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cleo-fox · 8 months

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Surrender

Summary: Finding your soulmate is supposed to be a romantic, life changing experience.

No one tells you what to do when a). your soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of your planet and made himself king and b). you kind of still want him anyway.

(Soulmate AU where Loki won)

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, oral sex, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering.

A/N: look, I was intrigued by the idea of a Loki Wins AU and also a soulmate AU and this just sort of happened. I may write more of this concept because it gave me IDEAS. This is also available on AO3.

The mark on your wrist begins to burn the minute he walks into the room.

At first you think it’s a coincidence or a mistake—there are guards walking with him, perhaps it’s one of them. But then he flinches, his right hand going to his left wrist and your heart sinks to your knees. It could still be a coincidence, you tell yourself halfheartedly.

He scans the room and when his eyes land on you, it’s like the tumblers of a lock clicking into place and you know.

He’s much taller than you thought he was—that’s the only conscious and coherent thought you manage to have as he approaches you. Being the subject of his gaze is overwhelming in a way that you sort of expect, but it still makes you want to sit down and close your eyes. He looks you over, his gaze lingering briefly on your nametag from work.

“Show me your wrist,” he says.

You don’t think he’s using his powers, but you comply automatically, extending your arm toward him, wrist turned up. There’s a frisson of electricity that buzzes along the back of your hand when he touches it—if there were any remaining doubts about who he is and his relationship to you, that feeling surely puts them to rest. You know that he must have felt something too from the way he looks at you sharply, as though he thinks you’ve done something intentional to cause this. You can only hope that your wide eyed bewilderment convincingly conveys your innocence.

His expression betrays nothing as he examines the mark on your wrist, which is now glowing a bright gold that would be pretty if the circumstances were different.

It’s funny, you think. You’ve been waiting for this moment your entire life and all you can think is that you wish it wasn’t happening.

He releases your hand and looks at you in a calculating sort of way. “Come with me,” he says finally.

You do, of course. What other choice do you have?

The next several hours are a blur.

You are shuffled from place to place. Usually there is at least one guard—you’re not sure why. The idea of you being able to do any damage to him is laughable and escape doesn’t exactly seem like an option. Where could you go that he could not find you?

It’s a depressing thought; you try not to think much about it.

You know exactly when the news breaks because it coincides with your phone basically becoming unusable due to the flood of notifications, calls, and texts. You put it on airplane mode to compose a short message to your family and friends. Your reassurances feel a little trite given the circumstances: I’m fine, I’ll call when I can.

You can’t exactly type what you’re really thinking, which is more along the lines of I’ve just learned that my soulmate is the homicidal maniac who led the successful takeover of our planet. I’m doing about as well as you’d expect.

You turn airplane mode off long enough to send the email. Once it sends, you power down your phone. It doesn’t seem prudent to leave it on, at least not right now—right now, it only serves as a reminder of a life you know you’re going to have to leave behind and you’re not at all ready to confront that particular loss.

They eventually take you to what you assume are his rooms. You’re surprised by how traditional the decor is—you had expected a cold sort of minimalism, but there’s more wood and warm colors than you would have thought. You are informed that there are clothes for you in the closet; you nod and say nothing, though you wonder how they managed to pull an entire wardrobe together in the span of only a few hours. Magic, perhaps.

You are finally left alone, though you’re fairly certain that you would find guards stationed outside if you were to look.

You take one of the elegant velvet throws from the bed and wrap it tightly around yourself before settling on the couch next to the window. You’re not exactly cold, but it feels like a necessary armor between you and this unfamiliar place.

You stare out the window for a long time. You’re too high up to people watch and you’re not sure that you could handle that anyway—it would be yet another reminder of the fact that your life has changed in a massive, earth shaking way that you can’t even begin to understand. Instead, you stare at the tiny cars on the city streets below, snaking their way to destinations that feel so far out of your grasp that they might as well be on a different planet altogether.

It’s late when he finally shows up—so late that you’ve actually gotten ready for bed, donning one of the silk nightgowns that had been left for you. You can tell it’s more expensive than any sleepwear you’ve ever owned in your life. You’re just glad that it’s modest—you had half expected to find that all your pajamas were bustiers, thongs, and thigh highs in some sort of ill considered attempt to seduce you. But this is elegant and understated, with a matching robe that you cinch tightly around your waist.

You sit on the couch, the throw still wrapped snugly around you. He looks at you, the corner of his mouth curled up in a slight smirk.

“I hope you don’t intend to stay there the entire night,” he says.

“I hardly know you,” you say before you can even contemplate whether it’s wise.

He looks…amused isn’t quite the right word, but there’s a subtle tilt to the corner of his lips—not quite a smile, but maybe somewhere in the vicinity.

“Give it time,” he says, and something about that makes you shiver.

You intend to sleep on the couch, at least for these first few nights when everything still feels so raw and strange.

Or that was your plan, anyway.

Loki doesn’t say anything else as he prepares for bed and you stare resolutely at the window so as not to invite any more conversation or prompt any invitations to join him in bed. Eventually, the lights go out and you are left alone with your thoughts in the dark.

The room is much colder at night.

You’re not sure if it’s on purpose, though you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. Perhaps he likes it like this. Perhaps it’s to lure you to him, to tempt you into seeking out the warmth of his bed and body.

You pull the blanket more tightly around your shoulders. Eventually, you allow your eyes to drift shut.

You wake some time later in the middle of the night. The room feels even colder, the velvet of the throw and the silk of your nightgown and robe a scanty defense against the chill. You burrow against the couch cushions and it’s sort of bearable.

But you also have to pee.

You hold off for as long as you can, but you eventually summon the will to leave the couch and seek out the bathroom.

The bathroom is even colder—perhaps it’s all that glass and marble that makes the difference. You’re wearing your robe and you’ve still got the blanket wrapped around you, but your teeth are chattering by the time you wash your hands. You run the water as hot as you can stand, but it only does so much. If you were braver—if it wasn’t your first night here, you would run an extra hot shower and stay under the spray until your fingers and toes pruned and the chill was chased from your bones.

Instead, you hustle back to the couch, burrowing against the cushions, throw and robe wrapped tightly around you. But you still can’t seem to shake the cold. You huddle on the couch, shivering, trying to calm your body.

Time passes and you don’t grow any warmer. You wonder if you can steal another throw from the bed—surely he won’t miss one—when a voice speaks from the darkness.

“Come to bed,” Loki says.

You clear your throat. “What?”

“I can hear your teeth chattering from here. Come to bed and stop being absurd.”

You hesitate, staring into the dark. You consider the cold, the slight kink in your neck from the way you’ve been sleeping on the couch, the late hour, the way that sleep pulls at your eyes. A bed is appealing. Maybe more appealing than it should be.

You find yourself getting to your feet and slowly making your way across the room.

You pause on the other side of the bed—your side, you suppose, though calling it that still feels too intimate. You can just make him out in the dark.

“You’ll stay on your side,” you say, like making it a statement will make it so.

“Well, you hardly know me.” His voice is clipped, more bitter than you expect as he echoes your words from earlier.

You can’t help but scowl. “I’ve known you for less than twenty-four hours and it’s the middle of the night. I’m not doing this right now.”

He laughs. It’s sharp and brittle and unexpected, but it’s a laugh all the same, and something about that helps, if only a little.

You don’t say anything else as you climb into bed. You find that the blankets are warm—warmer than you expect—and heavy. There’s a part of you that expects yourself to be too nervous and on edge to fully relax, but the coziness of the blankets piled around you is oddly calming, even with Loki mere inches away. You hunker down underneath the blankets, situating yourself on the pillows.

He doesn’t say anything and it’s not long until his breathing becomes steady and even.

And after a while, yours does, too.

Consciousness creeps up on you slowly the next morning, a far cry from the jarring alarm on your phone that usually disrupts your slumber. You are warm and cozy, cocooned in the blankets, safe from all of the bullshit that had happened yesterday.

It’s such a peaceful, easy awakening that it takes you a moment to realize that you aren’t alone.

It takes another moment for you to realize that your cheek is pressed against Loki’s chest. And to make matters worse, not only are your arms wrapped around his him, your right leg is also flung across his waist, like you can’t bear to be parted from him for even a moment.

But before the panic sets in, there is a barely perceptible moment where your body just enjoys the feeling of being pressed against him. It’s quick and you’d deny it if asked, but the rush that you get from giving into the pull of your soulbond for even that brief moment is nothing short of incredible.

But it’s just a moment and your mind quickly turns to the matter of extracting yourself without drawing his notice. Ideally, he’ll just stay asleep and you won’t have to deal with any awkward fallout. If you move very slowly and carefully, perhaps he won’t notice.

You carefully start to move your leg from his waist.

“To be clear, you’re on my side of the bed,” he says.

God fucking dammit.

You abandon all subtlety and quickly peel yourself away from him.

“I must have rolled over in my sleep,” you say, incredibly conscious of how stupid that sounds.

He smirks, which is somehow worse than if he’d said anything.

“It won’t happen again,” you say.

It does.

This is your new routine: you start every evening on the couch, wrapped up in your robe and throw. You wake some time in the night, teeth chattering. Sometimes, Loki will tell you to come to bed. Other times, you quietly give up and slip under the covers on your side of the bed.

But every morning without fail, you wake tangled around him.

Sometimes, he’s spooned up behind you; more often, though, you’re the one clinging to him. It’s as though your body has a homing device that leads you over to his side of the bed in your sleep, dutifully ignoring all of your stern warnings about who stays where.

The worst part of it is that you’re fighting your own instincts. On a very basic, physical level, you yearn to be close to him. There’s a part of you that revels in these unintentional moments of closeness, that wants to allow yourself to enjoy the feeling of him, to allow him to put his hands on your body, for you to put your hands on him.

The fact that he wakes up noticeably hard most mornings does not make this any easier.

This is a problem that you’re not entirely sure how to solve and the second week in, your desire for information finally outweighs your desire to avoid social media and the deluge of emails and texts that you know are waiting for you on your phone.

You turn your phone back on and immediately delete all of your social media apps. You don’t know what they’re saying about you and you don’t care to. You turn off all of your notifications, even the little number icons that show you how many unread emails and texts that you have. You want absolutely no distractions.

You open a private browser window and pull up Google.

Newly connected soulbonds are the hormonal equivalent of pouring out a bunch of gasoline and striking a match. Soulbonds are intended to be consummated. You know this. There are people who wait it out for one reason or another, but that’s very much the exception—it’s a physical and emotional test of endurance. And you’re beginning to understand why.

The internet is not very helpful. You already know what happens when you don’t consummate a soulbond promptly—increased arousal, restlessness, vivid dreams, and so on as time goes on. You’re more interested in mitigation. You find a few blogs that have entirely irrelevant suggestions like cuddling on the couch or holding hands. “While you’re waiting for intercourse, why not try some outercourse?” one post muses with a level of earnestness that causes you to immediately turn off your phone and fling it across the room.

You’re going to have sex with him at some point. That’s inevitable. On a very basic level, you want him—it’s more or less coded into your DNA. But that is at odds with the reality of who he is and what he’s done. It might feel good to wake up tangled around him, but it only takes a minute to remember the battle of New York and it nearly extinguishes the desire burning within you.

But only nearly and only for now.

The third week is when things start getting increasingly difficult.

Loki seems content to wait things out. You can feel the burn of his gaze on you, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t prod.

You, on the other hand, find yourself slipping into a heightened state of arousal that is becoming impossible to ignore. Midway through the week, you finally give in and try touching yourself in the shower in the hope of some relief and you come so quickly and so hard that you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from crying out and your legs very nearly buckle from the force of it. A few twitches of your fingers has you sprawled on the shower floor and coming again, harder than before. You repeat this trick a few times but even as strong as it is, it doesn’t really help—you’re back to where you started within minutes.

Worse though, is the fact that it’s his face that you see when you come. Every. Single. Time. You imagine him over you, his gaze dark and intent as he watches you come; slack jawed and hissing in pleasure as he pushes into you; growling in approval and impatience as you take his cock into your mouth. The images come entirely unbidden and stick in the forefront of your thoughts like a burr clinging to wool.

When you see him later that afternoon, his gaze lands on you in such a way that it feels like he knows everything you’ve done and everything you’ve seen, from that moment in the shower to the shameful thoughts you had as you came.

The dreams start shortly after, and they are objectively worse.

The dreams are far more vivid than just images. In the dreams, he’s touching you, coaxing you to peaks you could never have imagined, pressing into you, taking you hard and fast and achingly slow and everything in between. The dreams leave you out of breath and shaky, aching for a touch that you know that you should not want, but do with every fiber of your being. By some miracle, they only seem to occur while you are on the couch and not when you’re in bed, but that luck won’t hold forever.

Perhaps more importantly, you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. Deep down, you’ve known this from the moment the mark on your wrist started to burn. Your resistance is eroding like a sandcastle at high tide and it’s only a matter of time before you crumble.

But not yet. Not yet.

Five weeks after your arrival, you wake sweating and out of breath from another dream.

You take a few deep breaths. It was similar to the ones you’d had before. Thinking about the details makes your core ache and your clit throb so you try to keep them out of your mind.

You’re half surprised that you’re not tangled around Loki, given the content and subject of your dream, but that makes sense when you realize he’s not in bed. Instead, he sits on the couch, staring into the middle distance. Perhaps he is struggling with the same kinds of dreams.

The idea of you making Loki too hot and bothered to sleep is more appealing than you’d like to admit. You hastily dismiss the thought before it can bring any more heat to your already too warm skin or add more fuel to the flickering desire that seems to have settled permanently in the cradle of your hips.

You slip out of bed and go to the window, folding your arms across your stomach as you stare out at the sleeping city.

“You were calling out in your sleep.”

More heat prickles at your skin.

“Hm,” you say, trying your best to sound casual.

“What were you dreaming of?” he asks.

He’s only asking because he already knows the answer. You know this. But the lie still slips from your lips: “I don’t remember.”

He laughs, a quiet and dangerous sound that stokes the fire in your belly. “Have you forgotten, darling, that I am the god of lies?”

You can hear him walking toward you, but you keep your back turned. Has the room always been this warm?

He waits until he is directly behind you to speak again. “Will you lie again when I ask if you were dreaming of me?” His voice is so close, full of depth and a little husky.

“You flatter yourself,” you say.

You can hear the smirk in his voice, feel the whisper of his breath on your neck. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” He pauses for a moment. “But you were calling out for me.”

Your lips are dry. You want to deny it, but it feels useless. Worst case scenario, he’s still mostly right: you were dreaming of him and you can’t even really deny crying out for him because you were asleep and you don’t know for sure.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he continues. His voice drops. “Every time I close my eyes, I see you writhing in pleasure beneath me.” He pauses. “Or I see myself between your legs, worshiping you with my mouth, bringing you to ecstasy over and over before I finally take you.”

Your heart is pounding and every nerve in your body feels as though it’s connected directly to your clit. You are warm—too warm—and you can feel your pulse pounding in your throat.

“What were you dreaming of?” he continues, his voice barely a murmur.

“Nothing,” you say.

He clicks his tongue. “Try again, darling.”

You say nothing and after a moment of silence, he seems to decide that it’s time to switch strategies.

“You must be so wet,” he murmurs, his tone low and soothing.

Your stomach and your cunt clench. If he starts talking dirty to you, it’s over.

“We’re not meant to go this long like this,” he says. “We both know that. It’s been five weeks. Your poor cunt is probably aching for me, just as I ache for you.”

Your breath is coming in shaky gasps. You need him. You can feel your resolve starting to slip.

“Yield to me.” His voice is rough with wanting, like this is just as hard for him as it is for you. “I know you feel it. I feel it, too. You yearn for me, you crave my touch. Let me make you feel good, darling, let me ease that ache. Yield and I will give you everything.”

You draw in a shaking breath and slowly turn to face him. He’s looking at you with an intensity that you expect, but it takes your breath away nonetheless.

The remnants of your resistance are lost to the wave of him and the only thing that’s left in its place is a raw need like you’ve never experienced before.

You don’t know what to say, so in the end, you settle for his name. Just his name, said quietly with all the desperation and longing that has been making your life hell these past few weeks.

You get a glimpse of the fire in his eyes before he’s on you.

There’s nothing gentle about this kiss. It’s the kiss of two people who have been deprived of each other for too long, your teeth bumping against each other, tongues twisting and tangling. You end up pressed against the wall next to the window, your leg wrapped around his waist, his hand supporting your thigh. He presses his hips against you and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his hard cock dragging against your swollen, sensitive clit. He draws back slightly to look at your face as he slowly grinds his hips against yours, his free hand moving to palm your breast over the silk of your nightgown.

You moan again, your head dropping back against the wall. The soft, slippery friction of the silk of your nightgown against your nipple and the soaked lace of your underwear rubbing against your clit is enough to make you go cross eyed, a slow tease that only fans the burning embers within you. Your body is overheated and too tense, but Loki is blessedly cool in a way that somehow both soothes and inflames.

“You’re drenched. I can already feel that,” he says, his voice thick with desire as he moves against you. “I could make you come like this.”

You whimper, rocking your hips back against him. “Please.”

He shakes his head. “Another time. Tonight I want to feel you when you come.” He drops his hand from your breast, trailing down your stomach and moving in between your legs. His fingers slip beneath your underwear, and you let out a needy whine as he strokes the slick folds of your sex. “Is this all for me?” he asks, his voice slipping into a low growl.

You barely manage a breathy affirmative.

“Sweet thing.” His thumb rolls over your clit as he slides one finger into you, and your back arches automatically, your breasts jutting out. “We’re going to have to do something about this, aren’t we?”

“Please,” you breathe.

“How can I resist such a sweet plea?” he says, sliding another finger into you and curling it just so. “Or such a wet and needy cunt?”

“Don’t stop,” you say.

“I ought to make you beg me for it after everything you put me through.” His eyes darken as his thumb presses against your clit and you moan. “But perhaps I can be generous. I can feel how much you need to come on my fingers.”

You nod, slack jawed and panting.

“You’ve been waiting for this,” he murmurs. “You’ve tried to deny yourself, but you need me, you need my touch.”

You whimper, your hips rocking.

“Say it,” he says, stroking your clit.

“I need to come,” you moan.

“A good start,” he says, his voice a stern purr. “But not quite what I asked, my love. Try again.”

A twinge of irritation manages to work its way to the forefront of your mind. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly in a state to be playing twenty questions.”

His eyes light up with a predatory gleam that heralds the arrival of something that you know will end enjoyably for you.

“Oh, darling, that attitude won’t do at all.” His fingers are immediately and conspicuously absent and you very nearly cry out in frustration. But before you can, he is sweeping you into his arms and making the journey to the bed in several long strides. He sets you gently on the bed and looms over you, green eyes flashing as his hands stroke up your thighs. You lift your hips and he pulls your underwear off, tossing it to the side.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” His voice is a growl. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to come.” You know it’s the wrong answer, but this particular game of cat and mouse and the predatory gleam in Loki’s eyes are making you even wetter and god, you need him.

His eyes flash with a barely concealed delight. “Try again.”

You spread your legs rather conspicuously, hiking your nightgown up to your waist. “I need to come.”

He’s looking at you intently, lips slightly parted. “You’re trying to distract me with that pretty cunt, you wicked thing.”

“Is it working?” you ask.

He lowers his head to kiss the inside of your left knee. “It would work much better if you answered me properly and told me everything you need.”

You think you have an idea of what he wants to hear, but you’re not quite ready to give up the game yet. Instead, you pull your nightgown up and over your head and toss it to the side. His eyes are dark as he looks at you, his gaze lingering on your breasts and trailing down to the apex of your spread legs. You wonder what it would take to make him lose control, to take you in the way that you both need.The thought sends another flood of heat to your aching core.

You lick your lips. “Will you make me come, Loki?”

Another wolfish grin. “Closer. But not quite. Try again.”

You let your hand slide down your stomach and between your legs and you part your sopping folds so he can see the full extent of what he’s done to you—every dripping inch. The look he’s giving you now only heightens the feeling.

“Should I make myself come?” you ask and you’re immediately rewarded with an almost feral look and a sharp smack to your ass.

“Don’t you dare,” he growls.

You put on your most innocent expression, even as his visible hunger makes you ache. “I thought you’d like seeing me touch myself.”

“Oh, there will be time for that later,” he says, his eyes still dark. “I’m particularly interested in seeing what prompted those intriguing little noises I kept hearing while you were in the shower. But every tremor of pleasure that wracks your body tonight will be from me alone. Now,” his eyes glitter and his hand replaces yours on your cunt, his long fingers spreading you open, but not touching you, his expression rapt with undisguised greed, “tell me what you need.”

Your capacity to tease and resist him was well and truly exceeded when he smacked your ass and was further obliterated by the monologue he just delivered. “I need you to make me come, Loki. I need you so bad.”

His smile is filled with dark promises and a hunger that you have every interest in sating several times over.

“Good girl,” he says.

And his fingers slide back into you as his mouth envelopes your aching clit.

You moan as your hips lift and your hands tangle in his hair. He mumbles something that sounds like “perfect” against your clit, first teasing you with the tip of his tongue and then pressing it flat against you and rubbing in slow circles. Meanwhile, his fingers have found that soft, aching spot inside of you and he presses against it in slow, firm thrusts that make you tremble.

You initially think that you’ll be quite quick to come because you’re already so wound up, but Loki seems determined to find the edge and keep you there for as long as possible—and he’s really, really good at it. He falls into a rhythm where his tongue strokes your clit once, twice, three times and withdraws; his fingers pick up the thread, stroking your walls once, twice, three times and withdrawing, only for his tongue to resume where he left off. In this way, he keeps you balanced on the edge in a perfect kind of torture. It feels so good, but it’s not quite enough to get you there just yet.

You make liberal use of his name—it’s a plea, a curse, a benediction, a moan, a sigh. Instinctively, you know that he likes this, but it’s not enough to distract him into letting you fall even a moment before he wants you to.

The ache that’s been building in your hips for the last couple weeks is growing, burning bright and warm. Your body feels electric in the best way, your nerves humming and buzzing and straining for release.

“Loki,” you moan, partly as encouragement and partly because you want him so badly.

You’re so close. Your entire body is tense and trembling; all you can think about is how badly you need to come, how much you are aching for your release.

So close.

“Loki, please,” you moan, truly desperate now. “Please let me come. Make me yours—”

You’re not sure if it’s what you said, the desperation in your voice, or pure coincidence, but in that moment, he shifts his rhythm so that his mouth and fingers are no longer alternating, but are instead moving in sync. And this is what you need to tip you over, to allow that wave to finally, finally crest and then break.

Your orgasm hits you hard, pulling a loud moan from deep within your chest and making your entire body quake. Sparklers are dancing along your veins, champagne bubbles fizzing along your muscles, stars bursting behind your eyes. You have never felt anything like this before—you are satisfied but also aching for more, falling apart and being remade over and over again.

It’s only when you’re decidedly in the blissful wave of the aftershocks that he dares to lift his head and he looks you over like you’re something wonderful. Before you can raise your hands to reach for him, he’s crawling up to you, claiming your mouth in a kiss that feels deeper than the ocean.

He slides his hand in between your legs and you whimper, shivering at the sensation of his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. But somehow, he finds that particular angle and pressure that’s just enough, but not too much. You moan and he slides a finger back into you, rolling in the same rhythm as his thumb on your clit.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Keep going for me, darling. I want to watch you come this time.” His voice is so firm and authoritative and it strikes sparks up and down your spine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, your hips rocking with his hand.

“You’re doing so well getting ready for me,” he purrs. He lowers his voice to a rough growl. “I can’t wait to fuck you until you’re trembling and coming all over my cock like the wicked, filthy girl that you are.”

It’s the combination of his words and his voice and his perfect hands that does it this time. A rolling, fluttering shudder fizzes through your body, building to a peak that has you letting out a guttural moan as you clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Yes, that’s it,” Loki says as he watches you through hooded eyes. “You are gorgeous when you come undone.”

He kisses you slowly, fingers moving steadily until the final shudder rolls through you.

Somehow, through all of this, he’s remained fully clothed. There’s an aspect to this that’s appealing—it makes everything feel particularly decadent and a little forbidden—but your palms are practically itching with your need to touch him. You need him inside you, but you also need him close, bare skin on bare skin.

Your hands sneak under his shirt and you suck in a sharp breath when you feel the heat of his skin underneath your palms. You tug his shirt off him and make quick work of his pants before drawing back to look at him.

He looks like art. It’s a silly thought, but there’s some truth to it—there’s an almost ethereal quality in the sharp angles of his face and the elegant symmetry of his musculature.

Your gaze drifts down to his cock. He’s long, thick, and hard, the tip flushed and slick with pre-come. An ache courses through you—something about seeing the full evidence of his arousal makes everything seem more real, makes you want him with renewed ferocity.

You want to touch him and so you do, your fingers curling around his shaft.

“Can you feel how much I need you?” he asks as you stroke him slowly. He is remarkably composed, though you catch the slight hitch in his breath and it sends a thrill through you.

“Will you show me?” you ask.

“Every day,” he says.

It’s an answer you’re not expecting. You were speaking strictly in the immediate, physical sense. This feels deeper, more meaningful. You’re not quite sure what to say, so you kiss him and he kisses you back with an intensity and thoroughness that makes your toes curl.

He rolls over you, his body covering yours. It’s almost overwhelming how good his bare skin feels against yours. You take his cock in your hand again and stroke him, slowly rubbing the tip from your clit to your entrance, coating him in your slick.

You expect him to just push forward when you guide him to your entrance and you’re almost disappointed that he doesn’t—you’ve both waited so long for this and your need for him is burning inside you like an inferno.

But instead he pauses, his eyes locked with yours.

“Will you have me?” he asks. There’s vulnerability in the question, a softness in his green eyes that you don’t expect. It feels like a loaded question, though not necessarily in a bad way.

You don’t hesitate. “Yes,” you breathe.

Something like relief flashes briefly in his eyes before he leans in and kisses you. You tilt your hips up again and this time, you feel the blunt head of his cock slowly press into your waiting warmth.

You’d read people describing first times with their soulmates and it had always sounded so hyperbolic and silly. They’d throw around words like euphoric and transcendent and all you could do was try not to roll your eyes.

But the moment Loki is fully seated inside you, you finally get it. Every overwrought, overused cliché seems to occur to you all at once—puzzle pieces falling into place and locks and keys and halves made whole and all that bullshit—and it all makes sense in a way that it hadn’t before.

Loki’s eyes are stormy above you, to the point that you think you may have angered him, but then he kisses you with a ferocity and possessiveness that steals your breath and makes you tighten around him.

“Mine,” he growls against your lips. “Mine.”

There’s a lot of emotion in that word. There’s history in that word. It’s the sort of thing that the two of you will probably need to unpack later. For now, though, you wrap your legs around him and meet his demanding, hungry kisses with your own.

“I’m yours,” you murmur against his lips. “Take me.”

You expect him to respond to that plea with a frantic pace. But instead, his first thrusts are slow, like he’s savoring it. Your body yields to him instinctively, your muscles drawing him in and then tightening further as he withdraws. You are so slick, so ready for him that it almost feels a little obscene.

“You are exquisite,” he rasps as he sinks into you, his head bowing to kiss and nip at your neck. “I have been aching for you.”

“Yes,” you breathe. “Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re asking for—more of this, more of him—but he seems to know anyway. He kisses you deeply as you wrap your legs around his waist, rolling your hips up to meet his.

In one fluid motion, he rolls you over so that you are on top. He looks up at you, an irrepressible smirk curling at the corners of his lips.

“Go on,” he says, his voice low. “I want to see you take your pleasure from me. Claim your throne, my love.”

A shiver works its way up your spine. This is a man who single-handedly conquered the entire planet and he’s telling you he wants you to ride his cock until you come. It is raw and sexy and undeniably hot and the way he’s looking up at you makes you feel beautiful and powerful.

You lean forward, bracing your hands on the mattress, tilting your pelvis until you find the right angle, the one that makes your stomach tighten and your breath stutter.

A smile twitches at the corners of his mouth. “Right there?”

You let out a shaky breath and rock your hips. “Yeah.”

It takes a moment for you to find your rhythm, but you find that you want—or perhaps need—to go slow and steady. Loki watches you, his hips rocking with yours as he lets you set the pace, his hands sliding from your hips to your breasts and back again, like he can’t get enough. His gaze is intent and intense and you get the sense that he’s cataloging every movement, every gasp or sigh, furrowed brow or bitten lip.

The coil in your hips is starting to wind tighter and you know it won’t be long.

As though he knows, Loki slides a hand down your body, palm gently pressing against your lower stomach. A fantastic pressure begins to blossom in your hips and you whimper.

“You’re doing so well,” he purrs. “So tight and wet. You’re perfect.”

“Getting close,” you breathe.

“I know, I can feel you,” he says.

You’re at a point somewhere beyond words, riding that wave, chasing bliss that you can almost feel. A choked whimper falls from your lips.

“That’s it,” rasps Loki. “Be a good girl and come on my cock.” He flicks his thumb against your clit and you completely unravel.

It was good the first two times, but having him inside you as you come sends you to another plane of existence entirely. Your orgasm seems extended, the feeling of his cock against the spasming muscles of your cunt creating more even rippling pleasure. And the noise that he makes, the filthy praise that falls from his lips, the way that his fingertips dig into your hips just makes it all better.

He rolls you over onto your back just as you’re starting to feel boneless, and pulls you into a deep kiss. He thrusts into you, a little faster than the pace you had set, but still slow and steady.

“I want to feel you come again,” he breathes. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this, how good you feel?”

You shudder as his cock drags again against that spot inside you. He repeats the motion and you keen, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“That’s it,” he rasps, bringing your leg up over his hip to press even more deeply inside of you. “Come on, darling. Let me feel you.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, meeting his hungry, demanding kiss with your own. You roll your hips with his, chasing the flickers of bliss that he’s steadily stoking to an inferno once more.

“Please,” you mumble against his lips. “Need you. Please.”

He groans and increases his pace just enough to make you whimper. The desire inside of you is catching fire.

“I…fuck, I—” Your hands are gripping his shoulders, your body shaking as you approach your end.

Loki’s eyes are wild, his teeth bared. You can tell that he’s close, that he’s chasing the same incredible feeling that you are.

“I want you to come for me,” he grits out. “And the second I feel your tight cunt start to tremble around me, I’m going to come inside you.

You moan, fingernails digging into his shoulders. You are unbearably close.

“Do you want that, darling?” he says. “Do you want me to come inside you? Do you want your perfect cunt filled with my seed?”

You are almost beyond words, but not quite: “Yes. Please.”

Despite how close he is, he still gives the impression of being entirely in control. He lowers his head so that his lips graze yours and his eyes are all that you can see. “Then come for me,” he says.

Two more deadly smooth rolls of his hips and you do. A guttural, plaintive sound falls from your lips as your whole body trembles with the force of your orgasm, your cunt squeezing around the girth of his cock. He groans, mumbling something in a language you don’t recognize before he, too, starts to unravel.

His face is rapturous when he comes, his head tipping back and his mouth falling open, brow furrowing. If you weren’t so distracted with the rippling shocks of your own pleasure, you would try to commit it to memory. Instead, you simply try to enjoy the feeling of him emptying himself inside of you, the stuttering thrust of his hips, the soft groan that falls from his lips. Finally he stills, resting his head in the crook of your shoulder. You can feel his heart pounding against yours.

You feel…it’s not different, exactly, but there’s a kind of ease and connection that just feels right. The restless ache inside of you is finally quiet and you feel loose and languid and pleasantly sleepy.

Finding your soulmate isn’t necessarily the same as falling in love. Sometimes it all happens in the moment. Sometimes it’s years in between.

For you, though, you can pinpoint the exact moment that seed was planted: Loki raising his head to look at you, his hand curled against your cheek. His gaze is careful, reverent, like you are as warm and golden as the dawn just barely beginning to streak the morning sky.

#loki smut #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki x you #loki fanfic #loki x yn #loki x female reader smut #loki x female reader #loki x reader smut #loki laufeyson smut #loki fanfiction

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flowersandbigteeth · 3 months

Note

Orc boyfriend with what he thinks is a tiny, smol mate who's so smol, so delicate, so sweet... They're actually pretty firmly built for a human, while a bit short, along with being stubborn and sassy and ready to bite heads off for their adorable XL size boyfriend.

I've got so many orc stories going right now, but you know I'm not mad about it ^_^ I love Orcs <3 There are so many different ways to write them. I have another couple of Orc asks I'm working on, as well 🥵

Orc (Cedar) x thick f reader

Word Count: 5K

Tw: sfw orc fluff, some brief descriptions of battle, brief mention of sa, size difference

More monster fluff here

“Put the stick down, sugar. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You scoffed at the soldiers circling you, their eyes dark with lust.

“We just want to have some fun,” another said, his eyes drifting over your shapely hips. “Don’t you owe us a debt of gratitude for rescuing you?”

You squeezed the iron fire poker that you had gripped in your hand.

“Rescuing me? You didn’t get your rocks off burning down the damn village?”

“It was a strategic maneuver,” the leader of the armored men said with an oily smile. “We are here to liberate you.”

“By assaulting me?” you snapped.

There was not a doubt in your mind that the second you lowered your weapon, they were going to drag you into some dark corner and act out all of the sick thoughts they had echoed on their faces.

Your King’s soldiers weren’t good guys. When they heard there was an Orc camp nearby, they couldn’t be bothered to attack it directly. Instead, they burned down your village. They said it was to prevent them from resupplying.

It was true you did business with the Orcs, who were technically your enemy, but they never acted like enemies. While big and quite scary-looking, they paid in gold and were always polite to the women running the shops. You never felt the least bit unsafe alone with one, and occasionally, they’d help you out with things that needed done– fixing roofs and cartwheels. The men of the town had all been conscripted for the war, so it mostly the ladies keeping the village afloat. The soldiers had made a whole lot of children and the elderly homeless.

“Come on, sweetie, this game is getting tiresome.”

One of the soldiers dared to approach you, and you didn’t hesitate a second, swinging your poker and smacking him so hard in the head that his helmet crunched. He collapsed on the broken boards that had once been the floor of your little noodle shop.

“Now that’s a crime!” the leader barked.

He waved to his accomplices.

“Get in there and restrain her!” Their eyes fell on the collapsed soldier, and they looked between one another, trying to sort out who was next to get a whomping.

You flexed your wrist, preparing to swing at whoever came at you next, when you heard the heavy steps of an Orc approaching. The soldiers were too inexperienced to know what that sound meant. You’d heard them approach every day at dinner time for several months. It wasn’t until he was shouldering his way through what was left of your door that they took notice.

“The enemy approaches! Your swords!”

The Orc you knew as Ash, wrinkled his brow and let out a lilting call to gather his brethren. The ground rumbled as more heavy feet ran towards you.

Wood splintered, and what remained of the ceiling creaked as they tore the walls away, making more room for a fight.

Faced with five nine-foot Orc barbarians armed with axes almost as big as their bodies, the soldiers tried to run for it. You screamed as they threatened to trample you, trying to force their way through the back wall, but they never reached you.

The Orcs didn’t need to draw their weapons, grabbing every soldier and smacking them against the ground until they stopped moving—a gruesome way to die, but practical.

When the danger was crumpled into a wet gnarl of bones and metal, their eyes turned to you. Ash said something to his friends in their own language before he stomped across the room and plucked you up like a kitten, cradling you in his arm.

“Hey, What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Quiet, little one. You’ll give us away.”

You puckered your lips at him, annoyed, as if the stomping of five tons of muscle was quiet. When you tried to wave your poker at him, he plucked it out of your hand but didn’t drop it, tucking it instead in his belt. He said something else to his friends before turning to split away from them.

You had no reason to panic. The Orcs had never harmed you, but being taken away from the group put frightening thoughts in your head, and you instinctively started screaming.

The Orc sighed, sounding tired, when four more soldiers came skidding around a corner, swords in hand. You looked up at him apologetically, smacking your hand over your mouth to stay the scream that didn’t want to stop.

He set you on the roof of what was left of a building and pat you on the head, a gesture that you read as “stay” before pulling out his axe. You weren’t going anywhere, even if you wanted to. The drop was fifteen feet down, and the stairs were just charcoal at the base of the building.

“Attack!” the leader of the soldiers shouted, but their moves in their heavy metal armor were slow. Ash swung his arm in a sweeping stroke that sliced four of them in half where they stood. The other one, eyes wide with horror, turned tail and ran.

Replacing his axe, he picked you up again and headed into the woods. This time, you had enough sense to keep quiet.

You’d never been to the Orc camp before, but you heard it before you saw it. The brassy sound of a grinder and hammers on metal rang through the trees, blended with the shouts of the Orcs in their language. There were lots of huge tents and fires spotted here and there. The camp was buzzing with activity. Orcs ran around shouting at one another, some gathering weapons, some sending groups in the direction you came. You recognized many of them as some of your customers. They often came in groups and hauled away vats of the noodle stew you sold.

A few Orcs waved at Ash but didn’t pay you much mind as he carried you to the nicest-looking tent. It had a banner outside of it with a gold bear embroidered into the fabric. Ash set you on the ground at the door and handed you your poker before patting you on the back, indicating you should go in.

“What’s in there?” you asked.

He said something in Orcish that you didn’t understand and walked away. There were too many other giants around to attempt an escape, so you pulled aside the fur covering the door and peeked inside.

“Hello?”

Your question was returned with a deep voice, smooth as a glassy pond.

“Enter, little one.”

Taking a few steps inside, you were faced with what you could only describe as the most handsome Orc you’d ever seen. His skin was a deep olive, and his hair fell over his shoulder in a long, dark sheet with small braids here and there. His tusks were large, but they seemed only to highlight how well his lips were formed. His features were harsh and defined but not unattractive, with a straight nose and deep-set gold eyes. The only thing you could point out as a flaw was a dark scar from his forehead to the right corner of his jaw.

You assumed the Orcs were blunt tools, sprinting into battle with no real plan, but this one was sitting at a high table examining maps with a book in his hand.

“I’m…I’m not sure why I’m here,” you said, brandishing your poker, though you didn’t feel like you were in any particular danger.

“I asked Ash to fetch you,” he said without looking up. “You’re the noodle shop woman.”

“My name is (Y/N), not “noodle shop woman,” and I don’t have a shop anymore. The soldiers burned it.”

He put his book down and turned his gold eyes to you.

“That’s why you’re here.”

“I don’t understand.”

His eyes drifted over you before they settled on the poker you were still holding up.

“You were feeding most of the camp. If there’s no shop to visit, you can make noodles here.”

You blinked up at him.

“Oh…Am I your prisoner?”

He chuckled.

“If you’d like to go back to your people, I won’t stop you, but judging how they burned down your village without hesitation, I think you’re safer with us.”

You had to admit that made some sense, but you still weren’t buying it.

“I can’t stay here with you!”

He tipped his head, the corner of his lip twitching up slightly.

“Why is that, little one?”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“First of all, I’m NOT little, and second, an Orc camp is no place for a lady.”

A shudder that had nothing to do with fear shot down your spine as his eyes moved over your body. He crossed the room, scooping you up, and setting you on his table. Your feet dangled far from the ground.

“What- What are you doing?” you snapped, waving your weapon at him.

“My neck was hurting from looking down at you. You’re very short.”

The sparkle in his eyes told you he was teasing you, which drew heat to your cheeks.

“Maybe compared to you. You’re unnecessarily large. What are you doing with all of that muscle? Are you going to arm wrestle your books?” you pouted, eyes drifting to the massive bicep peeking out of the fur vest he wore.

He laughed out loud, gracing you with a wide smile.

“You’ll fit right in here.”

You raised your nose at him, trying to look unconvinced.

“Where will I even sleep? All of your tents are big and drafty.”

“Since you’ve declared your intention to court me, I wouldn’t mind if you slept here.”

“Declared my intention to— Where did you get that idea?”

He flicked a fingertip at your poker.

“In the old days, Orc females came to their males' tent and threatened them into submission with their favorite weapon.”

Your cheeks burned like hot irons, and you almost dropped it.

“Well…I’m not trying to court you. It’s for protection.”

He snorted at you but nodded his head.

“If you say so, little one, but it will be much warmer in my tent if it’s drafts you’re worried about.”

“I don’t even know your name. Ash called you something in your language. I didn’t understand…”

He examined one of the feet you had dangling over the edge of his table. Compared to his big hand, it was tiny.

“Cautalin, it means something close to general in your language, but you can call me Cedar. That’s what my mother named me.”

Your eyes traveled over his barrel chest and thick arms.

“Seems about right,” you said, finally setting your poker down.

He picked it up, looked it over, and tested the weight in his hand.

“Not a bad choice,” he said. “Light but effective.”

You glanced up at him through your eyelashes, feeling cheeky.

“Do you feel like submitting?”

You watched a flicker of heat ignite in his eyes, and he slowly set it down.

“Come on, let's get you to bed, killer.”

He picked you up again, walking you over to a large pallet covered in furs.

“This is your bed.”

He gave you another smile.

“We’re in the middle of a battle; I won't be sleeping tonight. It's all yours.”

Though you weren't quite sure about sleeping in his bed, weariness overtook you at the sight of the comfortable, cozy furs, and you crawled in, wrapping yourself up to your chin in blankets.

He put your poker next to you and blew out the candle, slipping out the front flap as you dozed.

—

You woke to yelling, but not the sound of battle. Crawling out of your furs, you picked up your poker and peeled out of the flap Cedar used as a door. Another Orc you didn't recognize was the one yelling, and Cedar had his arms crossed, looking bored.

Your eyes drifted to about twenty women, elderly, and children, cowering in the chilly morning air, their faces streaked with soot from the fire.

“They’re our enemies!” the strange Orc barked.

“Really, Asvoth? Are you really afraid of a handful of children and their mothers?”

“This is a war camp, not a nursery.”

“It's my camp, not yours. They stay.”

“I outrank you. I can take your command.”

Cedar snorted.

“Yet the King hasn't trusted you with a unit of your own. You're nothing more than an errand boy with a fancy title. Any of these children could take your job.”

Asvoth’s face turned a deep forest green from both embarrassment and indignation. He yanked the sword he wore on his back to his hand. Without thinking, you hopped in front of Cedar, waving your poker at the intruder. You had no idea why, a fact you only considered after you’d already put yourself in harm's way. Still, you'd made your move so the only thing to do was follow through.

“You heard Cedar! We’re not leaving! Get on if you know what's good for you!”

Asvoth sprung forward, dropping his sword toward your head. Your eyes squeezed shut, preparing for pain, but there was only the clang of metal. Opening one eye, you glanced up to see Cedar’s axe blocking the other Orc’s blow.

There was a moment when you thought Asvoth might overtake him, but Cedar’s muscles weren't all for show. He shoved the other Orc back, and he toppled over, landing on his butt in the dirt. His sword landed in front of the children with a CLANG.

“Woah!” the little ones cheered, circling around it like it was a strange animal.

A few of them tried to pick it up, but it was far too heavy, making their eyes pop even wider.

Cedar nodded at him, and a pair of Orcs from the camp dragged Asvoth up by the collar of his tunic, pushing him towards the forest.

“I'm reporting this!” He shouted over his shoulder as he stumbled towards the woods.

Cedar waved a hand at one of his Orcs, beckoning him closer.

“You and Orin follow him and make sure the King gets our side of the story, not his.”

When the situation seemed settled, Cedar looked down at you and patted your head.

“Thank you for your protection, little suitor,” he said with a smirk.

Your cheeks blew up in flames, but you puffed your chest and looked at the children watching Ash pick up the abandoned sword. They hopped around him like little bunnies, begging him to teach them to use it.

“I have no idea what you mean! I’m here to make noodles! Point me in the direction of my kitchen! These little mouths are probably hungry.”

He chuckled, but guided you with a large hand on your back to a large tent filled with whatever food supplies they had rescued from the village. You wrinkled your nose at the primitive workspace, but there were enough flour and eggs to work with. You were surprised to find someone had stuck in a lower table, perfect for your height. After washing your hands in a water basin, you got to cooking.

“What are you still doing here?” you asked Cedar, who had plopped down in a chair and was reading a book.

He smiled.

“Reading.”

You blinked at him, putting your floury fists on your hips. “Are you surveilling me? I’m not going to poison you all! I have to eat this too, you know.”

He tipped his head to the side, his gold eyes sparkling in the makeshift hearth.

“The sound of cooking is soothing. I liked to study in the kitchen while my mother cooked when I was a boy.”

You looked him up and down.

“I can’t imagine you as a child.”

You thought for a second, tapping your chin.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an Orc child, actually.”

He looked back down at his book, shifting in his seat to get comfortable.

“You will,” he said as he flipped a page.

Your brow wrinkled at that nebulous statement, but you knew everyone was hungry after the long night, so you got back to work.

By midmorning, you had a stewpot big enough to feed an army filled with noodles, vegetables, and what little bit of venison the Orcs had been able to hunt between the battle.

“All done,” you said, clapping your hands and creating a puff of flour in the air.

Cedar got up and shouted something to his men, and two Orcs appeared to carry the big vat into the central circle so it could be served. You felt a sense of satisfaction when all the bowls were passed out and the children, tired humans, and bloodied Orcs were eating. The mothers spoke quietly between one another, while the children could hardly sit still, their big eyes following the Orcs every movement.

“Here.”

You looked up to find Cedar holding a bowl out to you. A grumbling stomach had you accepting it, and he patted the seat next to him for you to sit down. The two of you ate quietly for a moment before you asked him a question.

“What are you going to do with all of us?”

“Hmm?” he asked.

“Well, I mean when the battle is over. We have nowhere to go. Our town is destroyed.”

He looked at the children who, after scarfing down their bowls, were engaged in some game with Ash.

“I was hoping you would all return to our capitol city with us. That’s where we live when we’re not fighting.”

Your eyebrows jumped.

“To the Orc city? We’re humans. Don’t your people hate us?”

He shrugged.

“There are some weak minds who reveal their own fragility with their hate, but the rest of us like your kind. This whole war started because we wished to create allies amongst the humans.”

“What? The soldiers said you attacked!”

He chuckled.

“Your king has a very effective propaganda engine. That’s probably the only thing about him that is effective. We sent a delegation party to him to discuss our interest in mingling with you humans. You all are prolific; despite your size, you’re a sturdy bunch. We thought marriages would bolster our numbers and strengthen your stock. Your King attacked, and we were forced to defend ourselves. The force that attacked us was decimated, and he declared war.”

“You mean…you wish to mate with us?”

His eyes slid down to you, and he gave you a sharp nod.

“Is that so surprising?”

You thought about it for a moment.

“I don’t know…Maybe a little. You’re so strong. You’re not afraid we’ll diminish you?”

His thick hand cupped your chin and rubbed some flour away with his thumb. Your heart raced at his touch.

“Size is not what makes us strong. Our strength lies in our unbreakable bonds. Your King will be defeated, not because his forces are less than ours, but because he orders his men to betray his own people.”

He nodded towards the children, who were playing chicken fight on Ash and another Orc’s shoulders.

“They will remember it was men who burned down their village, stole their fathers from them, assaulted their mothers and Orcs who took them in, fed them, and helped them smile again.

“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed.

His smile widened.

“I will remember you took up arms to protect me against an enemy twice your size. You belong among the us.”

Suddenly the wool dress you wore was much too hot.

“I should go wash these before the next meal,” you squeaked, grabbing his empty bowl and scurrying away.

Once safe in the kitchen tent, you pressed your hand against your chest, trying to still your heart. Why did Cedar make you feel so fluttery? You’d never felt this way around anyone before. You usually kept to yourself and steered clear of romance. It had to be the battle, you decided. You were still hyped up from the night before. In a day or so, you were sure it would pass.

Dunking empty bowls in ice-cold river water helped cool your thoughts as you tried to focus on what to make for dinner. The Orcs stocks were pretty hefty, but they and the children ate a lot. You’d noticed many of the parents tipping some of their bowls into their little one’s, making sure they were fed properly in case the next meal didn’t come.

It saddened you it had to be this way. What horrible person decides to burn down their own citizens' village? Who was the King even protecting you from? Not the Orcs, that’s for sure.

A loud rabble outside dragged your attention away from the dishes, and you picked up your poker before peeking your head outside.

A few Orc scouts were speaking in rapid Orcish to Cedar. When they paused, his eyes immediately looked around for the children and frowned before he spoke to you all.

“The human King has sent reinforcements. They will close on our camp by nightfall.”

The mothers all gathered their children to their skirts, looking weary.

“Women and children to the kitchen tent! We will keep you safe, but you must stay hidden!”

You made way as a small stampede of humans rushed past you, many pushing their children to hide under the table.

“What’s happening?” You asked Cedar as people and Orcs rushed around.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, looking disturbed.

“Someone ran back to your King with a story that we’d kidnapped you, not taken you in from starving in a burnt-down village. We will win this fight, but then we will have to make the journey back to the capitol. They will keep attacking if they think you’re within their grasp. Do you think you can explain this to your people? We don’t intend to take anyone by force, but I wouldn’t trust the King’s soldiers.”

“Yes, of course. Whatever you need.”

You hurried back to the kitchen, where the humans were muttering to one another.

“Should we flee to the forest?” Isla, the former town candlemaker, asked. “Can we depend on the Orcs to protect us?”

Another woman scoffed.

“We can’t trust anyone. These Orcs are kind now, but they’ll sell us out at the drop of a hat.”

Linda, a quiet woman who worked as a weaver, whimpered.

“But we’ll starve in the forest alone. Word is the King’s men have raized every town for fifty miles!”

You inserted yourself into the conversation, holding up your hands.

“No one needs to escape to the woods. The Orcs are going to take us back to their capitol to keep us safe.”

Linda squeaked in horror.

“The Orc capitol?! Where they can enslave us?!”

“They have no plan to enslave you. Don’t you want your children to be safe? We will be safe behind their walls!”

“Or…when the King takes the city we’ll all be hung as traitors!”

“Shawna, don’t put that in her head. Linda, we’ll be fine. I trust Cedar.”

You paused on that thought, realizing not only was it true, it didn’t make any sense. You’d only just met him. Your conversation was interrupted by the shouting of men outside.

“We’ll talk about this later,” you hissed, “Here, take this.”

You armed the humans with whatever haphazard weapons you could find, mostly butcher knives and skillets.

Outside, you could hear the clang of weapons and the squelching sounds of metal piercing flesh.

“What's happening?” Linda asked, trying to get around you so she could peek out of the tent flap.

“Stay back!” You barked. “If they see us, we’re in trouble!”

You could tell she was losing it, hopping from one foot to another, her hands getting slippery on her knife.

“No, no, no,” she whimpered. “I don’t want to go with the Orcs. Even a human monster is better than them!”

Before you could grab her, she skipped through the doorway, running wildly into the fray. The other humans gathered around you, their opinions spilling out like loose marbles.

“What is she thinking?!”

“Linda, come back!”

“Let her go, she’s nuts.”

You clenched your jaw, squeezing your iron poker.

“She’s scared. I’ll go get her…you all stay put!”

Before anyone could stop you, you darted after her, trying to catch sight of her red skirt through the mess of armour-clad humans and massive Orcs. The King had sent a much larger force than the one that had burned down your village. The battle around you was brutal. You almost slipped on a puddle of blood, your eyes frantically searching for Linda.

You found her pointing her knife with shaking hands at a human soldier.

“What are you doing? I’m a human, too!”

“The King ordered you all dead!” he snarled, raising his sword at her. “No witnesses! Come on, do your duty to the kingdom, and die quietly!”

Panicking, you launched yourself at him, whacking him with your poker as you barreled into him. The two of you went down, metal clashing as you fell and dropped your weapons. Both of you scrabbled for purchase in the blood-soaked earth. You could hear Linda screeching beside you as you tried to overpower the soldier. His armor, now slick with mud, made it impossible to get a hold of him, and he triumphantly dragged himself to his sword, clumsily grabbing it by the blade and flinging it in your direction. You saw the metal flash in the firelight before pain exploded between your eyes, and your vision went black.

—

“Please tell me she’s not dead,” you heard Linda’s voice from far away.

Isla scoffed.

“You’d better hope she’s not, Linda. This is all your fault!”

“I'm sorry!” she simpered, “I made a mistake! I thought the soldiers were here to free us!”

“Free us from what? A good meal and a safe place to sleep?”

You dragged your eyelids open, vision blurry for a moment before it cleared.

“What…what happened?” you murmured.

“She’s awake!” Isla gasped.

You felt her cool hands against your cheek.

“Take it slow, here; have some water.”

She pushed a tin cup into your hands, and you wet your palette with a few sips. Looking around, you were surrounded by the humans, all looking very concerned.

“Is everyone okay?” you asked.

Isla smirked, and the other women tittered a bit.

“Thanks to you, I suppose. That chieftain or warlord or whatever saw you get knocked in the head and went berzerk. He killed most of the soldiers all by himself.”

Another woman poked her head out of the tent.

“She’s okay! You guys can untie him!”

“Untie who? Is the battle over?”

Isla nodded.

“Yeah, all the soldiers are dead. We’ve all been waiting for you to wake up so we can move the camp before the King sends anymore. Can you believe he ordered them to kill us? I guess so he could claim the Orcs did it and get more support for the war.”

She smirked at you.

“And as for who's tied up, your Orc friend thought you were dead. The others had to tie him up so he wouldn’t go on a rampage. He was ready to storm the King’s stronghold! You ought to see the ropes they had to use…thick as your waist!”

You heard the roll of stomping feet, and Cedar burst through the tent flap. His hair was wild, and his tunic was red with blood. He fell to his knees in front of you, holding his hands as if he couldn’t decide if you were safe to touch.

“Are you okay?” he asked, carefully prodding the bandage you had wrapped around your head. “That monster didn’t do any permanent damage, did he?”

“She’ll have a scar,” Isla said, “but I think she’s fine.”

Cedar’s face lightened, pulling you towards him, his big arms wrapping around you.

“Thank the goddess,” he sighed with a heavy breath. “I thought they’d taken you from me.”

He cupped your cheeks between his palms when he finally let you go.

“You are so stupidly brave, little one,” he gasped, eyes wet. “You have more honor than your people deserve.”

Behind him, Isla waved the women out of the tent, leaving the two of you alone. Not used to so much intimate attention, your cheeks warmed, and you weren’t sure where to look.

“I just didn’t want Linda to get hurt,” you muttered.

He gave you an odd smile, scooping you out of the cot you’d woken up in.

“Once I get you to our home in the capitol, I’m going to have to keep you locked up for your own safety,” he said, patting your head.

You looked up at him from where you were tucked, leaning on his bicep.

“Our home?”

He grinned at you, counting on his fingers.

“First step to Orc courting: Threaten your desired with your weapon. Done. Step two: Allure them with your cooking skills, cooking or hunting something delicious. Done. And the final step: Display your honor through a grand act of bravery. Done! You’ve effectively and thoroughly seduced me, little one! All that’s left is to take you home!”

He tipped your chin up with one thick finger and dipped his head to press his lips against yours. Your whole body felt like it was made of butterflies, every nerve flickering with excitement. Despite being covered in blood and mud, his kiss tasted like honey and sage. It felt like a warm cup of tea on a chilly morning. Your eyelashes fluttered shut and you sank into his warmth, despite yourself, happy to be alive and in his arms.

“Oh!” you gasped as he straightened his neck.

Your mouth fell open, unsure what to say. Before you could think of anything, Cedar carried you out of the tent, shouting orders at his men to pack up the camp so you could leave for the capitol.

#monster x girl #orc x reader #monster x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #soft yandere #orc boyfriend #monster romance #monster fluff #male yandere #yandere fluff #yandere romance #monster boyfriend #orc #orc romance

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aphroditelovesu · 4 months

Text

Yandere Apollo w/Soulmate!Reader Headcanons (Romantic)

❝ ☀️ — lady l: Who asked for soulmate au with Apollo? It's more of a soft yandere, but I hope you like these hcs! 💞

❝tw: soulmate au, obsessive and possessive behavior, soft!yandere, implied death.

❝☀️pairing: yandere!apollo x gender neutral!reader.

Apollo always wanted someone to love, someone he could pour out all the love he held inside, be completely devoted to that person and be completely theirs. Apollo always wanted to be loved unconditionally and in return he would love with everything in him.

He wanted more than anything to find his soulmate. The true person he belonged to, the person he would spend all eternity with.

Apollo desperately searched for love, in search of his soulmate, the person who would complete him. He had several affairs, hoping that one of them would complete the missing part of him, but it always ended in tragedy and he knew that none of his past lovers were his soulmate.

So he remained alone for centuries, hoping to one day find the one to whom his heart and soul belonged. Apollo sometimes spent his days wandering among humans, hoping to bump into his love, but that never happened. He was tired. He had become desperate for love, to be loved and this shaped him completely. Apollo was no longer the same.

Until one day he found his soulmate. He found you. The person he had searched for for centuries, the half of himself that was missing. His soulmate.

Apollo would never forget the day he discovered that you were his soulmate. The way his heart began to pound in his chest, his breathing became heavy and his hands sweaty. Soulmate, was all his mind screamed.

During yet another of his pointless visits to humans, Apollo found himself walking aimlessly somewhere when he felt something different. Something inside him clicks, something connecting him to somewhere or someone. He followed what was calling him and was breathless when he discovered what it was.

Among lush forests and bustling cities, he saw a young human with a radiant aura, enveloped by the essence of wisdom and compassion. He saw you and saw the red thread of destiny that connected you. You were his soulmate.

Delighted and stunned by the discovery, the god approached disguised as an ordinary human man, wanting to get to know that luminous soul better. You welcomed him with open arms, eager to discover more about this mysterious man and why he enchanted you so much. It was only after a few weeks together that Apolo revealed the truth. He was a god and you were his soulmate. You felt like you might cry at that moment.

You have always wanted to find your soulmate, all your friends have already found the missing part of them, except you. And your soulmate was not only the most handsome man you've ever seen but also a Greek god, literally. You hugged him tightly and kissed him. Soon you were both undressed and sweaty, the love shining through and the consummation of your bond was made. You were officially soulmates.

Everything was rosy at first, but eventually, Apollo changed. His fear, and his trauma of being alone for so long changed him. He became more possessive and controlling every day. You started to feel suffocated. Apollo, however, didn't care.

He tried to compensate for his possessive tendencies towards you with presents, from jewelry to gifts that he could bestow upon you, in addition to giving you the gift of immortality. He wouldn't lose you to anyone, not even the god of death.

Your soul was linked to his, linked by the thread of destiny that united you as one. It said that Zeus was the one who separated humans from their soulmates and Apollo was so happy that he finally found you that all that mattered to him was that you stayed with him. After all, you were destined to be together.

Apollo's love had become increasingly possessive and needy, the god demanded you all the time. He became clingy, not wanting to be away from you. He's already spent too much time away from you, he wouldn't do it again.

How delirious he was could not be said, but felt. You felt the fear, the dread that Apollo had of losing you and that was what made you susceptible to the god's manipulation. He's just in love with his soulmate. That's why he acts like this.

That's how you end up stuck with your soulmate for all eternity. But for Apollo, in the warmth of true love, they transcended the boundaries between the divine and the mortal, uniting as soulmates destined to remain together for eternity.

Thus, the Greek god found his soulmate, a union that shone with the light of the gods and the purity of human hearts that would later be contaminated by the obsession that controlled him. There's no else to go but his side.

#yandere greek mythology #yandere greek gods #yandere apollo #apollo x reader #yandere apollo x reader #yandere apollo headcanons #greek gods x reader #greek mythology #headcanons #yandere headcanons #soulmates au

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theemporium · 5 months

Text

[3k] the season is over but the marriage remains. max starts to see little leclerc in a light no one in the world has ever seen before. and daniel is stirring the pot because he is bored. but in a concerned way, obviously.

series masterlist

“When did you say he was coming?”

“Maman.”

“Sorry for being excited to see my son-in-law.”

“Ugh, don’t call him that.”

“That’s what he is, Charles. Grow up, please.”

You couldn’t help but let out a snort as you watched the way your brother argued with your mother, both on very different sides of the spectrum as you awaited Max to show up. Despite his best attempts, whatever plans Charles made to try and ruin the dinner, Pascale would always be one step ahead of him, leaving the boy pouty by the time six o’clock was approaching.

And whilst you knew your mother would be excited to meet the man you impulsively—and drunkenly—decided to marry in Vegas, you hadn’t expected her to reach this level. You don’t think you had even ever seen her take Christmas dinners to this level.

The fancy plates and cutlery had been taken out of the kitchen cupboard you and Arthur were forbidden from opening, and you had spent all morning polishing them with Lorenzo. Pascale had been running around the house like a headless chicken, as though Max would step into the house and notice the specks of dust on the top of the bookshelves and doorways. Charles had been sent out the house on a goose chase that you indefinitely knew was your mother’s way of preventing him from poisoning any dishes. And Arthur was sent along with him for good measure.

And when the clock hit five, she had practically ordered each and every one of you to put on something presentable and nice before the guest of the night arrived.

Truthfully, it felt like a funny fever dream until you were sitting in the living room, fingers tugging on the hem of your dress as you tried to fight the pit of anxiety in your stomach.

You hadn’t spoken to Max since earlier that morning. He had tried messaging a few more times: first asking what caused the sudden shift in tone, and then to ask for opinions on different bouquets. But you couldn’t bring yourself to reply to either.

You were angry. Not at him. Never at him, You were just angry at yourself. You were angry for letting such a small, meaningless comment get in your head. You were angry that you were taking your emotions out on Max who was clueless and didn’t deserve your sudden cold shoulder. You were angry that despite logically knowing all of this, the sight of his contact name and the mere idea that he was going to be in your house in the next few minutes didn’t help the pit in your stomach.

You tried to focus on Charles’ tantrum. You tried to focus on the jokes Arthur kept making to wind him up. You tried to focus on the way Lorenzo was calmly trying to persuade your mother to put the photo albums away before Max even arrived.

You tried to pretend you were okay when you were far from it.

“I want all four of you on your best behaviour,” Pascale told each of you as she anxiously glanced over at the clock, practically vibrating on the spot as the big hand neared closer to twelve with each passing moment. “No nonsense.”

“That means no sneaking away to make out with your husband,” Arthur teased, only to let out a wince when Charles slapped him across the back of his head.

“There will be nothing of the sort,” Charles grumbled, only to let out a wince when Pascale slapped him across the back of the head.

“Don’t hit your brother,” she said in a stern voice before adding. “And stop being such a buzzkill towards your sister.”

Charles rolled his eyes.

Pascale opened her mouth as though she was going to continue scolding her middle son, only to be cut off by the sound of three knocks at the door. Her face instantly lit up as she clapped her hands together, grinning widely as she rushed towards the door.

Maybe it was the anxiety or maybe it was something else, but your chest tightened when the door swung open and you saw Max on the other side of the door.

He arrived right at six on the dot, though you guessed the punctuality didn’t surprise you. What did surprise you was the lack of Red Bull merch. It was stupid to think he would have worn it to dinner, but then again, he had worn it to plenty of other events shamelessly so you never knew what to expect.

But no. Instead, Max stood in the doorway in black sweater with the collar of his white shirt sticking out the top. He wore dark jeans that didn’t look like they were painted on (a miracle) and he held a large bouquet of peonies that were the prettiest shade of pink you had ever seen in your life.

“Mrs Leclerc,” he greeted her with a charming smile on his face as she opened the door. “Thank you for inviting—”

“Oh enough with the formalities!” She laughed before she brought him into a hug, the act clearly catching the boy off-guard if the wide eyes were anything to go by. “We are family now. Call me Pascale.”

“Oh. Right,” Max murmured, expertly keeping the bouquet to one side as he wrapped his other arm around the older woman. “Uh, these are for you.”

“My favourite,” she said with a genuine smile when she pulled back to take the bouquet from his hands. “What a gentleman you are, Max.”

You could have sworn you saw a light blush spread across his cheeks.

“Please, come in,” she ushered him in as she closed the door behind him. She turned on her heel, her smile still so wide, it was almost concerning. “Make yourself comfortable. Dinner is almost ready.”

Max nodded his head in thanks and turned to look at the others in the room. But his gaze completely missed your brothers and landed on you, something in his eyes shifting as he stepped forward and opened his mouth to say something.

But you were already up and out of your seat before he could say a single word to you.

“I’ll help bring the food to the table, Maman,” you said suddenly as you rushed towards the kitchen.

Arthur only snorted in response. “Trouble in paradise already.”

...

“You’re ignoring me.”

You almost jumped out of your skin, the phone that was previously in your hands now clambering onto the counter. You pressed your hand to your chest, the feeling of your wildly beating heart thundering under your skin as you tried to clear your throat.

“No, I’m not,” you denied, though you hadn’t turned to look at him.

Max raised his brows. “So you’re just hiding out in the kitchen when the rest of your family are outside for no reason then?”

“I’m not hiding out. I was checking on the chicken,” you said aimlessly, your cheeks heating up under his intense gaze. But still, you kept your eyes on the counter and the random dishes of food rather than the Dutchman who taking a few steps closer to you. “And I was texting Yuki. He was having some marriage issues so—”

“Guess you can relate then,” Max deadpanned.

Your cheeks burned warmer. “You should head back out to the party, Max.”

“At least fucking look at me,” he whispered, something almost pleading in his voice.

You weren’t used to it with the Dutchman. Even from a young age, Max was oddly self-assured and confident in what he said. The media said he was rude, but he was just blunt. He knew what he wanted to say. He didn’t sound apologetic when he said it. And he certainly didn’t sound so distressed when he demanded things.

And yet here he was, the three time world champion who had never sounded so desperate and anguished before in his life, just aching for you to lift your head.

You swallowed the ball lodged in the back of your throat before slowly turning your head to find Max a few steps away from you. He looked oddly concerned and maybe that’s what really caught you off-guard. You weren’t sure what you were expecting—maybe some annoyance or some anger—but it certainly wasn’t this.

His brows were furrowed together, the crease between his eyebrows deeper and more prominent than you had ever seen it. He looked a little lost and bashful, like for the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do and he didn’t know what to do with that piece of information.

Max Verstappen had never looked so hopeless.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he spoke in a soft voice, and it didn’t help the pounding in your chest.

“Nothing is wrong, Max,” you said to him, and you tried to flash him a smile. But it was strained and wrong and he hated the look of it on your face.

“Don’t bullshit me. You said this marriage wasn’t going to work if I wasn’t enthusiastic, well it won’t work either if you lie to me,” he said in a slightly more firm voice, and this time he took another step towards you. “Tell me what I did.”

Your chest tightened again. “Max—”

“Was it the comment earlier?” He continued, that pleading note in his voice so loud and clear again. “It was a joke, I promise you. I’m not ashamed to be married to you. I could never be ashamed of you.”

“Max—”

“Yes, I know the circumstances of our marriage are a little unconventional and a little inconvenient too but,” Max’s hands rested on your upper arms, the touch warm and overwhelming but you didn’t think you wanted him to let go of you just yet. “If I had to marry someone in Vegas, I am glad it’s you.”

And it hurt.

It hurt so fucking bad that the boy was standing in front of you, laying himself on the line and blaming himself for something that wasn’t even his fault. It hurt because no matter what you did, you couldn’t bring yourself to open your mouth and tell him. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that his agreement to your comment struck a nerve. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that you were feeling stupidly self-deprecating when you made the comment in the first place and his response just felt like he kicked you when you were down.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about the countless articles. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about the comments made throughout your life, throughout your brothers’ careers, throughout your own career.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that he had practically chained himself to a PR manager’s worst fucking nightmare with no way out any time soon.

You couldn’t bring yourself to say any of it. Not when you hadn’t even confessed half of your feelings to the people in the other room. Not when a part of you was scared he would agree with every single fear that laid lingering in the back of your head.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you finally managed to say, and something quite like relief washed over the boy when he realised you were actually answering him, that you weren’t going to run off and hide in another room like you had done before. “Just…it was something else that upset me. Not you. I promise. You did nothing wrong, Max.”

The concern returned. “What upset you?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” you said simply, and you were grateful enough that the boy dropped the topic—even if he wasn’t particularly happy about it. “We have a dinner to enjoy. It’s not worth ruining when Maman has spent all day making sure Charles didn’t slip some arsenic into your soup.”

Max snorted, shaking his head. A few beats passed before he squeezed your arms slightly. “We’re good?”

You smiled. “We’re good, Max.”

He nodded, seemingly pleased with that response as he let out an exhale. “Good, because now you can come out and help me. If Arthur makes one more sex joke, I think Charles might serve my balls for dessert.”

You snorted. “Maman would have his balls on a plate first if he tried to ruin the dinner itinerary she set up.”

...

“Can we talk?”

Max paused what he was doing, the pile of dishes sitting in front of him from where he was trying to help tidy up after dinner moments ago. Despite Pascale’s insistence that he was a guest who didn’t need to assist, Max still found himself joining the oddly domestic dance of working around the Leclerc’s to clean away the table and take everything back into the kitchen.

He could hear you and Arthur giggling in the other room, quickly followed by soft scolds from Pascale—the kind where you could still hear the smile in her voice. He could hear Lorenzo stepping outside for a phone call, his voice muffled by the balcony whilst Arthur made some joke that he was probably going to throw himself off after watching his baby sister make heart eyes at her husband all night. That was followed by another scolding from Pascale.

There was an odd sense of contentment deep in his chest as he collected the last of the dishes on the dining table when he heard somebody step into the room, expecting it just to be Pascale or maybe even you.

He wasn’t expecting Charles.

“Uh, yeah,” the Dutchman muttered, shifting around so he was facing the boy instead. “What’s up?” He almost cringed at his own words the second they left his mouth.

“Tell me this isn’t a tactic.”

Max paused, wondering for a few moments if he had heard the boy correctly. However, Charles didn’t seem to repeat himself as he stood there on the other side of the table, staring blankly at the Dutchman as he waited for his response.

“What?”

“Tell me that this whole thing isn’t just some ploy made up by Red Bull,” Charles said, his face remaining straight as he spoke.

“What is a ploy? This dinner?” Max questioned, utterly baffled by the words leaving his mouth.

“I need you to tell me whether you are just messing with my sister as some weird, twisted way to get to me,” Charles said, his arms crossed over his chest. “I need you to tell me if this is some fucking game to you and your team.”

And Max’s stomach churned at the allegation.

He thought this was all planned. He thought Red Bull had sent him out like a spy to get involved with the Leclerc family and exploit them. He thought this didn’t mean shit to Max beyond a mind game to assure him the championship next year.

And the worst part was that Max could see why he would think that. If there was anyone who risked being his biggest competitor on track—car aside—it would be Charles. Not his own teammate. Not Mercedes. Not McLaren. It would be Charles Leclerc, like it had always been when they were younger.

It had always been Max Vertsappen versus Charles Leclerc. And it always would be until the end of their careers.

For Charles to assume it was one thing. But for Charles to actually believe Max would go through with something like that? To agree to such a plan?

The Dutchman couldn’t deny that it really fucking stung. It fucking stung that Charles assumed the worst of him—even if it was to protect his little sister—and it fucking stung to wonder if the other Leclerc’s assumed the same.

“Charles,” a disbelieving scoff left his lips as he shook his head. “I would never—”

“Because I don’t give two fucks about a championship if you are messing with my sister,” Charles interrupted. There was a rage in his eyes, a rage he had never witnessed in the boy before—not even during his worst races. “She cares deeply about people. She loves hard and fast. And if you become one of those people and break her heart?”

Max didn’t say anything.

“There’s nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for her,” he said in a softer voice, but the underlying threat was still clear. “And there is nobody I wouldn’t hurt if they hurt her.”

“This isn’t some mind game,” Max said to the boy, because he didn’t think the boy would believe anything else he said. “Vegas was a mess, I know that. But I would never do something like this. And I would never bring your sister into our rivalry or on-track business.”

Charles’ jaw clenched a little, like he was contemplating whether he believed Max or not.

And for a few moments, Max wondered what would happen if he confessed his true feelings. He wondered what the Monagasque would say if he learnt that Max had spent the better part of their early careers either trying to beat him in a kart or ogling his sister. He wondered what Charles would think if Max told him he was almost pretty sure his little sister was his first love, even when they didn’t have a proper conversation until Charles finally joined Formula One.

Max wondered what Charles would think if he knew the truth.

But now was not the time nor the place to tell him. To be completely honest, Max didn’t think it would ever be the time or place to tell him. He didn’t think he would ever confess that to Charles, he didn’t think there was any reason to. There was only one person in this world that deserved to hear his confession, but Max would rather throw himself in front of the RB19 before he told you how he felt.

“I swear on my life, my cats’ lives and my mother’s life,” he added after a few moments, watching as the boy’s shoulders sagged a little like he finally realised Max was telling the truth.

“Good,” Charles nodded, pausing for a few moments. “I mean everything I said. For as long as it takes to sort out this mess, if you even upset her once, I swear to God—”

“Image loud and clear, Charles,” Max assured the boy with a single nod of his head.

“Good. Remember it, Verstappen.”

And with that, he left the room and left Max staring blankly at the pile of dishes on the table, a dull ache in his chest that he wasn’t really sure how to ease.

...

liked by oscarpiastri, logansargeant and 372,933 others

yourusername breaking news: max verstappen does wear something other than red bull merch!!!

view all 17,932 comments

landonorris how much did you have to pay him to wear it?

danielricciardo he had a bit of a tantrum before he left the house but i promised him two bedtime stories

maxverstappen1 you both suck

user OMG THE DINNER ACTUALLY HAPPENED

user meeting the in-laws!!!

user okay but those flowers are so pretty???

pascaleleclerc it was lovely having you, max! we must make these a regular thing!

charles_leclerc MAMAN???????

user this is my roman empire fr

user i need to know how close charles was to poisoning max

arthur_leclerc so close

maxverstappen1 i do own other clothes. you've just not seen them yet

yourusername is that an invite, mr verstappen?

oscarpiastri there are children on this app. please.

yourusername what children

logansargeant ME! I AM CHILDREN! THIS IS HORRIBLE!

yourusername grow up

user this is everything i needed and more

user okay but when do we get the solo max and little leclerc dinner date?

yourusername i would like to know too. my husband is lacking

maxverstappen1 maybe i'll wear my red bull polo

yourusername i take it back, i don't want to go out to dinner with you

#max verstappen #formula one #f1 #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen fic #max verstappen one shot #formula one x reader #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one fic #formula one one shot #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 fic #f1 one shot

3K notes · View notes

axelsagewrites · 2 months

Note

Hey, can I please request Jacaerys x aunt!reader where he goes to her after the dance as she had been imprisoned in the dungeons and he offer her to let him have her or she'll be sentenced to death or sum. And reader is as pious and religious as Alicent and she is horrified by the idea of being sullied by ""bastard seed"" but she reveals to be c0ck-drunk by the end of it?

Jace Velaryon*Perfect Wife

Pairing: Jace x f!reader

Word count: 2809

Warnings: dub con, imprisonment, held at knife point (not during smut), praise, degradation, nipple play, p in v sex, hickeys, spanking, bruising, forced marriage, smut 18+c

Masterlist here

You weren’t much of a warrior. You had been raised the way a princess should have been. Well, that’s what your mother told you. However, when two days had passed since Aemond and Aegon had left to confront Rhanerya, and everyone refused to tell you what was happening you decided to get the hell out of there on your dragon.

Maybe you’d end up in Essos and sell a dragon egg for a home. Maybe even Dorne. You could try throw yourself on their mercy. After all, their ambassadors had always seemed to enjoy your company. However, all your plans soon crumbled when you accidentally flew into what you’d assumed to be an empty clearing.

You’d landed in a small field and had quickly tried to ‘borrow’ an apple from a local farm when you felt a strong grip on your arm and a sharp blade on your neck. So cold it had to be Valyrian steel. “And who do we have here?” you recognised Jace’s voice clearly. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you pretty girls shouldn’t go about dawdling?”

The stone floors bruised your knees each time you knelt to pray but you didn’t complain or even wince at the pain. You’d counted the days you’d been here by etching marks in the stone with the corner of your Seven-star necklace your mother had given you. 27 days so far. Each morning you prayed. Well, what you thought was morning. Then each afternoon then evening. Each time to a different member of the seven. Even the stranger since perhaps the god of death was the one you truly needed right now.

“My lady,” a sing song voice called out, “Lunch is ready,” Jace said as he approached your cell with his usual grin. He didn’t come every day but when he did it only seemed to add to your punishment. “I made sure to pick you the freshest apple,” he crouched down, holding it out to you.

You kept your eyes on the ground as you tried to finish your prayer, “C’mon now. They’re clearly not listening to you,” he mocked, sitting down the tray in front of the bars to your cell.

Still, you ignored him as you wrapped them up. Jace sighed and just as you finished your prayers he stood, taking the tray with him. “Where are you going?” you called, moving to stand on your feet and grabbing the bars, “That’s my food,”

“No this is my food,” he said, as if he was calling the sky blue, “And you never took it,”

“I was praying!”

“Not fast enough,” he teased. “Maybe next time you’ll remember to acknowledge the heir to Westeros,” he said as he turned to leave.

“My brothers not here,” you mumbled, turning around to go take your place on the wooden bench they called a bed.

The wine cup clattered against the wall, missing your head by only an inch. You span on your heels to confront him, but the only trace was your food dropped on the ground in a head and the apple slowly rolling towards your cell.

It stopped just out of arm’s length of the bars as if the gods really were mocking you. It took you laying on the ground, stretching out the tips of your fingernails to manage to roll it closer so you could grab it. You consoled yourself knowing he never came twice in one day.

Yet this time he did.

Jace arrived with a meal so nice looking it almost reminded you of what you used to eat. There was even a whole chicken leg on it. when he saw the apple core in the corner of your cell Jace couldn’t help but laugh. “Here,” he said, reaching it out for you to try manoeuvre through the bars when he suddenly pulled it back, “Aren’t you going to thank your prince?”

“Thank you,” you glared, reaching your hand out.

Jace just smirked, “Thank you what?”

“Thank you, dear nephew,” you offered with a fake smile.

“Say it. say that I am the true heir, a true prince, and I will be most obliged to give you this chicken leg. Straight from the queens table,” he said, showing it to you once more just to rub it in.

You could feel your stomach rumble, but you couldn’t say it. not after all this time. Not after all the battles. Not for a chicken leg. “My mother isn’t here,” you said through gritted teeth.

Jace reached through the bars, grabbing your neck before you could react. His grasp was tight but despite his fingers digging into your skin you weren’t afraid, “I can only be so patient,” he warned before letting you go. He turned to leave, taking the food with him, “besides, who said your mother is even alive?” he mocked before slamming the door shut behind him.

The stalemate continued for another day and a half and suddenly you were regretting not rationing the apple. At least the guards had kept your water jug topped up, but you didn’t want to risk that being taken too.

“I have a new deal,” Jace said, walking in empty handed.

“Where’s my food?” you said, not even standing from where you sat on your bed.

“That’s not very polite,” Jace tutted, leaning against the bars, “How would you like to get out of here?” you couldn’t help your eyes widening at the idea. Something Jace seemed to revel in. he unlocked your cell and despite wanting to run you sat still as he closed the door behind him. “Come here. Let me get a closer look at you,”

You wanted to slap him but instead you stood up and slowly crossed the floor while Jace’s eyes scanned your frame. “Still so beautiful,” he mumbled before he finally brought his eyes back to yours as your cheeks burned, “I have a new proposal for you,” he said, reaching to stroke your cheek. He was gentle but you still flinched at his touch.

He stepped closer, moving his hand down till he was toying with your necklace, his eyes not so subtly on your chest, “Marry me,” he said, and you instantly grimaced at his words, “Be my wife and I will let you free,”

“I wouldn’t be free,” you snapped, “I’d be the wife of a bastard, a nobody, a waste of space- “you began to spit your venom at him only to be cut off by his tight grasp around your neck.

“I wouldn’t be so hasty if I was you,” he warned, “What I’m offering is generous. You should hear what Daemon had planned for you,” he dropped his grip and you instantly stepped back, trying to recatch your breath.

Jace slowly began to circle you, eyeing you up from every angle as you silently thought over his offer when suddenly a thought popped into your head, “What’s in it for you? Last time I checked you already had a betrothed,”

“Alliances can change, we both know that” he drawled, his chest pressed against your back while his hand grazed your hip. Not mine, you thought, but you stayed silent instead. “Besides I need a wife. Someone to show off in court,” his hand trailed up from your hip to your waist making you shudder through the thin dress they’d gave you, “Someone to bear children. Someone to warm my bed,” he said, his lips pressed against your ear.

His hand went to move to your front, but you grabbed his wrist before he could touch anything, “I’d rather die,” you spat.

Jace grabbed your hips, spinning you around and pulling you flush against his chest, “That can be arranged,” he warned but he still wore his teasing smirk, “You think you’d survive here without me? A pretty young things like yourself in nothing but her night dress roaming around court, think of the scandals. Gods help you if you even make it out the castle. What do you think the small folk would do with a princess like you?”

“Perhaps they’d save me. If they believed in the true king,” you said, trying to hold firm but feeling yourself shake.

He chuckled under his breath, “There is only a queen. C’mon, I can’t be that bad surely. You saying you’ve never thought about it?” he said, his hand moving down to your ass, his lips moving to your ear, “Its not just the gods who know your dirty little secrets,” he whispered, his hot breath fanning your neck.

“I want my dragon back,” you said suddenly making Jace lift his head from where he’d been dragging his lips across your neck, “If I’m to be your wife,”

“As soon as your belly swells with my seed,” he said, “Anything else?”

It felt like a trap, but you tried anyway, “And separate rooms. I don’t want to see you more than I have to,”

He chuckled this time, “That can be arranged, anything else?” you eyed him carefully before shaking your head no. one child and then you could escape with your dragon. It would take a year, maybe two, and then you’d be free. “Good. I shall have them draw up a treaty. But in the meantime,” he said, grabbing your ass so suddenly you gasped, “I want some kind of reassurance you won’t back out,”

“And what’s that?” you asked through gritted teeth.

“I want to fuck you,” he said making the words dry up in your throat, “And if I didn’t know any better id say you wanted me too,”

“And if I say no?” you asked.

Jace dropped his grip, but a smirk fell on his lips as he began to walk away. “Then no deal,” he said, reaching for the door.

“Wait!” you called, reaching out to grab his arm. Jace turned his gaze back to you with a knowing smirk, “I suppose if you are to be my husband. The gods, they’d understand,” you said, trying to rationalise it all.

Jace moved closer to you till his chest was flush against yours, “I’m sure they’d understand after all,” he said, pushing the hair out of your face, “Who could blame you for wanting some pleasure in your life?” he said, his hand trailing down till he grabbed your tit, squeezing it softly, “Why would something that feels so good be so wrong?” he whispered in your ear, his hand traveling lower to your thighs, toying with the hem of his dress.

His lips moved to kiss down your jaw, across your neck till he was kissing your undiscovered sweet spot making you moan softly. His arms moved to slip around your waist, pulling you somehow closer to him as your hands rested on his shoulders. You gasped when he squeezed your ass and winced at the quick slap, he gave it before his hands moved to the hem of your dress.

The cold air rushed over your frame, making your nipples harden as Jace pulled the dress over your head in one swoop. The only thing to cover you was your necklace but right now that felt even worse. Jace’s eyes travelled your frame, soaking up every inch, “The gods have blessed me with you,” he murmured.

“You do not know the gods,” you glared but Jace just chuckled as his hands went to cup your tits, stroking his thumbs over your perked nipples making you whimper.

“Perhaps you don’t either,” he said as he led you by your hips to your bed. He sat on it, his hands resting on your hips as he pulled you into his lap.

His lips moved to your collarbones, kissing and nipping at the soft skin. Your brain told you to push him away, but a strange feeling was overcoming your body as his hands moved to your hips. You could feel a hard bulge under his trousers as he began to move your hips, pushing your core onto his clothed cock. You moaned at the friction, his bulge rubbing perfectly against your clit sending shock waves up your body.

Soon you felt your hips begin to buck and move of their own accord. You felt his smirk against your skin as his hands moved to your tits. You gasped when he pinched your nipples, rolling them between his fingers making you moan. “Oh god,” you couldn’t help the moan that slipped out when he took one into his mouth, sucking on the perked bud.

You weren’t sure what had come over you, but you felt a knot tightening in your stomach, your moans growing louder as you took the gods in vain at the top of your lungs. You felt your peak hit you like a boulder before you slumped into Jace’s chest.

He moved to kiss your cheek with a chuckle. “Not even fucked you yet and look at you,” Jace said, slipping his hand down to rub against your sensitive core making your body lurch, “So wet for me,” he praised, his hand moving to unlace his trousers. “Can’t wait to see what my cock does to you,”

Before you could protest you felt his tip pressing into your entrance. You gasped, your hands moving to grab his shoulders, “Aw,” Jace pouted, “Does it hurt?” he mocked, pushing you down further, “Too fucking bad,” he practically growled as he used your hips to push you all the way down.

You almost screamed at the feeling, as if you were being split in half but Jace groaned, throwing his head back against the wall as you felt his cock twitch inside you, “Fuck you’re so tight,” he praised, giving you a moment to adjust. Your hips betrayed you again, moving without your mind thinking making him chuckle.

“Such a desperate little thing,” Jace mocked, grabbing your jaw as you tried to move away. His thumb ran over your bottom lip before using it to pry your mouth open, resting it on your tongue, “Good girl,” he praised, his free hand moving your hips.

“Fuck,” you gasped as you felt him hit all the right spots. You gave up trying to resit as your hips began to grind onto his cock.

Jace’s hands moved to your hair, grabbing it suddenly and pulling it back so he could have full access to your neck. You were sure by the way he kissed it there would be marks tomorrow but that didn’t matter now. Your hands went to his hair, tugging it softly making him growl against your skin.

His free hand went to your ass, grabbing it tightly before suddenly leaving stinging slaps against the soft flesh. You could feel your second peak fast approaching and when Jace moved to run quick circles against your sensitive bundle of nerves you felt your cunt squeeze around him as it came crashing down again.

“Fuck,” Jace mumbled, a stream of profanity tumbling from his lips as his hands moved to your hips so he could fuck you through your orgasm, “You feel so good,” he praised, resting his head in the crook of your neck.

You felt yourself coming down from your high and his movements began to slow, “Don’t stop Jace. Please gods don’t stop,” you began to beg, and you could feel his smirk.

“Begging suits you,” he teased, grabbing your jaw so he could make you face him, “You look so good right now. So drunk on my cock. Is that it?”

“Yes,” you whined, “I need you please,”

“Aw my poor baby,” he teased, “So desperate for her king,”

“Yes,” you weren’t even thinking any longer, and a spark ignited behind his eyes, “Need you. Want you my king,” you moaned.

Jace grabbed your hips tightly, standing suddenly before turning as you back slammed against the wall. You winced until you felt his hips begin to snap up against yours. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him tight against you. This new angle had him hitting newer spots that had your legs wrapping tight around him.

“So good,” Jace mumbled against your skin as you felt a third orgasm approaching, “My perfect little wife,” his words sent you tumbling over the edge.

Jace couldn’t resist anymore as your cunt squeezed around his cock and with a couple more pumps, he began to spill his seed. His thrusts became slow as he rode out his own peak, fucking his seed deep inside you. You were both panting as he pulled out, his forehead resting against yours as your feet finally hit the ground again.

“I always knew you had a dark side in you,” Jace chuckled as he pulled away.

“Tell anyone and I’ll kill you in your sleep, husband,” you threatened but the last word made him smile. Maybe this was a good trade after all.

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General taglist: @strvngestark @headinfantasy @meg-ro @427120lxld @obx-josie18 @ravenmoore14 @tessakate @justtilly @jjkjbhj @clairacassidy @valeskafics @perla434 @selenestar78 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @urfavnoirette @randomstory56 @qardasngan @https-luvvia @im-the-fucking-lunar-prince @bryandechartisasmolbean

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#house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #house of the dragon headcannons #hotd #hotd headcanon #hotd imagine #hotd jace #jace velaryon #jace velaryon imagine #jace velaryon x reader #Jacaerys Velaryon #jacaerys velaryon imagine #jacaerys velaryon x reader #modern Jacaerys Velaryon #jace velaryon smut #jacaerys velaryon smut

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lisafication · 11 months

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For those who might happen across this, I'm an administrator for the forum 'Sufficient Velocity', a large old-school forum oriented around Creative Writing. I originally posted this on there (and any reference to 'here' will mean the forum), but I felt I might as well throw it up here, as well, even if I don't actually have any followers.

This week, I've been reading fanfiction on Archive of Our Own (AO3), a site run by the Organisation for Transformative Works (OTW), a non-profit. This isn't particularly exceptional, in and of itself — like many others on the site, I read a lot of fanfiction, both on Sufficient Velocity (SV) and elsewhere — however what was bizarre to me was encountering a new prefix on certain works, that of 'End OTW Racism'. While I'm sure a number of people were already familiar with this, I was not, so I looked into it.

What I found... wasn't great. And I don't think anyone involved realises that.

To summarise the details, the #EndOTWRacism campaign, of which you may find their manifesto here, is a campaign oriented towards seeing hateful or discriminatory works removed from AO3 — and believe me, there is a lot of it. To whit, they want the OTW to moderate them. A laudable goal, on the face of it — certainly, we do something similar on Sufficient Velocity with Rule 2 and, to be clear, nothing I say here is a critique of Rule 2 (or, indeed, Rule 6) on SV.

But it's not that simple, not when you're the size of Archive of Our Own. So, let's talk about the vagaries and little-known pitfalls of content moderation, particularly as it applies to digital fiction and at scale. Let's dig into some of the details — as far as credentials go, I have, unfortunately, been in moderation and/or administration on SV for about six years and this is something we have to grapple with regularly, so I would like to say I can speak with some degree of expertise on the subject.

So, what are the problems with moderating bad works from a site? Let's start with discovery— that is to say, how you find rule-breaching works in the first place. There are more-or-less two different ways to approach manual content moderation of open submissions on a digital platform: review-based and report-based (you could also call them curation-based and flag-based), with various combinations of the two. Automated content moderation isn't something I'm going to cover here — I feel I can safely assume I'm preaching to the choir when I say it's a bad idea, and if I'm not, I'll just note that the least absurd outcome we had when simulating AI moderation (mostly for the sake of an academic exercise) on SV was banning all the staff.

In a review-based system, you check someone's work and approve it to the site upon verifying that it doesn't breach your content rules. Generally pretty simple, we used to do something like it on request. Unfortunately, if you do that, it can void your safe harbour protections in the US per Myeress vs. Buzzfeed Inc. This case, if you weren't aware, is why we stopped offering content review on SV. Suffice to say, it's not really a realistic option for anyone large enough for the courts to notice, and extremely clunky and unpleasant for the users, to boot.

Report-based systems, on the other hand, are something we use today — users find works they think are in breach and alert the moderation team to their presence with a report. On SV, this works pretty well — a user or users flag a work as potentially troublesome, moderation investigate it and either action it or reject the report. Unfortunately, AO3 is not SV. I'll get into the details of that dreadful beast known as scaling later, but thankfully we do have a much better comparison point — fanfiction.net (FFN).

FFN has had two great purges over the years, with a... mixed amount of content moderation applied in between: one in 2002 when the NC-17 rating was removed, and one in 2012. Both, ostensibly, were targeted at adult content. In practice, many fics that wouldn't raise an eye on Spacebattles today or Sufficient Velocity prior to 2018 were also removed; a number of reports suggest that something as simple as having a swearword in your title or summary was enough to get you hit, even if you were a 'T' rated work. Most disturbingly of all, there are a number of — impossible to substantiate — accounts of groups such as the infamous Critics United 'mass reporting' works to trigger a strike to get them removed. I would suggest reading further on places like Fanlore if you are unfamiliar and want to know more.

Despite its flaws however, report-based moderation is more-or-less the only option, and this segues neatly into the next piece of the puzzle that is content moderation, that is to say, the rubric. How do you decide what is, and what isn't against the rules of your site?

Anyone who's complained to the staff about how vague the rules are on SV may have had this explained to them, but as that is likely not many of you, I'll summarise: the more precise and clear-cut your chosen rubric is, the more it will inevitably need to resemble a legal document — and the less readable it is to the layman. We'll return to SV for an example here: many newer users will not be aware of this, but SV used to have a much more 'line by line, clearly delineated' set of rules and... people kind of hated it! An infraction would reference 'Community Compact III.15.5' rather than Rule 3, because it was more or less written in the same manner as the Terms of Service (sans the legal terms of art). While it was a more legible rubric from a certain perspective, from the perspective of communicating expectations to the users it was inferior to our current set of rules — even less of them read it, and we don't have great uptake right now.

And it still wasn't really an improvement over our current set-up when it comes to 'moderation consistency'. Even without getting into the nuts and bolts of "how do you define a racist work in a way that does not, at any point, say words to the effect of 'I know it when I see it'" — which is itself very, very difficult don't get me wrong I'm not dismissing this — you are stuck with finding an appropriate footing between a spectrum of 'the US penal code' and 'don't be a dick' as your rubric. Going for the penal code side doesn't help nearly as much as you might expect with moderation consistency, either — no matter what, you will never have a 100% correct call rate. You have the impossible task of writing a rubric that is easy for users to comprehend, extremely clear for moderation and capable of cleanly defining what is and what isn't racist without relying on moderator judgement, something which you cannot trust when operating at scale.

Speaking of scale, it's time to move on to the third prong — and the last covered in this ramble, which is more of a brief overview than anything truly in-depth — which is resources. Moderation is not a magic wand, you can't conjure it out of nowhere: you need to spend an enormous amount of time, effort and money on building, training and equipping a moderation staff, even a volunteer one, and it is far, far from an instant process. Our most recent tranche of moderators spent several months in training and it will likely be some months more before they're fully comfortable in the role — and that's with a relatively robust bureaucracy and a number of highly experienced mentors supporting them, something that is not going to be available to a new moderation branch with little to no experience. Beyond that, there's the matter of sheer numbers.

Combining both moderation and arbitration — because for volunteer staff, pure moderation is in actuality less efficient in my eyes, for a variety of reasons beyond the scope of this post, but we'll treat it as if they're both just 'moderators' — SV presently has 34 dedicated moderation volunteers. SV hosts ~785 million words of creative writing.

AO3 hosts ~32 billion.

These are some very rough and simplified figures, but if you completely ignore all the usual problems of scaling manpower in a business (or pseudo-business), such as (but not limited to) geometrically increasing bureaucratic complexity and administrative burden, along with all the particular issues of volunteer moderation... AO3 would still need well over one thousand volunteer moderators to be able to match SV's moderator-to-creative-wordcount ratio.

Paid moderation, of course, you can get away with less — my estimate is that you could fully moderate SV with, at best, ~8 full-time moderators, still ignoring administrative burden above the level of team leader. This leaves AO3 only needing a much more modest ~350 moderators. At the US minimum wage of ~$15k p.a. — which is, in my eyes, deeply unethical to pay moderators as full-time moderation is an intensely gruelling role with extremely high rates of PTSD and other stress-related conditions — that is approximately ~$5.25m p.a. costs on moderator wages. Their average annual budget is a bit over $500k.

So, that's obviously not on the table, and we return to volunteer staffing. Which... let's examine that scenario and the questions it leaves us with, as our conclusion.

Let's say, through some miracle, AO3 succeeds in finding those hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of volunteer moderators. We'll even say none of them are malicious actors or sufficiently incompetent as to be indistinguishable, and that they manage to replicate something on the level of or superior to our moderation tooling near-instantly at no cost. We still have several questions to be answered:

How are you maintaining consistency? Have you managed to define racism to the point that moderator judgment no longer enters the equation? And to be clear, you cannot allow moderator judgment to be a significant decision maker at this scale, or you will end with absurd results.

How are you handling staff mental health? Some reading on the matter, to save me a lengthy and unrelated explanation of some of the steps involved in ensuring mental health for commercial-scale content moderators.

How are you handling your failures? No moderation in the world has ever succeeded in a 100% accuracy rate, what are you doing about that?

Using report-based discovery, how are you preventing 'report brigading', such as the theories surrounding Critics United mentioned above? It is a natural human response to take into account the amount and severity of feedback. While SV moderators are well trained on the matter, the rare times something is receiving enough reports to potentially be classified as a 'brigade' on that scale will nearly always be escalated to administration, something completely infeasible at (you're learning to hate this word, I'm sure) scale.

How are you communicating expectations to your user base? If you're relying on a flag-based system, your users' understanding of the rules is a critical facet of your moderation system — how have you managed to make them legible to a layman while still managing to somehow 'truly' define racism?

How are you managing over one thousand moderators? Like even beyond all the concerns with consistency, how are you keeping track of that many moving parts as a volunteer organisation without dozens or even hundreds of professional managers? I've ignored the scaling administrative burden up until now, but it has to be addressed in reality.

What are you doing to sweep through your archives? SV is more-or-less on-top of 'old' works as far as rule-breaking goes, with the occasional forgotten tidbit popping up every 18 months or so — and that's what we're extrapolating from. These thousand-plus moderators are mostly going to be addressing current or near-current content, are you going to spin up that many again to comb through the 32 billion words already posted?

I could go on for a fair bit here, but this has already stretched out to over two thousand words.

I think the people behind this movement have their hearts in the right place and the sentiment is laudable, but in practice it is simply 'won't someone think of the children' in a funny hat. It cannot be done.

Even if you could somehow meet the bare minimum thresholds, you are simply not going to manage a ruleset of sufficient clarity so as to prevent a much-worse repeat of the 2012 FF.net massacre, you are not going to be able to manage a moderation staff of that size and you are not going to be able to ensure a coherent understanding among all your users (we haven't managed that after nearly ten years and a much smaller and more engaged userbase). There's a serious number of other issues I haven't covered here as well, as this really is just an attempt at giving some insight into the sheer number of moving parts behind content moderation: the movement wants off-site content to be policed which isn't so much its own barrel of fish as it is its own barrel of Cthulhu; AO3 is far from English-only and would in actuality need moderators for almost every language it supports — and most damning of all, if Section 230 is wiped out by the Supreme Court it is not unlikely that engaging in content moderation at all could simply see AO3 shut down.

As sucky as it seems, the current status quo really is the best situation possible. Sorry about that.

#archive of our own #endotwracism #end otw racism #content moderation #sufficient velocity #i hate how much i know about this topic

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hearts4chriss · 2 months

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Spoiled rotten.

boyfriend!Chris! + spoiled!black fem gf

Prompt: in which in all ur relationships prior to Chris, they’ve never treated you right or made you feel appreciated, as ur bestfriend, he couldn’t stand that anymore he made a move and he changes all that for you, and better. He spoils you Rotten.

Part 9

Contains: lots of kissing, hella money spent, fast/rough fingering in the car, recently established relationship ( like 4ish months ), fem!oral, modeling all the new things he bought you turns into👀, overstimulation, Chris has his drivers license in this, fluff towards the end

Chris and I had been together for around 4 months and I swear he’s the best boyfriend I could’ve ever asked for.

Prior to him I had been treated like shit, guys not taking me out, name calling never getting flowers just bare minimum. And Chris hated seeing that so he confessed his feelings which were mutual too mine and we’ve been together ever since.

Chris is the youngest of the sturniolo triplets who are all my bestfriends, they’ve made a lot of progress and money on YouTube and I’m so proud of them. I told Chris not to spend any of his money on me but that didn’t end well.

Ever since we’ve started dating he’d taken me to the nicest restaurants in LA, always buying me flowers randomly not just special dates, always buying me things ( not that I’ve asked ), and just treating me like a princess.

I’ve loved every second of it, and it’s not even just that, whenever we have sex I don’t feel like shit after, he takes care of me, treats me good and praises me.

Today Chris insisted on taking me on a shopping spree because I’ve had a really rough week with modeling and mentally just been exhausted even when I told he didn’t have to but he wanted to do it for me.

“babyyy you ready?” Chris calls from upstairs

I walk out of our shared room wearing a long fitted grey skims body-con dress hugging my curves really showing off my figure, along with my new different shades of cream coloured Jordan’s that Chris and I have too match and my new 30 inch bussdown that I had installed last week he insisted on paying for even though I told him I got it.

Chris licked his lips hungrily as I walked down the stairs and approached him immediately gravitating his hands to my waist.

“God princess ur so fucking pretty yk that?” He placed a kiss on my lips and I smiled widely at his compliment.

“Thank you baby.” I chuckle and smile at the way he’s looking at me.

“Like- really good- like “we might not make it too the mall” good.” Chris pressed himself into me already feeling his dick pressed against my thigh.

“Chrisss, come on you said I get too go shopping.” I teased walking towards the car and he smacks my ass and I shriek letting a chuckle slip from his lips.

“Ur a freak.” I giggle as he opened the door for me and I got in.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it, I’m tempted to do something to you right now ma.” He smirked climbing in the car beginning to drive.

The drive was pretty smooth but always LA traffic hits and Chris’s hand had slowly been creeping up my thigh and it had me soaked, the way his hands felt through the thin fabric made me desperate for his fingers.

I began to shift in my seat anxiously waiting to see if he’d notice this.

he chuckled immediately sliding my dress up carefully pressing his middle and ring finger to my panties already feeling how soaked they were with arousal.

“already so fucking wet.” He mutters and I spread my legs giving him easier access and he clearly liked that.

“Such a good girl.” Chris smiled as I slid my panties off and his fingers get to work at my needy core.

I moaned softly feeling him circle my clit as I shuddered biting my lip waiting for him to move faster.

“don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good I promise.” He kissed me again deeply as we were in traffic allowing this too distract as he inserted his fingers into my pussy immediately closing around him.

“fuckk chris.” I moan out softly rolling my eyes back as I tried to make sure none of my wetness dripped on his seat.

He sighed and laughed a bit when he noticed.

“relax princess I want it on my seat, ur the only one allowed in this seat.” He pressed a kiss to my ear as he says this still knuckles deep inside me hitting my g-spot repeatedly now making me cry out.

“can’t wait till you cum all over my fingers so I can taste you.” He said almost in a growl like tone as a moan slipped from my glossy lips not letting up his fingers perfectly going against my walls.

“shit-“ I groan throwing my head on the seats when he curved his fingers into my pussy more desperate to make me cum quicker then normal.

“fuck Chris!” I yelp gripping onto the console of the car and he grabs my hand placing a kiss too it sending warmth too the rest of my body.

“your almost there pretty girl just hold my hand yeah?”Chris placed a loving kiss on my cheek and I nodded holding his hand loving how the tattood initials of my name in cursive rested on the middle finger.

“Mmph Fuckk I’m cumming!” And with that alone and his every dirty word made me squirt all over his fingers letting it drip out onto my seat letting me catch my breath.

“Lift up for me baby.” He said softly placing a pink towel down for me and wiping off the seat with cleaning wipes before sitting me back down fixing my dress.

“Fuck you now my legs are sore-“ I roll my eyes playfully he chuckles pulling into the mall parking lot.

“Well lucky for you, we are here, ready to get spoiled rotten sweetheart? Because that’s exactly what im gonna do.”

I sighed giving a smile and nod as he held my hand and we walked into the mall

Chris was not fucking kidding

whenever I touched something in each store he would put it in the cart and buy it which resulted in WELL over 5000 spent on me which he didn’t have to do but hell I’m never turning down free shit from this man.

We went too Victoria secret, prada, footlocker and dior. He kept reassuring me.

“go ahead baby whatever you want it’s yours”

“Don’t worry about me this is all for you princess you deserve it”

“Can’t wait to see how pretty my girl looks in all these clothes”

It was honestly bringing tears to my eyes from how sweet and thoughtful he was.

Eventuallyyy we did make it back to the house carrying allll the bags in upstairs too our shared bedroom.

Chris sat eagerly on the bed as he could not wait to see me try on these clothes, specifically the lingerie.

now I’d never worn lingerie for anyone before but I wanted to give it a try and Chris convinced me so I bought a few ( 21 ) sets.

I was now in our bathroom slipping on one of the sets that I really liked

it was a one piece thong body suit and it hugged my curves which I really liked and pushed my tits up a bit and I felt like it was definitely a lot and I was nervous to show him.

Nonetheless I sucked in a breath and opened the bathroom door meeting a very shocked and turned on Chris.

his eyes wandered my body as I smiled giving him a small spin he lets out a faint “fuck” and I felt wetness immediately shoot to my core.

“Do you like it? I was a little nervous that-“ I was cut off by Chris’s hands on my waist kissing my lips.

“Of course I like it, you look fucking perfect you have such a beautiful body baby.” He says softly with those blue predator eyes as I drowned in them.

Chris’s eyes wandered towards my thighs biting his bottom lip slightly making me flush inside a bit since I’d always been told my thighs were too big.

“What’s wrong mama? There’s nothing wrong with ur thighs, I was just thinking- well picturing what it’d be like to have my head buried between them.”

my pussy throbs when Chris says this, his breath lingering on my neck and I gulp.

“You don’t wanna see the other sets?” I manage to get out no matter how badly his words flustered me and he smirked grabbing me by the back of my thigh setting me on our soft bed.

“mmm maybe in a bit.” He chuckles slowing pulling down the thin material letting it slide all the way past my ankles leaving me bare for him.

“shit- ur so pretty like this ma.” Chris said kissing my lips again allowing our tongues to meet moaning sloppily into each others mouths.

I didn’t even realize his fingers beginning too play with my wetness and I began to close my legs.

“Aw baby don’t hide from me, I’ll make you feel like a fucking princess I promise.” He says positioning my hands on my legs pulling them back as if we were doing missionary but that wasn’t the case he was about to fuck my shit up

Chris licked his lips hungrily waiting to taste me.

“ur pussys so pretty a shame nobody treated you right.” He says softly before his tongue presses against my clit and I whimper in response, his plump lips wrap around my clit and begin to suck as if it’s a suction cup and I moan out loudly.

“Oh shit chris!” I cry out throwing my head back as he laps up my pussy like it’s his last meal.

“fuck fuck fuckkk!” I curse out when he shakes his head allowing his nose to brush against my bud making me squeal at the way he’s eating me out, it felt so good.

Chris’s tongues plunges inside my hole occasionally making my legs nearly tremble down.

“Mmm taste so fucking good”- his hot breath on my sensitive cunt makes it pulsate and I moan out at his words crying out making sure my legs are spread enough for him.

“Chris o-oh god”- i whimper my legs begin to shake already since I’ve never felt this much pleasure at once, I only imagine what his cock would feel like.

“fuck mama your gonna cum- cum for me want it all over my face. He hand rubbing my clit before lapping again and I shudder under his touch.

“Fuck Chris I’m cumming I’m cumming!” I scream loudly curling my toes as I cream all over his face and he doesn’t stop.

“Fuck princess- squeeze ur thighs around my head yeah?” He groans and I set my legs on the bed and close them in on his head and he moans into my swollen pussy licking and sucking every last drop of my orgasm.

“Shit shit Chris I’m-I’m gonna cum again-“ I cry out and his pace doesn’t slow as he moves his head once again allowing his nose to hit that sensitive bud again feeling my stomach knot burst again almost too quickly squirting on him my legs trembling around his head.

Chris pulls away, a string of his split and my cum leaving his lips.

“god I could eat you out for hours if you let me.” He smiles and I look at him mirroring his face.

“Told you I’d make you feel like a princess.” Chris says leaning in too kiss my lips softly.

@mattsleftnipple03 @bernardsleftbootycheek @sturniolopowers @gdsvhtwa @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @worldlxvlys @chrisslut25 @princessbetsy123-blog @mattslolita @guccifrog @blahbel668 @mattsneezing @trickywritters @hearts4chris

@nonamegirlxsturniolo @luvmxtt @theyluv-meee @mattsnymphette @hoesformatt @luv4kozume @kikisturnioloo @itzdarling @pepsiimaxx @babyddolly @iiheartstef @junnniiieee07 @ratatioulle @ast3ro1dzz @sturniolowhore @st7rnioioss @emma4eva @braindead4l @ihearttsyouu @kqyslyho3 @sturnsfav @sunsetsturniolos @stqrnstars @dlyansworld @chrisloyalgf @soimightlikeoldmen69 @abbie13sworld @lacysturniolo @sturniol0s @chrissgirlsstuff @leah-loves-lilies @luhsexcbihh @nicksmainbitch

#chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo smut #hearts4chriss #sturniolo smut

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jinkiezzsstuff · 1 month

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Hi! I know you just wrote a cockwarming fic with Alastor, but I was just wondering if you would be able to do one with Lucifer? I’m drooling just thinking about it. Thank you!

absolutely i don’t mind doing the same shtick but with other characters! i took a similar approach kinkwise but obviously it’s still different, hope you enjoy <3

warnings: cockwarming, lucifer is kinda a sub but not entirely, exhibitionism, not caught this time, creampie, gn reader i think in terms of body, lucifer calls you birdy, kinky reader and kinky luci, also not proofread, swearing and some dirty talk lmk if i missed any!!

word count: 1.4K

You sat on Lucifers lap, toying with his hair that peeked out of his hat. Lucifer insisted he had company to one of his all important long of hell meetings, however things went left when Mammon urged the king to come to one of his performances, that was definitely for the kings benefit and not just so Mammon could leech off his fame. So there you two sat, up in your own custom web which Lucifer was very much against but Mammon was pushy persuasive. So far things had been a bore, you sat on Lucifers lap paying more attention to the intricacies on his suit rather than the clowns on stage. Lucifer also seemed pretty bored, huffing and puffing occasionally, while muttering into your ear about how this was a scam or how he’d done this act a thousand times, needless to say you both be better off back at his home.

Eyeing up his bored face you casually traced your fingers along his jaw. “Hey Luce,” You whispered to him softly, his eyes casting down to you. “Wanna have a lil fun?” You grinned cheekily wiggling your hips against his, immediately he sucked in a breath, eyes closing. Lucifer wasn’t really good at hiding the need he had for you, often he would crumble under your hands, rarely he decided to be big and domineering, he much preferred when you had the power over him. Felt nice giving up power to someone after all the rest of his eternal life in hell there was no other choice but to stay in power.

“Whatever you want, birdy.” He cooed, eyes casted toward the stage acting as though he was indifferent to you. You unzipped the zipper on his white slacks, and reached your hand inside to palm his soft member. He wasn’t really insecure about being soft around you he was quite prideful in his body no matter the state, occasionally he’d feel not good enough but that typically had nothing to do with his looks, which you admit to being quite jealous of. You palmed him through his briefs, head rested on his shoulder you were annoyed at how the collar of his coat got in the way of his neck, prohibiting you from leaving pretty bruise marks on him. The king twitched, and coughed out fakely to cover the groans he wanted to make, he couldn’t help how sensitive he was when it came to you, it was like you had this spell on him.

Wiggling yourself closer to him you whispered to him, lips dragging sinfully across his ear. “What if somebody sees you like this Luci?” You purr mockingly, you knew he probably wouldn’t give a fuck, he’s been through too much as a king and a fallen angel to care about such things, nonetheless, hearing your scrutinizing tone furthered his arousal. He wasn’t, however, proud of the noise he made when your hand came up to tug at his hair at the base of his neck. “Ohhh golly,” Lucifer groaned beginning in a moan, he quickly fixed his mouth to act as though he was reacting to the show. “You want them to see us, don’t you?” You urged, feeling him grown and stiffen beneath you, it made your thighs clench with need, and suddenly you were onto more devious ideas. Lifting your garments, you pulled your underwear to the side as discreetly as you could. Lucifers eyes fixed on you, brown raised in confusion. “Cmon, let’s relax hm?” You asked, pulling his semi from the restraints of his briefs, pecking his lips as you did so. His eyes closed immediately, mouth chasing your lips as you pulled away, and who were you to deny such a good boy?

Leaning back in you hummed into him, his lips warm and soft, you could feel his lashes flutter against your face as your faces tilted, allowing eachother better access. You sneakily slipped onto him, wincing at the pain that you felt, however Lucifers arms came around to your thighs, helping you slow your pace. You felt every inch of him against your walls, it was hard to not whimper at the feeling of him slotted in you.

As your tongues sloppily danced together, the clown music played in the background, Glitz and Glam came up to perform, and the crowd cheered on. Beside your web was the greed king himself Mammon, who was too observed in the show to notice the fact you and Lucifer were swallowing each other whole. While the two of you sloppily kissed, saliva smearing across each others lips, your body naturally relaxed into his effectively sinking yourself down and bottoming out on his full erect cock.

Sighing against him in revelled in the feeling of him fully inside you, while also enjoying the way he trembled beneath you, not feeling the need to hide any of his desire from you. You pulled away abruptly leaving Lucifer whining, and starry eyed. Jerking up into you Lucifer smiled smuggly at the way you gasped, air entirely escaping your lungs. “How mean Luci,” You chide playfully lovelingly cupping his cheek. Leaning into your warmth the devil melted against your touch practically purring at you. “What can i say birdy, i’m eager to hear you. My favourite sound.” You could tell by the dreamy way he spoke he was already fucked out, and you’ve not even fucked yet.

Pecking his cheek you swatted his chest when he tried once again to grind into you. “No moving, whoever cums first has to call and talk on the phone while the other fucks em silly.” You grin wildly gripping his shoulders, you loved a good frisky game of fun, especially with Lucifer, you found it easy to participate in these types of games. Groaning lowly the devil rolled his neck, hands wrapping around your waist tightly. “Alright, but i'm totally gonna win.” Lucifer stated confidently, his red eyes flipping between you and the show. Glitz and Glam gone, there was some unnamed clown you’d never seen now entertaining the crowd, they seemed to like him.

You wiggled your hips subtly, trying to turn your body around a bit more toward the stage. Part of you wanted the distraction, part of you wanted to tease, either way it was purposeful. “Ohhohoo- you are- really playing dirty,” The king stressed, his tone jumping around anxiously as his claws tug into your thighs, undoubtedly drawing some blood. You hummed out an ‘mhm’ swirling hips round in a manner that could appear as innocent shifting to the outside eye looked casual. Lucifer moaned, curling into the back of your shoulder to bite down. You could feel him twitching almost like a throb, you weren’t helping with your involuntary contractions around his cock. “Alright sweetie calm down!” The king urged his voice breathy and panicked as he tried to stall your movements by clenching his arms around you. Unfortunately all that did was drag you nearer, feeling the entire length of him inside you grazing the delicate areas that made you tick.

You choked on your spit surprised by the abrupt sensation, your back arching away from him as you attempted to gain a little friction. “Lucifer please don’t,” You whined clutching his forarms that were flexed tightly around your torso. You could feel him nuzzling into your back, his heart beating wildly in his chest, then suddenly without any word, he was cumming. He moaned into your shoulder blades, bucking what he could up into you, rocking both your bodies, anything to get you to milk him. He continued to wiggle around recklessly, you clenched and whimpered at the feeling of him filling you, he always had so much in him. Finally after a moment his movement ceased, and like the devil he is, he snaked his hands around to play with you. You moaned as he whispered dirty things in your ear, “Who’s all needy now huh?,” “Cmon i need you raining off this web before we go,” things like that as he brought you to your orgasm.

You saw stars as you came, his dick still snuggly inside you as you clenched and came undone around him, head thrown back in bliss. After a moment of catching your breath you peered around, humility coming back into you, you spun around speedily, burying your face in Lucifers neck, who looked just as fucked out as you were. “Guess we gotta do this again over the phone?” Lucifer asked breathlessly, you huffed out a laugh at that. “Yep, loser.” You teased already thinking up all the naughty things you could put him through while he’s on call.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oneshots #hazbin hotel smut #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x you #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader smut #lucifer morningstar smut #lucifer smut

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vampsywrites · 9 months

Text

II — i remember her hands, and the way the mountains looked.

Synopsis: In which the Sullys approach the mountain clan for sanctuary. The Olo'eykte agrees but proposes one condition: Toruk Makto's eldest son must be promised to her daughter. Surprisingly, instead of the solemn response one would expect, Neteyam agrees almost instantaneously.

Tags: Female! Mountain Na'vi! Reader, Arranged Marriage, Sun&Moon couple, Strangers to Lovers, Neteyam is whipped, Mentions of Jealousy&Possessiveness, Romantic tension, Neteyam wanting to impress his girl, Lo'ak having the time of his life teasing the shit out of Neteyam, Reader has that Tsahik rizz

Word Count: 2.8k | AO3 LINK

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

With the village of the Iuva'ri clan now their new home, the Sullys followed you past open fields, their eyes wandering in amazement at the sights.

Everywhere they looked, the hustle and bustle of daily life surrounded them. Hunters could be seen hauling large beasts into the village, farmers had their hands deep in the earth as they worked to ensure a bountiful harvest, and weavers, with their deft hands, skillfully crafted intricate patterns into fabric.

Though the environment was not too different from what they were used to in the forest, it was still a significant change from the wild, cluttered jungle they had known all their life.

While his family was busy taking all of the clan in, Neteyam was fully focused on you. He watched in fascination as the village parted when you walked past, people practically throwing themselves aside to clear your path. From elders to children, they bowed in reverence and greeted you with warmth and admiration, recognizing you as their Tsahìk.

Through the walk, Neteyam also couldn't help but notice how your presence captured the attention of the young men and women around. Warriors, weavers, hunters – they all seemed to be drawn to you, stopping in their tracks with blushing cheeks as they exchanged hushed words. Their lingering gazes and subtle glances, their eyes which seemed to follow you like a predator stalking its prey, didn't escape Neteyam's watchful eyes.

As he observed this intense attention you garnered, a pang of possessiveness surged through his gut, and his tail lashed out in irritation.

Neteyam felt torn, battling with the internal struggle of feeling irrationally possessive. Deep down, he knew he had no right to be jealous. After all, he had no claim over you, and he had yet to truly earn your trust and affection.

The announcement of your courtship clearly took the clan by surprise. While some genuinely celebrated your happiness, others found it difficult to hide their envy. Evident by the glares sent his way from those who might have hoped to be in his place.

This scrutiny only served to intensify his emotions.

"This will be your home now," you called out, your voice calm and welcoming, pulling him away from his thoughts. Neteyam watched as you guided them to a beautifully crafted hut elevated on bamboo wooden stilts. It stood gracefully above the ground, a testament to the skilled craftsmanship of your people. The roof was steeply pitched and thatched with nipa palm leaves, while the walls were intricately woven from bamboo slats.

Tuktirey gasped in amazement, her eyes wide with childish wonder as she marveled at the hut's elevated design. "It's so tall!" she exclaimed, clearly impressed by the unique structure.

You hummed, understanding their awe and sensing the underlying hesitation in some of them.

"You will grow to like it," you reassured with a small smile. "It may be different from what you're used to, but it will keep you safe and warm. Our people have lived in harmony with Eywa and these lands for generations."

Tuktirey beamed up at you. "I can't wait to explore and learn more about your ways," she cheers, enthusiasm evident.

“I am sure you will learn well, little one,” you hum, running a hand through her braided hair.

With ease, you then moved towards the stairs, climbing up with a sense of familiarity as you began to haul their belongings to their new home. The family followed behind you, still feeling a tad bit out of place.

After ensuring they were comfortable, you began to excuse yourself, knowing you needed to give them some privacy. As you walked past Neteyam, catching his gaze, you gently rest your hand upon his chest. After murmuring a quick goodbye, you withdrew your hand and swiftly left the hut. Neteyam’s mind ran haywire, the spot where your hand had been burned with a sudden fire, leaving a lingering sensation on his skin that he couldn't shake off.

Eywa. It had only been a day and already you had an effect on him.

With your departure, the family gathered together, finding a spot to discuss the events that had transpired earlier. Neytiri paced back and forth in the open hut, footsteps loud against the wooden flooring, her mind racing with a myriad of thoughts and emotions.

"Alright," Jake sighed, running a rugged hand down his face, breaking through the tension. "We have to unpack what just happened earlier."

Neytiri nodded, her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of the situation. Her eyes turned to Neteyam, concern evident in her voice as she asked, "Ma'itan, are you sure of this?"

"Oh, he sure is," Lo'ak answered for his brother, sending a grin his way. "I mean—Did you hear him back there?"

"I will accept this proposal. Only if she will have me," he mocked, mimicking Neteyam's accent in a deep, gravely tone. Kiri couldn't help but hide her face with her hand, trying to stifle her laughter.

"Skxawng," Neteyam snarled playfully and gave Lo'ak a light smack in response, which only made his younger siblings laugh even more.

"Enough, you two," Neytiri's voice rang out, cutting through the air. She shook her head in exasperation, her beaded locks swaying and rattling with her movements. Turning her attention back to her eldest, her tone dropped a timbre as she murmured, "Neteyam, this is a big decision. Are you truly sure about this? You wish to mate with that woman?"

Neteyam's gaze shifted from his brother to his mother, lips drawing into a contemplative frown as the weight of it all settled heavily on his shoulders. The significance of such a union wasn't lost on him. The mating bond was not merely a union of bodies; it was the fusion of two souls, a sacred connection dictated by Eywa. He took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to express his feelings.

"I am sure," he replied, his voice steady, despite the turmoil inside him. Neytiri studied his face for a moment, catching the hesitation laced in his expression.

"You do not have to do something your heart is against," his mother whispered, reaching forward, both of her hands finding his tense shoulders, rubbing deep circles into his muscle. Neteyam felt the warmth and reassurance in his mother's touch, and for a moment, he leaned into it, finding comfort in her presence.

"That’s the thing. My heart isn’t against it. I just… I felt something when I saw her." He then hesitated, struggling to unknot his mind and put his feelings into words. "Like-Like a heartbeat."

Kiri's eyes sparkled with wonder, a look of recognition flashing behind her eyes. Her tail swished with delight as she leaned forward eagerly, the shawl slipping off her shoulder in the haste of her movement. "You must have felt Eywa's connection with her. Was it like a calling? Could you feel a mighty heartbeat?"

Neteyam froze, his gaze turning to his younger sister.

"Yes. Exactly that, Kiri," he replied, his voice filled with a hint of disbelief. "It was like… she was calling out to me in some way, as if our souls were somehow intertwined."

Kiri's excitement grew, and she couldn't contain her joy. “Eywa has blessed you with a gift, brother. Rarely do mates feel such a deep soul connection on the first time they meet."

"Soul connection? That’s love at first sight, huh?" Jake interjected, his eyes glinting as he glanced at Neytiri with a knowing smile. "Sound familiar?"

Neytiri's stern façade softened as she smiled back, unable to hide her amusement. "Yes, it does," she admitted with a fondness in her voice. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of understanding and warmth as she looked at her eldest son. "Neteyam, ma’itan, if you truly feel this connection, then it may be a sign from Eywa herself. The steps you take next will be entirely up to you."

"It's just like those stories we've heard, bro. Soulmates and destined love,” Lo’ak chimed in. “You and her, together, guided by Eywa's hand," he smirked, clasping his hands together and making kissy faces. Neteyam huffed, shaking his head.

"Yeah. It might be like that," he admitted with a touch of bashfulness.

"But let's not get carried away with the dramatics,” Neteyam sighs, snapping himself back to reality. “I still want to get to know her first. I want to take it slow.”

“Slow, huh? Is that what you call asking her to mate with you on the spot?" Lo’ak laughed.

“Lo’ak!” Neytiri hissed, glaring at him disapprovingly.

"I did not ask her to mate with me on the spot!" Neteyam snaps through gritted teeth, his voice rising slightly in embarrassment.

Lo'ak's laughter boomed through the air, thoroughly relishing the sight of his older brother's flustered expression. It was a rare occasion for Neteyam to be caught off guard by his teasing, always having a smartass rebut at the tip of his tongue.

"Yeah? Well, it sure looked like it to me," he snickered, his tail swishing back and forth in interest. Neytiri intervened, smacking him upside on the head. Lo’ak winced in response, and nursed the spot where his mother had hit him.

"Ow, ow, I get it," he groaned, lying flat on the floor. "I'll stop."

"Alright. ‘Nough of that. Come on," Jake said, with a chuckle, huddling everyone close. Once they had formed a circle, he began to address them, his tone taking on a more serious note, "Listen, I really need you kids to be on your best behavior. And I mean it."

Jake shifts his gaze to his eldest son, “Neteyam becoming a candidate for future Olo'eyktan already stirred things up enough. And I don’t even need to tell you just how messy that’s going to be.”

Neteyam heaved out a tense sigh, keeping his eyes glued to the ground. “Sorry, sir.”

“We’re gonna get through this,” Jake continued, dismissing Neteyam’s apology, his voice carrying a tone of reassurance. “Together.”

Neytiri moved closer to her husband, gently placing her head over Jake's shoulder. “What does your father always say?” Neytiri murmured, her voice soft and soothing.

“Sullys stick together…”

“Little more feeling this time!"

“Sullys stick together!”

As the night falls and the stars twinkle in the dark sky, they finally retire to their new sleeping arrangements. Neteyam lays on his makeshift bed, a woven mat made out of palm and leaves, his mind abuzz with thoughts. He gazes out of the hut's opening, where he can catch a glimpse of you in the moonlight, going about your duties as Tsahìk, checking up on a few of the sick and injured in their huts.

Your silhouette against the moonlit backdrop mesmerizes him, and he finds himself drawn to your presence like a moth to a flame. As you notice his gaze, you offer him a reassuring nod before continuing your duties. His heart swells with warmth at the acknowledgment.

With the comfort of your presence lingering in his mind, Neteyam turns onto his back, feeling a sense of peace settle over him. The gentle rustle of palm leaves outside and the distant sounds of the forest lull him into a state of relaxation. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to fall into a deep and restful sleep.

The next morning, the village awakens early. The sky is painted in hues of pink and orange as the sun begins to rise over the mountains. Knocking gently at the side of their hut, you had called for them before the sun could even fully emerge, offering to show them more of the village and its surrounding wonders.

You lead them through the mountains, showing Kiri, Lo'ak, Tuk, and Neteyam the ways of life in this breathtaking terrain. The trees stand tall and proud, similar to those in the forest they once called home, but here they bear a different kind of energy, surrounded by majestic mountains which hold ancient tales of the ancestors before them. The group walks amidst the trees, their senses heightened by the subtle sounds of wildlife and the fresh scent of earth.

As you lead them further, you come across vast rice fields, a breathtaking sight of lush green beauty stretching as far as the eye can see. The fields seem to come alive with the morning sunlight. The stalks of rice sway gently in the breeze, creating a mesmerizing dance, captivating the forest Na’vi.

Amidst the exploration, Neteyam's keen eyes spot a group of mountain climbers in the distance, scaling a rocky hill.

"What are they doing?" he questions, his curiosity piqued.

"They're practicing for the coming-of-age ceremony," you say, your gaze following the climbers. Neteyam's curiosity turns into intrigue, and he listens intently as you begin to explain.

"It's an ascent to the clouded peak," you share, pointing to a towering mountain in the distance, its summit shrouded in mist. "At dawn, the candidates gather at the base. It is the tallest mountain in the region and they must set out on a journey to reach the summit."

Lo’ak whistles, grimacing while he sizes up the daunting landscape before him. "We have to climb that?" he asks incredulously.

“Only if you want to. Your Omatikayan ikinimaya should be enough for you to be recognized in the clan,” you assure him with a pat on his back.

Neteyam stays silent for the next few minutes, his faraway gaze directed towards the rocky mountain. Suddenly, he startles everyone by speaking up, the words slipping from his mouth causing your eyes to rip wide open.

"I want to partake in it," he says, his voice steady and resolute. The sudden declaration shakes everyone, and his siblings turn their attention fully to him, waiting to hear his reasoning.

You too gaze up at him in disbelief. "Are you certain?" you ask, wanting to ensure that he fully comprehends the challenges that lie ahead. “This is no simple feat—”

"I am strong," Neteyam interrupts, sounding a little harsher than he had intended, but it was important to him that you knew of his abilities. "I will be able to train for it well."

Your milky eyes drop to his battle-hardened body, sweeping over his broad shoulders and the ridges of his defined muscles, glistening softly in the sun’s glow. The scars etched on his skin tell tales of past battles and trials, a testament to his experience. Neteyam holds his ground, finding himself flexing subconsciously under your gaze.

"I know you are strong," you retort.

"Yes—"

"But the warriors of the forest are different from those of the mountains," you cut him off with a pointed stare. "It is not just about physical strength; you will have to learn how they train, their techniques, and their ways of life," you begin to move towards him, a challenging look in your eyes. "It is difficult to fill a cup that is already full."

Neteyam's jaw clenches, his gaze unwavering. "Then I will empty my cup. I will adapt," he asserts with passion. "I will prove myself not just to your people but to myself as well. If I am to be chief, I have to embrace your ways."

"Pretty sure you just want to impress her, bro," Lo’ak quips. Neteyam scowls at his remark and, in a swift motion, drives his elbow straight into his younger brother's side. At the impact, Lo’ak immediately folds, nursing his side as his face contorts in pain. “Fuck!”

Ignoring Lo’ak, Neteyam turns back to you, his expression steadfast and unwavering. In that moment, he feels an overwhelming longing to prove himself to you, to earn your admiration and love based on his own merits, not just because of any preconceived notions or expectations.

His determination shines like a beacon, and his sincerity tugs at your heartstrings. It's as if he's baring his soul before you, showing you the depths of his desire to be someone you can truly respect and admire.

With a hum, you settle back, your tail flickering behind you in intrigue. If the rumors carried by the wind from clan to clan about him were to be believed, then you should have known he would want to partake in the ceremony.

Such a bold spirit, evident in those golden eyes of his every time he spoke. The mountains around you seemed to echo with approval, as if Eywa herself was acknowledging his resolve.

"If you are that eager, then I will teach you," you say, the decision firm in your heart. It feels as if a weight is lifted off his shoulders at your acceptance of his offer. Neteyam hums, trying to maintain a stoic expression but the telltale flicks of his ears and tail betray his anticipation and eagerness.

"Do not be mistaken, though. I will not baby you," you add with a daring lilt in your voice. You begin to walk away, the swing of your hips matching the sway of your tail. "Let us hope you can keep up, mighty warrior."

That seemed to only fuel the fire within him further.

Neteyam’s chest rumbles in a deep laugh, a fanged grin stretching across his cheeks. "Yes, ma’am.”

< PREV | SERIES MASTERLIST | NEXT >

see you in the next episode where the reader works her future husband's ass to the ground xoxo

TAGLIST: @rainbowsocks @milktealvrr @strawberri-blonde

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damnelva · 3 months

Text

☆°•LUCIFER/READER HEADCANONS•°☆

You're a tall woman, cause let's be honest he has a thing for tall and powerful woman

☆ I feel like you need to be a little different than Lilith to make Lucifer love you

☆ He's WAY more touch-craving now after all these years without any affection even from his own daughter. You have to be more open, affectionate and loving than Lilith ever was

☆ He's more insecure after Lilith, so you have to be able to show him your love towards him anytime or he's gonna go crazy duo to his overthinking

☆ And if you are loving, affectionate and caring in a way that showes him it, he's gonna be SO GRATEFUL

☆ That man was left with no care and love for so many years and now having someone like you that expresses it so easily and openly is like a blessing for him!

☆ The way you hold his hand so gently, or how you smile or tell him how good he's at his job or whatever he's doing- He's gonna cry!

☆ He loves you for loving his obsession with ducks. He kinda felt like it was weird and stupid for the king of hell to like such animal as a duck (it is kinda), but you also love them!? And you don't judge him for that, even the opposite, you think it's cute!? Oh, he's going to go insane with you..

☆ Lucifer's melts at the sight of you having a good relationship with his daughter. He'll be the happiest demon alive if Charlie sees you as a mother-figure! His two most important people get along with each other? Another reason to tell depression to go fuck itself

☆ About depression.. You can't imagine how his life got better after you entered it. Your love and care, it's just so much in a good way that it makes him even think if he still has depression (he does)

☆ He loves to wake up and see you laying next to him. Oh, the way your arms are wrapped around him and the way your embrace is so gentle but at the same time firm.. Like I said, it makes him sob

☆ Adores when you give him petnames like: Luci, dear or love. If you call him by a nickname, he will turn into crying & blushing mess

☆ He loves to give you nicknames like: Apple, Apple pie, Angel. BTW, for an unknown reason he feels naughty whenever he calls you ma'am or madam. Doesn't mean he won't call you that though

☆ Even though he's all sweet, cute and basically a cutie, he's still Lucifer the king of hell. He's hella strong and possessive. Like I said, he's insecure so whenever someone's flirting with you or being way too nice he gets jealous and mad

☆ Like, how dare you try to take away something I'm shocked I have!?

☆ Otherwise, no one approaches you in this kind of way, knowing who your lover is

☆ Please, marry him

☆ He wants it so bad! It already makes him blush whenever he realizes he can call you his lover, but being able to call you his WIFE!? Just the thought makes him blush, giggle and kick his feet

☆ This man is so maldy in love with you, it's crazy

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #romance #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #madly in love

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zriasstuff · 2 months

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First impressions- Lorenzo Berkshire x reader

Lorenzo Berkshire behaves like the perfect gentleman towards you, but what’s underneath that perfect facade? First impressions don’t last forever…

go to pt.2—> Second chances?

“Look, this one’s sooo pretty!”, your friend Jenny on your right hand side squealed excitedly.

“Oh my god, I have to get this dress”, Anya, your other friend, gushed while already holding five different ones in her hands.

You were also roaming through the countless racks, searching for a new and mature looking dress. In Hogsmeade, a new boutique had just opened and soon enough all the girls stormed inside to get the most beautiful pieces.

Inside the boutique everything was laced with delicacy, elegance and maturity. Three things you wanted more than anything to be a part of yourself. It was about time that you changed your appearance and became a young woman. After all, you were in your fifth year at Hogwarts already.

Not being able to decide between all the gorgeous clothing pieces you picked up, you took all ten of them to try on. Ten was definitely too many though, so some would have to be eliminated. The trying on process sadly didn’t do much for you, you still loved every single piece. Eventually, you come out of the fitting room, upset due to your inability to decide.

“Just buy all of them then”, Anya encourages you, “if you don’t they’ll be sold out and you will never get to try them on again”

That was easy for her to say. She was born into generational wealth and could buy all the clothes, or anything at all, that she fancied. On the other hand, you couldn’t just take home whatever you pleased. Still, you felt lucky that you had the money to buy one or two, so you eyed each piece you grabbed carefully.

“Ugh, they all would look so beautiful on me”, you groan, not wanting to give up even one of them.

When you turn around again to get your friends’ advice, they are nowhere to be seen.

Scanning the area for them, you unexpectedly make eye contact with someone who seemed to have been eying you. You stop looking for your friends, and take a moment to glance into this mysterious persons piercing blue eyes, perhaps for a little too long. He, whoever he was, appears to have taken an interest and started inching towards you.

Suddenly, after not having been able to place him, you recognize who he was. He was one of the guys who always hung around Draco Malfoy, who was a year above you. Even though you were in the same house, you have barely even made contact.

“You’re right”, he approaches you, looking you up and down.

“About what?”, you ask, finding it strange why one would approach you in this way. And as a guy, why would he be in this particular boutique. Was he perhaps shopping for his girlfriend or sister, you wonder.

“They would all indeed look very beautiful on you”, he compliments you charmingly, towering over you, a warm smile on his face as he said that. Sounds like he overheard your little dilemma. Surprised that he was so straight forward, you feel your cheeks heating up a little. While you’re smiling nervously, you manage to mumble out a thank you.

“It would be such a shame, if you had to leave them here”, this guy, whose name didn't even come to your mind, continued the sudden conversation. This guy surely had something planned, with the way he was leading it.

“Yeah, sometimes I wish I could just go shopping limitlessly”, you truthfully admit.

“So what’s your name, darling?”

“Y/n”, you answer while a thousand thoughts circled your mind. Such as how you managed to have caught the attention of this gorgeous, older guy— he surely must’ve approached you because he found you pretty right? And he just called you “darling” in such a heartwarming tone.

You didn’t like where your mind was wandering. All those thoughts, simply because a guy paid you the slightest amount of attention.

How long has it been since a guy had shown the slightest interest in you again? As if the exact time mattered, it had been too long anyway. You start doubting that you were maybe reading too much into his behavior—that your feelings were the ones of a silly little girl who just received some candy. So he called you darling, that doesn’t have to mean anything.

“Pretty”, he notes, “I’m Lorenzo by the way, but you can call me Enzo”.

Alright, you rethink, surely you weren’t reading too much into it. He just complimented you again, the second time within five minutes.

“May I?”, he gently asks, disrupting your small talk. Before you could even respond, he takes the clothes out of your hands. You weren’t sure what to make of this, so you threw him a questioning look. “Let me”, he says, afterwards smoothly grabbing your hand. “Let me what?”, you try to understand his behavior as you’re being led by him.

“Let me spoil you with what you deserve”, he responds so genuinely, but also as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You couldn’t even believe it. He had to be an angel fallen from heaven, with the way he was treating you.

This Enzo, whom you just properly met, was willing to spoil you like a literal princess. This is what teenage romance that your favorite authors write about must feel like.

“Are you kidding?”, you ask in utter disbelief. Not that you were complaining, but it simply felt too unreal, that someone would do this for you without even knowing you.

At the counter, you finally catch your friends, who have become victims of a giggle attack. They kept pointing their fingers at Enzo, maybe demanding some sort of explanation, but you yourself didn’t even know what to make of this.

All you knew was that within the next five minutes, he had paid for all ten pieces you picked out and was carrying the bags for you, like a true gentleman.

“I don’t even know how to thank you for this”, you tell him at the exit of the store, hoping he wouldn’t regret what he just did. What if he demanded you to reimburse him? No, he wouldn’t do that right?

“You wearing one of those would be enough of a thank you.” You can’t help but blush at his words, not believing your luck, that you met a guy this sweet. He was truly everything a girl could ask for.

Generous, handsome, tall, and caring—the whole package.

You saw your friends waving you over to them, so you excuse yourself. As he hands you the bags, his hand lingers on yours for a moment, before you let go and go over to your friends.

On your way you hear Enzo’s voice, causing you to turn around briefly.

“Meet me after dinner tonight, yeah?”

“Of course”, you happily obliged. You couldn’t wait to tell your friends about this perfect guy, and they couldn’t wait to hear the story either.

…

During dinner you kept turning your head to the right, hoping to catch a few glimpses of Enzo, who was sitting only a few seats away from you. You became rather disappointed when he didn’t notice you. Instead, he was laughing with all his friends.

“Y/n, what do you think?”, you hear all of a sudden, pulling you out of your admiration for Enzo. Totally in and out of your head, you try to remember what your friend asked you about. You also wondered whether Enzo had told all his friends about you yet, hopefully in a positive manner.

“Are you so in love with this guy you met four hours ago, that you can’t even focus on your real friends anymore”, she jokes, totally calling you out in your lovestruck behavior. The way you were infatuated with him, one could believe that he snuck you a love potion. But no, he was the first guy that you had ever felt this enchanted by.

In the last remaining minutes of dinner, you were mentally counting down the minutes. Only a little longer, you told yourself, then you could meet with him. Talk with him. Get to know him further. And eventually you would both lean in for a kiss and then…

“Dinner is finished, please go back to your respective common rooms”, Dumbledore's voice echoes through the dining hall, interrupting your daydream. As you’re getting up slowly, you tell your friends to go ahead. When everyone walked out, you saw Enzo separating from his friends to make his way to you. You could barely wait, having anticipated talking with him throughout the entire dinner.

“Hey”, he says, coming up to you.

You say nothing, replying with a simple smile. Deep down you were kind of scared of sounding overly excited, which could possibly scare him off.

“How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, how about you?”, you play your feelings down. You were better than “pretty good”, you were floating on cloud nine. If paradise existed, you were pretty sure that you were there already.

“I see you’re wearing a new dress, you look stunning”, Enzo says while looking you up and down, yet again. Your heart skipped a beat, overjoyed that he took notice. He really did pay attention to you.

“I’m glad.” Little did you know, and he did too, that you only wore this for him to see. It made you happy to know that your efforts weren’t in vain.

“Listen, how about we meet in my dorm?”, he suggested, “have us a little quiet place.” You instantly agreed, but told him that you would come by a little later because you wanted to refresh yourself in your own dorm first.

After all, you wanted everything to be perfect for your first date— wait, you stop your train of thought. Was it even a proper date? You weren’t sure, you’ve never been on one. Either way, you hurriedly skipped off to your dorm, informing all your girlfriends on your meeting.

Being the supportive girlfriends they were, they help you and give you pointers on your hair and makeup.

“I cannot believe that you’re going to be Enzo’s girlfriend”

“I’m so jealous, I wish an older guy would ask me out too”, they rave over your incredible luck.

“Well, I don’t even know if I’m really going to be his girlfriend”, you confess. He did seem interested, but after all you two were on completely different levels. What gave you comfort was that he seemed to be one of the nicer guys.

After one more glance in the mirror, you take off and ask everyone to wish you luck. You tried to be as quick as possible, not wanting to miss out on moments that you could’ve spent with Enzo.

Carefully, you sneak over to the boys’s dorms and you realize that you didn’t know which one Enzo slept in. So, you wander door to door, abruptly stopping when you recognize Enzo’s voice. His dorm door was open by a slit, so you lean in a little to listen. You knew it was sneaky, but you just couldn’t fight off your curiosity…

At first you couldn’t make out their indistinct words, but suddenly Enzo got a little louder. He sounded completely different from when you talked with him earlier.

“Fuck no!”, he scoffed loudly. You didn’t know what he rejected so angrily, but it only piqued your curiosity. You guessed that he was in the process of kicking his friends out to spend some time with you.

“Do you honestly think I care about her?” Enzo threw the question around. Upon hearing that you felt your heart standing still. Who was he talking about?

“Ok but if you don’t actually like her, then why go through the effort of chasing her down in that boutique”, Draco’s voice hollered all the way to you. After hearing that, even the tiniest hope—that he didn’t mean you, diminished within seconds.

“Yeah, you could literally have any girl you want, without spending a coin”, Blaise stated so painfully blatantly.

“You guys don’t get it”, Enzo defended his questionable, and apparently exaggerated, efforts to get you.

“My purchase barely cost me anything in terms of money, I have enough of that. But in return, I get a young, stupid and attractive girl who’ll do anything for me, because subconsciously she thinks she owes me”

Never in your entire life have you heard such a disgusting thing. For him you turned out to just be eye candy. A mere investment if you were being completely cynical.

Without wanting to hear more of what he had to say, you ran off back to your own dorm. His words rung in your head, stinging harder than you could have imagined. Back at your dorm, you barge in and burst into tears in front of all your friends. You’ve been holding them in ever since you heard his hurtful words.

After jumping on your bed, you instantly sink your head into a pillow. The darkness helped a little in blocking out everything. How could he have been so manipulative, and how stupid were you to have actually fallen for that?

His words may have been disgusting, but what was worse, was that they were true. Perhaps you would’ve really done anything he asked for in his dorm, had you not overheard their conversation.

With your makeup ruined and mascara running down your cheeks, you finally look up to answer to your friends’ concerns. All of them huddled around you, already comforting you even though they didn’t even know what happened. As you’re retelling what you overheard, you’re barely able to look them in their eyes. That’s how embarrassed you were.

When you were done, none of them could believe how sick and twisted Lorenzo Berkshire really was. Under that nice guy facade, hid a ugly and cunning playboy. At least Draco was open in showing what an asshole he was, this way he couldn’t really surprise you. But with Enzo, his first impressions were deceitful, which was way worse.

But under all your anger for Enzo, you were scared. Scared of the fact that Enzo was the first guy you’ve ever had real feelings for. Of course you only felt that way because he schemed and you fell right into his trap.

Still, a little part of your heart shattered upon the cruel reality. You didn’t want to believe it. A tiny guilt feeling part of you wanted so badly to walk up to his dorm again and to pretend nothing happened. It’d be easier than accepting his true intentions.

A sharp knock suddenly catches all of your attention. You must’ve been bawling out your eyes for a while now. You realize that Enzo had no idea about what happened and was still waiting for you.

“Can I come in”, you all hear him say from the other side of the door.

“FUCK Y-”, Anya begins yelling, before you immediately cover her mouth with your hand. You know she only meant the best, but you did it for a reason.

Everyone looked at you confused, trying to make out what you were thinking.

“Don’t let him know yet”, you whisper decisively, hoping he couldn’t hear you through the door.

They all ask why not, and truthfully you also weren’t too sure. But it felt more secure at the moment to not reveal your cards yet. Who knew how you could utilize the information you had. Ironically you learned that from Enzo in the past ten minutes.

“Is everything okay?”, he asks through the door, unsure of what was happening. What an amazing actor, pretending to genuinely care. How could one be so shamelessly two faced.

“You know what Enzo, I’m feeling a little sick”, you lie, trying to sound composed and calm. You couldn’t face him just yet.

“I'm sorry to hear that, I could-”

“I think it’s best if we just talk tomorrow”, you stop him before he could go on with more of his bullshit. In all honesty, talking to him was the last thing you wanted, but you had to sound believably fine.

“If you say so. Good night then”, and with that you heard his leaving footsteps.

“What are you doing?” Jenny asks you with a puzzled expression.

You explain to all of them that you need some peace right now to deal with your emotions and thoughts. The whole Enzo thing needed some time to be dealt with.

Since you were obviously in a bad headspace, they understand and leave you alone.

When lying in bed and processing your emotions from before, all the sadness, anger, embarrassment and fear—you suddenly feel something else too. You deeply wanted him to feel as foolish as you did too. You wanted him to regret his stupid little plan forever. You seeked for more than simply forgiving and forgetting, you wanted revenge.

#slytherin boys x reader #harry potter oneshot #harry potter #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x you #slytherin reader #lorenzo berkshire #lorenzo berkshire x you #lorenzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x you #slytherin boys fanfiction

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pucksandpower · 3 months

Text

Think I Need Someone Older

Fernando Alonso x Ocon!Reader

Summary: you know you should stay away from your brother’s ex-teammate, but if it’s wrong, why does it feel so right?

Warnings: 18+ content, manipulation, pregnancy

You look around with wide eyes as you walk through the paddock, following your brother as he gives you a tour. This is your first time at a race weekend, and the excitement and nerves are battling inside you. Esteban has told you so much about his world, but seeing it in person is entirely different.

The smell of rubber and gasoline hangs thick in the air. Mechanics and engineers are buzzing around the garage, focused intensely on the sleek pink and blue car before them. Esteban places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward.

“Here she is,” he says proudly. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

You nod, eyes wide. The carbon fiber curves of the car seem to shimmer under the lights. Your gaze sweeps over it, drinking in every detail.

“She’s amazing,” you breathe.

Esteban grins. “Just wait until you see her on track.”

He keeps talking, but you’ve noticed a man walking towards you. Even in a paddock full of fit, athletic people, he stands out. Shorter than your tall brother, but compact and muscular. Dark hair sweeps across his forehead as he removes his sunglasses, revealing sharp brown eyes.

“Esteban,” he calls in a Spanish accent. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lovely companion?”

Your brother turns, smile fading. “Fernando. This is my sister, Y/N.”

“Y/N,” Fernando purrs. “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman.” He takes your hand, brushing a kiss over your knuckles.

You feel your cheeks flush even as Esteban frowns. Fernando’s touch lingers a beat too long before releasing you.

“Don’t you have a setup to work on?” Esteban says sharply.

Fernando shrugs, eyes still on you. “The car is nearly there. I thought I would come meet my new fan.”

“I’m sure Y/N doesn’t want to be bothered-”

“It’s no bother,” you interrupt. Fernando’s presence is magnetic in a way you can’t explain. The intensity of his gaze makes your pulse quicken.

He smiles. “There, you see? The lady wishes to talk.”

Esteban huffs but doesn’t argue further. Fernando slings an arm around your shoulders, guiding you away. You glance back at your brother’s glowering face but allow yourself to be led.

Fernando steers you to a quiet corner of the paddock, away from the bustle. Leaning against the wall, he gives you another long look over.

“Tell me, Y/N,” he says conversationally, “How does a girl like you end up with a brute like Esteban for a brother?”

You laugh, surprised by his bluntness. “He’s not so bad.”

“No? The man has the personality of a rock.” Fernando shakes his head. “I do not understand it. Such a warm, engaging young woman. And him — cold and dull as a fish.”

You bite your lip. It’s true your brother can be reserved, but-

“You barely know me,” you point out.

Fernando touches your chin lightly. “I know enough. I have an eye for these things.” His fingers trail down your neck, along your collarbone. You shiver.

“We only just met,” you whisper.

His mouth twitches. “You felt it too, no? A … connection.”

You’re no longer sure if it’s a connection or merely intoxication. Fernando’s presence envelops you like a drug.

“I ...” You falter, words failing.

Fernando leans in as though to kiss you. At the last second, he veers, lips grazing your ear instead.

“Have dinner with me tonight,” he murmurs. It’s not a question.

You nod helplessly. Satisfied, Fernando pulls back, putting professional distance between you again. Yet his eyes continue undressing you.

Over his shoulder, you see Esteban approaching, scowling. Fernando follows your gaze and sighs.

“Until tonight, my dear.” He squeezes your hand and walks away.

Esteban reaches you, glaring between you and Fernando’s retreating back. “What did he want?”

You stare at the ground, afraid your expression will give everything away. “Nothing. Just … talking.”

Your brother snorts. “I’m sure. That man always has an agenda.” His eyes soften, noticing your discomfort. “Come on, let’s continue the tour.”

You let Esteban lead you back into the bustle of the garage, his concerns about Fernando fading as he delves into explanations about the car. But you aren’t really listening. Your thoughts swirl with the memory of Fernando’s touch, his lips, his hungry eyes. The things he made you feel with nothing more than a look.

You’ve never reacted to someone like this before. The impropriety of it — your brother’s rival, a man nearly twice your age — only heightens the exhilaration. You should be appalled by his forwardness. Instead, you’re counting down the minutes until you’ll be alone with him again.

Dinner tonight. Your heart races faster at the thought. What will happen there? What might have already happened if Esteban hadn’t interrupted?

You glance around, half expecting Fernando to be watching you still. But he’s nowhere to be seen. Esteban guides you to look more closely at the car, oblivious to your distraction.

You try to focus on your brother’s words, on the amazing machine in front of you. But your thoughts keep circling back to Fernando — his intensity, his confidence, the promise in his eyes.

This weekend just got a lot more interesting. Fernando looked ready to devour you whole. And despite yourself, you want to be consumed.

***

You smooth non-existent wrinkles from your dress for the tenth time, nerves making you fidget. The hotel restaurant lounge is busier than you expected for a Thursday night. Groups of team members, drivers, and media fill the tables, the air abuzz with a mix of languages.

Scanning the room, you don’t see Fernando yet. You chose this public place with the hope it would feel safer, less intimate than being alone with him in one of your hotel rooms. But now, the crowded restaurant only ramps up your anxiety.

You check your phone again. Still no texts from Fernando. Your foot taps impatiently.

“Y/N.”

You startle at the sound of your name purred in that accent. Turning, you find Fernando behind you, looking sharp in a tailored suit jacket and dark designer jeans. His gaze sweeps over you appreciatively.

“You look exquisite tonight.”

Heat blooms in your cheeks from the hunger in his eyes. You resist the urge to fidget with your dress again.

“Shall we?” He gestures to a table, placing a hand on your lower back to guide you.

You tense at the contact, hyper aware of every point his body meets yours as you walk. Fernando’s hand presses more firmly, as if enjoying your reaction.

At the table, he holds your chair out with exaggerated chivalry, letting his fingers trail across your bare shoulders. You suppress a shiver.

Once seated across from you, Fernando lounges comfortably in his chair, perfectly at ease. You envy his confidence. One look from his intense eyes still makes you blush furiously.

A waiter appears for your drink order. You ask for a white wine. Fernando requests an expensive Scotch.

Alone again, his gaze bores into you. “Now, where were we earlier? Before we were so rudely interrupted.”

You wet your dry lips. “I-I’m not sure that was ...”

“Appropriate?” Fernando supplies with a wolfish grin. “And here I thought you liked my hands on you.”

Your blush deepens. God, being around him is intoxicating. You can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud, though.

Fernando leans forward. “I see the way you look at me, Y/N. Like a woman who wants to be … pleased.”

His use of the euphemism makes you squirm even as heat pools low in your belly.

“You’re my brother’s rival,” you protest weakly.

Fernando shrugs. “All the more exciting, no?”

When you don’t respond, he sits back with a knowing look.

“You pretend to be a good girl. But I see the passion in you waiting to come out.”

The waiter returns with your drinks, providing a temporary respite. You sip your wine, grasping for composure.

Fernando continues watching you like a cat with a mouse. “Does Esteban know you’re out with me tonight?”

You shake your head. Your brother thinks you turned in early, exhausted from the day at the track. If he knew ...

“Sneaking around on a date with his rival.” Fernando tsks. “What would he think?”

“This isn’t a date,” you retort, but the denial sounds weak even to you.

“No? Then why so nervous?” His foot brushes against yours under the table. “Why so willing to deceive your dear brother?”

You have no response. Fernando sees right through you. It’s terrifying and thrilling all at once.

His eyes glitter with victory. But his tone softens. “It is only dinner. No need for guilt.”

He refills your wine glass, coaxing you to relax as you order. The food provides a welcome distraction. He draws you into conversations about travel and music, keeping things casual. Bit by bit, your nerves unwind. Fernando is charming company when he wants to be.

You find yourself laughing at a story about his home in Spain. Your eyes meet and the air shifts. The easy rapport slips away, replaced by simmering tension.

Fernando’s fingers graze your hand resting on the table, tracing delicate patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breathing quickens.

“Your skin is so soft,” he murmurs. “I wonder if all of you feels this good to touch.”

The images his words invoke make your head spin. His thumb strokes your wrist, feeling your racing pulse.

“Fernando ...” It comes out a half-moan.

Abruptly he releases you, sitting back. You stare, confused and bereft.

“Come.” Fernando stands, holding out a hand. “Walk with me.”

Heart pounding, you let him pull you up and guide you toward the exit. The night air hits your flushed cheeks. Fernando’s hand on your back urges you wordlessly down the street toward the harbor overlooking the city lights.

At the railing, he moves behind you, hands resting casually on your hips. You tense, every nerve aware of him surrounding you. His breath tickles your neck.

“Look at me, Y/N,” he commands softly.

You turn your head, body rigid. Fernando smiles, trailing a finger down your jaw. Eyes locked with yours, he presses closer until no space remains between you. Your lips part involuntarily. Triumph flashes in his expression.

“You want me to kiss you.” It’s not a question.

You close your eyes, unable to deny it. Fernando’s thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Look at me,” he repeats.

You force your eyes open. His face fills your vision.

“Not here,” he says. “Not yet.”

You ache in frustration, but Fernando is immovable as stone. He releases you and steps back. The loss of his touch is a physical pain.

Turning you firmly, he nods at the view. “Enjoy the lights, hmm?”

On unsteady legs, you move to the railing. Fernando stands casually beside you once more. For long minutes, silence reigns.

When you finally chance a look at him, his lips twitch into a smug, satisfied grin.

“You’re playing games,” you accuse shakily.

He lifts an innocent brow. “Games? I merely enjoy a lovely view with a lovely woman.”

You frown, unconvinced. This whole evening has been him expertly stoking the fire between you, only to withdraw at the critical moment. It leaves you trembling with unfulfilled desire.

As if reading your mind, Fernando strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. “Patience, my sweet. I have no wish to rush this.” His eyes burn. “The anticipation will make your surrender so much sweeter.”

Surrender. The word sinks into your bones, igniting a yearning you don’t dare name.

Fernando glances at his watch. “Come. I will walk you back.”

The return to your hotel is silent, charged with restless energy. At your door, Fernando grasps your hand, raising it to his lips. The kiss undoes you in a way his mouth on yours might not have.

“Goodnight, Y/N. Sweet dreams.” A promise lurks beneath his polite words.

You watch him walk away down the hall before letting yourself into your room on wobbly legs. Collapsing back against the door, you close your eyes, body humming.

He was right about one thing. After tonight, you’ll never look at Fernando the same way again. And despite the unfulfilled desire burning through you, part of you thrills at his control, his patience.

You don’t know what this game between you is yet, or what price it might exact. But as you lay sleepless in tangled sheets, replaying each burning moment, one truth rings clear — you trust Fernando to take you wherever this desire leads. And you’re powerless to do anything but follow.

***

The next two days pass in a haze of stolen glances and brief, electric touches that leave you trembling. At the track or hotel, Fernando finds ways to brush against you, to whisper heated words in your ear when no one else is close. But he never pushes further, leaving you a tangled mess of growing need.

Tonight is the final night before the race, the paddock thick with tension and excitement. You pick at your food during the Alpine team dinner, eyes drifting to Fernando at a nearby table with Aston Martin. He meets your gaze with a knowing smirk but stays focused on his own group.

You all but flee back to your room afterward, nerves pulled tight. Pacing the floor, you debate going to him, giving in to this madness. A knock interrupts your thoughts.

You open the door to find Fernando, hunger etched on his face. He steps inside, backing you to the wall. Caging you in place with his body, he strokes a finger down your cheek.

“No more waiting, I think,” he murmurs.

You sway toward him but Fernando holds you firmly in place, denying what you crave. His lips graze your ear instead.

“Say you want me, Y/N. I need to hear you say it.”

You shudder, clinging to the last frayed threads of resistance. Sensing it, he drifts lower, tongue and teeth teasing your neck in a way that ruins you. A gasp escapes your lips.

“Say it,” Fernando commands, the words vibrating against your skin.

“I-I want you,” you breathe, the admission cracking you open.

Triumph flares in his eyes. Then his mouth is on yours, claiming you in a fierce kiss. Weeks of pent-up desire explode as he devours you against the wall. Your fingers twist in his shirt, urgent sounds escaping between kisses.

When you’re both breathless, Fernando pulls back. Eyes wild, he strips off your dress in rough motions, leaving you in only lace undergarments. Ravenous hands explore your newly exposed skin.

“So perfect, just as I knew you would be.”

He lifts you effortlessly and you wrap your legs around his waist. Carrying you to the bed, he lays you across the sheets. You reach for him desperately but he catches your wrists, pinning them over your head.

“I am in control here. Understood?”

You nod, writhing beneath him. With a pleased growl, Fernando releases you to strip away the rest of your clothes. Then he’s above you again, letting you feel his need as he grinds against your aching core. Even through layers of clothing, it makes you dizzy with want.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands.

“You, Fernando, only you,” tumbles from your lips.

With a satisfied smile, he sits back to remove the rest of his own clothes, eyes scorching your bare skin. Then he covers you once more, warm skin against skin, teasing your entrance as his mouth finds your breasts.

Your head falls back, lost in sensation, but Fernando grips your chin. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes when I claim you.”

Holding your gaze, he enters you in one long stroke. The feeling of him filling you so completely wrenches a shattered moan from your lips. Fernando gives you no chance to adjust, pulling back only to drive into you again and again. You cling to him helplessly, taken over by a pleasure so intense it borders pain.

Fernando murmurs filthy praise and endearments in your ear as he possesses you. When his pace quickens, you shatter around him with a keening cry. He follows you over the edge with a growl soon after.

Still buried inside you, he brushes damp hair back from your face. “Such a good girl,” he praises, stroking your cheeks.

You cling to him, overwhelmed with sensation, with intimacy like you’ve never known. Fernando kisses you lazily before withdrawing to lay beside you. He gathers you close against his chest.

“Sleep now. You will need your rest to watch me win tomorrow.”

His arrogant assurance makes you laugh weakly. Fernando smiles, eyes softening.

“Laugh now if you wish. But after tomorrow, your brother will be the one sulking.”

His mention of Esteban pierces through the haze of bliss. Guilt twists your stomach. With everything that just happened, you forgot entirely about your brother.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Fernando tilts your chin up. “Do not look so troubled, hmm? Esteban need never know.”

You bite your lip. “He won’t approve. He warned me about you.”

Amusement flickers in Fernando’s eyes. “Did he now? And yet here you are.” His expression grows serious. “I will not share you, Y/N. Not even with family.”

The words, though alarming, send a thrill through you. To be wanted so possessively is disturbingly intoxicating. You know you should pull away, but you’ve already crossed so many lines tonight.

Fernando kisses you again, more gently this time. “Sleep, my sweet. No more worrying.”

Wrapped securely in his arms, you let the steady rhythm of his breathing lull you under. Everything else can wait for tomorrow. Tonight, you simply need to feel Fernando surrounding you, keeping you safe in the shelter of his embrace. Whatever comes next, you know you are his now. For better or worse.

***

Morning light streams through the curtains, rousing you from dreams of warm skin and demanding touches. For a moment, you reach across rumpled sheets, expecting to find Fernando’s solid form beside you. But you’re alone.

Sitting up, you spot a piece of hotel stationery on the pillow, his bold script across it:

Y/N,

Last night was magnificent. I wish I could wake to your beautiful face, but it is race day and I must prepare. Tonight, we celebrate properly. Wear something special for me.

Yours,

You trace the letters, a complicated mix of emotions swirling through you. The sheer joy of last night, giving in fully to each other. The guilt that creeps in with morning’s harsh light. Uncertainty of what comes next.

But most powerful of all is the magnetic pull towards him, this man who looked inside you and saw something even you didn’t know was there. Fernando unlocked it effortlessly, leaving you craving more.

Your phone buzzes with a message from Esteban, jolting you fully back to reality. He’s checking that you will be in Alpine hospitality for the race. You text back a vague confirmation, stomach twisting. Facing your brother today, pretending everything is fine while memories of Fernando claiming you play on repeat in your head, will be its own special kind of torment.

You take extra time getting ready, needing the armor of makeup and nice clothes before seeing the team. When you finally make your way trackside, the chaos of race day surrounds you. The garages burst with activity as crews make final preparations. Fans pose for photos and scramble for autographs. But your eyes scan only for Fernando.

You find him outside the Aston Martin garage, surrounded by engineers and PR reps going over last minute details. His race suit is unzipped to the waist, undershirt clinging to his toned chest. Fernando looks up and meets your gaze, desire flashing hot and quick across his face before he masks it.

Heart pounding, you flee to the Alpine suite before he can approach. The morning passes in a tense haze of avoiding Fernando and trying not to show your turmoil. You pick at food, choke down drinks, focus on breathing evenly.

When it’s time for driver introductions, Esteban finds you, pulling you in for a quick hug.

“Wish me luck out there today,” he says with a boyish grin.

You try to smile back naturally. “Good luck. I’ll be cheering for you.” The lie burns your tongue.

Esteban hurries off to prepare and you make your way trackside, pushing through throngs of fans to get a view of the grid. On the big screens, you watch the orchestrated chaos of the buildup.

Your breath catches as Fernando comes into view, prowling the asphalt in his fireproofs like a predator. His confidence and command fill the space around him.

The sight of your lover gearing up to battle your brother is surreal. But the excitement shining in Fernando’s eyes triggers an answering heat in you, eclipsing any conflicted emotions.

As the cars line up on the grid for final preparations, you spot Fernando scanning the crowd. When his gaze locks with yours, he presses two fingers to his lips then holds them out towards you.

Blood pounds in your ears. Everything else fades away except him. In this moment, nothing else matters but the connection between you.

The start lights flash and the cars roar to life, rocketing down the track. You’re jostled by the surging crowd of Alpine guests but keep your eyes glued to the screen, following Fernando’s bright green car. He keeps pace near the front of the pack, battling for position on each turn.

When he overtakes Esteban, your pulse leaps. You shouldn’t want your brother defeated, but the thrill of watching Fernando drive is too powerful.

The race unfolds lap by lap. Fernando runs a flawless strategy, overtaking rivals and avoiding risks. Esteban has moments of brilliance but spends more time defending his position than attacking.

In the closing laps, Fernando emerges through the chaos at the front of the pack, keeping two challengers at bay to the checkered flag. Your heart leaps as he takes the victory to the roar of the crowd around you.

On screen, Fernando pumps his fist before peeling off his gear and climbing atop his car for celebratory photos. Even with helmet hair and soaked in sweat, he looks like a warrior king surveying his territory. Exultant. Dominant. Yours.

The screens cut to Esteban climbing from his car in the midfield, frustration etched on his face. Your joy dims slightly, guilt creeping back in. Seeing your brother’s defeat firsthand twists your stomach.

But before regret can take hold, your phone buzzes with a message from Fernando.

Come celebrate with the conquering hero. My room tonight.

Any hint of doubt burns away. Esteban will have the rest of the team to console him. Tonight, you belong to Fernando.

The hours until the evening crawl by. You pace your room, unsure what to expect from the night. At last, dressed in a slinky black dress, you make your way to Fernando’s room.

He opens the door bare-chested, hair still damp from the shower. Hunger flashes in his eyes as he looks you over.

“Exquisite. Come here, my sweet.”

He draws you inside, mouth finding yours. You melt into him, the kiss deep and claiming. This time when Fernando backs you against the wall, you arch into him, wanting more. But he lifts you effortlessly instead, carrying you to the bed.

“I believe a celebration is in order.”

With deliberate care, he peels your dress away, hands roaming your newly bared skin. Stretched out beneath him, you let Fernando relearn every inch of you, patient this time, focused only on your pleasure.

By the time he finally joins your bodies, you’re drunk on sensation, clinging to him desperately. Fernando’s pace builds unhurriedly, drawing out your ecstasy until you shatter around him with a cry. He follows after, praising you again and again as he finds his own peak.

This time when he gathers you close afterwards, there is no guilt, no conflict in your sated bliss. You know with absolute clarity that this man owns every piece of you now, mind, body and soul. And you would give yourself to him again and again, consequences be damned. For in Fernando’s arms, you feel truly alive for the first time.

***

The end of the race weekend approaches too quickly. You wish you could freeze time, stay wrapped up in Fernando without the outside world intruding. But reality awaits.

On the flight home, Fernando secures you a seat beside him, hidden away in a secluded corner of the private jet. He slips his jacket over your entwined hands, shielding touches and whispered words from prying eyes.

“I want you in Spain as soon as possible,” he murmurs. “No more sneaking around.”

You lean into him. “I want that too.”

The stolen moments already feel unbearable after having him so completely. Fernando smiles, fingers stroking your cheek.

“Soon, my love. I will show you my home, my life there. We will never be apart.”

His words paint a picture more tempting than you can resist. Still, doubts creep in.

“What about Esteban?” You whisper. “My family here?”

Fernando’s eyes harden. “Your life is with me now. They will understand in time.” He grips your hand tighter. “I share you with no one.”

You know you should argue, but the command in his voice thrills you too much. Esteban will be furious when he learns the truth. Yet the thought of losing Fernando cuts far deeper. Your brother will forgive you eventually. But losing Fernando would break you.

At the airport, Fernando kisses you fiercely, heedless of anyone who might see.

“I will come for you soon,” he vows. “Be ready.”

Over the next weeks, you make discreet plans and excuses, preparing to leave your old life behind. Fernando texts and calls when he can, reminding you what awaits. The life he paints, together in his Spanish villa, sounds like a fairytale.

Too soon, though, reality intrudes again. Alpine invites you to a sponsorship dinner before the following race. Declining would raise Esteban’s suspicions, so you accept reluctantly.

You take pains with your appearance that evening, needing the armor. But when Esteban greets you with an affectionate hug, guilt pierces through.

“I’m so glad you could come, little sister. It’s been too long.”

You blink back tears, letting him escort you inside. Other team members welcome you warmly, expressing what a delight it is to see you again. Their kindness cuts sharpest of all.

The only balm is Fernando, across the restaurant with Aston Martin again. His gaze finds you, a question in his eyes. You give a small, reassuring nod. This changes nothing.

Dinner passes in a tense haze of pushing food around your plate and avoiding wine, afraid your fragile composure will crack. You make excuses to leave early, feigning jet lag.

Esteban walks you out, frowning when you evade his offer to get dessert somewhere.

“Everything okay? You seem distracted tonight.”

The concern in his voice nearly breaks you. But before you lose your nerve, a sleek silver car pulls up, back door opening. Fernando steps out, beckoning you.

Your brother’s eyes widen in shock and fury. “What the hell is this?”

“Esteban-”

“Did you know he would be here?” Esteban demands. “What are you doing with him, Y/N?”

You back away, tears escaping. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Go? You’re leaving? With him?” Esteban looks between you and Fernando, comprehension dawning. “No. No you would never ...” He grabs your wrist.

Fernando is there in an instant, prying Esteban’s grip off easily. He pulls you behind him, staring your brother down.

“Do not touch her again,” Fernando warns, danger in his tone.

Esteban’s face twists in anger and betrayal. “She is my sister, not yours to take.”

“She belongs with me.” Fernando’s absolute conviction brooks no argument. “Accept that, and we will have no quarrel.”

He turns, guiding you gently into the waiting car. Needing to see Esteban one last time, you glance back. The hurt and confusion in his eyes tears at your heart.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper as the car pulls away. Fernando cradles you close as sobs wrack your frame. Grief wars with relief now that everything is in the open.

“Hush now, he will understand in time,” Fernando soothes, stroking your hair.

When your tears slow, he tips your chin up. His eyes shine with possession and pride. “You are mine now. Truly mine. Are you ready?”

You nod, no doubts left, your fate sealed. Fernando kisses you until the lingering guilt washes away. By the time you fall asleep cradled against his chest, you feel only peace. Your future stretches before you, boundless and breathtaking at Fernando’s side.

Stepping into it will mean losing so much and gaining even more. The path will not be easy, but with Fernando’s hand clasping yours, you know you can weather any coming storms.

This is your destiny now. All your broken, scattered pieces made whole in his arms. And you will let nothing stand between you, consequences be damned. For your heart belongs to Fernando alone.

***

The months that follow are bliss and agony.

Fernando whisks you away to his estate in Asturias as promised. There, you settle effortlessly into domestic life with him, days filled with sunshine, languid meals on the veranda, and nights spent tangled in silken sheets. Fernando dotes on you, lavishing you with attention and affection. Under his guidance, you blossom, leaving your past self behind.

Yet the guilt lingers. Esteban refuses your calls and texts, cutting you out fully. Your parents write you off as bewitched when you try to explain. Only Fernando’s steady reassurance gets you through those dark hours when you fear you’ve lost your family forever.

“They will come around, my love,” he murmurs against your hair. “One day they will understand this was destiny. That we belong together.”

Privately, you pray he’s right. Your new life feels hollow without your brother’s laughter and your parents’ warm hugs. But Fernando fills the void as best he can, surrounding you with his love.

As summer wanes into fall, you throw yourself into supporting Fernando’s training regimen and race preparations. The coming season will be pivotal for him at Aston Martin. You’re determined to be the perfect partner — encouraging yet not demanding, understanding of his grueling schedule and focus.

You savor each moment at home between races. Fernando takes you sailing along the coast, shows you his favorite local villages, and teaches you to cook traditional dishes. At night, his touch erases the lingering ache of your family’s rejection.

When race weekends come, you follow Fernando dutifully, maintaining a low profile. Those around the paddock eye you with curiosity and judgment, but their opinions matter little. Only Fernando’s happiness concerns you now.

The races become a test of will. Watching Esteban battle to succeed with Alpine as you lurk in the Aston Martin garage twists your stomach. But you bear the pain, focusing on Fernando’s victories and commiserating during setbacks. Your efforts earn you his praise and devotion. Slowly, the paddock gossip fades to background noise.

Months pass in a blissful haze. Fernando secures key podiums, cementing himself as a title contender. Off track, he takes you traveling during breaks — Switzerland, Dubai, the Maldives. The outside world and its judgements fade away.

When Fernando wins the season finale, you greet him with a tearful smile, so proud of his achievement. Lifting you off your feet, he swings you in giddy circles before capturing your mouth in a crushing kiss. Cameras flash all around, but his eyes see only you.

“This victory is yours too, my love,” he declares later that night, still elated. “You give me strength.”

Curled in his arms, you cling tightly, overwhelmed with emotion. Fernando has proven your faith in him justified, in both racing and your life together. Whatever sacrifices you made, his love has been worth it.

In the glow of Fernando’s championship, the offseason flies by. Before you know it, new season preparations are underway. Fernando secures a multi-year contract extension with Aston Martin, cementing his status as their star driver.

When you arrive for pre-season testing, the garage buzzes with anticipation. Fernando struts with authoritative confidence, embracing his role as the team’s champion leader. He draws you close when you appear, kissing you soundly.

“Look at them stare now,” he murmurs smugly. “You are untouchable.”

It’s true. No one dares whisper anymore when you pass. Fernando’s stature grants you protection, and with it, a new confidence. You hold your head high, welcoming the envious glances.

One person’s attention, however, you try desperately to avoid. Esteban keeps his distance, but you catch him watching sometimes, face unreadable. The renewed pain of his estrangement cuts deep. You cling to Fernando’s side throughout testing, avoiding any risk of confrontation.

On the final test day, you beg off going to the garage, emotionally drained. Fernando is reluctant but acquiesces to your needs, dropping you at the hotel to rest.

By late afternoon, guilt creeps in. You should be supporting Fernando now, not wallowing. Before you can lose courage, you head back to the track.

The Aston Martin bay is empty when you arrive, the garage eerily quiet. You’re about to turn and look elsewhere when hushed voices catch your ear. Fernando’s unmistakable accent, and one achingly familiar.

Heart pounding, you creep toward the sound, peeking around a supply crate. Fernando and Esteban stand mere feet apart, tension radiating between them. Your brother’s hands clench at his sides.

“I want to see her,” Esteban demands.

Fernando scoffs. “You lost that right long ago.”

“She is my sister-”

“She is mine,” Fernando cuts in sharply. “You rejected her. I gave her the life she deserves.”

Esteban flinches. “I was hurt. Angry. But she is still family.” His eyes turn pleading. “Just let me talk to her, Fernando. Please.”

Your heart lurches, desperate to run to him. But Fernando stands immobile as stone.

“No. I have seen how you make her cry and doubt herself. She is happy now, and I will not let you ruin that.”

“I just want to know she’s okay-”

“She is perfect.” Fernando steps closer, looming. “Go back to your garage and your racing, little boy. Y/N is no concern of yours anymore.”

Esteban’s face twists. For a moment it seems he might shove Fernando back. But finally he deflates, defeat in the slump of his shoulders.

Your brother turns without a word, nearly reaching your hiding spot before stopping short. His eyes find yours, widening in shock.

“Y/N ...” he breathes.

You stare, frozen. Esteban takes a half step toward you, hand extended. The months apart feel erased, love and longing surging-

“Y/N.” Fernando’s sharp voice lashes like a whip. You jolt from the spell, tears burning your eyes.

Esteban’s face crumbles. But he only nods once, a goodbye, before walking away.

Fernando is at your side instantly, clutching you close, a hand cradling your head as you tremble against him.

“You see now?” He murmurs. “He only wishes to hurt you more.”

You cling tighter, the echo of your name on Esteban’s lips haunting you. Burying your face in Fernando’s chest, you let him soothe away the renewed ache, the hope dying again.

Later back at the hotel, Fernando undresses you with gentle reverence, worshiping every inch of exposed skin until thoughts of your brother scatter.

“You are everything I need, my sweet,” he vows as your bodies join. “Only you.”

You know it’s true. Whatever Esteban hopes to reclaim, too much has changed now. The girl he knew is gone. Your fate lies with Fernando alone.

So you let your lover consume you with pleasure until nothing else remains. And when Fernando’s possessive whispers of ‘mine’ finally lull you to sleep, Esteban’s haunted eyes cannot follow.

***

And then a surprise is tossed your way. You throw yourself into preparing the villa for a baby, grateful for the distraction. Fernando dotes on you even more than usual, making sure you want for nothing.

At night, he lays you back with utmost tenderness, hands and lips caressing your changing form.

“You grow more radiant each day, my love,” he murmurs. “Motherhood suits you beautifully.”

Privately, you hope the coming baby might also soften your estranged family’s hearts. But Fernando shuts down any mention of reconciling.

“All we need is right here,” he insists, cradling your belly. “Our child will want for nothing.”

You try to take comfort in his words. With the new life growing inside you, loneliness for lost family cuts deepest of all. But you swallow the hurt, focusing on what lies ahead.

As your due date nears, Fernando reluctantly leaves for preseason activities. You encourage him to concentrate on racing, hiding any lingering sadness. This year must be his best yet with a child on the way.

The season opener comes quickly. Fernando wants you resting comfortably at home, but you insist on being there to support him. After lengthy persuasion, he concedes.

Stepping back into the paddock on Fernando’s arm, you keep your head high despite stares following your pregnant belly. Let them judge and gossip. You and Fernando know the truth.

Seeing the Aston Martin crew embrace you and Fernando as family sparks an ache you thought long buried. With Esteban still refusing contact, this child will have only one doting uncle on the grid in Carlos Sainz.

During the race weekend, you catch Esteban watching you pensively across the paddock several times. Each glimpse cuts like a knife. He always looks away quickly, his expression unreadable.

Sunday unfolds in a chaotic blur of pre-race pageantry and tension. From the cozy Aston Martin hospitality suite, you cheer loudly as Fernando battles fiercely for position. In the closing laps, he makes a daring pass to claim a hard-fought podium.

When Fernando emerges from the cool down room, still elated, he makes a beeline for you. Sweeping you up carefully, he kisses you passionately, heedless of the room’s occupants. You cling tightly, swallowing against stubborn tears.

The bittersweet reunion is broken by Carlos, swooping in to hug you both. He presses a hand to your belly with a grin.

“Let me properly meet my future sobrino or sobrina!”

His joyful fussing over you makes your heart clench. Glancing to the back of the room, you find Esteban watching silently, an array of emotions on his face.

As Carlos distractedly moves on to congratulate other drivers, Esteban turns and slips away. Impulse seizes you. Murmuring an excuse to Fernando, you hurry after your brother before he disappears.

You catch Esteban at the elevator, grasping his arm. He tenses but doesn’t pull away, eyes dropping briefly to your belly before meeting your gaze.

“Can we talk?” You plead breathlessly. “Just for a minute?”

Esteban hesitates, glancing down the hall where sounds of celebration continue. Finally he nods, gesturing you into the empty elevator.

The doors close and awkward silence descends. Now that you have him here, you’re lost for words.

Esteban breaks the tension gently. “You look happy. Pregnancy suits you.”

You offer a tentative smile. “I am happy. This baby will have two loving parents.” You bite your lip before adding, “But it could use an uncle too.”

Esteban looks startled, then conflicted. “Fernando would never allow it.”

You shake your head. “I don’t need his permission. Or yours.” Taking Esteban’s hand, you squeeze tightly. “You’re my family. I know we can’t go back to before, but can’t we find some way forward? For the baby’s sake? For mine?”

Esteban searches your face, hesitant. You see the longing warring with old hurts.

“Please,” you whisper. “I miss my brother.”

Your pleading eyes break him. Esteban crushes you into a hug just as the elevator doors open. You cling to each other, both crying.

Footsteps approach and you pull back to see Fernando standing there, concern fading to understanding. Over Esteban’s shoulder, you gaze at your lover beseechingly.

Fernando’s jaw tightens. For a moment, you fear he’ll force you to choose again. But then his eyes soften, nodding once. Relief crashes over you.

Esteban turns, instinctively shielding you protectively. Fernando raises a pacifying hand.

“It seems we have much to discuss.” His mouth quirks wryly. “Shall we find somewhere calmer?”

Cautious hope dawns on Esteban’s face. Together, the three of you retreat to a private corner of the Aston Martin motorhome. There, awkwardly at first, you begin reconciling.

It’s not quick or easy after so much hurt. But you now have a child’s future to consider. Heart by heart, the ice thaws between the men who both love you in different ways. They will never be friends, yet reach an understanding.

When Fernando pulls you close and whispers, “Whatever you need to be happy, my love,” you know this olive branch is genuine. You kiss him tenderly, letting your joy speak for you.

In the weeks and months that follow, bonds slowly rebuild between you and your family. Fernando keeps his promise, welcoming Esteban into your lives, albeit warily at times. He seems to take pride in your returning happiness, though.

Your daughter’s birth months later cements the change. A redemptive joy surrounds you as she’s passed gently into Esteban’s arms. Fernando looks on with unmatched tenderness, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Our family is complete now,” he murmurs. And you know it’s true.

The years that follow hold challenges and triumphs, heartbreak and healing. You watch your little girl grow surrounded by love. She becomes the bridge connecting two worlds once torn apart.

There are times old wounds threaten to reopen. Jealousies flare, harsh words spoken in anger. But you face each crisis together, choosing reconciliation over rupture. And your family emerges stronger for it.

At your daughter’s second birthday party, you pause during the chaos to take it all in. Fernando whirls the giggling birthday girl around while Esteban looks on grinning. Music and laughter surround you.

Watching your child beam, you feel only joy now, and gratitude. However painful the path, every sacrifice was worth it to arrive at this peace. You know the bonds connecting you now can weather any storm life may bring.

Fernando catches your eye, blowing you a kiss. His love gave you courage once to chase an impossible dream. Now you stand surrounded by the reality — a family woven together by resilience and forgiveness.

Your daughter toddles to you and you sweep her up, kissing every inch of her sweet face as she squeals. Over her shoulder, you meet Fernando’s proud eyes. In them you see the past, present, and future. And you know — you would do it all again a thousand times for this happiness you’ve found.

596 notes · View notes

ilovetoxicfictionalmen · 3 months

Text

NO MORE TEASING

Pairing : Cillian Murphy x fem! reader

Summary : You’re Cillian’s make up artist and set a ‘professional boundary’. Cillian decides to take what’s his when production is wrapped.

Warnings : Dubcon, fingering, blow job, dominating,

Word count : 1.9k

“You’re staring again” he grinned at you, those ocean blue eyes eating you whole. Indeed you were. The vanity’s lights illuminated your soft features, your focused expression and most importantly your plump lips which made Cillian’s blood flow like a river.

“I have to stare” you sighed with a blank expression. Your snarky response made him pull a face and you could feel him tugging at the hem of your top, his fingertips slipping underneath to brush against your skin.

“Ouch” he murmured as you continued fanning the brush over his cheeks.

Sighing to yourself, you continued your work. The silence was poetic. Cillian loved just watching you do what you do most passionately. The way your eyebrows scrunched together, how you bit your lower lip and the slight squint of your eyes. Most importantly he loved how you were staring so intensely at him, your undefying attention was stuck on him.

Finishing with one last sigh, you dropped your materials on the desk behind him and took a step back to imply that you were done, your hip poking out to the side a little. Cillian sighed and grabbed onto your hands softly, pulling you back towards him.

“I can’t wait to take you out after production is wrapped” he admitted, a gleeful smile on his lips.

“You say that with so much confidence” you scoffed slightly, pulling your hands free of his grasp after one tug. Cillian pouted as you walked across the room and poured yourself a cup of water from the dispenser.

Context, he asked you out at every chance he got, and a few more times in between that. For some insane reason you declined every time he practically begged you to treat you like a goddess. It was still undecided, if you wanted to go out on a date or whatever it may be with him. Maybe it was the age difference, or maybe it was because you just felt too insecure that he’d let you go mid production. How could you face him after that?

But Cillian was a catch, a charming gentleman who’s succession went miles. He was kind, gentle, passionate, emotional and intelligent. Everyone on set would kill to have a shot with the Irish bachelor. Yet, he was determined to have you, and only you.

People would be able to mistake your cheeks to have red paint on them by the way you would blush crazily every time someone would comment on the way that he looked at you. All of the women were jealous of you, the small town girl that managed to whip an A-list actor with the grace of your smile. Little did they know you were whipped just as hard for the dreamy stag.

“Come here” Cillian whispered, curling his finger towards him to summon you. As you approached him, he pulled your forearms closer to him.

Almost naturally, you straddled him and he stroked your cheek as he hummed. Neither of you could resist having another sneaky made out session. It almost felt like destiny with how you two had an empty trailer together. Tugging on each other's hair and rocking your hips over his, your tongues were fighting for dominance. Cillian won, effortlessly. These risky moments were fun, but the finest moments were when you talked emotionally and intimately to one another, discovering each other’s souls, developing a strong spiritual relationship with one another.

Suddenly, there was a bang on the door and a production worker called Cillian to set. You pulled away from him, he sighed and rolled his eyes. “You should go” you mumbled, brushing his hair back and wiping his lips with the back of your thumb.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that right?” Cillian chuckled as you slid off of him.

“Guilty” you smirked and opened the door before he could try to make another sneaky move on you. Cillian sighed heavily and stood up, he stood before the open door and looked you up and down slowly, his hand brushing yours that rested on the door before leaving without another word.

Then just like that, the production was wrapped. Your work with Cillian was done, but you were still trying to figure out if your little affair with him was over as well. Liking Cillian was an understatement, you were passionate about him but the ideas of the media as well as your personal relationships frightened you. You wished you could just run away together, be free from the world, have peace with him. But that would never be an option.

There was a celebratory party with the cast and other production workers. Cillian urged you to go with him, but you declined his offer multiple times. He even offered to skip the party and take you out instead. But you forced him to enjoy himself with his friends. The idea of being with him, intoxicated, intimidated you. What if he just took advantage of you and left you without another word. No, he wouldn’t do that.

Here you were instead, comfy on your couch with an empty bottle of wine and a second half full, as you watched your favorite sitcom. Your head rested on your propped arm on the couch’s arm.

You couldn’t help but to miss Cillian despite it only being a few days. The two of you were still messaging, but he has to get ready to move to a different production set. You missed the way he’d admire you, that thick enchanting Irish accent of his, looking into his mesmerizing blue eyes. Perhaps you did want to give it a shot, give him a shot, even though you weren’t exactly sure what he wanted to offer you. But hey, when else will you get an opportunity like this?

Occasionally you’d look down to your phone and read the messages Cillian was constantly sending. About how boring it was and how he just wanted to be with you. The wine made you feel a bit cheeky.

You just want to fuck me.

The seen mark appeared immediately. But the typing box didn’t appear, you watched the screen until it turned dark. You couldn’t help but to feel anxious, and a bit hurt over being left on read. Tempted to message him again, you chose not to and turned off your phone, trying to focus on the show instead.

Almost an hour later, you were dozing off to sleep when there was a knock on the front door. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked over to the door, who was here at this hour? But then your heart raced with excitement and suspense that it could be him.

You got up, brushed your hair back and waddled over to the door. Opening it slowly, your suspicions were confirmed.

“Hi” Cillian whispered, gently swaying by the door, he leaned against the frame as he smirked to you.

“Cillian” you gasped lightly, looking him up and down. He did look charming, the way his trousers snatched his waist and how his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

“I couldn’t stop thinking of you” he confessed, looking at your body slowly down.

“Cillian” you repeat yourself, in a warning tone this time as he stepped inside your flat. “How did you even know where I lived?”

“I have my ways” he shrugged his shoulders, his hands caressing your hips, a gentle moan escaping his lips.

“You’re drunk” you said sternly, but he didn’t care.

“So are you” he countered, his eyes quickly darting over to the bottles of wine on the coffee table.

Exhaling, you took a few steps back but Cillian took as many forward twice as quick. Before you know it, you’re pressed up against the wall with Cillian breathing by your ear. The scent of Guinness heavy on his breath as his hands slowly but firmly run up and down your torso.

“Cillian” you whispered, slowly looking up to him.

“I like the way you say my name, but I think I’d like the way you scream it more” he groaned, a wide grin on his lips.

The passion sparked off each other as you crashed your lips together. His cold hands excited your nerves as he ran them up and down your skin underneath your top. Lightly moaning into his mouth, Cillian’s groin pressed against your abdomen, slowly humping against you. His erection was tenting in his jeans already. His hands grabbed the sides of your face as he began rubbing his groin against yours. You moaned out, eyes slowly rolling back.

“Get on your knees, love” his tone was quiet yet stern.

You fell to your knees quicker than you thought you would. Naturally, you obeyed your sexual desires and ran your palms down his crotch. He gave a gentle nod of approval as you unbuckled his belt. Assisting you to tug his jeans down enough to free his member, you gulped at his size. The room was dimmed but you could feel the veins that wrapped up his length.

“Come on, be a good girl” he encouraged you, stroking your cheeks.

Doing as he said, your lips wrapped around his size. A slow hiss echoed through the hallway as you took him inside your mouth, more and more. With your tongue wagging around underneath his cock, his hands slipped into your hair, guiding you to go at a quicker pace. You opened your eyes and he was staring right at you, his mouth ajar open as his fingers gently massaged your scalp.

“That’s right, taking my cock like a good little whore” he spoke in a slow low tone.

His words shocked you. You would have never guessed him to say such a vulgar thing so openly. Your eyes widened with uneasiness as he patted your cheek. Attempted you pulled your head back, you were stopped by his hands, holding you in place with a wicked grin on his lips.

“Always getting me all hot and bothered right before shooting. Such a fucking minx, torturing my fucking cock” Cillian growled, picking up the pace so his cock was hitting the back of your throat. It was impossible not to gag on his size, your jaw beginning to act at his thrusts.

“Almost there” Cillian mumbled. Shortly after that, he fulfilled his promise and shot his ropes of white right down your throat. You didn’t like semen, it tasted foul, so you whined at the taste as he held your head down on his size until you struggled to swallow it all.

Cillian pulled you back up and pinned you against the wall once more. A harsh kiss was planted onto your lips. “I won’t fuck you, not yet. I’m a gentleman, I want to make it romantic for you. But I do need to feel you, right now” he hissed, his hand slipping into your bottoms.

The sudden touch to your clit shocked your nerves and you moaned. There was this animalistic sound that came from him as he felt how soaked your cunt was. Easily, his digits slipped deep into your canal.

“Cillian” you moaned out his name over and over again.

“You like my fingers eh?” Cillian smirked, his thumb circling over your clit.

Biting the inside of your lower lip, you were trying hard not to come undone right there and then. But the both of you knew how quickly he was pushing you over the edge. Sucking onto the side of your neck, your thighs squeezed his hand as you screamed out his name. Your orgasm was a tsunami, you struggled to stand straight, but Cillian made sure to hold you up.

With a huff, Cillian slipped out his wet hand and grabbed onto your cheek with the same hand, making you look at him.

“You’re mine alright? No more silly games, no more teasing, no more denying me. You’re going to submit to me, you got it?” Cillian ordered.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian x fem!reader #smut

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holly-the-trash-writer · 1 year

Text

Guilt

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Y/n lies unconscious in a hospital bed while Spencer drowns in guilt. You had felt that Spencer was cheating on you with Maeve and were going to stay with someone else before you got shot. Finding this out causes Spencer to snap and lash out at one of his closest friends.

Part 2

Word Count: 2,866

A/N: This has been a WIP for years! It was apart of a series with my own OC but I decided to change it to a Reader fic. The amount of WIPs I have is ridiculous!!!!!

Spencer sat at Y/n's hospital bed in silence. Tears were continuously streaming down his face, his breaths were shaky and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your unmoving face.

There was a tube coming out of your mouth to help your breathing. So many different wires were coming out of your body and attached to multiple beeping machines.

He was holding your right hand in both of his, your skin wasn’t freezing cold but it was colder than he prefers it to be.

You had only came out of surgery half an hour ago but they won’t know if it was successful until you wake up. Which could be between the next few seconds and never.

Never was something Spencer was trying his hardest not to think about.

There was so much he needed to tell you. So many things he had to say.

The last time you were together you had fought. You told him that he’s been speaking to Maeve too much and that he's been ignoring you. Spending more time with this woman.

Spencer had told you that you were being ridiculous and then you had to go on a case and Spencer never got the chance to talk anymore about it.

You had been furious at him and now Spencer was angry at himself as well.

He had called you ridiculous for coming to him about your feelings. This resulted in you refusing to be his partner in the field. Which led to you going with Morgan. Which ended in you getting shot.

This is when Spencer’s brain began connecting things that didn’t match up.

If he had listened to you he could’ve gotten you out of harm’s way.

Not speaking to Maeve meant you wouldn’t have fought and you never would’ve been shot.

He was supposed to protect you.

It should be him lying there. Not his sweet girl.

There was a knock on the door and Spencer barely reacted as Garcia and Emily came in.

“Hey, how is she doin’?” Emily asked softly.

Spencer turned his head a little towards them, “She... uh.” His voice cracked and he cleared it before trying again, “They said everything went well but we won’t know the damage until she wakes up.”

Garcia's eyes watered as she stared at your body. “When will she wake up?”

Spencer's eyes filled with tears, a sad smile forming as he squeezed your hand, “When she’s ready.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out to see that it was Maeve.

Again.

Along with the twenty missed calls from Maeve.

He rubbed his eyes before pressing answer, “Spencer Reid.”

“Oh my God. Spencer, I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Are you alright?”

This statement didn’t sit well in his stomach.

If you miss an appointment with your doctor, they don’t leave twenty missed calls on your phone.

They wait for you to reschedule.

He glanced at the other two women who were trying their best not to listen in. Although Garcia was looking particularly peeved about something.

Then he glanced down at you and any words he was going to say to Maeve turned to ash in his mouth. He felt sick.

Now he understood what you meant.

“Now, isn’t a good time. I’ll call you next week.” He didn’t wait for a response before he ended the call and put the phone back in his pocket.

Garcia shifted uncomfortably, “Was... was that her?”

“Who?” Spencer’s brain wasn’t even functioning at 20%. He couldn’t think things through clearly.

“Doctor Maeve.” Garcia mocked.

Spencer frowned, “Yes. Why?”

Emily gave Penelope a pointed look.

A look that did not go unnoticed by Spencer, “What? What is it?”

Emily put her hands up in a calming gesture, as if trying to approach a cornered animal. “Spencer. You must understand, we don’t mean to pry but Y/n spoke to Morgan and he didn’t know what to do so he told Garcia, who told me.”

Spencer rubbed his eyes for the fourth time in ten minutes, he did not have the energy for this, “Told you what? What are you talking about?” Spencer was getting agitated now. Why can’t they just tell him? He hated not getting to the point.

“Well, Y/n came to Morgan two weeks ago and was quite upset.”

Spencer frowned as he looked at you again. Two weeks ago? You didn’t seem upset two weeks ago.

“She had some concerns about this doctor that you’ve been speaking to.” Emily explained.

Garcia huffed, “She told Derek that she had suspicions that you were cheating on her.” She spoke with daggers in her eyes.

Spencer froze.

What?!

He stiffened in his seat as he stared at his unconscious fiancé in shock.

You thought he was cheating on you?

You might never wake up again and your last thoughts of him would be the fight and thoughts of his, supposed, adultery.

How?! How could you think that he could even look at anyone that wasn’t you?

“I. Would. Never.” He punctuated every damn word so they got his point, trying to blink away the fresh batch of tears that filled his eyes.

“She planned to stay with Morgan and Savannah for a couple of days-" Garcia told him.

Spencer tore his eyes away from the bed to gawk at Garcia, “She what?”

Emily placed her hand on Garcia’s arm and spoke next, “Yesterday, Derek had... overheard one of your conversations with the doctor and he spoke to Y/n about it. So, she decided she would go and stay with him for a few days to sort out her head before coming to you about it.”

Spencer was furious. Not only did you think he was cheating on you, half of the team now suspected him of it too and no one even had the decency to ask him. And what was this phone call that was so damning that Derek had to run and tell his fiancé? Why didn’t Derek just ask him instead of almost ruining his relationship without him even knowing about it!

Spencer was shaking with rage. He stood abruptly from his chair and turned to the girls, pointing to Y/n’s bed he ordered out, “Stay with her.” before he stormed outside to head to the waiting room.

He saw red. He couldn’t think of anything except for the anger he felt.

Quickly turning the corner he saw the rest of the team sitting and talking as if nothing was wrong.

J.J noticed him first and stood up, Hotch, Rossi and Morgan following suit.

“Spence, any news?” she asked gently.

Spencer didn’t even hear her; never slowed his pace either. As soon as Morgan was within arm’s reach he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and swung as hard as he could.

His fist made connection with Morgan’s cheek and from the shock of Spencer’s actions it knocked Morgan off kilter. Morgan stumbled and placed his hand to his cheek.

The punch clearly did more harm to Spencer than Morgan, but he didn’t care. The pain in his hand was welcomed. It cut through the hurt that was clutched around his heart.

The others cried out in shock as they tried to digest what just happened.

“What the hell, kid?!” Morgan yelled at him.

“’What the hell’ is right!” Spencer growled back as he stepped up to the other man and pushed his shoulders, “Sneaking behind my back? Telling my fiancé that I had some secret affair because of some phone call you didn’t hear the entirety of!”

Spencer was seething, the rest of the team gaping at him never having seen him so furious before, “You could’ve just asked! But no, the whole team had to get involved. And now I hear she was planning on living with you for a few days?!” Spencer clenched his possibly broken fist again. “She’s in a coma and may never wake up again and her last thoughts of me will be the thought that I was getting with someone else.”

Spencer inhaled sharply as his rage at Morgan turned to rage at himself.

“Spencer!” J.J shouted, “Stop!”

His sharp inhales quickly turned to hyperventilation, his brain was in overdrive, a million thoughts and memories were spinning around his head and he just wanted it to stop.

So he stopped it the only way he knew how.

Instead of hitting Morgan, Spencer turned at the last second and hit the wall.

He fell to his knees and cried as he hit the wall again and again and again and again.

Blood smeared across the white wall as he broke the skin on the knuckles. The physical pain overrode his senses and he chased the feeling.

That was until Hotch grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him away from the wall causing Spencer to lose his balance and fall back into Hotch's arms which quickly locked around him.

“Stop! Get off of me! Hotch, let go!” Spencer squirmed as he tried to fight against his boss. His back was pressed tightly against Hotch’s chest, his legs bent in front of him and he kept slapping at Hotch’s arms to let go.

Hotch just shushed him and held him tighter. Completely understanding his anger. He’s been there and the best thing for Spencer is to calm down enough so he can go back and sit with Y/n instead of giving in to his anger and doing something else that he will regret.

Once Spencer figured out that he wasn’t going anywhere the fight drained out of him and he stopped slapping at the arms circled around him.

While Spencer was hunched over Hotch gave the rest of the team a nod to clear the area and give the two some space.

Hotch pulled one Spencer’s shoulders to shift his position so that Spencer curled into his chest.

Once Hotch placed a comforting hand over Spencer’s head a sob broke past his lips and the entire dam broke. Spencer cried his heart out.

He could barely breathe, inhaling only made him choke on his sobs and made him feel worse.

“What if I never get to speak to her again?” he whispered between sobs. “Never get to tell her that she’s the only one for me.”

“Spencer you need to breathe.” Hotch told him gently, “You need to calm down. Breathe with me.”

Spencer felt Hotch’s chest rising and falling against him. He closed his eyes and tried to follow his boss’ actions.

After a moment, Spencer was finally able to take a deep breath. The oxygen flooded his brain and the fog cleared. His entire body shivered before he came to his senses.

Blinking hard he realised he was curled into Hotch’s chest, cocooned in his arms.

He shouldn’t be here.

He was sitting on the hospital floor instead of in with Y/n. He slowly sat up and Hotch let his arms fall from around him.

“You alright?”

Spencer wiped his left hand over his face, “Fine. Fine. Yeah. I need to uh, I need to go to Y/n.”

He put his right hand behind him to support his weight, but an agonising pain shot through his hand and he fell onto his elbow with a grunt.

“Here, let me see.” Hotch knelt over him and held out his hand.

Spencer shook his head and used his other hand to support his weight as he got off the floor, dusting himself off as best he could, “I’m fine.” He held his right arm close to him as he stood up straight.

He looked around and noticed that J.J, Rossi and Morgan are nowhere to be seen… which is probably for the best.

The shame of what he’s done washed over him like a bucket of ice water. He just punched his best friend in front of his team then proceeded to have a break down in his boss’ arms.

“Spencer.” Hotch called out. “You’re not fine, let me see your hand.”

Spencer shook his head and walked out of the waiting room without saying anything.

Stopping just outside Y/n’s room he looked in the window, you hadn’t moved a muscle.

Emily was sat by your bedside holding your hand.

The pain of the possibility of losing her was too much for him. His only relief was the slow rise and fall of your chest.

His eyes were already puffy and sore, and he felt dehydrated. He sighed as he raised his left hand to wipe the tears away, cursing himself for his behaviour.

“Spencer.” Hotch stood at his side, “You need to get your hand looked at, and I’m sure the nurse wouldn’t mind doing it by Y/n’s bedside.” He knew Spencer probably doesn’t want his hand looked at for at least three reasons; he doesn’t want to leave Y/n’s side for much longer, he feels embarrassed or shameful or he feels the need to punish himself.

He agreed as long as he can stay beside Y/n, “Okay.” He opened the door and the bleeps of the machine’s filled his ears.

That was your heartbeat.

He lowered himself into the chair at your right side and raised his left hand to hold hers. His right hand was tucked into his chest. The throbbing was excruciating but he welcomed it.

He pointedly avoided Emily’s worried expression before she smiled at him and left the room without word.

A nurse came bustling into the room a few moments later with a tray of equipment, clearly fetched by Hotch. She stood next to him and Spencer raised his hand to let her do what she needed to do. Hissing as she cleaned the cuts on his knuckles.

The nurse didn’t mind his silence and talked calmly to him as she worked, “You did quite the number on your hand.” She wiped away the blood and inspected his fingers, “You’ve definitely broken a few knuckles, I’m going to wrap your fingers in a splint and then bandage you up, okay?”

Spencer nodded, “Okay.” He said quietly.

She taped his middle and ring finger together and then bandaged his entire hand down to his wrist. “Now, keep this on for the next two weeks and then come back in so we can give you an x-ray and review the damage.”

Spencer nodded, “Thank you.”

The nurse left and Spencer was alone with Y/n once more. He stared at his right hand that was now resting on the bed.

How could he do this? Throw a tantrum while the love of his life lies in bed fighting for her life.

He leaned forward to rest his arms on the bed.

“Hi.” His voice shook, and he cleared his throat. He hasn’t been this nervous to talk to you since you first met. “You always told me that I needed to talk more, but I- I have no words for what I’ve done. I’ve done something terrible. Actually, I’ve done a few terrible things.” The tears formed once more, and his head pounded from the pressure. “I may never get the chance to say this to you but I am so, so, sorry. I made you feel that you weren’t special to me anymore, that I don’t love you which is the furthest thing from the truth.”

Spencer played with a strand of your hair that was laying on your shoulder.

“How could I ever be with someone else? No one could ever, ever take your place in my heart.”

He gently lifted your hand in both of his, his head felt heavy, so he bent over and placed his forehead on the back of her hand. “I love you more than anything in this world. When you wake up I’m going to spend every second of the rest of my life making it up to you. And I know you wouldn’t want to miss that. So, please wake up. Please.”

He had been talking when it happened so he never heard it.

You weren’t breathing in the same rhythm as before.

When he finally noticed, he frowned as he looked you over. He slowly got to his feet as he scanned the machines. Right before his eyes some of the numbers began to climb as others started to fall.

Spencer scrambled past the chair and ripped open the door to your room, “Doctor! I need a doctor here now!” He yelled out before running back to your side, “Y/n, sweetheart if you can hear me; don’t give up. Please.”

Two doctors and a nurse sprinted into the room.

“Sir, sir!” The nurse grabbed Spencer’s shoulder, “We need you to leave.”

Spencer shook his head frantically, trying to keep up with everything that the doctors were saying to each other, “I can’t.” he whispered to himself.

“Sir! Please!” The nurse pushed at Spencer’s shoulders until he was outside the room and the door was shut in his face.

The rest of the team had heard the commotion and had run to the room as well.

Rossi placed his hand on Spencer’s shoulder as the entire team watched the doctors place paddles on your chest and shock you.

Again.

And again.

#spencer x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

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