along with your words with a little chuckle,

“i’m surprised you haven’t bitten my head off yet” she teases, “never say never, putellas” you warn teasingly, both of you laughing together in a little moment of solitude.

—

alexia was incredibly patient with you when you got discharged from the hospital, walking beside you with your crutches at your pace while sending you encouraging words and smiles.

“take your time” she says as she hovers next to you, ready to catch you if you fell. she helped you into the car and literally carried you into her apartment despite your protests to save time, wanting you to rest on the couch as soon as possible.

she was grateful about the time off, she doesn’t think she’d be able to train or play without you clouding her mind. she finally felt like she got you back, even if it was just a tiny piece.

she elevated your knee and tucked you in with warm blankets, making you a tea and sitting next to you as she encouraged you to put on something to watch.

her heart warmed when you put an old childhood favourite of both of you. a wave of nostalgia hitting you both. she kept glancing at you every couple of seconds,

you both laughed with each other at the movie, subconsciously quoting some parts of it with each other and recounting old memories. suddenly a wave of sadness hits alexia because she realised how much she’d lost.

when you realised she stopped laughing along with you, you glance at her nervously and give her a worried expression.

“are you okay?” you say softly, alexia shakes her head, tears pricking at her eyes seeing your soft features, you gesture to her to come closer and she sits on the couch facing you, the tears rolling down her face as she sniffled.

“ale, what’s wrong?” you place a hand on her thigh and she flinches, you pull it away slightly but she holds onto it instead.

“i’m so sorry” she chokes out, looking at you tearfully, you can feel your heart break a little at how she was crying, your eyebrows furrow in concern,

“what-” you start before she interrupts, “no, please let me speak” she sniffs, gripping into your hand tightly,

“i’m so stupid, there aren’t enough words to tell you how sorry i am for letting you go the way i did, you didn’t deserve that” she begins,

“i was clueless for listening to my ex, you were there for me through everything and i put you aside like you were nothing” she blubbered, each word clutching your heart.

your own tears begin to escape your tear ducts, “but you’re not nothing, you’re everything, you were my everything and i let you go when i wanted you, i’ve wanted you forever” she pronounced, looking right at you to make sure you heard everything she said.

“i love you, i always have” she expressed, your mouth hung open a little at the three words. silence settled over the two of you, hands still tightly interlaced.

“i love you too” you admit, alexia’s face lights up, only you shake your head for a moment, “alexia, you need to understand that you really hurt me, and i know i fucked up too, we both did” you start,

“if we were to give this another try, it needs to be slowly” you fiddle with the blanket on top of you, the two of you are still crying, still not believing this situation was real.

she agrees without hesitation, “i’ll do anything you want me to, hermosa (beautiful)” she breathes out.

her free hand moves to wipe a stray tear off your cheek, making you give her a wet laugh before you pulled her into an awkward positioned hug but you both didn’t mind, you’d both finally woken up to yourselves. you loved each other.

—

for the next few weeks, you and alexia grew closer and closer, finally falling back into that special relationship you had with each other.

it was going slow for about two days until the both of you broke under pressure and just gave into each other, acting more like a couple than you ever have.

“hi, bebé (baby)” alexia cheeses out when she sees you sitting on the couch, you crane your head back to look at her, giving her an affectionate smile that she was quick to return.

she presses a sweet kiss to your lips, a languid kiss that had you both sighing into each other's mouths.

she pulls away from you with an exaggerated peck to make you laugh, plopping down beside you and directing your head to her shoulder, you cuddle into her with a satisfied smile, her scent calming you down instantly.

—

it wasn’t a surprise that once you were fully recovered from your acl, you made your return to barcelona. once you made your comeback, you and alexia weren’t hiding anything anymore.

it felt good to claim each other as your partner, an endless amount of support sent your way.

you and alexia were quite literally joint at the hip once you finally moved in together, barely any time wasted when it came to the two of you, alexia claiming you needed to make up for ‘lost time’.

with the amount of devotion alexia gave to you, you forgave her, it took a while but you both wanted to move on from it, a fresh start for the both of you.

some of your teammates in the spanish team still found it hilarious when they found out why the two of you hated each other, still finding it a little baffling to see you so loved up at training.

—

“ale” you send her a half hearted glare as she sat in her cubby watching you get changed for a national game.

“yes, bebita (baby girl)” she grins at you smugly, you cross your arms over your chest, walking over to her and giving her a challenging expression. she grabs your hips and tugs you forward, making you sit sidewards on one of her thighs.

“not funny, where is it?” she chuckles at your mock anger, pressing tender kisses to the underside of your jaw,

“where is what?” she mumbles against your skin, you squirm slightly when she reaches your pulse point, slapping her hand that was now squeezing your thigh.

“my jersey” you groan, alexia lets out a little laugh, kissing your cheek repeatedly, “it’s right there” she points out, suddenly you stand up, grabbing her hand and making her stand in front of your cubby, looking at her expectantly.

“what does that say?” you point at the jersey hung up, “putellas?” she grins, “smart girl, who’s jersey is that?” you try not to laugh, “yours” she smiles wider, her hand dropping yours to wrap around your waist, making you stand in front of her as she continued to kiss your cheek softly.

“in case you forgot, that’s not my last name” you say amusingly, feeling her smiling against your skin as she gave you a gently squeeze.

“it will be soon” she grins, flipping you around so you could face her, “propose first” you say cheekily, patting her cheek with your hand. she turns her hand to kiss your palm, a silent promise that it was happening soon. (happened a week later)

“you’re no fun,” she pouts mockingly, reaching above you to retrieve the jersey that actually said your name on it, giving you a shit eating grin as she watched you get changed.

“children” mapi and jenni say at the same time, watching as alexia pulled you into another kiss that took all the breath out of your lungs.

⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆

you know the drill - pretend it’s you! ily jenni x

liked by ona.batlle and 44,232 others

alexiaputellas: she thinks she’s the boss

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yourname: i am the boss

↳ alexiaputellas: it’s so cute how you think you are bebita (baby girl)

↳ yourname: i literally am?

↳ jennihermoso: oh she definitely is

↳ marialeonn16: 100% is

↳ alexiaputellas: a bunch of traitors

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso one shot #woso imagine #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

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st7rnioioss · 2 months

Text

*ೃ༄ we fell in love in october

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: matt sturniolo x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you and matt finally confess your mutual feelings - even during you boths favorite season!

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: fluff, friends to lovers, kissing

a/n: hiii everyoneee. i literally just realised i reached 1.4k, thats fucking insane, thank you so so much. i love this request, had a lot of fun, thank you!!!

this is based off this request!

───────── 🐇 Matt was walking beside you up to your house. You had just been driving around the area, talking about all sorts of topics. From high school to work to your personal lives.

“Thanks for walking me home, Matt. It was nice spending time with you today,” you smiled sincerely, pulling him in for a hug as you reached your front porch.

“It’s my pleasure. I had a lot of fun as well,” he chuckled, bringing his arms around your waist to pull you closer. A bit too close for people who consider themselves ‘just friends’. You pulled away with a bright smile, letting your hand linger on the back of his neck for just a moment.

“You look nice tonight, by the way. I think I kinda forgot to tell you, but I really like that dress,” he laughed nervously, scratching his head. You felt butterflies erupt in your stomach, the single compliment making your cheeks turn a faint pink color.

“Thank you! It’s uh- It’s new actually.” you looked down on yourself, tugging at the end of the floral dress you were wearing. “You look great too,” you nodded with a shy smile, pointing to him.

Matt couldn’t stop smiling. He simply just found you adorable to say the least.

"Thanks,” he beamed, looking back up from your dress to meet your eyes. “Well uh- I should go, it’s getting late. I’ll see you soon, okay?” he smiled, taking a tiny step backwards.

“Yeah, I’ll see you soon. Goodnight, Matt.” you waved, also taking a small step back, trying not to trip over the stairs right behind you.

The old door to your house creaked as you pushed it open. You were kind of tired from hanging out with Matt all day, not that it had anything to do with him. It was just getting late.

You had gone shopping, had lunch, fed ducks at the lake, went for a late night drive, and overall just enjoyed each other's company.

Matt had been your best friend since forever. You met somewhere during junior year in high school, and after that you hadn’t been seen separately. After a few months into senior year you realized you had developed a tiny crush on Matt. That didn’t change though. You were still in love with him to this day.

Matt and his brothers started a YouTube career, and you found a job in a bakery that also sold all kinds of flowers. Because of that, you always had a few bouquets standing around and outside your home, the color and type of flower changing depending on the season and vibe you wanted to go for.

For the past week you had white heliotrope.

You placed your phone and keys on your kitchen counter, slipping out of your coat and shoes after having been out in the chilly weather all day.

A small vibration came from your phone, the screen lighting up. It was a message from Matt.

‘Can I come over tomorrow?’ it read. Matt always wanted to be around you, specifically in your house. He almost loved it more than you did. You quickly picked up the phone, positioning yourself on the kitchen counter to answer him immediately with a

‘Yes, of course :) We can watch that movie you were talking about if you want’.

‘Yeah, I’d love that. See you tomorrow then!’

You smiled to yourself, turning off your phone as you got down from the counter.

The small house you lived in was quite cozy. There wasn’t much electrical light, most of it being from either the fireplace or the candles you had propped up everywhere, or a lamp that had the same orange light as the candles. You paced around, lighting each and every candle that was in the kitchen and living room, creating a soft orange-like light. On top of that, the faint smell of cinnamon and apple made it even better. It wasn’t too artificial of a smell, not making people literally gag when they walked in. Matt seemed to like it a lot.

The next morning you woke up to the sunlight through your gingham curtain. Your friends found the curtains absolutely horrible, but you liked the vibe of the red and white. It just suited the rest of your interior.

Your phone had a message from Matt, asking if it was okay to come over around 8, since he was filming a video with his brothers. You replied with a ‘Yes, that’s perfect’, making your way downstairs to make breakfast.

At around 7.30pm you still had no idea what to put on. Not that it mattered, Matt had seen you in all sorts of situations, but it was something you relied a lot on.

You settled on something cozy but casual, knowing you were gonna watch a movie, so jeans would probably get uncomfortable. The makeup you had put on a few hours ago needed a touch up, as well as your hair.

That took you just the right amount of time, because right as you went downstairs to light the candles, there was a knock on the door. You rushed up to it, looking at your hair in the mirror before opening the door, revealing Matt.

“Hi, Matt! Come on in!” you smiled, opening the door further for him to get inside. You could swear he was lingering his gaze just a little too long on you, but you were pulled out of your thoughts when Matt leaned in to hug you.

“Hey, thanks for letting me come over, you know how much I love your place,” he smiled, letting you go as he took off his jacket. You just smiled back in return, making your way to the kitchen.

“So uh- Do you want to bake some cookies before starting the movie?” you smiled shyly, holding up a bowl in front of you.

His face lit up, and you took that as a yes.

After way too long, the cookies were finally done. With that being said, it took you a few throws of flour, way too many jokes, a shit ton of chocolate chips eaten from the bag, and a bunch of laughter.

“Oh my god, they look fucking delicious,” you smiled, pressing your nose up against the oven to get a look on the cookies.

“Really? Let me see, move,” he giggled, pushing you gently to the side with his hands on each side of your waist. Your face turned beet red, avoiding looking him up in the eyes, only erupting a quiet chuckle.

“Oh yeah, you’re right. I think we did an amazing job,” he raised his brows, letting one hand go of you to reach out for a high-five.

“Wait, was it this one? Friday the 13th, the 2009 one?” you asked, scrolling through the insane amount of horror movies on Netflix. Matt nodded with a hum, his mouth too filled with cookies to answer you verbally. You pressed start, leaning back against the headboard of your bed. Matt wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer under the stupid amount of blankets, making you smile to yourself.

The window to your room was open, letting a view of a beautiful, now orange, tree standing in your backyard show. Matt had helped you light a few candles, the usual cinnamon-apple ones. Your normally neat bed was now completely messy, a duvet, blankets, and pillows resting everywhere.

Matt’s heart was practically beating out of his chest. He, too, had always had the biggest, fattest crush on you. Even holding you this close made his head spin. You were caught up with the start of the movie, but Matt sure as hell wasn’t. Even though he seemed relaxed enough to you, he was tense, trying to think of anything else but you, but it seemed far from possible to him. He needed to do something.

About 40 minutes into the movie, he turned body to you.

“Hey- uh. Can I just tell you something really quick?” he stuttered, positioning his body so he was facing you. You nodded, taking the cup of tea from your lips to place it on your nightstand.

“Sure, what’s up?” you smiled back at him, letting your eyes wander from his hair to his eyes, now rosy cheeks and lips, taking in all his features.

“It’s just- I’m sorry if this is sudden I just-” he stopped, sighing as he couldn’t seem to get the words out.

“I really like you. Not just as a friend, I really really want to take you out. Fuck, you know, I like you like you,” he giggled, the words were flying out of his words. Your eyes were wide, lips slightly parted from the sudden confession.

“I’m in love with you, and I just wanted to let you know.” he finally stopped speaking, allowing you to speak as well.

“You have got to be kidding me. Oh my God, I-” you started laughing. Matt was slightly confused.

“What? Sorry, did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, it’s totally fine if you don’t like me back, I just thought-” you cut him off, pressing your lips to his. Quickly, you pulled back to watch his reaction.

You simply couldn’t stop yourself from giggling nervously, cheeks turning completely red. He didn’t say anything, he just simply stared in disbelief.

“Why did you stop?” he whispered, his eyes lingering on your lips. His hands found his way to the back of your neck, lacing his fingers through your hair.

“Sorry, I don’t know. It just seemed surreal for a second,” you laughed, placing a hand on his cheek. With that, he pulled you closer by your neck, sealing his lips with yours once again. This time, he was not ready to pull back anytime soon.

His hands roamed around the back of your head, holding your head as close as possible. He had been waiting for you for years. Your hands were on him as well. One cupping his cheek, the other resting on his shoulder. It took you a minute to pull back, simply craving air.

You looked up at him, a goofy smile appearing on both your faces while you both panted.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve stopped myself from doing that,” Matt admitted, keeping your hands on each other.

“Me too. I think I figured out I liked you during an English class. I literally sprinted home to write all my overthinking down in my diary,” you giggled, leaning closer into him to hug him.

He immediately melted into your touch, resting his face in the crook of your neck to inhale your sweet scent. The one he never got tired of.

“Can you kiss me again? I’m not wasting one minute after waiting for this long,” he chuckled, cupping your face with both of his hands.

“Matt, you don’t have to ask, just do it,” you laughed at his adorable question, but you gave in anyway, leaning up once more to kiss him from his cheek to finally seal the distance between your lips again.

And that’s basically how the night went. Movie still playing in the background, nearing the end, Matt leaning over you, leaving kisses on the sides of your face, forehead, cheeks, lips, neck, collarbone, any place imaginable. The candles were about to burn out, your cup of tea getting cold from not being drinked in the past 30 minutes.

To no one's surprise, he ended up staying over for the rest of the night.

a/n: stop why am i literally craving fall right now. wheres the rest of the "i hate summer" people at.

taglist: @chrissgirlsstuff @leah-loves-lilies @toriinie @cupidzsq @lacysturniolo @iluvmattyb @ratatioulle @emma4eva @riasturns @sstvrnioloo @sweetbabydoe @elliewrites1 @its-jennarose @abbypost @chrisstopherfilmed @sturniolossss @ducksturniolo @junnniiieee07 @klaus223492 @urfavvev3lyn @vschrissturn @cicimayx @keerahsturn let me know if you'd like to be added!

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo smut #sturniolo #sturniolo x reader #Spotify

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grandline-fics · 3 months

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Hi! Hope I’m no bother but I fell upon your blog and I couldn’t help but love it. I wondered if I could have a hcs, drables, one shot, any format who arrange you, with Shanks and Mihawk (Sorry if you aren’t comfortable with those characters, pick up other if you prefer) who meet their first love after years and years of no see? I heard a lot that you will forever love your first love, so I wondered how they would reacted to meet them/her once adults and mature. They stay with their first genuine love quite a long time, 5-7 years, and broke up for no real valid reasons, just because they were young and else, they met their first love maybe at 16-17 yo. Sorry my English is awful :,)

DESCRIPTION: You’re their first love and reunite after so many years

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Mihawk, Shanks

WORDS: 2,388

A/N: Sorry I've gotten so behind on these, it's been a rough few weeks but I'll hopefully be back on track soon. Thank you for this request. I really hope you like it!

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

MASTERLIST

———————

MIHAWK

Love wasn’t a word Mihawk considered to be heavily used in his vocabulary. Some would call him heartless and cruel but he was a realist. If anything he thought the world overused it to the point of it losing it’s depth and importance which was why he tended to rarely let it fall from his lips. Yes he had ‘lovers’ from time to time but were they ever considered someone he loved? No. None of them even came close to that. How could they when the one that had claimed his heart, the one that taught him the true meaning of the word love, was you.

Although it had been so many years, the memories he had with you were still so clear and sharp that they could have rivalled any blade. Your paths had crossed at the very beginning of his travels across the world in the hopes of training and claiming the title of the world’s greatest swordsman as his own. He had been pointed to your home by the locals after asking who the best sword fighter was, eager to add another victory to his steadily growing list. However when he appeared at your home he was a little thrown to find you tending to a small plot of farmland. Mihawk knew you were the only one living here as the locals had told him that much, so there was no confusing you were the one he was looking for. He wasn’t expecting someone who looked as young as him to be his supposed opponent. Still he was proof that age had no bearing on talent. So he challenged you.

Quickly he was thrown once more when you lifted your head from your work to fix him with a look he’d never forgotten. Your eyes were bright and silently assessing and whatever it was you saw in him made your lips quirk into an amused smirk that in his youth had made Mihawk skin prickle with an unfamiliar warmth. He could only watch as you rose with the basket of freshly pulled vegetables in your arms and firmly refused his challenge and walked towards your house. He’d never been refused before and demanded to know why, following you inside. “I don’t need to give you a reason.” Had been your cool reply before you looked over your shoulder at him. “I just don’t want to.”

“I’m not leaving until you fight me.” Mihawk had boldly declared, the intense sincerity of his words causing you to laugh. At the sound, he had originally bristled but it wouldn’t be long before he found that it was his among his favourite things in the world. True to his word, Mihawk had stayed on the island far longer than he had intended. Every day he came to your home and challenged you. Every day you refused and watched him storm away. Eventually though after your refusal you would invite him to stay; sometimes to share something to eat, or even to go on a walk, or to help you with your chores. At first he hadn’t understood why he so readily spent the time with you but then he did. He wanted to be with you more than he wanted to fight you. When he realised that, his time with you each day grew more and more until he didn’t go and stopped challenging you completely.

You loved him completely and never wanted to be apart from him, because even though you were both young you knew what you felt was real and unshakable. However you knew that it wasn’t right. He couldn’t remain on a tiny island when his ambition lay out in the large and unseen world. As much as it pained you to do so, you insisted it was time to stop things. Mihawk had to go and become the greatest swordsman and you had to stay on the island because as it stood, you were the only one that could protect the others living there. Your reputation kept many away but as Mihawk had proved, some would come looking for a fight or to cause harm to the innocent. Begrudgingly Mihawk saw the sense in your words and he left but you were never forgotten.

Now here he stood in some nowhere town on some random island, watching you talk to an elderly woman tending to a flower stand in the middle of the market square. It was you, he knew it was you. Time had aged you like the finest of wines, your beauty matured for all to see. Then you laughed and it proved what he’d already known. After all this time without you and even though any free moment he had he thought of you, to see you now and know that you were just a few feet away from his touch he couldn’t help but let his mind wonder about you beyond his fondest memories. What if you’d married? What if you didn’t remember him? What if you didn’t want to see him?

When you said goodbye to the woman and started to walk away, Mihawk found that his previous worries disappeared instantly, not wanting to risk losing this chance. Immediately he set off through the crowd in the direction you went in. Thankfully you hadn’t gotten too far and when he was close, his hand lightly touched your shoulder and took a step back when you turned suddenly to face him.

Your expression flickered from confusion to shock and then joy at the unexpected sight of your first love standing in front of you. It gave Mihawk a feeling of relief to see the smile light your face before your expression became playful. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask me?” Mihawk blinked in confusion but quickly he realised you meant a challenge and let out a small breath of amusement. Slowly he shook his head.

“No, I just don’t want to.” He answered simply, smirking when you finally stepped closer and slid your hand around his arm.

“In that case, I’m not leaving you until you do.” Mihawk chuckled and started walking down the street with you. Finally reunited with the only person he ever loved? There was no way he was going to let you go again.

SHANKS

When Shanks was young he never fully understood why Roger, Rayleigh and the other older members of the crew got so distracted and frankly stupid in his opinion when they were around ‘attractive’ people when they were visiting an island. It always went beyond just enjoying being off of the ship for a while and making friends. Curious one day as they sailed on a calm stretch of water, he turned the question to the vice-captain who laughed at the question. So Shanks pressed more. “It just doesn’t make sense. What’s so special about them that makes you all so goofy and red faced? The Marines would lower your bounty if they saw you like that, the Captain too.”

“Oh, you’ll understand when you’re older Shanks.” Rayleigh told him with another laugh and light clap on his shoulder. Still that answer wasn’t good enough for him and he stared at the older man. If he was old enough to ask the question, surely he’d be considered old enough now for an actual answer. Seeing that the issue wasn’t going to drop, Rayleigh relented just a little more and sighed. “Look Shanks, it’s a little hard to explain but it’s another way of enjoying life and our adventures. We don’t know how much time we have at sea before finding a new island so it’s best to enjoy all it has to offer. Company with attractive people who feel the same about you is another aspect of that.”

“Doesn’t it make you sad though? You never see them again. Don’t you miss them?”

“Not really. It’s not love and they know that.”

“Huh…” Shanks felt even more confused then. The older crew always had a sickly loved up expression during the encounters he’d witnessed before they disappeared with their new ‘friends’ for the evening. So if it wasn’t love what was it? More to the point a new question came out of his mouth. “So what does love feel like?”

“Love? What’s with the hard questions today, lad?” The vice-captain muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean it’s different for everyone. Sometimes it’s slow, other times it’s fast and comes out of nowhere. Still I suppose at the same time, love feels similar. It’s like lightning hitting you mind, body, and soul. It’s powerful. When you’re in love and know it, it’s like nothing else matters but them. It’s like their very presence can calm and excite you all at once.” Shanks slowly nodded. He could understand that in theory but one person being the only thing he could think about seemed dangerous to him. Satisfied with the answer given, he finally let Rayleigh continue with his day.

Looking back on that conversation now that he was older, Shanks would laugh at his own naivety as lust was certainly something he knew when he hit puberty just as Rayleigh had predicted and know it a lot. Love however, he only ever experienced once. Only a year after the conversation about love, the crew had docked on an island and headed straight for a restaurant in desperate need of plenty of good food and drink. Taking a seat, Shanks sat back and waited for the usual fun to start. Given the sudden increased size of customers, the owner called for you to help out the family business and take the orders.

You made your way to Shanks’ table and took the orders. Shanks was distractedly looking at the menu and had zoned out, only snapping out of it when your hand lightly pushed the rim of his straw hat up and leant in to smile at him. “Anything catching your eye or do you need more time?”

Shanks’ lips parted as he stared blankly at you, feeling like something shot right through his body. He was frozen in place and yet he felt warm, lost completely in your eyes. It felt like an age before his mind began to work again but really it had been only a few seconds. Quickly he managed to clear his throat and picked the first thing he saw when he forced his eyes back onto the menu. At the sound of you moving onto the next table, Shanks let out a breath only to wince when Buggy’s elbow caught him in the ribs. “Jeez, what came over you?” He’d asked, finding his friend and rival’s reaction to you funny but at the same time it was concerning to see Shanks so out of sorts. However the others at the table smirked, knowing the signs immediately.

It seemed like luck was truly on Shanks’ side when he was told they would be staying on the island for a few months to ensure they had enough supplies and preparation done before continuing on the next stretch of the journey. That meant he got to spend more time with you which was all he wanted. Luckier still, you seemed to be as equally taken with him. It had been just as Rayleigh had described love, you were all that mattered in his waking and sleeping moments and you brought him a sense of calm he’d never felt before but at the same time just being near you made his entire being feel restless and excited.

While he fell in love first you fell in love with him just as fast. Sadly it never got to last because in what felt like a blink, he and the rest of Roger’s crew were saying goodbye to those they’d gotten to know in their time on land. You’d done your best to keep a brave face and seem cheerful for Shanks’ sake. “You can always come back and visit some day, right?” You told him with a tight smile. “You’ll have plenty of stories of your adventures to tell me when we see each other again.”

“I promise each one will be more impressive than the last. The next time you see me, I’ll be Captain of my own ship.” Shanks promised with a proud puff of his chest that made you smile through the hurt of having to say goodbye.

True to his word, Shanks did become captain of his own ship and his great adventures took him over the world, some distracting him from the promise he had every intention of keeping. However as the years passed, he’d idly considered had time only made his feelings for you seem stronger than they had been through mere nostalgia. When he did finally manage to return to your island, he had been shocked to hear that you’d left many years ago. The disappointment he’d felt at the news told him that no, it wasn’t nostalgia; his feelings for you had been real.

Another handful of years passed and one evening in a tavern, Shanks and his crew talked and laughed as drink and food flowed freely. As Shanks drained the drink in his hand he faintly heard the sound of the chair beside him being taken. At first he thought it was Benn or Yasopp but when he glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw you there, his entire body locked. Choking on his drink, Shanks felt the painful burn in his throat as he forced his drink down instead of coughing it up. Wheezing he slammed his hand against his chest and could feel his heart beating rapidly and he knew it wasn’t because he nearly drowned on his drink. “Y-you!” He managed out, finally able to look at you, the same feeling he’d had in his youth crashing into him hard. “Wow.”

“Wow yourself.” You grinned, taking in the sight of how much the boy you’d fallen in love with had changed yet still felt the same. “So, got any stories for me, Captain?” Shanks laughed and turned properly in his seat to fix you with his full attention, his eyes set firmly on your face.

“I’ve got a lifetime of stories for you, just as promised.”

“Good, because I’m not going anywhere.”

#one piece #one piece imagines #one piece fic #one piece scenario #one piece x you #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #dracule mihawk x you #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #shanks x reader #shanks x you #shanks one piece #red hair shanks #red haired shanks

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raz-writes-the-thing · 5 months

Text

A Fruit So Sweet (House of The Dragon One-Shot)

Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader / requests are open

Summary: Daemon's noticed you before, and tonight he makes his first move.

Fic type: fluff

HOTD: (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Targaryens had always been a source of fascination for you. Their slim jawlines, and bright, white hair. They looked so… holy up there in the Sept and in the Castle, like Gods and Goddesses looking upon their subjects. They were about as close to the Gods as you could get. You often wondered how the common folk felt, looking up at them with their bejewelled necks and glinting armour.

And that wasn’t taking into account their dragons either. Great, big beasts that could block out the sun as they flew overhead. They were beautiful. When you were young, you often thought about sneaking off to the Dragon Pit, stealing an egg and waiting for it to hatch. Then you could fly away when it was old enough and go and live somewhere secluded. Or even just travel, and live where you please.

At least that way there would be no expectations on you except the ones you placed on yourself.

But you were young then, and all children had to grow up eventually.

So you did your duties, curtsied when required, learnt your needlepoint and sat through age after age of lessons with the Septors. Your only real peace was in the library or the gardens. Hidden away where you could let your legs splay like a man’s would, or hunch your back over a leatherbound book. You could be unladylike and no one would know. Or care. It was the perfect escape.

Until he started coming around, possibly looking for his own escape. He hadn’t noticed you the first few times, or maybe he just pretended not to, but when you saw him, you’d always snap back into place, sitting pretty like a lady should.

You had your book in front of your face, elbow on your knee and hand propping up your chin. You were hunched over the novel, enraptured by the tales of daring, dragons and adventure. You were so enraptured by the words on the page that you didn’t notice the arrival of another person in the back corner of the gardens until a hand was between you and the pages, raising your chin with their fingers.

Oh.

“My, aren’t you the picture of decorum,” he teased, eyes glinting with mischief. You snapped back into yourself, your brain suddenly catching up to the situation at hand. Your back instantly straightened, though his fingers lingered under your chin for another few moments. Then they were gone, taking their warmth with them.

“My apologies, my Prince,” you breathed, suddenly very aware of the heat in his gaze and the fact that you were both out here in the gardens, hour growing darker by the minute and unchaperoned. “Would you like the solace of the gardens? They’re quite peaceful at this hour, I find. Should I take my leave?”

You make to escape to the safety of the castle halls, but Daemon stops you, fingers brushing the skin of your bare arm softly to keep you from leaving and yet giving you room to run should you need it.

“Running away so soon? And without your gift, too. You wound me, my lady-“ he practically purrs, a sly grin spreading across his lips. You tear your eyes from where his fingers brush your skin, sliding up his chest and settling on his mouth.

“Gift?” You echo quietly, confusion evident in your voice. Daemon’s grin widens just a touch, almost imperceptible. Gifts weren��t common unless a courtship was underway, and the Prince had so far not shown any interest in you as far as you knew. But then, they didn’t have to. All a man had to do was woo your father to get to you. Not an easy task, thankfully, and yet… “My Prince, I-“

Daemon shushed you gently and presented you with a pomegranate from behind his back. You looked at the fruit, perfectly ripe. You’d always loved pomegranates, but they weren’t common here, and they were expensive. A frivolous expense saved for the royal family, your father would say. You’d only ever had one before on your fifteenth name day. It was a memory you cherished deeply.

Daemon arched a brow when you still hadn’t taken the fruit from him, and you reached for it gratefully. You roll the fruit in your fingers, finally meeting his gaze.

“Thank you, your Grace,” you say, a coy smile playing across your lips. You can’t help it. He is rather handsome, even if a bit older than yourself. You play at the thoughts of being his wife. His strong arms holding you at night, watching he and his dragon, Caraxes, come in after a long flight. You shake the thoughts from your mind. One pomegranate did not mean that Daemon Targaryen wanted to wed you and take you far away- no matter how much you might wish for it. “A very kind gift.”

“I’ve seen you,” he says, disregarding the praise, and you stand, putting the book onto the chair you were just inhabiting. “Hiding away. What do you hide from?”

You look over his shoulder out at the bay below. If you close your eyes, you can almost hear the water lapping at the shore. You shouldn’t be out here. You shouldn’t be having this conversation. The Court was well aware of Daemon’s reputation, and being caught out here alone would do no wonders for your own.

“I…” you fight to find the right words, not wanting to be offensive but not wanting to lie or bend the truth either. “Everything.”

Daemon doesn’t reply to that. It’s a silent request for you to elaborate, but you get the feeling he knows exactly what you’re talking about anyway.

“Do you not want to see what the world has to offer? Do you not want to fly away and live a peaceful life away from the burdens of our society? To be improper and free?”

Gods, you’d do anything to take a big bag of gold and set off somewhere else. Anywhere else. Maybe a nice villa in Quarth, or perhaps Dorne. It was true the Westerosi had a delicate relationship with the Dornish, but you’d always wanted to see the Dornish countryside. You’d read about it, of course, and had seen the painted ink artworks etched into the geography books the Septors had you memorising from the age of six, but that was nothing compared to being able to see it, to feel the sand in your fingers. You’d never even seen sand, locked up in the castle as you were.

Daemon doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t need to. The way he looks out upon the view of the bay below tells you everything you need to know. He does.

“You’ve never travelled far then?” He asks, effectively deflecting the conversation from both the topic of himself and back onto you. He was quite good at that, deflecting probing questions about his person. Daemon was a relatively private man, not that there was anything wrong with that.

You let out a rather unladylike breath and clasped your hands together around the pomegranate.

“I’ve not been past the castle gates, my Prince,” you replied sadly, eyes flitting to the castle walls below. You’d been here your whole life. It was too dangerous, supposedly, to travel far. Especially when the common folk were unhappy. Or so father says.

You do not miss the slight furrow of his brow, but it is smoothed only moments later. He takes a breath in and turns back to you.

“Now that is a shame,” he clicks his tongue. “Perhaps I should sneak you out of the castle one night and show you what fun you can have in the city below.”

Your eyes widen comically at the thought, and you find yourself spluttering at the proposition. Underneath the inbuilt horror response to the idea of leaving the castle, however, you consider what you might see if you were to accept.

Taverns and drunkards laughing and singing their songs? Market-goers scrambling for the best price on a rare fruit? Or perhaps dog fights? You knew, of course, there were also far less enjoyable things happening on the streets below, but they didn’t sit right on your mind, so you attempted not to picture them.

“Perhaps,” you reply amicably. “Though what I would truly love to see is over the Narrow Sea. Other lands…” Your smile turns upwards slightly. “Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

Daemon chuckles, keeping a close eye on you. Then here’s there, in your space, crowding you against the banisters and twirling a piece of your hair around his finger playfully.

“Would I be permitted to call on you tomorrow?” He asks devilishly, eyes glinting in such a way that tells you that he doesn’t much care what your father thinks about calling on you. All you need to do is say yes. “We could take a stroll in the gardens, or… perhaps-”

Your mouth makes a sound, and you have to stop yourself from interrupting him. The words die on his tongue and he nods his head for you to continue.

“I do apologise, your Grace,” you rush out. “It’s just… would you perhaps take me to the Dragon Pit? I should love to see your dragon.”

His expression appears familiar, as though this is a request he has heard before.

“I don’t think your father would take too kindly to me taking his eldest daughter to the Dragon Pits, my lady,” he replied amusedly, lips twitching.

“It will be our little secret,” you hush back, biting back a laugh. Daemon seems to like this, the idea of a secret between you.

“Allow me to walk you back to your chambers, my lady,” Daemon says, reaching for your book and letting the ringlet of hair go. The action sends a shiver down your spine but you allow him to do so. You thank him for the kind offer and the both of you set off towards your family's chambers.

It’s a short walk, which is a shame, but you find yourself giddy at the prospect of what the morning may bring.

When you reach your chambers, your father is waiting for you, watching the moon draw darkness through the windows. The hour is late and he was worried for you, and when he sees Daemon kiss your hand goodbye with the promise of seeing you tomorrow, his eyes narrow in suspicion.

“You won’t mind, will you, my lord?” Daemon feigns the question, knowing that as the Prince, he cannot say no. “If I call upon your daughter again tomorrow?”

Your father agrees to it, but he doesn’t look overly pleased. He’s aware of Daemon’s reputation as well, clearly.

You bid Daemon good night, thank him once again for the pomegranate and set about your routine before you retire for the evening. You do not, however, expect to get much if any sleep tonight, though.

Tomorrow you meet a dragon. Daemon Targaryen’s dragon, no less.

What more could a girl ask for?

861 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 30 days

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 15

Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sibling!Reader

a/n: I became suddenly ill about three days ago and my brain is still quite mushy so I think this has been proofread but there might be some errors here and there I’ll try to iron out once I’m better!! Sorry for any scruples and I hope you enjoy!! 🧡💛

warnings: angst, general depression, violence (self-attempted)

word count: 16,175

-Part 14- -Part 16-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Azriel catches her eye from across the room, weary hazel locking with bright amber that swirls in the faelight of the living room.

His tension is more palpable than usual, the conversation from yesterday with the golden-eyed male only further contributing to the death knell gonging quietly at the back of his mind, creaking through his knees, echoing in each footstep—each breath he takes. Time seems to be dripping by faster, even more so than usual. In the cobwebbed chambers of his mind he’s able to recall a time where days were his chosen measurement, where a twenty-four hour period contained beginning, middle, and end. But as he’d grown older, those chunks had grown with him, his perception of time shifting the more of it he lived through. Soon enough weeks were his days, calculating how much could be done over the period, sleep a small break to be indulged in between work. Then it had shifted to months—twelve to fit everything into, nights morphing into short naps.

Now years feel like days once had, time no longer a steady drip of water from the roof of a dark cell ceiling where he’d been kept locked away from the light, but a steady trickle as it carves its way through stone.

Shadows conceal his absence from the laughter-filled room, removing himself from the uncomfortably bright corner to a place of familiarity, shifting into the darker hallways as he sighs, feet positioned instinctively equidistant, weight spread evenly, fearing one lapse in discipline might bring him back to those days where he knew nothing of fighting, nothing of how to defend himself. To those days where he had to learn relentlessly, practice until his body couldn’t move in desperate attempts to cover the ground he’d lost years to.

Mor enters into the darkness, coming from the yellow-orange light that’s spilling into the blue-purple hallway, heels effortlessly silent upon the floorboards as her nocturnal eyes seek him out. Her features are already serious, easily picking up on his mood despite his efforts to conceal it. The depths of it, at least.

“Az?” Mor asks quietly, expression curious but solemn.

“She’s gone,” he murmurs shortly. Mor’s eyes flash with alarm at the revelation, before her brows tuck together. “What do you mean she’s gone? Where?”

“I don’t know,” he admits grimly. “I paid a visit to one of her friends afternoon yesterday, but he refused to answer anything.”

“What do you mean, she’s gone, Az?” Mor hisses, disbelief sharpening her muffled tone. Azriel grinds his jaw, but relents—this is more important. “I mean, she isn’t at the House of Wind. She left a note saying she would be at Bas’, and would be back but she wasn’t. When I went to get her, she wasn’t there either,” he summarises, expression sombre.

“What else?” Mor asks sternly, the brightness about her having faded faster than a flame extinguished. Azriel licks his lips, bracing himself, before explaining: she has magic but it’s been giving her trouble, she’d wanted to try using it without anyone else knowing and he’d let her, Elain’s vision prophesying his death at her hand.

To Mor’s credit, her features don’t drain entirely of colour, and it takes her no more than a few seconds of heavy silence for her to muster up a response. “What magic?” Mor asks first, keeping her tone quiet but clipped, judgement clear enough she doesn’t need to voice it. And Azriel won’t address it, either. “Her hands could glow a little around the fingertips. We didn’t know what it did, though.”

“And the trouble?”

“It dried her skin out, among other things.” Mor’s lips part, eyes closing briefly as she sighs. “The gloves.” Azriel doesn’t need to provide confirmation for her to have connected the dots.

But then her eyes open, slowly sliding to his, an edge of viciousness underlying their amber cut, one he withstands reluctantly. Mor swallows, jaw tense, watching him. “How long have you known about this?” She asks, lethally softly. Not how long has she had magic, how long has he known. And not told them. “About a fortnight.”

Mor’s eyes gleam with hostility, and his features become stony, walls raising up as she watches him silently. Judgement falling heavy on his shoulders. “Why tell me now?” She asks shortly. She isn’t chewing him out, nor is she outwardly rancorous. Not good a good sign. “Bas won’t tell me where she is,” he replies neutrally, Mor’s eyes flaring as she puts it together. “You want me to ask him.” Azriel nods, despite her already knowing.

She glances at him reproachfully, another look he withstands passively, and then she’s turning sharply on her heel, making back toward the light, back toward the laughter. Silent as a shadow, Azriel catches her upper arm, having to exert surprising force to keep her still. “Where are you going?” He asks coldly.

“Where do you think?” She counters sharply.

“They have enough on their plates,” Azriel mutters. As if on queue, Nyx’s laugher giggles through the halls, a stark contrast to the gloom lurking just beyond the light’s end. Mor snatches her arm away. “You have enough on your plate,” she says lowly, eyes glinting as they cut through him, “we could have made room. You should have told us.” But Azriel stands his ground, not giving an inch. “It was the right call.”

“You have no idea where she is,” Mor counters. “No idea where she is, or what state she might be in. What makes you think that was the right call?”

“You’re questioning my judgement?”

“Yes, I’m fucking questioning your judgement,” she hisses back lowly.

“She told me she didn’t want any of you to know,” he counters coldly, “she’s reclusive anyway, suddenly outing her wouldn’t have done anything helpful.”

The wording seems to strike something in Mor, ire banking, eyes shuttering briefly, before she’s gritting her jaw again. “You should have told us.”

“She barely managed to tell me,” Azriel states, “Elain didn’t even know until the vision that her sister had magic.”

“You know you should have told us.”

“And betrayed her trust when she chose to tell me?” Azriel asks cooly. “You didn’t see how scared she was.”

“Maybe she wasn’t scared of us finding out but of speaking with you.”

Azriel blinks, the only sign of his falter he’ll allow, caught off guard by the accusation. She’s never shown any fear of him before… “She has no reason to be scared of me.” He says finally.

A look of frustration flits through Mor’s amber eyes. “She’s young. This is probably the first time she’s experiencing strong feelings toward someone else,” she says lowly, “surely you can remember what that’s like.” Azriel bristles at the pointed look, the insulting comparison between his past love for Mor and the affection being unwelcomely pushed his way. “She’s infatuated. It happens,” he replies tersely, not taking kindly to the manipulation. “And she went through the war too—she isn’t that unaware. You’re doing her a disservice.”

“The disservice here is you not affording her the care she needs—to the point she’s chosen to run away,” Mor practically spits.

Terse silence stretches between them, sour and resentful.

“We aren’t going to come to an agreement,” Azriel says at last, tone clipped, but both of them know it’s better to move on for now. They can fight it out later, once things are resolved and taken care of. “You speak to Bas first, then we can find out who she’s gone to. She could be anywhere in the Night Court, knowing him.”

“We tell Rhys and Feyre first,” Mor demands lowly. But Azriel shakes his head, “if you want to be the one to tell Feyre her sister is missing and we don’t know where she is, be my guest.”

Silence stretches further, growing tauter by the second, until Mor sighs sharply. “Fine,” she grits out. “Bas first.”

Azriel nods, making to turn around, heading for the door.

“But you are telling Feyre,” Mor hisses lowly. “Whether we find out or not. Tonight.”

Azriel pauses, jaw tightening. But gives a sharp nod.

————

Once again he slinks back to the male’s house, the bright sun lost to winter’s oncoming grip, dark clouds shielding the stars from view.

Despite the silence between them, he can feel Mor’s judgement pressing into him, but he has no time to argue or persuade. After the…discussion, with the male the other day, he’d needed time to plan, regroup his thoughts. Time. Seemingly so sparse, as of late. He could afford little more than twenty-four hours of inaction before a decision would have to be made—he hadn’t come this far by sitting around aimlessly when faced with a hard choice. It seemed the only reasonably way forward would be to acquiesce to the male’s demand, as much as Azriel despised so. It was the smarter option.

The other would have been to lay hands on him, and no matter how urgent the matter was, the male was still a civilian, and untrained for war, at that. Violence was entirely out of the question.

He knocks thrice on the door, sharp and punctuated hits to alert the male of company, before stepping back to allow space for Mor.

Gleaming golden eyes pierce out into the darkness, and Azriel knows he doesn’t miss the hint of smugness in their gilded depths as he marks the presence of another, as he’d requested. To verify his claim that there were indeed urgent matters afoot. Azriel refuses to show even a hint of irritation, keeping his face cold and passive—Bas won’t get the satisfaction of seeing him riled. He’d have to work much harder for that.

“You’re back late,” Bas drawls from the warm glow of his house, once again leaning cockily against the broad wooden frame, ankles crossed, one foot keeping the door held to—away from prying eyes. “And you’ve brought company,” he muses, glancing to Mor at his side. The female steps forward, the yellowy-orange light from inside making her glow as she offers a tight smile. “Bas, correct?” Golden eyes sweep over her analytically, before he nods, shifting slightly. “Mor,” he acknowledges, “she mentioned you, too.” No signs of surprise mar her open expression, kept sealed beneath that deceptive mask she can wear to charm at any time.

“That’s why we came to see you, actually,” Mor begins calmly, straightforward. “I’m of the understanding you know her whereabouts, but are unwilling to disclose them for various reasons.”

“That’s right,” he replies slowly, expression shifting to something more wary. His provocative nature shying away from perceived earnestness. “She doesn’t want any visitors.”

Mor nods her head gently, understanding shimmering faintly in amber eyes, threads of her hair catching the golden glow of inner light, glinting with the motion. “I can understand that, but this is very important,” she says sincerely, worry shining in her face Azriel know she doesn’t have to fake. Still the male remains cautious in the doorway. “Azriel wasn’t lying when he told you this conflicts with Court matters,” Mor begins slowly, and the shadowsinger tamps down on the urge to glance at her warily. Though he knows she won’t reveal anything, there’s no need to offer scraps. “I’m afraid there’s little I can honestly tell you due to their private nature, but nonetheless I would like to speak with you about her. She is a part of our family, and we are deeply concerned about her. I’m sure you can understand our worry.”

Quiet pauses long enough to take a deep breath, before resuming to its consistent noise.

Eventually, Bas nods his head, standing straighter. A grain of tension is released from his shoulders as the male opens his door, yielding to a conversation. He makes to step forward, but sharp golden eyes flick to him, piercing and accusing in their nature. “I’ll speak with Mor, and Mor alone,” he states clearly, an edge of provocation creeping back into his features, though the Shadowsinger doubts its sincerity.

But Mor nods her head, “that’s fine,” she answers, brushing past his side, pulling the cold night air with her, a whisper of icy breath grazing his side as she moves forward, leaving him out in the dark. “Don’t move from here until we’re done,” Mor instructs from over her shoulder once Bas has disappeared from the entrance hall. Azriel nods, understanding the implication.

Listen in from outside.

————

The room she follows Bas into is cozy, well-kept. Clearly lived in.

The pillows of the sofas are slightly worn, slightly faded in colour, waned down to more earthy tones that compliment the pale terracotta of the walls. Fire crackles from the hearth, dried rosemary hung from the ceiling beams, as well as other dried herbs and plants. On the wall are some paintings, mostly stills, but they’re watery around their edges, faded colour bleeding over fine, distinct ink lines.

Bas takes a seat that seems to fit him comfortably, likely one he usually chooses, while Mor opts for one nearby, a quilt thrown over its back, squares of purple, blue, turquoise, and magenta knitted together, and she can make out small patches in the yarn where its been run thin and had to be darned with slightly mismatched thread.

“So,” Bas starts, quieter than she had expected, sitting forward in her chair, attentive. “You’re worried about her. Why?” It’s hard to conceal her frown at such a strange question, but she doesn’t really try to. She doubts she’ll get anywhere through masking her reactions. “She’s part of our family,” Mor replies, “why wouldn’t we be worried about her.” Bas settles deeper into his chair, hands braced on arms, head tilted back into the pillow as he watches her intently. It’s not an expression she’s unfamiliar with, but not one she had expected to encounter here—something wary and deeply protective.

“She doesn’t speak much about any of you,” he hedges slowly, keeping his posture relaxed. “But it’s enough. You aren’t as close knitted as family.” Mor opens her mouth to speak, but he continues. “Even if you try to be,” he says, nodding, “she isn’t easy to get to.” Mor closes her mouth, lips pursing in a tight line. He sighs, shifting in his seat, pushing a thick loc of hair from his face, hooking it over a thoroughly pierced ear. “I believe that you’re concerned about her, and that you truly want to help,” he says heavily, attitude shifted from how he’d been outside, and Mor wonders what Bas might have been told about the Shadowsinger to warrant such ice.

“We do,” she urges sincerely, and Bas nods again, hearing her.

“What I…worry about,” he starts hesitantly, forming the words carefully, considering each one. “I worry you don’t understand her enough to make an informed call,” he settles on, and Mor bristles a little. How long has Bas known her for? Does he know her more than Mor does? “What leads you to that way of thinking?” She asks, keeping the stiffness from her tone.

“I know you don’t see her much,” he replies simply, and again Mor’s lips purse. “She doesn’t enjoy…full, settings. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t care, though.” He sighs, eyes briefly closing, before reopening with a fresh intensity, sitting upright in his chair, forearms braced on his thighs. “Do you know how we met? Me and her?”

Mor’s brow dips, but she answers anyway, curious where he’s going with this. “Through Nesta, right?” Bas nods, something passing through his eyes at the right answer. “Right,” he confirms, “making time to visit those stuffy inns, filled with groping hands—she hates places like that.” Bas sighs again, hand rubbing one side of his face. “I don’t even know if it helped at all, but I know she felt it was all she could do. Even if it was just company, and nothing material. Even if it might not’ve had an overall impact, that was her way of trying to help.”

Mor remains quiet, not seeing what he’s trying to say.

Bas shakes his head, as if telling her to forget about it, again rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, I don’t even know if I can speak on her behalf, and I like to think we’re fairly close with one another,” he admits, sighing heavily. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

“So you’ll let me where she’s gone?” Mor asks, concern heavy in her voice, making no effort to conceal her worry. She watches as the pads of his fingers rub over his eyes wearily, as she wonders if this is straining on him more than he’s letting on. “Try to understand her, when she talks,” he requests quietly, eyes still shut, fingers rubbing faintly. “She still confuses me sometimes, and she never shows if it bothers her, but I can’t imagine someone being okay with being misunderstood.”

“Bas,” Mor urges gently, sensing he’s on the verge of telling her whereabouts. “Please tell us where she’s gone. We don’t want her to feel alone.”

Bas doesn’t look up, face still covered by his hands, but Mor can make out the tightness of his brows, torn between his decisions. So close to cracking open.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

Mor blinks, eyes locking with gold as he looks at her through his fingers, fatigue obvious beneath his gaze, the lines more pronounced as the flame casts the shadows of his digits across his features, deepening the half circles that have appeared.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mor asks, biting down on shock, clearing it entirely from her voice. “She didn’t tell me,” he answers quietly.

Silence stretches, and even in the haze and confusion that’s been stirred up she has enough clarity to feel the piercing weight of a glare through a window, heavy and accusing. Tension crackles in her spine, flipping her golden hair over a shoulder, a subtle message to piss off to the shadows that are watching from outside.

She sighs heavily, meeting the golden eyes of the male opposite her, now sat back in his chair as he was before, but his back is slumped, as if containing all that worry had been stretching him taut. Relieved to no longer be the sole barer of her secrets. “Do you—…” Mor eases in a sharp breath, settling the worry and gradually increasing panic that’s tightening around her throat. She swallows, pulling herself together. Recomposing herself. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?” She asks calmly. “Anything could help.”

But Bas shakes his head, guilt clear in his golden eyes. “She didn’t give me any hints. But she had a bag with her, so I’m guessing she had somewhere in mind and didn’t just aimlessly wander off.”

Mor nods, getting to her feet, golden eyes tracking her movements. “Thank you for telling me,” she says sincerely, before turning for the door.

“I know that leaving in the middle of the night without telling anyone where you’re going seems rash—maybe even a bit stupid,” Bas says after her, voice a little clearer to catch her attention. “But she’s smart. I’d wager it was probably something she’d had in the back of her mind for a while.”

Mor swallows thickly, the possibility not sitting well with her, but nods nonetheless.

“I’ll let you know when we find her.”

————

Azriel waits sullenly in the front garden for Mor to exit the male’s house, darkening the doorstep he’d been instructed to remain in until she was done.

He watches the door open and close, Mor stepping out into the night air, latch clicking softly as it locks behind her, and the two make their way silently at first down the garden path, back into the street before they begin communicating. “That certainly didn’t take long,” he muses lowly, glancing at her sidelong. “I take it you heard everything?” She asks quietly, tension clear in the cold bite of her usually honeyed voice. Azriel gives a brisk nod, and Mor sighs. “What now?”

“There are only so many places she could have gone to,” Azriel replies smoothly, mind already running through the possibilities. Honestly, Bas not knowing almost helps more—it has to be someone she knows. There are only two places she could have possibly run off to, though neither of them seem particularly believable. That being thought, he knows where he’ll check first.

“You have an idea?” Mor asks tightly, a bit of a bite to her question. Azriel nods grimly, “Elain mentioned a fox in her vision,” he explains, “apparently they grow close—enough to make a bargain of some sort, anyway.”

“Elain saw the bargain in her vision?” Mor questions. Azriel nods. “We don’t know if that’s symbolism or not,” she mutters, “we have no idea how accurate they are, either. Nor how soon they’ll come to pass.” Her tone softens toward the end a little, but Azriel isn’t willing to speak about that part of the prophecy yet. That he will be dying. Probably soon, going off how vivid Elain’s descriptions were—as if it were urgent. Impending.

“And you’re sure Elain doesn’t know where she’s gone?” Mor asks, keeping her gaze ahead, brows pulled together in concentration, a glint in her warrior’s eyes. “She might do,” Azriel sighs, “they are close, after all. And the fox…”

“Could be Lucien,” Mor finishes heavily. “You think she’s run to the mortal lands. Back to her home.” Azriel remains silent, keeping pace as they return silently to the River House.

Piercing amber eyes dig into the side of his skull, the intensity of her attention almost startling if he hadn’t had centuries to grow accustomed to it. He senses the question, just as she could sense he was holding something back.

Azriel doesn’t look at her as he speaks, “there’s only one other person the fox might represent.”

Even without visuals, he can hear how her pace nearly falters, then comes to a stop. He pauses with her, at last turning to face the golden haired female. Her skin is paler, even taking the silver of the moon into account. “You think she might have gone to Eris?” She asks, voice thick, but quiet. No more than a breath of wind. “I think it’s one of the two. There’s no one else it could be.”

“She’s only met him once,” Mor snaps lowly, nails digging into her palms. Azriel makes a show of shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “It’s one or the other,” he says calmly, “if she isn’t in the Mortal lands…”

Mor stares at him, amber eyes drained a little. “You really think there’s a chance he could have…taken her?” She practically spits, unable to keep the hiss out of her voice. Because when it comes to that long ago trauma, her only responses to fall back on are fear, or anger. He doubt she’ll allow the vulnerability of fear right now. Not with the tension between them. “I think it’s better to question Elain first to see if she knows anything. If she doesn’t, I’ll make my way down Prythian.”

Mor blinks, realising the situation. She had demanded Azriel be the one to tell Feyre, regardless of whether they find anything or not. But with the new possibility of her having somehow found herself in the Autumn Court…Mor’s throat rolls heavily. She can’t bring herself to go there. Even now, the thought alone…she pushes against the urge to settle her palm over her abdomen. “We question Elain first,” she manages quietly, and Azriel can see how she’s gathering herself back together.

Instinct is the closest it comes to, that feeling she’s somehow run off to the Autumn Court, like a tug toward the unfamiliar land. Surely Elain would have mentioned something to him about a plan for her sister to leave when she’d been telling him about the vision. It’s the option that makes the most sense, for her to have spoken with Elain, and used a tunnel to reach the border quickly. With all the books she’s read in the library…the kind of things they contain, he doesn’t doubt she’d be more than capable of figuring a way to sneak out of the Night Court. To sneak out of Prythian if she set her mind to it.

Mor nods, and Azriel redirects his attention to the street, continuing the pace. “Question Elain,” she murmurs, “then head to Autumn first. If she isn’t there, go to the Lower Lands. Be as quick as possible.” He nods, admittedly relieved he won’t have to yet face Rhys for the mess he’s inadvertently caused.

————

“Eris, I’m tired,” you sigh, hands aching, sitting dejectedly on a tree stump.

As much as you’d protested, he’d dragged you back out into the forest, where everything feels encased in a glass bubble. It’s hard to explain when you think about it, but it’s like being in another world, how easily the trees sweep away and redirect noise. Hairs prickle at the back of your neck as you remember the giant, boar-like creature that had rampaged upon you mere days ago. The sight and smell of steaming blood as skin slid from flesh, melted apart.

“You haven’t even done anything,” he mutters, watching. “Get back up.”

You sigh heavily, reluctantly getting to your feet, then blinking heavily, suddenly crouching down as you press your palms to your eyes, trying to steady yourself from the abrupt dizziness that had ballooned into your head. Lips part as you try to concentrate on your breathing, wishing away the sudden feeling of unevenness beneath your feet. Eventually it passes, a few extra moments spent crouched for good measure, before you slowly stand back up, hand pressing to the side of your head. Cutting whiskey and amber eyes are piercing into you from across the clearing. You scowl back.

“What was that?” He asks, disapprovingly, your scowl deepening at the tone.

“I told you: I’m tired,” you snap, but it lacks the bite you’d wished for, fatigue building into a slow but heavy pulse inside your head, just above and behind your brows. A yawn rises from your chest, and you cover your mouth as it stretches you open, eyes squeezing shut, watering a little before you slump back into your usual posture, no longer pulled taut by your muscles.

His sharp eyes narrow accusingly, and you bristle at the look, trying to summon up the energy to glare at him. “Did you eat breakfast this morning?” He asks sharply, and you grimace, knowing he won’t approve of the answer. But you really don’t have the energy to lie, either. “No, I didn’t,” you sigh, “I was feeling sick.” Something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone too quickly for you to even attempt to recognise. “You were probably feeling sick from hunger,” he mutters, as if it’s obvious, arms folding over his chest, leaning back against a tree. “Using magic can take up a lot of energy, even if it doesn’t feel like it. You should have—”

“I know the difference,” you hiss, lip twitching up in the beginnings of a snarl, before once again flattening out, and you sit back on the stump, uncaring if it pisses him off. You hope it does.

“Do you?” He muses, a bladed edge to his tone that has your stomach tightening, glancing at him warily from across the clearing. You tense as he pushes off from the tree, then vanishes, and you jump as he appears on your other side, peering down at you, unimpressed. “You know how to tell when your magic is draining you? Because those are some pretty big steps to have made seemingly overnight.” Your lips purse, averting your gaze, sullenly looking away. “That’s what I thought.”

“I know the difference between hungry sickness and—” you falter, but manage to finish the sentence, “…and being unwell.”

Eris pauses, and you want to meet his gaze and glare at him, but your head just feels too heavy on your shoulders, and the general fatigue hasn’t been aided by the light sheen of sweat that’s been layering your body each morning, before you’ve wobbly stumbled to the washroom, clutching your stomach. You’ve yet to actually regurgitate anything though—your one blessing. It’s like those initial months after the Cauldron all over again.

“Look at me,” he instructs, and you glare at the ground, irritation growing in your chest. It wouldn’t hurt him to be a little more gentle with his attitude. His demeanour, in general. A curse sits, unspoken, at the tip of your tongue when he grips your jaw, angling your chin upward so he can examine you. Again your lips twitch in a slight snarl, but the energy fails quickly. Amber eyes sweep over your features, and you avert your gaze when his own settle intensely on yours. He releases you after a too-long moment, allowing you your space again, and you glare at him. “What was that for?”

“You look worse than usual,” he answers flatly.

You glare at him resentfully, unable to muster up the laugh you usually would whenever he makes a comment like that. Instead you just feel irritated. His brows narrow further, “how much have you been sleeping recently?” He pushes. You shrug, briefly glancing away.

“A normal amount. I’m fine, just let me sit down, it’s not that big of an issue if I’m not standing, right?”

“Are you coming up for your cycle?”

The bones in your hands creak, groaning with strain and you hiss as pain flares weakly beneath your gloves at your fingertips. You tuck your hands under your arms, trying to soothe their sting as you glare at him. “Do not ask me that,” you snap, legs crossing on the tree stump. You half expect his lips to quirk at the easily given reaction, but his brow dips a little. “You don’t have to give me a direct answer,” he says at last, a touch gentler than before, but still stern. “Just answer if it could be related.”

You hesitate at the tone, jaw still tight with tension, but you swallow thickly. “No,” you manage quietly, “not for another few months, at least.”

“Then as much as you disagree, it would be a good idea to eat first, then see if you improve,” he replies, back to his usual drawl, laced with distaste. Enough to almost have your lips curving a little at their edges. “So we’ll be going back to have lunch right this second,” you muse, glancing up at him, “and you aren’t going to set some stupid challenge for me to fulfil beforehand. Right? Because that would be very impractical.”

His amber eyes glint with something you’ve decided is the closest he’ll get to open amusement, brow raising slightly. “Why waste a good motive?” He counters, “looks like you’re catching on.” You force a groan, if only in attempts to lighten the mood from whatever dark grave it had settled into, and you reluctantly get to your feet, taking it slow incase your head starts swimming again. “What is it this time?” Eris nods to the tree that looks to have been recently cut down, the counterpart to the trunk you’re sat upon. “I want you to try touching the bark,” he instructs, and you look at him quizzically. Seems easy enough.

You watch him questioningly as you stand and make your way over to the tree, putting your hands down.

“Done?” You say slowly, confusion blatant in the furrow of your brows as you stare at him.

Eris stares at you blankly, before raising his palm to cover the lower portion of his features, concealing his mouth. “Using your magic,” he adds disbelievingly, mouth still covered.

You blink, then flush with embarrassment, hand covering your own mouth as laughter bubbles up from your chest. “Oh,” you manage, shoulders shaking lightly, not helped by the matching amusement reflecting in his amber eyes—amusement he’s struggling to conceal. “I thought—” you break off, a smile stretching wide behind your palm, chest stuttering with mirth. “I thought you meant I just had to touch it.” He shakes his head, seemingly beyond speech. “You want to see how the bark reacts when I touch it with my magic,” you clarify, nodding your head, still trying to tamp down the laughter that’s heating your eyes faintly. He confirms with a slight nod of his head, and you take a deep breath, trying to sober up. “I see,” you nod again, at last recovered enough to lower your hands to remove your gloves, a smile still faintly curving your lips. “I’ll give it a go.”

“Why would I ask you to touch a tree?” Eris asks from somewhere at your back, tone almost settled back to his usual drawl, dripping of disapproval. “I’m tired,” you reply, not nearly as practiced as he is at keeping your tone neutral as you glance at him over your shoulder, “you should have clarified better.” Eris shakes his head, before nodding to the tree trunk.

You take in a breath, returning to look at the bark—what would happen if you touched it?

Closing your eyes briefly, you steady out your breaths, inhaling slow and deep, feeling your shoulders lose their tension before reopening your eyes. Focusing on the bark again now that you’re settled. “What should I do?” You ask, not taking your gaze from the tree or your hands.

“Try thinking about different things, exploring how they make you feel,” he replies steadily. How helpful, you think, but leave the comment unvoiced—you’re trying to concentrate. You think about how the light had appeared before, when he’d gotten you to briefly sustain it. It had hurt at first, you’d had the chance to realise, but after the initial rush of pain, the creak of bones and your groaning carpals, it had faded more into a slight tingle, like your fingers had fallen asleep, wrapped in a vague warmth.

You swallow thickly, thinking about the flat-topped ring in your pocket, the absence of weight in your ears, how they correlate. You don’t regret the decision to sell them off, to your slight surprise. More indifferent to the change, if not slightly excited at your choice. Doing something for yourself, on your own, that nobody knew about. It’s nice, having secrets.

“Now press them to the bark,” Eris instructs, and you look down in surprise to spot the faint greenish-gold glow weaving between your fingers—almost like fish slowly weaving throughout water as they struggle upstream, but less frenetic. Slowly, keeping your breathing steady, you press your palms against the bark, palms shaking slightly as the light flickers, almost flinching slightly as it hesitantly makes contact with the new surface.

You jerk away when something lances up your wrist, stinging pain spearing beneath your skin as the tang of copper bursts in the air. The magic extinguishes in an instant, snuffed out with a single recoiling thought, and your breathing loses its pattern as you glance down at your right palm. What looks like a popped blister sits on the heel of your hand, except the liquid that gleams had a red tint to it, mixed with blood. You sigh heavily, left hand holding your right wrist lightly, thumb pressing the flesh just below the blister, watching as blood rises to the surface. The skin around it is flakier than before, a little discoloured, and you spot a mole at the knuckle of your little finger, poking meekly out from the skin, as if worried over being spotted and pulled away.

Eris walks up to your side, glancing down at the bark, the absence of any sort of change. It looks exactly the same. “I guess nothing happened,” you hedge, glancing warily down at the tree, searching for some kind of change.

Eris is quiet, and you at last turn to peer up at him, wondering what he’s thinking. His silence is waring. Amber eyes latch with your own, narrowed and slightly impatient, before the emotion is swiftly wrapped away. “I had hoped to make more progress,” he muses lowly, and you regard him with caution at the hushed tone. His eyes gleam with something you can’t figure out, wariness intensifying as he pulls something from his pocket—a small silk pouch.

You tilt your head, brows furrowed, “what is that?”

His lips sharpen at the edges, and tension coils beneath your skin—that type of expression is never good. “Open it,” he instructs simply, and you cautiously take it from his fingers, eyeing him again before carefully pulling the strings open, tipping the contents out into your palm. You blink as you take in the smooth band of metal, silver and gleaming against the flaws of your skin. “A…ring?” You ask, peering up at him questioningly. He nods, and you suppress your jolt when his fingers brush over your knuckles, plucking the band up and watching you intently as he smoothly slides it down to the base of the pointer finger on your left hand.

His demeanour has noticeably shifted, and your brows narrow further, suspicion roiling in your gut.

“It’ll help with keeping your magic calmer,” he explains lowly, secretively, and you manage a nod, confusion running rampant in your blood stream. “How so?” You ask, glancing down at the band, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist to keep you from moving. “You have a habit of straining yourself to keep the full force of your power from coming out,” he answers, thumb brushing your knuckle, and this time you glare up at him. His mouth only sharpens, amber eyes glinting with something that has the hairs raising at the nape of your neck. “I’m sure you’re familiar with how the Illyrians use siphons—so their raw type of magic doesn’t destroy everything around them?” You nod, tension lessening, again glancing down to the band. “Think of it like that—now you don’t have to waste concentration on keeping it all in check.”

He releases your hand, and you pull it closer to look at the silver, angling your head a little, understanding this must have been what that exchange had been about, when he’d gone down that dim, dark alleyway into the hidden chamber. “So it’s…a magic ring?” You ask, brows scrunched together as you look up at him. He raises a brow, “how astute of you.” You glare, lips curving faintly at the familiar intonation.

You swallow, stepping back a little, nodding your head. “I guess…” you breathe deeply, “as good a time as any.” You pull the flat-topped ring from your own pocket, and extend it toward him. “I saw this the other day in the market,” you say honestly, watching as his expression shifts, brow raising as he opens his palm. “It reminded me of you a little, and I probably won’t see you over the solstice anyway, so might as well give it to you now.”

Eris takes the ring, examining it, the small carving of the fox set in sterling silver. “A rather unique gift,” he muses, making the edges of your mouth curve.

“If you hate it, you don’t have to wear it,” you say, smiling lightly, “I just wanted to get it.” Though to your surprise, he doesn’t seem to despise it, sliding it over the thumb of his right hand—it seems to actually fit.

That viper’s smile returns to his sharpened mouth, eyes glinting again. “I don’t think your family would approve of a gift like this,” he drawls, more clearly than before, causing you to cock your head in question.

Lips fashion themselves into a razor-sharp grin, the expression more vulpine than fae.

“Isn’t that right, Shadowsinger?”

————

Eris raises his gaze to the forest, how the trees had whispered to him, calling out about the figure stalking their movements. Really, the shadowsinger should know not to hunt outside his own territory. The hulking, shadowy figure steps silently out into the clearing, with a quiet that’s been well-earned by the Spymaster of the Night Court.

Powerful wings are pulled to his body in traditional Illyrian fashion, save for the darkness wreathing the gleaming talons at their peaks, cold hazel eyes clashing with Eris’ own. Marking what the Spymaster has come for. It’s proximity to the male he hates viciously, bloodily, gruesomely.

“Shouldn’t you know not to sneak around in the shadows by now?” Eris drawls, hands settling around its shoulders, feeling stone-tight tension beneath his palms. Its magic fading, unable to winnow two people away, so left trapped in the clearing as the male prowls closer.

“Eris,” the Spymaster greets coldly, darkness unspooling upon the ground he treads, coming to a stop at the edge of the clearing. Not close enough for hand-to-hand combat, but too nearby for a proper display of magic. At least he’s smart enough to recognise he’s at a disadvantage in a foreign court—uninvited, at that. “Shouldn’t you know the consequences of displacing a member of Rhys’ court?” The Spymaster questions, lethally quiet.

Tremors flutter beneath Eris’ hands, still gripping her shoulders to keep her in place, and he glances down, only to find her already watching him. If it weren’t for the tremors, she would be as still as death. Her brows lifted and slightly curved, mouth pointed down at the edges. Betrayal stark in her normally bright eyes.

“You’re clearly uninformed,” Eris muses, pulling away from her scared eyes to meet cutting hazel. “This is a perfectly amicable meeting, isn’t it, cygnet?”

The Spymaster’s canines flash at the pet-name, the blatant taunt, the insinuation he’s made that she would choose himself over the Spymaster. That well-concealed wrath suffers a blow when she raises her hands to grip his wrists, nothing demanding about the touch—it’s a weak hold. As if asking for attention.

“Amicable or not,” the Spymaster says, expression stony, “you’ll return her. Unless you want Rhys to know about this abduction?” Eris shrugs, amusement sharpening his mouth as he selects his words carefully, “I’m not her keeper. She will return when she likes.” By the looks of it, the arrow lands, pupils constricting as the Spymaster takes a menacing step closer.

————

Your ears have hollowed out, stomach swallowing your heart. A quiet kind of panic tightening through your chest, pulse spiking. Dread sluicing through the rope holding you taut.

You’re staring up at him, holding on with as much strength as you can manage as a strange emotion rushes through your blood, softening your muscles until you’re struggling to stand, pushing every pleading word you’ve ever read into your eyes, silently begging for him to do something. To keep you from facing him on your own.

You know how easy it is for him to shatter you.

Amber eyes lower to yours, walls risen against Azriel’s presence, and your fingers stutter over the cuffs of his tunic, before the last of your strength drains. They’re glinting again with that challenge, and in the very back of your mind you can understand he’s using this as just another training exercise, but it’s hard to focus on through the ringing in your ears, that strange quiet that’s so loud it drowns out every other thought, like a thousand whispers hissing instructions too swiftly, too viciously for you to make them out, coming together in a swirling spiral that’s pulling you under.

Eris’ mouth is moving, eyes peering at something behind you, but you’re fine not hearing. Would prefer to fade from the world, to slip away quietly, unnoticed and un-missed. But then amber again returns to you, and with it sound comes crashing in too. “Pack up,” Eris orders, and you blink, his hands tightening on your shoulders as he feels the slight sway of your body.

“She’ll take a while,” Eris drawls, glancing back at the Shadowsinger—your stomach lurches—who remains a heavy presence at your back. “You may be unwelcome, but let’s not waste this opportunity. Using your General’s absence as an excuse not to meet has lost its worth. You will suffice.”

————

You feel half-awake as you pack your things, watching from some far away place as you fold clothes meticulously, with much more care than you usually would, taking your time gathering the few items you brought.

Clothes, an empty blue box, the thickly bound volume. A thin wooden box about the length of your arm, a note attached atop.

Use it wisely.

You pack the box in your bag, recognising the elegant script.

————

Azriel had followed silently, concealed within Eris’s shadow as he’d strode through the stretching hallways, leading the way to his own chambers, where they will be able to speak freely and most importantly, privately. Tension had simmered beneath his war-roughened skin the entire time, disliking even having to blend his shadows with the heirling’s, but it’s an intimacy he’s forced to yield.

The room Eris takes him to is big, to say the least, and open, with a large bed against a wall, a wooden chest at its foot, his desk adjacent so natural light fills the cavernous room—one that’s above ground. It’s here he emerges from shadow, filling space just beside the large wooden chest, an unlit fire quite a way to his left. Eris takes his time walking around the desk, sitting down comfortably, having the nerve to look relaxed—prick.

“So,” Eris begins, and Azriel bites against the urge to grind his teeth at the smug tone. “She ran away from you. Took her long enough.”

“How long have you been planning this?” Azriel asks coldly, completing a triple check of the room, making sure there’s no one else around. “You act like it was my idea,” the autumn heir drawls, successfully snaring his attention, something foul rising at the back of his throat at the implication. Likely the confirmation he needs that she had indeed left of her own volition. A muscle ticks in his jaw.

“You want me to believe she came all this way on a hope that you’d provide temporary asylum?” Azriel asks, rooting deeper. “She has a smart head on her shoulders,” Eris drawls, amusement glinting in sharp, amber eyes, “she knows how to bargain.”

His blood ices over, skin turning cold at the wording, demeanour plunging as his shadows deepen. “You made a bargain with her?” Azriel growls, pulse spiking. If a bargain has already been made… But Eris waves his hand, enough of a light dismissal for Azriel to figure she hasn’t mentioned Elain’s vision to him. One small ray of light amongst the storming thunder clouds she’s already brought upon herself.

“Do you find it so unbelievable that she might be capable of making arrangements on her own? Why do you assume I had any hand in it?” Eris drawls, making that glittering rage sharpen into razor-tipped icicles, poised to carve and slice. “You’re a conniving bastard,” Azriel says lowly, violence glinting in his hazel eyes, “she wouldn’t have come to you without some prompting.”

“You think I tricked her?” Eris muses, a trace of humour in his tone, Azriel’s brows narrowing with detestation. “What would I get out of that, unless she was complicit? I have no way of forcing her magic out of her, she has to want that on her own—as much as that might irritate Rhys.”

Loathing simmers in Azriel’s chest, but he remains quiet, allowing Eris to talk so he can gather as much information as he can from both sides. So he can compare her side with his later.

“I’m sure after Nesta Archeron, Rhys would be eager to find out what other weapons he might have at his disposal.”

“She isn’t a weapon,” Azriel snarls lowly, fury held back by straining iron manacles.

“But she could become one,” Eris counters, tone shifting to something more serious, and Azriel stiffens. “The timing’s a bit strange, don’t you think? Her magic only now coming through? After two years?”

“That’s not for you to speculate on.”

“Even without an alliance, it is a matter of concern,” Eris growls, brows narrowing as ire blazes in his eyes, glowing like freshly forged steel. “Why doesn’t she know anything?”

Azriel growls in warning, violence itching at his fingers, fists aching to slam down. Sparks crackle in the air, his own intentions seemingly reflected in the male before him. “You don’t have the luxury to ignore this pathway,” Eris growls lowly, “choosing to turn a blind eye would be damning.”

“She has her own problems to deal with,” Azriel snarls lowly, “you do not get to make that call.”

“I will make the call if Rhys doesn’t,” Eris snarls back, canines flashing viciously, “she could use some toughening up.”

“You don’t know enough to make an informed choice,” Azriel mutters coldly.

“Then Rhys had better hurry up. It’s not as though he’s unaccustomed to having to make decisions like this. What’s taking him so long?”

Azriel keeps still, features neutral, refusing to let even a hint of emotion appear in his blank expression.

Eris’ eyes narrow, sensing he’s being denied information. Vulpine senses picking up on a weak spot. Unnervingly keen. Then he blinks, leaning back in his chair, torso losing tension. “You haven’t told him.” Despite the utter neutrality, Azriel knows he’s figured it out. The heirling nods, a cynical curve to his sharpened mouth. “She didn’t give the impression she’d willingly display her failures to you.”

“They aren’t failures,” Azriel mutters, ice burning in his eyes as he watches Eris with a glacial look.

“No? Because the control over her magic was pretty pathetic to me,” Eris replies lowly.

Azriel snarls, low and threatening, shadows concentrating into a darkness worthy of the Night Court’s Spymaster, deep and deadly as they writhe in warning. “I didn’t realise she had you so tightly wrapped around her flaky little finger,” Eris croons, and darkness rears back, preparing to strike, when three quiet taps are landed to the door, meagre and unimposing.

————

You peek your head into his chambers, bag slung over your shoulder as you pause on the threshold.

Tension is blatant in Azriel’s shoulders, wings slightly flared, an icy emotion tucked between the stern set of his brows, shadows darker—more frenetic—than they usually are. Looking over to Eris, you can see how he’s leaned back in his chair, that taunting glint in his naturally piercing gaze, and you can guess fairly easily the conversation they were having was not a friendly one—even without the aid of body language.

Maybe they were discussing Court matters.

“I—…Should I wait out—”

“Come in,” Eris orders, cutting you off, and your brows narrow a little at the tone, before softening out again, remembering who else is present. You shut the door behind yourself, turning your back to them to make sure it clicks shut quietly, then walking further into the room, stood a little distance from Azriel, not wanting to encroach on his space while he’s surely furious with you. At the very least immensely disappointed.

“Took you long enough,” Eris drawls, bringing your attention away from Azriel to meet his cutting gaze. Well, your eyes meet his. It’s practically impossible to not focus on the male at your right. You’re not sure if you're imagining the displeasure rippling from him, but you can only hope Eris hasn’t intentionally stirred things up. You know you won’t be able to protect yourself against whatever words he has for you after your abrupt departure.

“You haven’t left any tatters behind?” Eris asks, and a slight scowl dips your brows.

“I have everything,” you reply, readjusting the strap of the bag on your shoulder.

“Excellent. Then you can leave.”

You blink at the abrupt dismissal, glancing at him warily. “Weren’t you discussing something?” You ask Eris hesitantly, cautious about prodding where you aren’t welcome. “We were,” Eris replies, a viper’s smile on his sharp lips, amber eyes cutting to the male at your right. “But it appears your Spymaster doesn’t think you’re trustworthy enough.” It’s obviously a manipulation of truth, but that doesn’t make it easy to hear, heart hollowing out, spine losing a bit of rigidity.

“And who could blame him,” Eris continues, “you haven’t exactly been particularly honest with him, have you, cygnet?”

Your lips purse, averting your eyes from both of them, peering at the floorboards to your left, shame tightening around your throat. “Seems logical enough,” you say quietly, managing to keep your voice steady. You’d rather vanish right then and there, wiped clean from memory and existence than allow a tremor into your voice.

You’ve gotten yourself into this situation. Self-pity won’t fix anything.

“Then that is that,” Eris muses, pulling you from your thoughts. Azriel shifts, not saying another word to either of you as he makes for the door, and you glance at Eris a little longer, searching for a way back. He quirks a taunting brow, resting his jaw on his right hand, the flat-topped band of sterling silver catching the light with the motion. Your thumb brushes the ring on your own finger, before you turn, making for the door where Azriel’s waiting to take you back.

Back to the Night Court.

Back to Velaris.

Back to your family.

Back to be judged.

————

It was unnerving how alone you’d felt on the way out of the palace. Even knowing he was present, slipping through shadows, you couldn’t sense a single thing, and on more than one occasion had glanced around, worriedly trying to find him—but nothing.

It wasn’t until you passed the walls, heading out into the forest again that he emerged—silent and looming—unable to hear his footsteps even when he was right beside you. Unnervingly ghost-like.

You wait for him to speak, to say whatever it is that’ll inevitably bring tears to your skin, but he’s completely silent, leading the way. Knowing you’ll follow behind. Knowing you won’t speak to him until he initiates.

You’d been brought here by winnowing, but he makes no move to wrap either of you in his shadows, and a small part of you whispers that he wouldn’t want you to contaminate them. You try to ignore that part, but even the quietest voice will be heard over silence. Instead the tales spin deeper, that he hadn’t even wanted to retrieve you, content to have you out of the way, out of the Night Court, away from his home. At least that way there’d be no chance of his prophesied death coming to pass.

He’d be safe, and you wouldn’t be bothering him.

Wouldn’t be bothering any of them.

He walks deeper into the forest, silent and steadfast, while you watch as his boots tread through the fallen leaves, not daring to look any higher in case it disgusts him further. You have no concept of how long you follow after him for—long enough your feet begin to ache lightly, but you push through it—silently waiting for the conversation to start. For the first question to be asked. For the first blow to be landed.

Azriel doesn’t stop when you try to shift your bag to the other shoulder, your right one aching, and something in your stomach drops when your pace slows but his remains constant, so you hurriedly finish the switch, and make an effort to catch up, careful not to trip. Hunger gnaws at your bones, but you keep quiet, not wanting to interrupt his pace. It’s not until your stomach audibly protests that he comes to a pause, glancing over his shoulder to you, and you swiftly duck your head, averting your eyes from his painfully familiar hazel set. Breaths deepening as you come to a stop with him.

“When did you eat last?” He asks. The first words he’s said to you.

“Yesterday,” you answer quietly, pressure tight across your chest as you try to keep your breaths quiet but even. “Do you have food on you?” He asks. You nod. You’d wrapped up a pastry from breakfast, it being the only thing you’d be able to savour. Even years later, the habit of not wasting food still remains prominent.

His boots shift, turning to face forward as he begins walking again. You follow silently, seeing no point in nodding or replying. It’s not like you’re going to do anything else. “There’s a clearing up here. You can eat there.”

Azriel pauses beside a particularly large oak tree, and you swallow, and you habitually consider where the least offensive place to sit would be. So you’re nicely out of his way. The ground is muddy, so you’re forced to follow beside his footsteps to the oak, setting as silently as you can on one large branch that’s gnarled and shoved through the earth to curl into a large seat.

Your pulse spikes, wondering if this will be where you have the one-sided discussion, perching the bag on your legs, searching through for the little pastry. It’s made harder by your bare hands, how every piece of fabric seems to bite at your skin with each brush, piercing painfully as you search, until you spot the orange scarf, pulling it out to find the pastry wrapped in a napkin.

He doesn’t say anything, but you feel like you’re wasting time.

You peer at the pastry in your hands, not particularly keen on eating it. You’re close enough to nausea as is, and don’t want to tempt fate with giving your stomach something to regurgitate. But it would be weird to put it away now, so you’ll just have to take small bites. Hope that you can stomach it. A few minutes pass, but you’ve hardly made a noticeable dent in the food, guilt weighing on your bones, pausing between each mouthful to peer around the clearing dully.

Your fingers fumble a little when Azriel moves, settling on the root beside you, your muscles stitching themselves taut, and you hastily shift yourself tighter so he has his space. Almost dropping the pastry in your stuttering movements.

He’s quiet for a bit, and you swallow thickly, attempting to focus on the food before you so as not to stare, but internally you can feel the beats passing, heart ticking tighter…tighter…

“Why did you leave?” He asks quietly.

You still, able to feel the narrow wooden box digging into your thighs. Pausing as the tension abates a little, like how you imagine it would feel to watch an arrow loose from a bow, watching it arc in the sky, then slowly plummet down, seeking out its target. The breath that would breathe out in relief once it embedded itself in flesh, those few, stretching moments at last having come to an end, and one can relax into the clarity of the pain. The certainty of the wound.

“I wanted to get out,” you mumble thickly, keeping the shake from your voice.

“So you went to him?” Azriel asks. You head lowers a little in sorrow.

Where else were you supposed to go?

“You could have asked to be taken somewhere,” he says quietly, and guilt tightens itself around your throat. Is there any way to explain to him why you’d left when you hardly understand it yourself? It had been a crescendo of nerves, of bottled up worries tightening with pressure, like air being blown into a brown paper bag until it burst. Is there any way to tell him you’d like to be able to ask things of him, but in truth you’d rather be slowly pulled apart by pressure than worry him with pointless tasks that only serve your benefit? How can you ever hope to speak with him honestly, when your very heart seems to be the thing warning you away—that same heart that wants to press into him, to beg and cry for forgiveness and reassurance.

“At least have the decency to answer,” he says quietly when you don’t respond, and you feel the small tremor that shudders up your throat, fearing the oncoming disaster. “I wanted to go on my own,” you get out, words softer than a whisper.

He’s quiet, and you wonder if that’s the end of the discussion for now.

But, “did you think at all about what the consequences would be from going to him?” He asks, gaze ahead, but attention pressing down on you. “Or did you forget you have people around you, that your actions impact.”

Your grip loosens on the pastry, choosing to wrap it back up in the napkin, fingers shaking slightly. A lump rising in your throat.

“Answer,” he murmurs, promptingly.

“I just wanted to go,” you whisper hoarsely, fingers wringing together. “I thought—… I thought it would be better if I was fur—… If I was gone.”

“Are you going to tell Mor where you went?” He questions softly. “Or did you not think about that part either?”

“I made progress,” you try, raising your gaze to his. “I can summon it, if I concentrate.”

His lips remain unmoving, but his eyes…gods, his eyes. You betrayed her, you know. All of them.

Breath catches in your throat, and you have to look away. Unable to face him. It. Any of it.

“Why is it so bad?” You ask quietly. “All I did was leave for a little under a week. I was trying to get better.”

“Stop. Lying,” he mutters lowly, blood freezing in your veins, fingers wringing together. Silence ticks by, and you wonder if he can hear the humiliatingly loud pulse of your heart, erratic and stumbling as it usually does around him. You don’t think he’s ever so obviously shown what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling.

Why is this the first way you see it?

Why is this the first time he allows it?

“Just tell me what you want,” you ask quietly, voice faltering as you stare at him helplessly. “You’re never happy with anything I do,” you manage, trembling with growing turmoil, “so please, just tell me what you want, and put me out of my misery.”

He exhales harshly, leaning back into the trunk, lips tugged down at the corners, reproach tucked between his brows, so rarely softened by charm anymore. At least not while you’re around. Almost never when you’re around.

“I don’t feel I should have to tell you how you fucked up here,” he replies lowly, and you push back on the flinch at the crude wording. “You made a bad choice.”

“Imagine how much worse the others were,” you reply lowly, a hint of resentment—not directed at him—present in your tone. He stiffens at your side, then his gaze slides slowly over to you, lethal and condemning, but it’s like you can’t look away. You physically can’t duck your head, or shy away. “You’re really joking at a time like this?”

You meet his eyes fully, presently, taking him in against the darkening sky, winter sun already on the way out for the day, the chill more than prominent, but you don’t dare reach for the scarf in your bag. “Tell me what you want,” you repeat softly, no louder than a last breath on dying lips.

“I want you to be honest,” he replies, brows narrowing, “for once, apparently.”

“About what?”

“Why you went to him.” He nearly spits, unable to entirely keep his ire at bay, something passing behind his eyes.

You’re quiet. Silent.

Then you lean back into the trunk of the tree, head tilting back into the rough bark, hands settling numbly in your lap. Shoulders slope, and you peer up into the grey sky, gloomy and heavy with unshed tears. Thick and thunderous. Fitting for the storm that’s on its way.

“Please don’t be angry,” you whisper, hardly a breath from your lips, a prayer whisked away by the static air. He’s silent, and your throat closes up. “Azriel,” your murmur, swallowing thickly. “Please.”

Moments tick by, stretching and warping as your heart thumps heavily in your chest, utterly bewitched, utterly at his mercy. It’s exhausting.

He sighs, and you try not to stiffen as he glances over to you, feeling that familiar prickle of skin as lovely hazel settles on you. A few warm rays making it through the dim clouds before being frozen off by the icy breeze. Winter’s most definitely on its way.

“I won’t be angry,” he murmurs softly. “Just…talk to me. Like you used to.”

Your arms fold over your chest, closing in on yourself, feet pressing together as you hunch over the bag in your lap, peering at the muddy ground. The smell of parchment rises from your memories, dusty and familiar, but lacking the warmth of nostalgia. Like the bitterness of a tea left to steep for too long, so it dries out your throat, eyes watering from its ticklish bite.

“I couldn’t do it on my own,” you admit quietly. Fingers brushing your knuckles. Raw and flaky.

The thoughts swirl in the back of your mind, ready to roar and rage, becoming so loud they’re deafening, suddenly cutting quiet so fast you have no desire to understand what it means when the waters draw back. What it means when the sea itself shrinks away, leaving a barren and washed-up beach.

“But, the idea of trying in front of you…any of you…and then falling flat at such a small hurdle…” You look to your left, away from him, pulling tighter into yourself. Can anything good come of this kind of honestly? With him?

“I don’t have much anymore, Azriel,” you breathe lowly, struggling silently with the humiliating vulnerability. How bare you are, just waiting for steel to pierce your skin. Like tossing yourself over a cliff and hoping the jagged rocks far below will soften your fall.

“I just wanted to keep my dignity. The scraps left of it after…what happened…”

Your toes curl in your shoes, feet crossed, feeling as though your heart is trying to cave in on itself, swallowed by a vacuum suctioning you back down with the force of a flooded spring river.

“So it was better to fail in front of Eris?”

“But I don’t owe him success,” you argue uselessly, eyes squeezing shut in attempts to keep the tears at bay as your head falls into your hands. “I don’t—…I don’t owe him anything.”

“You don’t owe us anything either,” he replies.

“I owe my entire life to you,” you nearly hiss, spine curving in as your brows cramp together, jaw wound so tight you feel like a tooth might crack beneath the intense pressure, nails pressing into the soft skin of your brow.

“Feyre was the one who saved the three of you,” he reminds quietly, slowly, but you’re shaking your head. Staring down into your lap, tension rippling so clearly from your bunched up form Azriel considers laying a hand on your trembling shoulder as if to pull you from a trance. “No. I know, but…” Your fingers press into your eyes, unable to articulate what you can feel in your stomach. “If she hadn’t gone to Night,” you breathe heavily, shakily, “if she hadn’t gone here, we’d still be back there, entirely human, and I—… I wasn’t going to last much longer there.”

Azriel pauses at your side, taking on the information silently. “You were ill?” He asks softly—he’d had no idea about that. Your shoulders shake, and he can’t tell if it’s with laughter or muffled sobs. Maybe a little of both.

“Maybe,” you whisper, “I don’t know enough about medicine to say, but I…” You shake your head again, and he’s able to sense that’s as much as he’ll get. It’s been over two years, and this is the first he’s hearing of it even in vague detail—he knows this isn’t something he can press.

“It doesn’t matter now,” you say with rueful conviction, palms pushing wetness from your cheeks, spine straightening before collapsing back against the trunk. Tired and exhausted. “We’re out. I don’t need to do anything now.”

Azriel’s brow furrows. “You’re content to stay in your room and rot away?”

You rest your head in your hands, leaning over the bag, staring down into its contents. What else is there?

“You could spend time with your family, for starters,” he replies and you aren’t sure if you imagine the note of impatience in his voice. “Your sisters worry about you a lot. It’s not good for you to be up in that room all the time.”

“Well it seems every time I come out of that room I somehow end up getting in your way.”

“Is that what this is about?” He asks abruptly, and your lips press together, lower one curving over. “I thought we sorted that out,” he says quietly, calming the sharpness of his tone, hearing it even in his own ears, glancing over your hunched figure. “We did,” you reply, muffled by your arms, voice turning watery as you ease in a short breath. “We did.”

A beat passes, then tension stutters in your chest as he gently lays his palm over your shoulder. “Please just talk to me,” he says softly, and you struggle to keep your breaths even as your lungs shudder beneath that touch. After spending so long wanting it…craving it…convinced feeling how gentle his touch could be over and against your skin would fix everything…even temporarily… You try to swallow the lump in your throat. “If not me, then Elain, or Feyre, or Nesta,” he pauses, “…Bas.”

You aren’t paying much attention, though, thankful for the way your mind melts beneath the warmth of his palm. How heat is sinking into your skin, slowly spreading through your shoulder as your muscles thaw. Pressure is lessened, and the tension that had been stitching the tendon taut loosens, allowing breath the ease in and out of your lungs with tiring relief. You could deflate with fatigue. Just turn limp and boneless, better for absorbing impact than having it crack against you.

“Just talk with us some more so this doesn’t happen again,” he urges quietly. “Come down to the river house—you know Feyre keeps your room open—or join us for dinner. At least try. If that doesn’t work, we can find something else.”

You don’t reply. Just remain tucked away from the world. Content to remain within your small shell as long as you can keep that warmth on your shoulder.

The pressure lightens, and your heart hides away as his hand slips from your shoulder, leaving your skin starkly cold with the absence of his presence.

“I’m sorry for what I…for how things transpired. Between…us,” Azriel murmurs, unsure how much to say, to not bring up past pains, especially if they aren’t as healed as you’ve led him to believe. He’s starting to become unsure what to believe about you—he hadn’t ever considered you might run from them. How bad things might have become to force you into that position. Are things that bad?

“I’m sorry, too,” you mumble, voice a little hoarse, and Azriel listens attentively. “I shouldn’t have told you how I felt, in the library. I shouldn’t have made my feelings your problem.”

“They aren’t,” he says softly, but you shake your head as if you haven’t heard him.

“I’m sorry.”

————

He tries speaking twice more on the way back, but the conversations lead nowhere, no longer flourishing as they had, once upon a time. So long in the past they feel coloured by age. Turned stiff and yellow at the edges.

He tries slowing his pace so she’ll walk at his side, but she just drops further back, silently pressing between his footsteps as she trails, head kept down to remain focused on taking one step at a time. The shadow that is cast across her face from the down-tilted angle of her head is deeper than he would have expected.

When he hears her shifting the bag across her shoulders for the third time, he quietly plies the straps from her hands, relieving her of the physical weight. She makes no obvious protest, aside from the stiffening of her body at his approach, but he can spot the relief when he takes the bag. Moving it to his own shoulder, he can make out what feels like a wooden box, the kind made to keep a weapon from being damaged. The thought gives rise to instinctive alarm.

Why might she have a weapon in her bag?

His shadows subtly shift at his back, rising secretively to examine her. Questions begin rising to his mind: unkind, unfair questions that are habitual in his line of work. He tries to shake them off, but they remain firmly rooted in his mind, burrowing deeper with each stride that has the narrow box digging into his side, as if already trying to burrow into his flesh.

How did she know Eris would take her in? How could she possibly guarantee making the trek across Prythian over night would pay off? It’s an absurd risk to take, regardless of circumstance. He can think of answers to those questions, but they don’t sit well with him. An answer to why she might be so familiar with Eris supposing they’ve spoken less than a handful of times. A certainty she must have possessed to take the risk that isn’t one she would have from that little contact. And if she’s hiding how much contact she might’ve had with him…

She was already hiding her magic from them…then there’s the prophecy too. Bas, and the illness. Why were these things she hadn’t mentioned? He can understand the recent silence, but why not before…? Regardless of immediate relevance, it shows she’s prone to secret-keeping.

Azriel eases in a steadying breath, descending into a calm, cold mental state. Sinking into indifferent objectivity.

She isn’t stupid. Far from it, having spent so much time in the library, where there’s all kinds of information just ripe for the picking. And Eris isn’t stupid, either. If he saw a weak spot, he’d go for it. And if Eris went for her, would she be able to resist something she was unable to see for what it truly was?

Azriel’s skin goes a little cold, reminded of the prophecy.

He will die, and it will be by her hand.

He supposes he can only control how much impact it will have on those around him. If Eris has managed to wrap her up in some slow-moving scheme…but that’s just speculation. Still, his instincts are telling him something is wrong with the narrow wooden box, one that must have come from Eris. A box fashioned like those to hold weapons. From Eris. To the female who will kill him.

He should ask her what it is.

Azriel would’ve shaken his head if those habits hadn’t been crushed out of him centuries ago. He can’t just ask her if she’s planning to kill him.

But it would allow a chance for her to explain what’s in the weapon case.

But it would alert her to his knowing about the blade inside her bag. She’d wanted to hide her magic from the start, and earlier she’d mentioned she’d gotten further…how much further? If it’s magic any similar to Nesta’s, it would be unwise to have a confrontation here, alone. Still within Autumn Court territory.

But it would be more dangerous to bring her back to Velaris. To bring her back into the beating heart of the Night Court where her detonation would be fatal.

Azriel blinks, and returns back into the waning light of day—it’ll soon be night.

What can he do, really? If he’s destined to die….who is he to try and get in the way of the Mother? Would he kill her to save his own life? Is that what he would do in order to live a little longer, before a new threat looms to end him? He wants to kill her no more than he desires his own death.

But if it came down to it…what would he choose?

His shadows observe her silently, as they had been throughout his internal struggle. He focuses on what he can see, discarding the lens of suspicion that’s been embedded in him as Spymaster, centuries of limited trust having an impact on his mind.

All he sees is a young woman walking through a dark forest, following him off the pathway.

Internally, he sighs—there always seems to be a constant flow of problems as of late, and peace seems to be persistently remaining just out of reach. A few more years, and then there will be peace; a few more political aggressions to navigate, and then they can rest; just one more person to heal, and then they can be happy. When will the peace truly arrive, though? Is it all wishful thinking? An imagined utopia that will make every sin he’s committed acceptable? Is it just his mind finding more excuses to justify the things he’s done in the name of protecting his family and court?

She’s just one more disturbance, keeping peace from settling.

Azriel swallows, thinking heavily. Even if she was out of the way, there would still be everything else to deal with. Will this problem be the last one, or will a new threat fall in to fill the space of the old one? Hasn’t it been long enough, by now? Hasn’t he done enough?

Shadows check on her again, her head hanging silently, those once bright eyes dull and dark as they follow numbly in his footsteps. The female with whom he’d spent so many afternoons with discussing things in the library…where is she? Is he at fault for her disappearance?

Closing his eyes briefly to relieve the ache that’s been slowly building just below his brows, he allows himself to ponder.

Is it pointless to try and salvage their relationship?

Would it be better if she did kill him?

————

The storm clouds have gathered, full and swollen with rain and thunder. No lightening though. Lightening would suggest some kind of magnificence, and there’s nothing magnificent about the cool temperature of your blood, nor the dull buzz in the back of your mind. The overwhelming grey of your surroundings as you emerge from the tunnel.

The air is drier in the Night Court, you vaguely realise. No dampness nor humidity that you’d grown subconsciously accustomed to from less than a week’s stay in Autumn. A small break of sunshine between the dismay grey you’d all grown so accustomed to for the first few months of the year, back when you were human. Weak, fallible humans, but simpler. Quiet and peaceful, even if that silence was from the constant prowl of starvation. It had been easier to bear.

You don’t wait to see if Azriel will try to speak again once he’s flown the both of you back up to the House of Wind, silently turning your back to trace the familiar halls of the House, moving without awareness, muscle memory guiding you down the corridors, past the tables littered with napkins and cutlery, past the shelves displaying pale crockery and silver chalices, past the chest with a few discarded daggers atop, arrowheads littered haphazardly across the surface as if someone had cast them down carelessly.

The room is greyer than you remember, too tidy to be a lived in space, but it has those reminders—the gifts you were given, and you absently touch your earlobe, squeezing it between your finger and thumb.

Azriel pauses at the threshold, taking the bag off his shoulder. Does he know you sold the earrings? Those pretty, pretty earrings? Probably some of the nicest things you could have believed to be your own.

They must be getting tired by now. All of them.

Blonde hair and sparkling eyes pass dully through your mind, and your heart dies a little more, understanding how you’ve ruined the small blessing. There’s no coming back from what you’ve done—not without significant work, at least, and you’re so tired. In your bones, in your eyes, in your mind. You’ve lived through a lot, but thanks to immortality, you have no choice but to live through more. A body being dragged through the mud, carried towards a grave that was never dug.

Azriel’s mouth is moving, has been moving since he removed the bag from his shoulder, but you haven’t been hearing. Mind too tired and numb to manage focus, grasping only basic colours and lines.

He’s looking at you, and you’re looking back, but not into his eyes. His words pass through your mind meaninglessly, and you wonder if you’re real. A strange pressure is wrapping its tingling fingers around your skull, squeezing like you’re wearing a hat that’s a little too tight. It will take a lot of work to fix what you’ve done. A lot of work you can’t manage. A debt that deepens faster than you can repay it. A sink draining faster than you can fill it. Blood cooling faster than you can stop it.

Maybe it would be better to let it cool, for a while.

————

Azriel doesn’t feel comfortable leaving her in the House alone, with that dull look in her eyes.

He had planned to fly back down to the River House, to let Rhys and Feyre know she was back, and she was safe, to give her some space maybe for an hour or so to let her get her bearings again. Not too long alone, though. That look hadn’t been bright. Instead he ends up slumping into one of the boney, wooden chairs in the kitchen, the House already brewing two cups of tea. He reaches out for Rhys, mentally feeling for the hidden bridge kept open. He finds it almost immediately, and an icy wind slams into him in greeting. Cold, swift, and perfectly telling to his brother’s current temperament.

You’re back.

Azriel bites back on the cringe at the ice in his High Lord’s voice—belying fury. He should have put together Rhys would be furious for Feyre, too, for stirring up this kind of stress for his mate.

She’s with me. How is Feyre?

More furious than I am, though I doubt she’ll show you.

There’s a pause, and Azriel steadies himself.

How is she?

It would be good for her to have company. Preferably in the River House, but if not, then having people up here. This time Azriel pauses, before adding, I think the ward on her room should be removed. So she’ll be able to hear that people are around, should she need them.

He’s met with silence, and Azriel wonders if Rhys is repeating the message back to Feyre, or if he’s simply that furious. A small part of him feels resentment at the constant speculation, that if the matter had been left between him and her then it wouldn’t have gotten so blown out of proportion.

We’ll be up in ten minutes, comes the clipped reply, before the mental bridge is severed. Leaving Azriel no choice but to wait in silence. It will likely be Rhys and Feyre coming up then—knowing she isn’t ready to see all of them so suddenly, though they’ve yet to learn where she’s been.

Feyre will go and speak to her sister.

And Rhys will be the one to speak to him.

What a mess.

The tea has a few minutes left of brewing, and he wonders if the House will demand he be the one to take the mug to her, or if it will be delivered on its own. He’s not sure she would appreciate being disturbed right now.

As if his thoughts summoned her however, he hears quiet footsteps out in one of the hallways, reaching his sharp ears even through the closed doors and secure walls. He listens carefully, but she seems to just be pacing around, not coming toward him, or even really going in any particular direction. They pause, the silence heavy, and Azriel pays full attention. Another minute passes, then another, and another, but he couldn’t have missed those familiar footfalls.

After a fourth minute, he hears them again, ever so slightly heavier than before, and then they cut off abruptly. Sound sliced in two as she closes the door to her room.

Azriel glances over to the brewing tea, then blinks when he realises the House has set it on the table within reach. Just one cup, made with milk and sugar—not the way he likes it.

Looking over to the countertop, his mug remains steeping, steam trailing up from the hot liquid. The House seems to be demanding he take her the tea now.

Azriel shifts in his chair. It isn’t a good idea to disturb her again. He’s trying to give her at least these few minutes to herself, before Feyre arrives with Rhys—and that’s a conversation that might very well stretch hours. There’s a lot to discuss, after all. She’ll need her energy, and he’s probably the last person she wants to—

The mug slams down on the table before him, hot liquid spilling over with the force that it was dropped onto the surface.

He stiffens, watching the mug tensely as if the House might spill it onto his lap. The liquid ripples in the mug, splashing from side to side for longer than it should, before reluctantly calming.

Blowing out a breath, Azriel wraps his hand around the mug’s handle, reluctantly standing from the kitchen table.

If the House is being so adamant about giving her the cup, then he supposes he’ll just have to follow.

He still finds it a little strange, how the House came alive after Nesta lived inside it.

————

Silence hums in your ears, so quiet.

You’ve caused them so much trouble. Irreparably ruined your ties to the people you hadn’t wanted to hinder.

Silently, quietly, you move the bag to your bed, able to even hear the stretch of fabric as you raise it from the unnaturally clean floorboards. Opening it, you begin pulling the first thing you see out—the orange scarf form Autumn that has some small crumbs tucked between its folds, smelling faintly of pastry and something damp. One piece at a time, you make the slow trek to and form the wardrobe, feet unfeeling as they tread numbly across the smooth grain of the wood, mindlessly repeating the to and fro, the mechanical movements of unaware motion, folding fabric and hiding it away.

Your fingers bump the box, surprised by the hard collision, having expected to find more fabric, but are instead confronted by the narrow, wooden box. Use it wisely, written on the note in a neat and elegant script. Raising it from the bag, you sit down, hands resting over the surface before slipping your fingers into the indentations for ease of opening, cracking it open to find what’s inside. Eyes ease across the narrow length of wood tucked inside, the softly flared end for it to whistle through the sky.

The world disappears around you as you fall into thought, suctioned inwards by a gentle riptide as you dissolve into your mind. Imagining the blank look in Mor’s eyes when she finds out what you’ve done to her, the wall that will rise up as she sections you off from her life, rightly so, brings a quiet kind of sadness into your chest. A longing that has been numbed and dulled, desaturated by hopelessness. Imagining the dinners, voices chatting merrily around you but never at you, the way she won’t look at you. They are all immortal, and their disgust will reflect their lifespan.

You’ll be stuck. Endlessly dragging you feet after them in attempts to make amends. Stumbling and fumbling carelessly trying to make reparations, but smashing more pieces in your frantic hurry to clean the mess you’ve made. Gazing up from the pit of a well as the icy water slowly drains in, the small pin-prick of daylight so far above there’s no hope even trying to scale the wall. It would be more honourable to drown.

To wipe yourself from memory.

It would be better, you understand. To snuff out your own dwindling light, than force the trouble on them of bearing your sputtering flame.

You walk out into the hallway, quietly, silently. Passing the table with napkins and cutlery set, past the shelves with crockery and cups, past the chest with dull steel and blunt arrowheads. Passing further along, until you pause before the large mirror that’s mounted on the wall. You peer dully into the reflection, deciding to look upon and assign shape to name for what’s been causing all these problems. To see what they think of when burdens are mentioned, to understand where the impatience is directed.

You peer higher, the reflection skewed as you meet your own eyes in the blade’s polished steel, held above the mirror’s frame.

Time warps, and you look through the drawers. A few daggers, some unused sketchbooks, a piece of yellow wool, a ball of string. You check the second draw. Some folded napkins, more arrowheads, a shard of porcelain, a thimble, a discarded marble. You check the third draw. Some salts, spices, dried leaves, matching Illyrian blades, pots of ink, a copper coin. You check the fourth draw. Crisp bedsheets, off-white pillowcases, a dented metal mug, a small container of some kind, one arrowhead, a crossbow.

You return to your room with the ball of string and the empty crossbow.

Swallowed in the silence of the bedroom, hidden behind the wards.

The snare is easy to set up, directions still vivid in your mind and for a few short moments, you allow yourself to settle into the certainty of following through with those instructions. Encountering a bit of trouble with how to keep the tension of the string with no earth, but your mind works quickly, weighing the string taut with the one book from your shelf, and a square box containing a mechanical universe. Making sure the string is just tight enough so the faintest touch will snap the tension loose.

You glance at the string on the floor, eyes catching on the small painting on your desk.

You slot the arrow into the crossbow with a satisfying click.

The ash stings your fingertips.

You stand with your back to the door, facing the crossbow head on. Your heart bleeds a little, tears at last dripping slowly down your cheeks, but it will be better this way. Easing in a deep breath, you relax into that feeling deep in your chest that’s telling you this is the right thing to do. It was always going to happen, there was never a path you could have taken that wouldn’t have lead you to this one way or another. It’s a feeling almost like relief: there’s finally a way out.

One perfect, swift, execution. An ash arrow to your heart, splitting the muscle and ending its relentless beat. Your breathing increases to a stuttering pulse before calming, and you swallow, glancing to the windows. You know you’ll cause a mess.

Fingers open the latch to the window, fresh air gently rolling in, and your breathing stutters again. You’ll be irrevocably gone.

Peering about the bedroom, one you hadn’t felt was truly your own, but had stayed long enough to begin putting down roots—the bookmark laying beneath the pendant on the desk beside the painting, the jigsaw still wrapped in a bow beneath the bed, the sealed nail polish and briefly used lip tint within the cupboard. Sobs shudder through your chest strangely.

A part of you doesn’t want to leave yet.

A small, human part, that still fears solitude despite your chosen loneliness.

You step toward the book, body caving in, heart collapsing in on itself, the emotive feeling similar to the convulsions you’ve experienced after vomiting. A vacuum hidden inside of your chest, finally imploding. You should end it now.

The door creaks behind you, and you flinch from terror at someone witnessing your vulnerability.

Hazel eyes meet your own, at once scanning the room out of habit, and those lovely eyes widen as you recoil on instinct, foot knocking into the book.

————

Given the pleasure of time, he had been allowed to ponder the impossible question: to choose between his death and her own, each equally impossible. How is anyone to make a choice like that?

But, caught in between precious moments, there’s no time for thought or debate. It’s easy to declare gallantry, to flippantly comfort a companion with those easy words—I’d take an arrow for you.—but it’s an entirely different matter when the arrow is whistling straight toward them.

And yet before the mug has even hit the floor, he feels the familiar, burning pain as the arrow pierces through his flesh, slicing him open as the wrongness bleeds into him, swiftly poisoning his blood, draining the inherent magic from his body.

————

You stare up into wide hazel eyes, agony etched across his delicate features, the very tip of the arrow lightly piercing your skin from where it’s shot straight through him, caught in his flesh.

He groans lowly, his weight falling more heavily on your shoulders where his hands had grabbed you to switch your positions, and you’re helpless as his knees give out from pain, dragging you down with him as he collides with the ground.

Horror pounds through your body, heart beating a thousand times a second until it’s risen into your throat, hands shaking violently as you try to hold him steady, stinging with the burning heat of blood from his side.

Mother murder you.

“Az,” you stammer hoarsely, staring at his twisted features, brow furrowed deeply, breathing ragged as it puffs against your skin. The familiar scent of blood filtrates through your system, undiluted and metallic, and he’s dying he’s dying he’s dying—

His hand weakly grasps the back of your neck, grabbing your attention as your hands fumble, trembling with uncertainty and despair, fingertips beginning to sizzle as panic floods your veins, tossed into the rapids, utterly out of control as your mind unravels, regret stabbing through your heart.

His lips are moving but your ears are ringing, itches burning at your skin, a streaking noise piercing through your head like the screaming from those bloody fields. He’s speaking and you try to read his lips, but your eyes aren’t focusing, tears blurring your vision as sobs heave in and out of your chest, burning at your throat and lungs. You had tried to stop it! You were so close to preventing it!

Your hand settles on his cheek, already feeling cool beneath your burning, burning, glowing—

Feyre and Rhys, his lips form, and you shake. Eyes scanning his features frenetically. His own flick to the door, and you understand them to be here? You stare at him helplessly, hopelessly—it won’t matter how you scream or cry for them, not even if you bled your throat raw. The ward against noise that you’d been so thankful for, that Feyre had given in attempts to help, to remedy a wrong.

Something so small, yet so immoveable. Impossible to defeat. Felled by your own, stupid need—

He’s going to die.

Neither you nor Azriel have a second to prepare as the power wells up inside of you with the force of a damn broken loose, that internal wall shattering entirely, blown to bits as you feel the staggering pressure swallow your brain, crushing in intensity at the rapid division of cells, splitting atoms colliding as the explosion blows you apart.

Brilliant green light detonates, silence settling for a second before the noise crushes back down, the room blown to pieces.

The ground shakes beneath you, floorboards cracking and splintering as a hole is torn through the side of the House, tearing through the wards as the noise thunders above the city, sweeping across Prythian with the force of the Cauldron that had torn down the Wall.

One final surge of magic before the life is taken from his body.

Pain lacerates through your figure as something fundamental cracks open inside of you, all at once draining the agony that had beens steadily building up, all of it gushing out, skin resplendent with a sickening golden-green light, radiating your flesh.

Then you collapse, falling into the pool of steadily cooling blood surrounding Azriel’s body.

The prophecy having come to fulfilment.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut @vickykazuya

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel angst #azriel fic #cbmthy #can’t bring myself to hate you

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onelittlespiral · 5 months

Note

Tf where someone's huge musky cock keeps turning others into massive muscle bros on accident?

FML: Cursed

Up front, I’ll say this one’s a bit different. Let me know if you all like it. -❤️

Everything was too bright. My head was pounding. Memories were fading in and out from last night. Fuck, how much did I have to drink last night? I stumbled out of bed, trying to forced myself towards the bathroom to take a piss. I had made a New Year’s resolution to quit the bottle. Yeah, so much for that. I managed a quick piss and splashed some cold water on my face. That helped a bit. At this point all I wanted to do was bury my head back in my pillow. Slowly, I shuffled back towards my bed:

“Yeah? You coming back for more of this?”

A man. A man was in my bed. A hunk of a man was flexing in my bed. My mouth hung open for a moment as my brain chugged to life. I couldn’t quite believe it.

“…God damn it! Uggh, what did I let happen?”

“What, not in the mood? I can be quite,” he started a little pec dance, “persuasive.”

I was not in a mood to be amused by his flirting. “No, no it’s not you-or at least it is you now but-” I stammered, “Look. It’s complicated. Get up, please, I need you out of here. If you take some time to… cool off… it should pass.” I paused a moment, “I’m sorry.”

Quickly, I started pulling together what clothes I could find that would fit his new stature and tossed them at him. Even facing away from him I could tell he was a little taken aback. I’m sure in his current brain he couldn’t quite believe he was being rejected. But I knew it was better for everyone that he leave now. I scooped up his old clothing and threw it all into a tote. It wasn’t his fault he was here in this situation, getting kicked out of a stranger’s house early in the morning. Maybe that’s why I scribbled down my contact info and slipped it into the bag. He would have questions later, he deserved some answers. By now he had managed to put on the cut off tank and the shorts I had thrown him. The shorts were a size too small and left nothing to the imagination, but it would have to work. I doubted his canvas shoes would fit over those behemoths. He would have to go barefoot. After a few awkward pleasantries where he asked me if we should lift together some time and I politely declined, he finally got the message and slipped out the door. I locked it behind him and slumped to the floor. I still had a headache.

It was going to be a long day. At this point I was awake, so I just decided to hit the shower. The steam helped clear my mind so I could try to piece the night together. It had been two years now and it was still happening. I wish I knew how to stop it. But looking back, I’m not sure what else I could have done. Every time it happened though, every time I saw his face, I just replayed that day again in my mind:

We were sitting at our favorite cafe when I broke the news.

“What do you mean? You’re breaking up with me?” my ex boyfriend was stunned. Truly, I don’t think this had ever happened to him before.

“Please don’t act surprised. We both knew this was coming. We aren’t good for each other.”

“Baby, we aren’t good for each other,” he cooed, leaning over and cupping my jaw, “We’re great together. You can’t pretend to deny it. I can feel that cock twitch, hear every moan when you’re inside me. Come on, let’s go home and I’ll bring you to your knees.”

“No. This isn’t about us in bed. This is everything outside of it. I don’t like how you talk to me, how you treat me, how you touch me,” I said, slapping his hand from my face, “and how you treat everyone in the world as your plaything. I just can’t put up with it anymore.”

That finally set him off, “Oh, you have no idea what I can do.” He snapped his fingers.

I watched as a man in a suit next to us dropped his book. He began to convulse, and I watched in horror. He reverted from his fifties to his late twenties in a moment, smoothing his wrinkles as his hair turned from silver to brown. His skin tightened around his swelling body, as his muscles easily ripped through his shirt and pants. A deep moan escaped his mouth as his clothes reformed themselves into a tank top and gym shorts. As a snap-back hat formed and tightened around his head, I grimaced, knowing that his mind was being assaulted with a new identity. I knew the look on his face well as drool flowed from his open mouth. Then, all at once it stopped. He just picked up his book and kept reading. No one else even seemed to notice what had taken place.

It was a thinly veiled threat and we both knew it. “See? This is the shit I’m talking about. What happens to him now? He had nothing to do with this, you just can’t contain yourself.”

“Oh relax, he’s fine. I didn’t dumb him like I do to you. No one will ever remember anything different. Though I imagine whatever new hires at his firm will be confused why the new boss is a jacked gym bro while everyone else in the office is pushing 40 and wearing suits.” He chuckled at his own joke.

“I can’t! I can’t do this anymore. I don’t ever want to see you again.” I gathered my things to make my exit.

He came round the table, in a far less joking mood, “You’ll regret that,” he grabbed at my groin and cupped my package, “from now on, whenever that gets going, I have a feeling you will be seeing a lot of me” I felt a stirring in my sack. Something had… shifted?

“What did you do?” my shouting had finally drawn the attention of onlookers.

“Good luck, baby. You ever want that resolved, you’ll have to find me.” With that, he turned heel and left.

Now, two years later, he was right. I had seen far too much of him. The water had gone cold. I turned the faucets off and stepped out to dry myself off.

The first time had been a shock. I had given myself time to heal from the relationship, but about two months in I decided to head to a bar. Immediately something was off when I entered. I saw a few old flings, and a friend or two who were surprised to see me there. But it was like when I entered the whole place shifted towards me. Men were buying me drinks and fawning for my attention. The bartender even slipped a few comments in. They all looked smitten with me, trying to get just a little closer. By the end of the night I had some twink sitting in my lap. I decided it was time to blow off some steam. I took him to my place, where he immediately began tearing off my clothes inside the door. I managed to get him back to my bedroom before he had my boxers off. Immediately he buried his nose into my bush. Admittedly I hadn’t been keeping shaved since the breakup, and I guess that was doing it for him. He went to town on my cock. I wasn’t prepared for him to take it in one thrust, but he wasn’t waiting. All I could do was grab his hair and hold on as he worked my cock like a pro. I felt his hair curl beneath my fingers as I held on for the ride, moaning as he pushed all my buttons. He knew just when to pull back to keep me edging, his thick fingers holding on as he devoured my cock. Finally I knew I needed to fuck him. I pulled him off of my cock, but as he stood up and his dazed expression met mine I screamed.

“Fuck baby, where have you been all of my life?” he said.

He was the spitting image of my ex. The hair, the muscle, even that stupid nickname. In shock I pushed him away as he gave me a look of confusion.

“What are you doing here? I told you I never wanted to see you again.”

He looked back at me confused, “What are you talking about? We just met like a few hours ago. You invited me over. Sorry.”

Something about the statement rang true. I only realized later it was because he apologized. My ex would never. “Did he put you up to this? What’s your name?”

“Hey, I’m not sure who you’re talking about, okay? I’m Justin. I was just looking for a good time.”

“Have you seen yourself? You don’t look like the twink I met at the bar.” I retorted

He looked in the mirror, and his face seemed to puzzle for a sec. I knew that look. He was trying to reconcile memories he had. Fake memories. Then he smirked, “Yeah, pretty hot right? I’ve been working out, getting that more twunk look going.”

So he was clueless then. It was weird seeing someone look so much like him, and have a mix of his mannerisms and others. He had certainly made sure his cockiness was implemented. The asshole.

“Look, I’m not sure tonight is going to work out. I need you out of here. Now.” That was a little mean, it wasn’t his fault. But he had to go. I gave him some of my ex’s clothes he had left lying around and pushed him out the door without saying goodnight. It was only next week when I went to the bar that I saw him again. He had seemingly gone back to normal, besides a very distinctive mustache and stubble he was growing now. It didn’t fit his thin, hairless body and it made me chuckle…

*BZZZZZT*

My phone was getting a call from an unknown number. I guess it was time to answer some questions:

-Hey, I found this number in my bag. This the guy from last night?

*Sigh*

-Yeah, it’s me. Are you, uh, feeling better? More… yourself?

-So I’m not crazy! What was that? What happened?

-I am so so so sorry. It’s a long story. Let’s just say my ex is… a looot.

-Well hey, who’s isn’t?

I chuckled

-You’re taking this surprisingly well. Most guys don’t want to look at me after all this.

-So this has happened before?

-Yes. But I promise I didn’t mean to. I must have gotten too drunk last night, and I know that’s not a good excuse. But I’m not sure what to do about it and at this point I’d starting to think I never will

-Woah, woah. Calm down. Would you want someone to come over? To talk to?

I paused.

-No, I think I’ll be fine.

-Please, I want to. I want answers and it seems like you need someone.

-I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Plus, I don’t think I can see you like that.

-I promise. I don’t think I have anything the same.

-Promise?

-Here, look

He did look back to normal. And he was quite cute. I can see why drunk me decided to pick him…

-Still, I’m not sure…

-Nope, it’s decided. I know the address, I’ll be there later tonight around 6. *click*

What had just happened? I think, against all odds, I just got roped into a second date.

God damn it.

#transformation #male transformation #musk #fml #jockification #reality change #muscle tf #jock

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mothdruid · 1 year

Text

Concerned Neighbor

pairing: bradley “rooster” bradshaw x fem!reader

summary: Bradley and you are neighbors, sharing a duplex owned by Mav. But Bradley never realized how paper thin the walls really were until one night. He learned the difference between your moans, from true pleasure and fake pleasure. He makes it a point to show you true pleasure when with someone.

wc: 4.5k

warnings: 18+, smut, mdni, protected sex, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex (male and female), vaginal fingering, jealousy, listening through the walls, possessive!Bradley, degradation and praise kinks

a/n: this idea was brought to you by @emerald-chaos and it's also unbeta'd, so don't mind my mistakes pls. and yes, I'm using the same Bradley gif I use for all my Bradley fics.

When Mav first brought up renting out the other half of the duplex, Bradley was hesitant. He had been reminded that it was Mav’s decision and to 'play nice' with the other tenant. And how could Bradley not 'play nice' when you were the person he was sharing a wall with. He would never forget the first time he met you, your smile bright as you awkwardly tried to open your door while carrying a box. That's where Bradley came in, offering to help carry the box. And that was where your friendship began.

Bradley did admit it was nice having you there. You watched his cat while he went on leave, making you its mother practically. Him mowing your side of the lawn, you collecting his mail while he was gone. It created this odd relationship, which created your now bi-weekly dinner date the two of you had. Sharing your company for a little while every so often made him not feel as lonely. Reminding him he still had the proper skills to interact with more than just fellow aviators.

Everything was just going swimmingly until he heard it one night. That's when he started to curse the fact your bedroom was next to his. Only a thin wall separating the two rooms. Bradley assumed that his room lined yours, but this was a confirmation. At first he wasn’t sure if it was all just in his head. He hadn’t been physical with anyone for a long time, so maybe it was his brains way of saying he needed to get a fuck in. But then he heard it again. And again.

It was the sound of you, moaning in pleasure. Bradley wasn't quite sure when his hand had drifted down to his grey sweatpants, palming his growing erection. He hadn't realized how paper thin the walls were, your breathing was almost audible to him. Hearing every moan and gasp you had to offer.

The thought of you touching yourself, vibrator on your clit, or maybe even a dildo inside of you had Bradley biting back groans. It wasn't like he never thought of you as attractive, cause God you were to him. The image of you laid out for him, touching yourself or eagerly taking his cock had him fisting his dick. Your mouth would be hanging open, those moans he was hearing falling past your lips.

It was obvious when you crept closer to your orgasm, moans getting louder and more frequent. So he timed it perfectly, thrusting into his hand and groaning when eventually he heard you hit your climax. He followed suit shortly afterwards, hot spurts of cum covering his stomach. Bradley laid there staring at the ceiling with his hand still wrapped around his cock, wondering how he would ever face you again.

A few days passed and he didn't see you, not really leaving the house in all honesty. Even though he wasn't seeing you, he was still hearing you. Every night he would hear your moans. Bradley couldn't help but take advantage of them every night, fucking his hand and wishing it was you instead. Then one day, he was greeted by a new car in your driveway. He assumed it was a friend, until later that night.

It was almost like a schedule. He would get in bed at 8pm every night, wait about ten minutes, then hear your moans, signaling it was time for him to shuck off his sweatpants. But tonight wasn't like that. He didn't hear anything from your side of the wall until about 8:40pm. He knows because he checked his phone. And the noises he heard tonight weren't the same.

The sounds he heard tonight were a different pitch, not sounding like you. They sounded forced, fake. Bradley even got out of bed to check the driveway, still seeing that unfamiliar car in your driveway. He honestly couldn't bear the thought of it. You fucking someone was fine, but not being pleased and full of pleasure? Hell no, you deserved more than subpar sex. He hadn't even heard the usual climax ending you had every night.

Bradley didn't know how to approach the situation though. It's not like he could just bring it up to you, explaining that he could hear you through the walls. You would definitely move out after that confession he figured. So, Bradley decided not to ignore you anymore. He would come over daily and ask how you were and if you needed my help around the house. Hell, he even mowed your half of the yard. But it got him nowhere.

Bradley was yearning for your bi-weekly dinner, only a week away. He wanted something to happen that night, hoping you'd give him some form of opening. He saw that same unfamiliar car five days before your dinner, making him irritated. Bradley knew he wouldn't be able to take another night of your fake moans, so he left and went to the local bar for a few hours.

When he came home the car was gone and the lights on your side of the duplex were still on. Bradley slipped into his own side, finding his way into bed quickly. He laid there for a few moments, ruminating on the idea of you getting fucked by some random man that didn't even know how to please you properly. After a few more moments he heard it though. Heard you.

It was those soft and pleasure filled moans he loved to hear. They immediately went to his cock. His hand palmed at the front of his boxers, as he listened. Every moan was something angelic yet sinful. Bradley craved to hear them without the barrier of the wall so bad. His hand pumped his cock as he heard your moans pick up.

A heat was rising in his chest and cheeks, his mind thinking about how good you would look splayed out. Legs spread wide, one set of fingers working your clit, while your other hand pumped a dildo in and out of your greedy hole. Bradley bit back a groan, thinking about what it'd feel like to be inside of you. Bradley paced himself with your moans, waiting until the last moment to follow you over the edge. As he laid there on his bed with his spent cock resting against his abdomen, he wondered how he was going to face you at dinner.

The bi-weekly dinner came faster than what Bradley expected. Five days passed in the blink of an eye. But he had heard you every night, and that car never showed back up. He hoped that the car would never show back up again. He wanted you to be taken care of, hoping he would be the one to do it.

You were currently on his living room floor, twirling a stick with ribbons attached to it across the floor for his cat. His cat, Twix, aggressively chased the blue curled up ribbons back and forth on the floor. Twix was a stray that Bradley had found, the short haired tabby keeping him company and not completely lonely. Bradley watched the two of you play as he continued with dinner. He wasn't sure when you noticed him watching, but he couldn't help but smile when he caught your gaze.

God, you were going to be the death of him.

Bradley got out a can of cat food, distracting Twix from the toy you had. After Bradley plated Twix's canned food, he made up both of your plates and took them to the table. There was just small talk through the entire dinner, Bradley not wanting to ruin it with the main topic on his mind.

"You okay, B?" Bradley nodded with a small smile.

"Yeah, I think so." You tilted your head.

"Think so?" You shot him a questioning look. "You know you can tell me." Both of your plates were empty, signaling to Bradley he could finally bring up the subject.

"Who did you have over this week?" Bradley didn't mean for it to come out so demanding. But it did, and there was no way of taking it back.

"What do you mean?" You narrowed your eyes at him.

"There was a car in the driveway."

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I can see who I want to see."

"I know you ju-"

"Sorry, I'm not like you." Bradley's eyebrows knitted together, his hazel eyes staring at you intensely.

"I'm sorry, what?" You knew you ticked a nerve.

"Bradley, you know what I mean."

"No, not sure I do. Explain. Now." The tone in his voice sent a chill down your spine. You straighten your posture, interlacing your fingers and placing your hands on the table.

"Well you just. All because you don't bring anyone home doesn't mean I don't have to." You thought it'd be awkward, but it wasn't. Something in his stare had changed, it wasn't intimidating anymore. It was something more playful. A smirk pulled at one side of his mouth.

"Even if he can't get you off." Your eyes grew wide.

"Wha-"

"You think I don't hear you?" You stared at him. A heat started to rise in your cheeks, as well as between your thighs. Bradley had been listening to you? The thought of him fisting his cock while listening to you fuck someone else plagued your mind. "Hear your little moans every night?" That's when it dawned on you. Your room shared a wall with Bradley's.

Bradley took notice of the way your face changed. It wasn’t shocking, more akin to something else. He watched as you took your lower lip between your teeth, gaze looking away from him for a moment. You took your hands from the table, placing them in your lap. Your thighs squeezed tightly as you felt his eyes crawl over you. You had always found Bradley attractive, but never considered the possibility of him coming on to you. The thought of him jerking off to your sounds plagued your mind, showing you just how desperate he actually was for you. Your eyes flicked up to meet his blazing hazel orbs. A surge of courage ran through your veins.

“How many times did you hear me?”

“All of them.” A heat blazed through your body like a forest fire. “You should fuck someone who actually makes you feel good.” Bradley leaned across the table, playful smirk on his lips. “Someone that has you moaning like when you finger fuck yourself.” Your insides clenched at his words, thighs squeezing together once more.

“Is that what you want?” A tension was swirling between the two of you now. The both of you knew exactly what each other wanted.

“Just a concerned neighbor is all.”

“If you’re so concerned about this problem, then fix it.” You emphasized the T at the end of the sentence. Bradley quirked an eyebrow. The two of you stared at each other for a while, only the small bell on Twix’s collar filling the silence.

“You sure you want that?” Bradley asked. “Want me to ruin you for anyone else? Make you come crawling back?” Bradley stood up, taking a few steps until he was standing next to you. You turned and looked up at him, eyes unwavering as you answered him.

“Show me what a ‘concerned neighbor’ can do.” Bradley’s hand moved to your chin, taking it between his thumb and pointer finger. A smirk adorned his face, eyes scanning your face.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty.” Bradley’s fingers started pulling on your chin, hinting at you to stand up. You made your way to your feet, a fire surging underneath your skin. His fingers drifted down your jaw, hand moving to cup the back of your neck. Bradley leaned down, lips barely touching your earlobe. “I can’t wait to hear those pretty moans. The ones you make while you touch yourself.”

Teeth and lips clashed together, neither of you sure who kissed the other first. Bradley’s fingers tightened around the nape of your neck, pulling you closer towards him. His hand grabbed at your hip, kneading the flesh underneath your t-shirt. One of your hands threaded into his honey locks, tugging lightly. They were softer than you had ever imagined.

“Fuck.” Bradley whispered, his hot lips traveling down your jawline to your neck. The hand on the back of your neck disappeared, ghosting down your side to your hips. Rough hands grappled with your waist, kneading at the flesh under your shirt. The tiny hairs of his mustache prodded at your skin, urging you to keep up with him. It was as if Bradley wanted to consume you, know everything your body had to offer.

Bradley needed to know the exact things that made you moan. One of his hands grabbed your ass, pulling you flush against him. A hardness pressed against your abdomen and pelvis, letting you know Bradley was enjoying this. Your hips rocked against his, the hand on your ass trailing to the small of your back. He kept you pressed against him like that as he backed you up towards the wall.

A hand was now pressing on your core, rubbing you over your pants. Bradley pulled back to watch you, listening to your gasps and moans while he provided you with minimal pleasure.

“Must have thought about this for a while, with the way you’re moaning.” Bradley sneered. It wasn’t a lie, ever since you had moved in he plagued your mind. He was your main source of masturbation material, the idea of him being more than just your neighbor.

“What if I have? Thought about this before.” The words were like honey to Bradley, sweet and just what he wanted. Both of his hands went to the front of your body, one moving to work at the button of your pants while the other kneaded your breast.

“Is that what you thought about when you fucked yourself? Wishing it was me deep inside of you?” His hand slipped down the front of your pants and panties, fingers slipping between your folds. A groan tore through Bradley’s throat. “Fuck, how are you this wet already? This wet and we still have our clothes on.”

“It’s been a serious problem.” He covers your neck with hot and wet kisses, fingers circling your clit. They were tight and quick circles, ones that made your abdomen tense up. You knew you would last long, especially at this pace. It’s like Bradley already had a map of your body, with each sensitive spot marked with an ‘x’.

“Should have let me fix it sooner. Not have those useless dudes try to fix it.” Bradley’s tone had your insides melting. All you could do was stare at him, lips parted while moans fell from them. Without warning he removed his hand from your pants, turning you around and pressing you against the wall. His hands hooked into your pants and panties and pushed them down to your knees. His hand returned, this time his fingers tracing your entrance.

“God, this hole is so needy for me.” Bradley pressed two fingers into you, filling you up just the way you needed. He draped his body over yours, pressing your chest to the wall. His mouth nursed at your neck, nipping at the tender spot below your earlobe.

“Only for you, Bradley.” A soft growl came from him, his fingers thrusting in and out of you, stretching you open. A wave of pleasure ran over you as his fingers brushed that special spot inside of you. “Fuck! Ri-right there.”

Bradley added another finger at your words, zeroing in on that one spot inside of you. He could feel your walls clenching, tightening around his digits. He knew you were close and so did you. The tightness in your abdomen was almost unbearable, waiting for the tension to snap. A mix of swears and his name were pouring out of your mouth.

“You sound so fucking good moaning my name.” Bradley’s cock twitched every time you moaned his name. He never realized how much of an effect it would have on him. “Only my name, nobody else's. Nobody can make you feel like this, only me.” Bradley whispered in your ear.

“Only you, Br-Bradley!” You stuttered at his name as you came. The tension in your abdomen finally snapped. Your walls tightened around his digits and he helped you ride out your high. A groan came from him, his forehead pressing tightly to your shoulder as he just felt and listened to you.

A shaky breath passed your lips when he removed his fingers from you. Bradley’s hands found your pants and panties that were still around your knees, pushing them down and helping you fully remove them. He pressed kisses all the way up the back of your legs, biting at the meat of your ass eventually. As your legs regained consciousness, he gestured for the two of you to go to his bedroom.

“If I’m fucking you right, I’m fucking you in my bed.” You nodded, still a little blissed out from your first orgasm. You took the hand he had held out and followed him.

You immediately climbed onto his bed, not waiting for him to direct you. He shucked his shirt off once reaching the bedroom, just in time to watch you. Bradley stood at the foot of the bed, watching you put on a show for him. The skin of your back slowly became more exposed and you dragged your shirt up your body. His eyes scanned your skin, taking it all in as territory that he finally was able to claim. He couldn't help his hand drifting towards his pants, rubbing at the strained fabric covering his cock. He saw the bubblegum pink bralette, making him wonder if your panties were matching. He didn’t pay much attention to them when he took them off you. Your hand trailed up your sides, grabbing at the band of your bralette and tossing it to his floor.

Bradley bit his lower lip, coming around the side of the bed to see you. You turned to him, letting him see you completely bare. Bradley started to kneel at the edge of the bed, his hands moving out to grab your legs. He pulled you closer to the edge, pushing your legs apart and putting your cunt on full view for him.

“Look at you.” Bradley said as he dove between your thighs. He drug his tongue up and down your slit, flicking it against your clit. He brought a hand around your thigh, using his fingers to open your folds even more. You propped yourself up on your elbows, moaning and whining as he feasted on your cunt.

It was as if he was a mad man and this was his only purpose. His mustache rubbed against your clit as he licked lower, your hips stuttering at the sensation. Your back arched when you felt his fingers prod at your entrance again, pushing inside of you while his tongue worked over your clit. Shivers ran through you as the tension in your abdomen returned. Bradley groaned against you, the vibrations making your legs shake. You brought a hand to his locks, threading your fingers through them.

“You taste so fucking good.” Bradley groaned as you tugged at his hair. The tension in your abdomen was tight, threatening to snap at any moment. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking just enough to push you over the edge. His tongue never left your clit, flicking as your body shook with pleasure.

“Bradley! Fuck!” Your legs went to squeeze shut, the sensation becoming too much. But Bradley stopped them, grabbing the inside of your thighs and forcing them open. Your entire body was tight, your orgasm feeling like it was never going to end. “It’s too much! Bradley, please!”

Bradley pulled back after you begged him to stop, letting you finally catch your breath. You laid on the bed, chest heaving from each breath. This was the first time you had ever felt like this, this blissed out from a man. You had enough trouble getting off once during sex with most men, let alone twice. But here was your neighbor, easily pulling to orgasms out of you because he was jealous. That’s when you heard the sound of a zipper, pulling you back from your post-orgasmic thoughts.

Bradley was standing up now, jeans low and open on his hips. His hand was pushed down past his waistband, working his cock through the fabric of his boxer briefs. Steadily you sat up, legs draping down off the side of the bed. You reached out, pulling at the waistband of his jeans. You pushed them down his legs, him kicking them off to the side. Next your fingers trailed around the waistband of his boxer briefs.

“Don’t get all shy on me now.” Bradley joked as he watched your fingers slip into the waistband. You flicked him a glare as you pushed them down his legs. His cock was red and angry, standing at full attention. You had always assumed he was big, but this just confirmed your suspicions. You wrapped a hand around the base stroking lightly. Bradley watched with his mouth agape, tongue running over his lips.

You pressed your lips to the tip, licking softly before taking the tip into your mouth. Bradley let out a deep groan as he watched your lips part, taking him into your mouth. He let his head fall back, trying to focus on the feeling of your hot mouth wrapped around his cock. This was a moment he had dreamed of since hearing your moans. But he didn’t know if it was enough. He wanted to be in you, fucking you until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“I can’t.” You gave him a curious look, pulling off of him. Before you could ask him he spoke, “I need to be in you now.”

Bradley pushed you up the bed, draping his body over yours. He reached over into his bedside table, grabbing for a condom. You watched as he tore the wrapper with his teeth, tossing the wrapper to the floor. He rolled the condom down his cock, running his cock between your folds. Every time his head rubbed your clit you quaked, shocks of pleasure rolling through you.

“God, you’re gonna look so good taking me. Letting me ruin you for everyone else, making sure you only want me.” Bradley settled between your legs and lined up, pressing the head of his cock in your entrance.

A moan fell from you as he pushed in you, stretching you with only the head of his cock. Inch by inch he eased into you, rocking his hips slowly. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, kissing at your clavicle. When he was fully seated inside of you he paused, listening to your breaths. He pulled back to look at you, a look asking for permission on his face.

“Fuck me, Bradley. Make me yours.” Bradley groaned. His hips pulled back, slamming back into you in an instant. He set a brutal pace, heavy deep thrusts as he filled you. He kissed down your neck and chest, kissing at your breasts before taking a nipple into his mouth.

“You’re so fucking dirty, fucking other men while wishing they were me.” His words were intoxicating, speaking truth that you didn’t know he knew. You clenched around him at his words, letting him know he was right. “What a fucking slut. But that’s okay, I have you now. Gonna fuck you so good.” Bradley continued to babble on, talking about how you were made for him and that he was made for you.

“Bradley, you- fuck!” Bradley adjusted, changing the position slightly. He sat back on his heels, grabbing the underneath of your knees and holding your legs out. He thrusted inside of you, immediately hitting that spot inside of you. Your back arched hard, walls clenching around him. Bradley didn’t like to be a two minute man, but the way you were squeezing around his cock was making it hard.

“You feel so fucking good! Fuck! It’s like you’re sucking me in.” Bradley pushed your legs together, leaning over you. He practically had you folded in half as he pounded into you. “Say it, please say my name.” It was almost like a plea when he asked.

“Bradley! Please!” Bradley knew you were close, he could feel how close you were. He was close too, had been close for awhile but was trying to hold out for you. It was all becoming too much for you. You were on the edge of your third orgasm, the spot inside of you being hit over and over again. Bradley let your legs fall apart, finding your clit with his fingers and rubbing it. That was it.

His name was all you said as you came, clenching his cock impossibly tight. Bradley held out for a bit longer, helping you ride out your orgasm. He leaned down and captured your lips with his, a small taste of you still noticeable. You moaned as he pounded into you a little bit more, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

A groan ripped through him as he came, his thrusts stuttered as he unloaded into the condom. He rested his head on your chest, the both of you trying to catch your own breath. You started tracing small circles on the expanse of his back. A comfortable silence settled between the two of you for a moment. Bradley was the one to break it as he shifted, pulling out of you.

“So, problem fixed?” He asked. You rolled your eyes and rolled onto your side.

“I think so.” You responded while yawning. “But I would like to keep it fixed.” Bradley smiled as he stood up, taking the condom off and tying it. He leaned over, placing a kiss on your temple.

“Good, cause I don’t think I can give you up now. Plus, I think Twix would be mad if you stopped coming around.” He helped you stand, the both of you making your way to the bathroom. You sat on the toilet as he cleaned himself with a wet washcloth, leaving it sitting in the sink when he was finished. Twix mingled in between your feet, meowing at the both of you. You gave him a small scratch on the head before leaving the bathroom. You went back to Bradley’s bedroom, crawling into the bed and under the covers. Bradley followed shortly afterwards, cuddling you from behind.

The next thing you knew you were waking up, a heavy weight on your chest. You looked up to find a cat on you, Twix specifically. You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you and Bradley must have. Which made you look over, seeing your neighbor in bed next to you. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly open as he slept. A warmth spread in you, knowing that all your problems were fixed.

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x f!reader #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #rooster fic #top gun fic #top gun smut

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rookieloveskashi · 1 year

Text

That's What I Thought

Relationship: Hatake Kakashi x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit - Minors DNI

Warnings: smut, rough sex, rough oral sex, spanking, vaginal fingering, praise kink, blow jobs, cum swallowing, choking, overstimulation, POV reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: You ask Kakashi not to hold back, and he is all too happy to oblige.

AO3 Link

Waiting for Kakashi to return from a long mission was torture.

It was one thing when you still lived separately; able to focus on things in your own space and get your mind off the dangers he might be facing. But you had been living with the Copy Ninja for a few months now, and this mission was the longest he had been away since you’d moved in.

The mission wasn’t exactly dangerous—accompanying a party delivering a message to the Hidden Stone—but there were always risks when shinobi left the village.

Plus, the apartment still felt more like his than it did both of yours. You had only worked in a few of your own touches: some of your favorite sweet snacks tucked beside the health food in his cupboards, your one house plant you had managed to keep alive sitting on the windowsill, your toothbrush next to his by the bathroom sink. But the overall furnishings and décor were still Kakashi’s, and it felt strange to occupy this space without him for so long.

You collapsed on your stomach on the bed, feeling lonely and a little bit needy. You missed your silver-haired sweetheart, and he wasn’t due back for another two days.

The bright orange spine of a worn Icha Icha paperback on the bookshelf caught your eye. There wasn’t much in this world that struck up an image of the Copy-nin quite like one of the raunchy romance novels he could be spotted reading all over Konoha. Just reaching for the book and bringing it closer made you feel like he was closer too.

You had read it before, though not nearly as many times as Kakashi had. But still, you knew the flow of the story well enough to flip through the book to find the particular part you were looking for. Once you had it, you grabbed a pillow from the head of the bed and stuffed it under your hips, propping up your butt as you settled in to read. You just wanted to feel the pressure beneath you for some semblance of intimacy to satisfy you until Kakashi was back home.

You just had no idea that would be happening before you even got to the end of the chapter.

You didn’t hear the door open—didn’t hear his footsteps as he padded to the doorway of the bedroom.

You didn’t hear him at all. Not until he spoke.

“Don’t you dare move.”

Your body jerked in surprise, your heart racing as you looked back at him. “Kakashi? You’re back early!”

“I am,” he agreed in a level tone, taking the few steps necessary to bring his feet to the spot on the floor directly behind you.

He reached out and grabbed two handfuls of your ass. You yelped as he hooked his hands around you, yanking you back a little, your back arching to present your ass. “Mmmm do you just lie around like this when I’m not around to enjoy it?”

“And what if I do?” you teased, wiggling your hips.

He growled, climbing onto the bed and covering your body with his own. “Then I’d better take advantage of this opportunity while I have it.” He yanked your panties down, then rubbed the palm of his hand over the soft skin he’d exposed. His back pressed into you as he leaned closer, his teeth nipping at your neck. “Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes,” you breathed, already eager to please.

Kakashi lifted his hand from your ass, only to land a sharp smack on the direct center of your right butt cheek. “Then why aren’t these legs spread yet?”

You quickly shifted your knees just enough to grant him easier access. “That’s my good girl.” He reached forward between your legs, using two fingers to spread your entrance open, toying with your folds.

You trembled as you felt his fingertip circle your clit. “Fuck, Kakashi…”

He removed his fingers and sucked them clean before lifting off your back. You could hear as his clothes piled on the floor. “You might want to hold onto something.” You turned to look at him, eyes wide and cheeks pink at the sight of him standing at the foot of the bed, stroking his cock. “You’re about to take all of this, beautiful. So get ready, because I’m not going easy on you.”

You felt a tremor as your arousal built between your legs. “I don’t want you to go easy on me,” you smirked. “I want you to be rough.”

“Fuck,” he growled. He wrapped his hands around your upper thighs and gripped, then pulled you back to press his hips against you, his aching dick poised to split your wet cunt in half. He moaned as he rubbed himself along you, his voice vibrating deep in his throat. “That’s what you want, baby?”

While he hadn’t ever treated you like some fragile piece of glass, you knew he was still nervous about being as rough as he sometimes wanted to be. He cherished the typical affectionate, tender way he usually made love to you, favoring positions where he could look in your eyes, kiss you, and feel as much of your body against his as possible.

But some days, he just had a different look in his eye, like he was desperate to go absolutely feral on your body. And although that look easily aroused you beyond the point where it was obvious to the perceptive jōnin, he still had a bad habit of holding himself back or apologizing for—in his mind—going too far. But you’d finally talked about it, and now, having made it clear to him that he was more than welcome to indulge himself, you couldn’t wait to see what he would do.

“Mhmm.” You blinked your wide doe eyes at him, feeling your body tremble in anticipation of everything he was about to do to you.

His eyes stayed on yours for an extra second. You knew his Sharingan was looking you over for any signs of unease or discomfort, but you also knew he wouldn’t find a thing.

Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Kakashi suddenly dug his fingers into your hips and yanked you backward, impaling you on the full length of his cock.

You screamed and instinctively tried to scramble away, reaching for the pillow and trying to pull your hips forward. He chuckled a low laugh. “I told you to hold onto something.”

He quickly slid you forward, pulling you almost all the way off, just to yank you back again. He slammed you along his length repeatedly, fucking himself with your submissive body. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room. “Ohhh your little pussy feels so good,” he growled, bringing you back with more force than he’d ever dared use on you before.

“Ah! Ah!” You could only yelp with every move he made you make. “Ka-AH!”

“Mmmm, you look so good right now, bent so perfectly for me to fuck into.” He leaned over you, biting into your shoulder. The sensation was so intense everywhere he was touching you. Your eyes rolled back in your head, overwhelmed by all the stimulation.

He used his chest to push you down into the mattress. His left hand reached around the front of you to rub your clit while his right grabbed your throat. No longer able to manipulate you along his stationary cock, he began pumping into you like an animal, grunting into your ear.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” he groaned, “letting me do whatever I want to you. Such a sweet, pretty girl for me with such a soft, warm pussy.”

“Kuh—Kashi!”

“Mmmm you were made to take my cock, weren’t you, baby?”

You gasped and choked, his hold on your throat just tight enough to restrict your ability to properly speak.

“I asked you a question,” he scolded you, rubbing your clit harder—hard enough to make you see stars. “I expect an answer. Was this pretty pussy made to take my cock, or wasn’t it?”

A pathetic cry escaped your throat, your entire body trembling. “Ngh—YES!” you cried out, feeling yourself precariously close to cumming. “K-kashi yes!”

He hummed, his callused fingers continuing to abuse your bundle of nerves. “That’s what I thought.”

You shrieked, pulled over the edge by the assured tone of his voice and his relentless use of your body. You felt your walls clench in on him, a spark of pleasure almost too intense radiating through you.

“Are you cumming already?” he smirked. “That’s so cute.”

You writhed under him, waiting for him to slow down and ease you through. But he didn’t; not even a little. In fact, his hips started moving somehow even faster, fucking you deep into the mattress as you tried and failed to recover from your climax.

“Mmmmm, it feels so good when you tighten in on me like that.”

You babbled incoherently. The aftershocks of your orgasm were finally subsiding, although he was still lighting all your nerves with every deep, harsh thrust. You wanted more, despite the sharp pleasure still washing over you. He was just so fucking sexy like this. You would take him for as long as he wanted.

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” he smirked, fingers rolling your clit in a tight trap. “Hm, yeah you do.”

“Ka…Kashi…” you tried to focus, but he was pounding into you so fiercely and abusing your clit so intensely, all you could do was pant and take it.

“Does that feel good, baby? Am I making you feel good?”

You furiously nodded. It felt better than good. Incredible. So fucking good, you wished the two of you had tried this way sooner. The trust you felt for him—knowing he was vigilantly watching for any signal you needed him to slow down or stop, even while fucking you into oblivion—made it so that you could fully enjoy the primal way he just took you.

He was absolutely merciless, his thick cock splitting you open as his fingers claimed your throat and clit. You felt warm puffs of his breath on your neck as he kissed and nibbled at your jaw.

The sounds of the room were deafening. His bedframe was creaking under the strain, despite your body taking the brunt of the force. When he wasn’t saying depraved things in your ear, he kept audible with low, throaty groans and grunts. His skin was slapping into yours, sounding absolutely filthy with the sound of his cock sliding back and forth along your slick cavern.

“You’re mine,” he growled, panting in your ear. “You belong to me.”

You were heaving and panting like an animal in heat, your eyes fluttering closed as he adjusted just enough to start directly plowing into the spongy area behind your clit. He was attacking your most sensitive area from both outside and inside, and you didn’t stand a chance.

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes as he made you cum again. You could only squeal out pathetic noises, broken whimpers filling the room as your vaginal muscles spasmed around his cock.

“Again?” he smiled. “I didn’t realize I was fucking you that good. It’s like you’ve been waiting all day to cum on this cock.”

“Gods…” you groaned, finally coming down again. “Kashi…”

“I want to see your face,” he growled, his hands sliding from your body. You nearly collapsed without the support of his hold. But before you even had the chance, he slid out of your heat and flipped you onto your back. It was so quick, the sensation was dizzying. You huffed out a breath as your back hit the mattress, your head settled on the pillow.

“There’s my pretty girl,” Kakashi smirked down at you, kneeling on the mattress and pressing into the backs of your thighs with his legs. His wide palms held your knees in place, pushing them apart to lock eyes with you. “Now I can see the cute faces you make when I fuck you.”

He didn’t waste another second, lining you up at exactly the right spot for him to slide back inside of you. A high-pitched sound flew from your lips as he filled your compliant, welcoming body once more. He slipped his hands to grip the fronts of your thighs, bringing you back to bump the backs of your thighs into his hips as he pulled you in to meet his thrusts, the thick head of his cock bumping against your g-spot with deadly accuracy.

You couldn’t maintain even a shred of dignity, your eyes rolling back into your head as your tongue lolled out of your mouth. Your eyelids fluttered as you lost yourself in the overwhelming feeling of pleasure.

“Very good, sweetheart,” Kakashi purred, using his arms to hike your ankles to his shoulders. “That’s what I like to see.”

You grasped haphazardly at the sheets and pillow beneath you. All control of your body had been given over to him. You choked out whimpers as he impaled you on his dick again and again and again. The whole time, his speed and force didn’t falter for a second.

“Look at how well you take me. I love how eager you are for me.”

You regained a little control of yourself and looked up at him. He was watching himself disappear into you, completely mesmerized as your body adapted to accommodate him. Between the look on his face and the way he held himself, he looked so self-assured and gratified; it was easy to see how he’d earned a reputation for being cocky.

But you knew better. Where some saw narcissism or arrogance, you knew you were simply seeing a man who was proud to be doing his job well; to know his efforts were for the benefit of another: the village, another shinobi, the rare friend. But every once in a while, on occasions like these, his efforts benefitted himself. And as far as you were concerned, he deserved to make whatever self-satisfied face he damn-well pleased.

Those expressions were just for you, anyway. The curve of his mouth, the way his teeth sunk into his lower lip, the taut muscles in his neck. His cheeks, his nose, his jaw; his entire beautiful face that you wanted to cover in kisses: it was all for you. And being the object of his desire; the helpless little thing caught in the gravitational pull of this gorgeous, imposing man, letting himself loose and having you in every way he wanted?

Gods, there was nothing better.

His eyes slowly raked up your form, settling on your chest. He looked like a man possessed; his sole focus the way your breasts bounced with each powerful thrust. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous,” he grunted, his fingers digging into your flesh as he spread your legs further. “I love watching your perfect tits bounce when I fuck you.”

Hearing him voice his voyeuristic desire made your breasts ache with need. He’d ignored them to this point; his attention concentrated solely on your lower body. But suddenly, it felt like you would scream if you didn’t feel his fingers on your breasts. “Touch me Kakashi,” you panted, arching your back to present your chest. “Please touch me.”

“Heh, is that what you want?” he teased, keeping a steady rhythm of pounding into you. “You want me to touch your pretty pink tits?”

“Please,” you gasped. “I need you.”

“Mmmmmm, you need me?” he smirked.

“Kashi please!” you tugged at the sheets, desperate for relief.

“Hmm. Well I do want to touch them,” he mused, “But I need to keep my hands here so I can keep doing this.” His grip tightened on you as he doubled his efforts, pumping into you so quickly that sweat was starting to bead on his face. “So I want you to touch them.”

Your fucked-out brain couldn’t follow fast enough. “Wha?”

“Play with your tits for me, Y/N. I want to watch you touch them while I fuck you.”

The heat rising in your face was unavoidable. With the furious way he was using you, you didn’t even think your face could get any warmer. You were still doing everything you could just to survive his onslaught; you weren’t even sure you had the brain power or command over your own extremities to functionally get your hands where he wanted them. But his eyes snapped to yours, and for a second, you got a taste of what it must be like for shinobi under Kakashi’s command.

Attempting to disobey seemed pointless; this Kakashi was impossible to defy. But he was taking your hesitance as insubordination, and you could tell by the impatient look on his face that he would not accept your behavior.

“Now, Y/N.” Kakashi broke you out of your spiral, his voice a deep-throated snarl that made your skin tingle. That tone did something to your brain, giving you all kinds of ideas. Your response fell from your lips by some strange, new instinct.

“N…No.”

His brow furrowed and his body stilled. His hands still gripped your thighs as he held you against his hips, his cock buried almost fully inside you. The look on his face was almost comical; never before had the great Copy-nin had reason for such indignant confusion to color his face.

But you didn’t dare laugh.

An excited form of fear was building in your stomach as Kakashi continued to stare at you, the look on his face easing just barely as he fell completely into his authoritative role. “What did you just say?”

This was your one and only chance to have any hope of taking it back. Kakashi had already had more than enough time to figure out that your response wasn’t truly refusal. He knew you didn’t need—or even want—him to stop. But you weren’t about to take it back. Because if this was how he was going to react to your disobedience, you wanted to see just how far you could push him.

“I said no,” you repeated, boldness prickling through your veins, even as your voice took on a whinier tone. “I won’t. I don’t want to do it myself. I want you to touch them.”

He held your gaze for a few seconds. Even like this, Kakashi was stunning. Just looking into his eyes like that made your nipples ache with want and your cunt clench with need. All you wanted to do was comply, and give him exactly what he asked for. Anything to get him to start moving again. But you stood your ground.

The corner of his mouth twinged upward for a fraction of a second as his confidence and dominance washed over him. Then he relaxed his features and let out a resigned sigh. “Y/N, I thought you were going to be good for me. But instead, you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

He leaned forward a little, shifting his hold on you to dig his fingers into the backs of your knees and push them forward to your chest. “Maybe that’s my fault,” he continued. “Maybe I’ve been too lenient with you.” He pressed down a bit harder, causing the muscle in the back of your thigh to protest as it was forced to stretch beyond its typical range. “Well, that ends now.”

You whimpered at the burn in your legs and instinctively reached forward to hold him back. His hands flew from your thighs to your wrists, throwing your arms back down to the mattress and pinning them easily.

“Ah ah ah,” he tsked before flicking his eyes up to your wrists and back to your face. The weight of his chest and positioning of his knees forced you to maintain your backbreaking position.

“Kashi, let go,” you whined.

You felt his gaze scan you before his mouth tugged into a wicked smirk. “Nope.” He pressed your wrists more firmly to the mattress. “I decide where I put my hands on your body. And there’s nothing you can say to change my mind.”

His grip on your wrists closed in like a vice. You cried out and he pushed his chest further into your thighs, bending you in half and settling your ankles next to your ears. “Ka-kashi!” You didn’t even know you could bend this far. But then his hips resumed their unrelenting thrusts into you, and the most embarrassing, feral sound tore from your throat as he showed you just how many shapes your body could make.

“My pretty little girl needs to be reminded who’s in charge?” he smirked, panting as he threatened to split you in half. “That’s fine. I can remind you who’s in charge.”

For all the movement of his lower half, he kept his chest pressed tight against you. His face hovered over yours as he watched every feeling and emotion run through your eyes; an aesthetic display as he fucked you into submission. Harsh slaps echoed through the room every time he bottomed out.

You felt him reach deeper than ever before, the head of his cock not just brushing but battering against your cervix. “K-Kashi,” you gasped pathetically, “please!” Your arms tensed as you tried and failed to get them out of his grasp.

“No, baby. Good girls get what they ask nicely for. But you, well, all I can give you now is your punishment.”

“Please—” you pleaded, “Kashi!”

“Hmmm is that what you think I want?” he chuckled, his hips bruising your ass with every plunge. “Go ahead and beg, sweetheart. See how much it helps you.”

He was railing you with so much enthusiasm, you could barely even form any words. “Please please Kashi!” you cried out, as though you only knew those two words. “P-Please! I’m sorry!”

“Mmmm I bet you are,” he teased. “Go on, pretty girl. Tell me how sorry you are.”

“I’m sorry Kashi! Please, I’ll be good!”

He hummed, a smug look tugging at the corners of his mouth. “See, that’s what you said before.” His eyes closed as he used the muscles in his abdomen to really roll his hips into you. The motion caused his pelvic bone to repeatedly bump against your clit, just enough to tease it without really offering you any relief. If anything, it only frustrated you more.

“I mean it!” you panted. “I swear, I’ll be good!”

He hummed again, that deadly smirk painted across his face as he slowed down a bit. The thumb of his left hand stretched out to allow him to grip both of your wrists with his one wide palm. Even with half of his hold gone, you were completely overpowered. You wriggled to test his strength, but you quickly realized that he wasn’t holding back. Not at all.

“Hmmm, so pretty.” He traced his free hand down your cheek, drawing a barely-there line down the side of your neck, over your clavicle, then teasingly close to your stiff nipple before caressing the curves of your hip and thigh. The entire time, his hips didn’t stop their movements: slower, but no less intense. “Do you mean it? Are you gonna be my good girl again?”

You clutched to his question like a lifeline. “Yes! Yes I promise!”

Danger sparkled in both of his eyes as he leaned his face closer to you. For a moment, you thought he might offer you a kiss; just a tiny respite from his barbaric display. But you quickly realized you couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Well,” he started, “my good girl would take my cock, and thank me for it.”

He resumed his savage pace, using the full weight of his body to pound into you. The air escaped your lungs in an undignified grunt as you tossed your head back. Your nose bumped against your captive arm, and you gently bit down on your own flesh in an attempt to spread the overwhelming sensation throughout your body, instead of your pelvis taking the full brunt.

Kakashi snarled as he took his hand from your hip and landed a stinging smack on the exposed flesh of your ass. “Eyes forward, gorgeous.” Your neck fulfilled his request without any conscious command. When your eyes met his, you saw adoration blending with the pure desire that cloaked his gaze. “Mmmm, that’s better.”

He leaned his face down closer to yours, his eyes demanding your attention. “I’m gonna fuck your tight little pussy until you behave.” His free hand snaked between your torso and your thighs. Kakashi pressed his palm into you, just below your navel. The increased pressure caused his cock to have an even tighter fit inside you, and he shuddered out a groan before he started thrusting into you with even more force.

You couldn’t help but scream; the sound was so dire that you hadn’t even realized you had made it, until the sting prickled your throat. “Ka-AH! KAKASHI!”

“Is it too much, baby?” he cooed, slowing down. “Is my thick cock too much for you?”

You tossed your head back and forth as tears gathered in your eyes. “Ah…I…” Your eyes locked onto Kakashi’s in an attempt to communicate with him the only way you still could. The tomoe of his Sharingan was spinning wildly, working on overdrive.

“Well that’s too bad for you, sweetheart. Because you belong to me, so I get to do whatever I want to you.”

“Wait—”

His hand flew to from your stomach to your throat. “Enough,” he snarled. His eyes locked onto yours as he tightened his grip just enough to make your back arch. “I don’t want to hear it anymore, Y/N. You still haven’t even thanked me. Maybe if you just take your punishment like the good girl I thought you were, I might forgive you.”

You trembled, feeling that familiar tightness building below your navel yet again. It felt impossible that you would be on the brink of yet another orgasm while Kakashi was still going at full force. He had hardly even broken a sweat. And where he had, it was like he had strategically allowed certain areas of his body to perspire, just so he would have that raw, sensual glow that suggested all things erotic.

“Ohhhh I’m gonna fuck your pretty pussy until you remember who you belong to.”

He was saying all the right things, that low rumbling thunder in his voice coaxing even more desperate reactions from you than you thought possible. Kakashi tucked his head into the space between your head and your arm, burrowing into you until his mouth was right by your ear. You could hear every grunt and pant perfectly clearly, timed with those expert thrusts of his cock as he continued to use you.

Or punish you, according to him, but this hardly felt like punishment. In fact, you were sure if he kept this up even one minute more, you were going to reach a third high.

“Ka…Kash…i…” you whimpered, trying to warn him. Your lower lip trembled and your body felt on the verge of breaking. “I…”

“Shhhh,” he murmured into your ear. “Just take your punishment, Y/N.”

“B-But…I…AH!” You whined out a guttural scream as you came, your walls clamping down on him as your body gushed your creamy arousal all over his cock. Your fingers curled in on themselves, nails digging into your own skin as your lips trembled. You tried to take in a deep breath, but he kept his hold tight on your throat as he grunted his own sound of pleasure at the feeling of your muscles spasming around him. He leaned back to see your eyes cross as you gasped.

That look of deep self-satisfaction was back on Kakashi’s face. His eyebrows were raised in a small bid of surprise, but he surely knew better. He knew that even as you were playfully disobedient, you were still his good girl who loved being told what to do.

Kakashi slowed his thrusts as he looked into your eyes with equal parts affection and want. “Even while being punished?” he smirked. “Greedy little thing.”

Your mouth was gaping like a fish out of water, your tongue desperately trying to wet your parched lips. He tilted his head a little as he appraised you and slowed down a bit further. “Have you learned your lesson?” he asked, idly continuing to press into you. “Will you do as I ask now?”

As if you ever had a choice. Your third orgasm left you completely senseless, not a braincell left in your fucked-out body. You only had the energy to weakly nod, but it pleased him to the point where he smiled down at you with an affectionate warmth. “That’s more like it.”

He leaned back down to brush a soft kiss over your mouth. You were so braindead that you didn’t even notice the kiss until he had already nuzzled back into the crook of your neck. He moaned as he resumed his slow thrusts into your tender cunt.

“Mmmm feels so good,” he groaned against your skin. You grasped at the sheets and felt your body squirm without your permission. “Your pussy is mine,” he declared. “It’s all for me. Understand, Y/N?”

You whimpered as your sensitive walls started to protest. “Please,” you gasped, tremors tearing through your body. “P-please…I…”

“What is it, sweetheart?” he taunted you. “Use your words.”

Even through the haze of your third intense orgasm, you could recognize the slight undertone of concern in his order. He had never taken you this roughly, and even with his Sharingan, he was starting to worry he might be missing something and hurting you. He loosened his grip to be sure nothing was keeping you from letting him know if you’d had too much.

But you hadn’t had too much. As far as you were concerned, he could keep pounding into you until your brain completely shut down. But the risk of overstimulation was real, and you definitely didn’t want to overdo it and cause him to be apprehensive about trying something like this again.

“I…a minute…I just…”

The completely empty feeling in your head made it difficult for you to actually use your words like he instructed, but Kakashi was observant and discerning enough to understand.

“Hmmm, feeling sensitive after cumming all over my cock again?” He smirked as he teasingly pumped into you again, causing you to tense and gasp.

“Wait, Kashi—”

“Wait?” His eyebrows furrowed just a little and he tilted his head, the tomoe of his Sharingan recording and analyzing your every tiny twitch. “But I’m not done yet.”

Your hands flew up to paw at his chest. “Kakashi I’m too sensitive I can’t…”

“Hmmm, now that’s not fair Y/N. I make you cum three times, but I don’t get to finish?”

“Please Kashi I can’t handle any more!”

He hummed, sounding disappointed. “And here I thought you were back to being my good girl.”

“Please I want to but I can’t, Kashi!”

He pulled himself completely out. A playful, dangerous look was simmering in his heterochromatic gaze, his secret mouth posed in a sweet smile. “You want to be a good girl for me?”

You swallowed thickly and nodded, and his smile grew in response. Then he brought that smirking mouth down to meet your trembling lips, kissing you in a swoon-worthy display of affection. When he finally pulled away, you could only resume gasping for breath. It felt like your heart had failed a few beats, but nothing else mattered when Kakashi looked at you like that.

He propped himself up on his elbows to gain power, then sat up fully on his knees. With a few easy movements, he scooted forward to settle his calves on either side of your head, his erection looming like a threat over your flushed face. “Then open that pretty mouth for me and suck my cock until I cum.”

Despite the overstimulation, warmth flooded between your legs at his command. Your muscles were useless, your lungs overworked, your body decorated with bruises and love-bites from everything he’d so far put you through. But as soon as he suggested it, you couldn’t even imagine a reality where you didn’t fuck him with your mouth. Right the fuck now.

You opened your jaw and flicked your tongue over your dry lips. Kakashi gripped his shaft and pumped a bit lazily, his eyes trained on your mouth as you readied yourself to take him.

A little bit of Kakashi’s domineering shell cracked, showing off the giddy, love-drunk man within. That softness in his eyes would always give him away, revealing how he still couldn’t believe he had you. And it caused the same look to shine from your own eyes, so in love with him.

His right hand cupped behind your head and pulled it up off the mattress at the same time as he lined the head of his cock to the opening of your mouth. You adjusted your mouth so he would just barely squeeze through, the wetness from your sex easing his passage. He groaned deep in his throat at the feeling of your lips sliding closer and closer to the base.

“That’s my girl,” he sighed, dropping his head back. “That’s what I want. Make my cock feel so good.”

You hollowed your cheeks as you licked at the underside of his cock, the texture of your tongue teasing his veins. Your own taste melded with the taste of his cock, and you couldn’t help but groan around him. His hips pulsed toward your mouth as his fingers tangled in your hair and tugged you in to meet him. You whined a little, still not completely as coordinated in your movements as you normally were.

“Faster, baby,” he demanded. You tried to match the movement of his hips, but your jaw slackened a little as you lost focus. “Come on baby, make me cum. I wanna cum down your throat.”

Your eyes locked onto his, and he understood what you needed even before you did. “Mmm poor little thing, you need help?” he cooed. “Here, I’ll help you.”

He sat forward a little, putting more of his weight on his knees and letting your head settle back on the pillow. His dick slid deep into your throat, the head thumping against the muscle of your throat. “Gods, that’s it Y/N.” The new angle put him in complete control, and he didn’t waste it. He immediately set a brutal pace, his fingers still holding you still by the roots of your hair as he fucked your face into the mattress.

“You’re my good girl now, aren’t you? So good, just for me.”

His eyes stayed on your face, and you were sure this served two purposes. For one, it allowed him to be sure he wasn’t being too so rough that he was hurting you—he wanted you to enjoy his actions as much as he did. But also, he felt an egotistical pleasure as he watched your lips struggle to keep up with the relentless pace at which his cock disappeared between them.

After everything he’d already done, it wasn’t long before his breaths started getting choppy and his rhythm was a little less disciplined.

“Ohhhh fuck…” he panted. “Fuck, I’m—” He growled as he came, his eyes rolling back as he let his release loose down your throat.

It was difficult to accommodate him in your flat position, but you swallowed it as quickly as possible, gulping it down just for the next spurt to fill your mouth again. It wasn’t easy, but that adoring look on his face was more than enough motivation.

Finally, he pulled his hips back, giving you space to breathe. You felt as the muscles of your face pulled into a mindless grin, happily gasping for air as you laid flat on your back.

“Y/N. Be honest with me. Are you okay?”

You pushed yourself into a sitting position, your gaze level with his. Sometimes, you just had too many things running through your mind; too much love and admiration for him to put into words. You wanted to tell him all of it. Every embarrassingly honest thought. But you only had the energy for one.

“I love you.”

He pulled you onto his lap and hugged you close, tucking his face against your shoulder. “I love you too.”

Kakashi’s presence was the only thing you needed for the apartment to feel like your home.

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