#well my heart is gold and my hands are cold

[agathaandbrienneslesbian]

Heart of Gold - Part 2

Miranda Hilmarson x Mounted!Police!Fem!Reader

HELLO EVERYONE <3 I finally managed to finish Part 2 of my Miranda Hilmarson Fic. I'm sorry it took so long but it's finally here. I hope you enjoy this little addition to the first part. I'm not yet sure if I should make a 3rd part but if you guys want one, I'll look into it <3

Huge thanks to @weemssapphic for proofreading this part <3

Disclaimer: English is not my first language!

Warnings: Talk of bullying, talk of death and dying, descriptions of blood, death and being shot (I'm sorry... this is an angsty one)

Authors Note: Hurt/Comfort with a shit ton of Angst. I hope you guys enjoy <3

Words: 2'400+

AO3 Link

Taglist

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“Why do you care so much about me?”

You look at her, unable to answer the question. Should you tell her? Should you take the risk and risk the friendship you’ve built? Miranda looked at you intensely, chest heaving from being dragged around. You tried to collect your thoughts but just as you were about to answer, Miranda dropped her head, looking down at her feet. A sigh of defeat left her lips.

“It’s a joke to you as well isn’t it?” she asked through clenched teeth, tears threatened to spill from her eyes any second. You looked at her in shock.

“No! No Mir that's not the case!!! That's not the case at all-”

“Save it!” Miranda looked up at you, eyes red, tears wetting her face as she furiously wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks. 

“I should have known… you’re like everyone else… I- I should have never trusted you…” and with that, Miranda stormed out before you could say anything else. 

The defeat on her face, the betrayal, the way she looked so full of hope only for it to be replaced by pain, a pain you felt right in this moment with her. How could you have fucked up this bad… you should have just told her… you should have just SHOWN her. You had to catch up to her. Without further hesitation your feet carried you through the stables towards the parking lot only to see her drive off in a hurry.

“Shit… SHIT'' Defeated, you return to the stables to gather your things and leave. You’d see her tomorrow! You’d get your chance to talk to her again… hopefully.

—

However, luck wasn’t on your side. Miranda had started avoiding you, leaving the room when you entered, walking the other direction when you walked towards her. And this had been going on for a few weeks now.

It hurt. 

You knew better than to follow her but… it hurt. After a particularly busy day, you went to get some drinks with your colleagues, wishing you were with Miranda. A heavy sigh left your lips as you absentmindedly picked at the label of your beer. You felt sick…

“Hey guys… I’m gonna go home… I don’t feel too well…”

You stood, handing your beer to your friend, and gathered your things. Of course you were met with protest but you just ignored it, and soon enough they figured that it might be best to just let you leave. So that is what you did. 

Exiting the pub you felt the cold breeze on your skin. The air was a bit chilly and it smelled like rain. Cool darkness enveloped you and you stood there for a minute, just feeling the breeze on your skin and the smell of rain. When you opened your eyes again, that’s when you saw her. 

Miranda anxiously stepped on a cigarette she’d just finished. It looked as if she were considering coming into the pub or not. She hadn’t seen you yet. Should you approach her? Go back inside? Before a choice could be made, she looked up, making eye contact. You were expecting her to run away, to flee from your loving and pained gaze once again but…. She didn’t. She held your gaze, waiting. 

“Miranda-“

“Can we walk?”

She interrupted. You looked at her, surprise painted all over your face as she just waited for you to reply. Quickly, you nodded, walking over to her and following.

“Miranda… I am so sorry. If I have done something that hurt you please just let me know I-“

“Don’t apologise… I should-“

The blonde took a deep breath, shoving her hands in her vest pockets and looking down at her feet, kicking some stones around as she walked with you. She had missed you… but she needed time to think.

“I should have let you answer that night… I am sorry…”

Suddenly, Miranda stopped, looking out over the beach and the dark ocean. You stood beside her, your eyes trained on her face. You had to tell her how you feel. You had to let her know that she is worthy of love and affection. That she is beautiful, wonderful, perfect. In your eyes, Miranda was perfect. 

“I care because you’re worth it.”

Miranda was avoiding your gaze, but you saw her eyebrows furrow. This just spurred you on more.

“I care because you are worth the time and energy. I care because you are the sweetest and most adorable and kind person on this planet. I care because you lit up my world when I met you the very first time. You make my days better and I cannot fall asleep or wake up without thinking of you.”

Miranda looked down at you, her eyes, usually so blue and bright now seemed grey, and were welling up with tears. Carefully, you took her hand into yours, giving her a reassuring squeeze with your hands.

“I care because I fell in love with you…. Miranda… I love you”

You said it, admitted your feelings, and it sent a rush of anxiety down your spine, leaving its sticky tingling feeling behind. You were expecting her to leave again, to get upset at you… what you didn’t expect were her lips suddenly pressed against yours, a big hand with long, slim fingers, gently cupping your cheek and pulling you closer.

Miranda had hoped you would say that. It took her a while to realise… several weeks. She simply wasn’t used to it. No one had ever shown her the care and affection you had. And she found herself falling for you. Afraid you would hate her if she admitted it, she kept quiet.

But that night…. She had to know. 

However, as soon as the question left her lips, she felt herself getting anxious. She was terrified. What if you said you pitied her and that’s why you ‘acted’ like you cared so much? So, before you could answer, she pulled away. She ran away. To protect herself, not noticing how much her actions had hurt you. Until she saw how your smile faded, how your eyes stopped shining, how you seemed to have lost your joy. And she hated herself for hurting you so much. 

“I am sorry Y/N… I… love you too. I was just anxious and-“

Now it was your turn to interrupt her with a kiss. Your arms wrapping around her shoulders, holding her close. You didn’t need to hear more. It was no secret that Miranda was oftentimes anxious. Who could blame her… she’s been through a lot. 

“I’ve heard everything I needed to hear Mir… you don’t have to apologise. You’re okay. I am not mad at you. I’m glad you told me…”

Your whispers and words of affirmation and understanding caused Miranda to completely dissolve. Her tears flowing freely as she held onto you, finding comfort in your embrace. She did not know how she deserved you, but she would be an idiot if she’d ever let go of you. You loved her… and she loved you. 

—

And so it happened that the two of you became the cutest couple at the police station (at least according to you two. Who cares what the others think).

More often than not, you brought Miranda a coffee, some treats or even flowers. You started spending almost every waking moment together, only separating to go home and sleep. 

Both of you wanted to take it slow. There was no hurry. You weren’t going anywhere and neither was Miranda. The love you experienced in each other's embrace and kisses was enough to keep you two glued together. No force could ever part you… not even a routine patrol that ended more dangerous for you than expected. 

—

It was like every Wednesday afternoon.

You were patrolling the promenades before going back to the stables and calling it a day. Already excited to spend time with Miranda after work, you did not realise that the altercation you rode towards, would end up being almost fatal for you. 

Of course it had to happen.

You knew you shouldn’t have split up with your colleague. But there was no harm in thinking that if he took the lower road, you could take the higher one and still be close enough to hear each other. 

The second you realised that there was a gun pointed at you, you started calling for your colleague. Reaching for your own gun, you suddenly felt a piercing pain in your shoulder. A BANG was heard and then your ears were ringing. The pain in your shoulder increased, dragging its disgusting talons over your neck to the back of your head, digging deep into your skin. You started feeling faint, head pounding and everything started looking fuzzy and far away. At first you hadn’t even noticed that your horse was galloping towards the stables. Your hand just instinctively grabbed onto the horn of the saddle and your grip tightened. 

Artemis was huffing, whining and neighing the closer she got to the stables. A place she knew was safe. She felt your shift in energy, understanding the severity of the situation more than you. The smart horse she was, she stopped in front of the station, making a ruckus to get the other officers’ attention.

Miranda looked out the window, expecting to see you waving at her but what she saw, sent her into a panic. She rushed out to you and Artemis, gently pulling you from your mare and asking you questions. What exactly she asked, you didn’t know… you didn’t hear. All you knew was that you were in Miranda’s arms and it soothed the pain you were experiencing. 

Meanwhile Miranda tried to stay calm. She had called the ambulance, staying with you and holding you close, trying to stop the bleeding. Her hands, your shirt and her sleeves were covered in thick, dark red, warm blood. Your blood. 

Miranda tried really hard to keep it together, to stay strong for you, but she couldn’t keep the sobs in. Tears coated her soft pale skin, huffs and sobs escaped her lips, frantic breathing accompanied by the fear that she could lose you. She couldn't lose you… Miranda wouldn’t survive without you, she knew that. She needed you. She loved you. 

The next few hours were a blur for Miranda. You were unconscious, the medics doing everything they could to keep you alive as she accompanied you, holding your hand throughout the entire drive to the hospital. There, you were separated. 

But Miranda didn’t let up. 

She waited, and waited, and waited. Minutes turned to hours, hours filled with anxiety, fear and pain. She did not even wash up, her hands, shirt and trousers still soaked in your blood. Now cold, sticking to her skin, as if death itself latched onto her. 

It wasn’t until 4 hours later that the nurse finally went to fetch Miranda. She did ask her to at least wash her arms before bringing her to your room. There you laid, unconscious, but breathing. You were breathing. Miranda immediately went to your side, gently brushing some hair from your face, caressing your cheek, and holding your warm, soft hand. 

“I need you… please don’t leave me just yet…” She whispered.

“I love you. Come back to me…” She begged.

“I can’t lose you..”

She breathed. 

Miranda hoped you would hear her. She would tell you about all the things she wanted to experience with you, places she wanted to show you and future plans she had dreamed about. For more than 48 hours, Miranda sat by your side. The nurses had to force her to at least eat and drink something if she wasn’t going to sleep or go home to get changed. She sat by your side and wouldn’t leave. It was as if Miranda was in a frozen state. Holding your hand and pressing kisses to your cheek and forehead. She was only ripped from her trance as the heart monitor flatlined. She shot up, calling out for help, screaming, begging, sobbing, but no one heard. She was alone… and you were gone… —

“Miranda?”

Suddenly, Miranda felt a soft hand on her arm, another on her cheek, wiping away tears that escaped her eyelids once more. She opened her eyes, finding herself in her bedroom. Her breathing ragged, panic evident on her face, she started looking around. Where were you? “Miranda… darling… It’s okay. It was just a bad dream…” Her eyes shot to the direction of the voice, and she started sobbing. You wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close and kissing her head. Miranda’s arms immediately wrapping around your middle, so as not to hurt your healing shoulder. She pulled you close and that's when she realised where she was. Miranda was at home, in her bed, with you holding her, consoling her.

“I am here Mir. I won’t go anywhere… I promised you I won’t.” Your soft voice brought her peace. This wasn’t the first time she awoke in this manner. Once the nurses and doctors were happy with your recovery, they allowed you to go back home. Miranda insisted you live with her, so she could take care of you and protect you. Of course you said yes. But ever since then, Miranda was plagued by nightmares. One worse than the other, the outcome was the same every time. She couldn’t save you. She couldn’t protect you. You were gone, leaving her alone in her pain and loneliness. 

But it was just a dream. Every night she would feel your arms around her, your soft voice rousing her from the hell she fell into. Every night, you would reassure her that you were still there, that you survived, and that it was thanks to her quick thinking. Every night, you would dry her tears and have her fall asleep with her head on your chest, hearing your heartbeat. You were alive, and you were with her. It would take some time for the two of you to overcome the trauma, the horrors both of you faced each night. But you would overcome it. Together. Miranda could overcome it with your love, and you with hers. And her heart of Gold.

So, just like every night, you reminded her of that. A kiss pressed to her head as you noticed her relaxing in your arms, sleep ready to take her again. You whispered, so as not to wake her again: “Miranda?”

“Hm?”

“I love you”

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End Note: As always, reblogs, comments and likes are well appreciated <3 Taglist: @vivendraws @erinyaya @phexyce @aemilia19 @weemssapphic @gela123 @winterfireblond @Xxmecverxx @unicorniusfallapatorious @gwenistheloml @yourgaeyisshowing @readingtheentrails

#queer #gwendoline christie #sapphic #fanfic #wlw #reader insert #ao3 #gwendoline christie fanfics #Miranda Hilmarson x Reader #Miranda Hilmarson fanfic #Miranda hilmarson #Fanfic #x reader #angst #hurt comfort #heart of gold part 2

[magicicephoenix]

Maybe Audrey with #50 Gasoline palette for requests?

"You can't wake up, this is not a dream

You're part of a machine, you are not a human being"🎶

(was thinking about Halsey lyrics sorry)

no no no thank you for reminding me that the names of the palettes are songs because i looped gasoline while drawing this and. it sure had an effect! :)

audrey with #50 - gasoline

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #bendy and the dark revival #batdr #audrey drew #doodle dump #dialogue dump #palette #this song (well. the chorus) is SO audrey coded. brilliant request thank you #“with your face all made up living on a screen” “these voices won’t leave me alone… well my heart is gold and my hands are cold” AUGH /pos

[katmaatui]

gasoline continuing to be hal core for the however many years in the row

#oooh I think there's a fault in my code/oooh this voices won't leave me alone/well my heart is gold/and my hands are cold #parallax hal do you see it #Hal Jordan

[nekojinny]

well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold

#Genshinlmpact #scaramouche #scara #wanderer

[cleo-fox]

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

[pucksandpower]

Thawed

Kimi Räikkönen x sunshine!Reader

Summary: the many times throughout the years that only the warmth of his wife could thaw the Iceman

“He’s just so … cold,” your aunt comments, wrinkling her nose at Kimi’s back as he heads to the bar. It’s the first time you’ve brought him to a family event.

You bristle, prepared to defend your new boyfriend. “He’s not cold once you get to know him. He’s just a private person.”

Your aunt sniffs. “Still, he barely said two words all night. And that nickname — the Iceman! I don’t like it.”

You straighten your spine. “Well I do. His thoughtfulness and loyalty outweigh any lack of words.”

As you speak, you feel your doubts about mismatched personalities fade. Opposites attract for a reason.

Your aunt looks unconvinced, but you pay her no mind. You’re falling for the quiet Finn with a heart of gold. And you won’t let anyone’s disapproval chill that flame.

When Kimi returns, you lean up and kiss his cheek fondly. He looks pleasantly surprised. Let them judge. You see the real man inside.

***

“Smash it! Smash it!” The rowdy groomsman chants as you and Kimi cut into your wedding cake.

Other guests take up the chant, clamoring for Kimi to shove cake in your face per tradition. But you had quietly asked him not to — you don’t want frosting up your nose and ruining your makeup on your wedding day.

Kimi’s eyes meet yours, a silent question. You give a slight shake of your head. His expression hardens with resolve.

In one smooth motion, he whirls and smashes the slice of cake directly into the rowdy groomsman’s face. Icing splatters everywhere. The room goes silent.

“Here you go, since you seem to want the cake smashed so bad,” Kimi says coldly.

The groomsman splutters in shock. You have to hide your smile behind your hand.

Kimi winks at you as he licks icing off his fingers. “Now, where were we?”

Heart swelling, you lean in to kiss your wonderful, cake-covered husband. No one gets in the way of your wishes on your wedding day.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you make your way through the crowds, weaving between mechanics and engineers going about their race day routines. The smells of rubber and gasoline hang thick in the air. You smile and nod at familiar faces, receiving knowing looks in return.

Everyone here knows who you are — the bubbly, outgoing wife of the Iceman himself. The unlikely pairing has been the talk of Formula 1 ever since you started dating a few years ago. You’re warm and chatty. He’s cool and laconic. But somehow, it works.

You find Kimi in the Ferrari motorhome, sipping an energy drink, game face on. His brows are furrowed in concentration, icy grey eyes focused straight ahead. You know not to disturb him right now. This is business time.

Slipping into the seat beside him, you pull out your phone and scroll aimlessly, letting the comfortable silence stretch between you. The hustle and noise of the paddock fades into the background.

Finally, Kimi drains the last drops from his can and crushes it in his hand. He turns to you, the stern expression melting away. His eyes soften and the corners of his mouth tick upward ever so slightly.

“Morning,” he says quietly, voice gravelly.

You beam at him. “Good morning, love. Ready to go racing today?”

He nods, the hint of a smile still playing on his lips. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I did, thanks to my very comfy race driver pillow.” You wink.

Kimi snorts, the creases around his eyes deepening. He leans in and presses a quick kiss to your temple.

Around you, mechanics and team members try and fail to pretend they aren’t glancing your way, still not used to seeing the Iceman so openly affectionate. But Kimi doesn’t seem to notice or care.

“I’ll see you after,” he says, standing up and giving your hand a squeeze. His face settles back into cool concentration as he strides out to prepare for the race.

You settle in to watch qualifying, heart swelling with pride and love for your Finnish fireball.

***

“Kimi, the stewards want to speak with you about the incident with Perez on lap 37.”

Kimi’s jaw clenches, eyes flashing. “Typical,” he mutters.

You touch his arm reassuringly. “Go on, I’ll wait here for you.”

He nods, striding off to the steward’s office, race suit half unzipped and hair disheveled. You know he’ll be lucky to escape without a penalty. Kimi has never been one to mince words or hide his displeasure with other drivers. You can only imagine the icy staredown happening behind those closed doors right now.

Twenty minutes later, he emerges looking ready to smash a table. You jump up and hurry over.

“Well? What did they say?”

Kimi’s scowl deepens, if that’s even possible. “Ten second penalty. Ridiculous.” He spits out something in Finnish you’re glad you don’t understand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. You drove brilliantly today.”

He shakes his head and stalks down the hall towards the paddock. You scurry after him, nearly jogging to match his long angry strides.

“Forget it. Not your fault the stewards are blind.”

You slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together. Immediately you feel some of the tension leave his body. He glances down at you, the hint of a smile breaking through the thunderclouds.

“Let’s get out of here,” you say gently. “I’ll make you your favorite dinner, open a nice bottle of wine ...”

He nods, expression softening. “Okay. Sounds good.”

You smile up at him, giving his hand a squeeze. The stormy Finn may have a heart of ice on the track, but you know better. He just needs a little sunshine sometimes.

***

You pause in the kitchen doorway, heart melting at the scene before you. Kimi sits on the living room floor, your baby niece perched happily in his lap. He bounces her gently on his knee as she squeals with delight, the hint of a smile on his usually stoic face.

“Faster Unca Kimi, faster!” She cries, unruly curls flying.

He chuckles and picks up the pace, eliciting delighted giggles from her. Your sister watches nearby, still looking a bit bemused at seeing the Iceman so good natured and playful.

Finally Kimi stops, feigning exhaustion. “Whew, that’s enough for Uncle Kimi,” he says, lifting her up and pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. “You’re too fast!”

She dissolves into giggles and wraps her tiny arms around his neck in a hug. He hugs her back, looking more content than you’ve ever seen him. Your heart feels fit to burst.

“Who wants ice cream?” You announce, carrying in two bowls.

“Me, me!” Your niece starts to squirm in Kimi’s lap, reaching eagerly for her treat.

He stands, swinging her up easily onto his shoulders. “Let’s go have ice cream on the porch, give your mama a break,” he says. She kicks her little legs gleefully.

Your sister shoots you a grateful smile as Kimi carries her outside. You grin and wink. Who would believe it — the Iceman, a big softie for kids. But you know better. Under that cool exterior beats a heart of gold.

***

The crowds pressing around the circuit are suffocating today. Fans shove programs and merch at you for Kimi to sign. One overzealous teenage boy tries to wrap you in an uninvited hug.

Suddenly Kimi is there, gently but firmly detaching the boy’s hands from your arms. His face is thunderous.

“Back. Off.” The boy stumbles away wide-eyed.

Kimi keeps a protective grip on your shoulder as he marches you briskly from the paddock. Once inside the privacy of the motorhome, he cups your face in his hands.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” His tone is urgent.

You shake your head, still a bit shaken. “Just got grabby. Thank you for the rescue.”

Kimi exhales, pressing his forehead to yours. “I don’t like you getting swarmed out there.”

You smile wryly. “Hazards of being Mrs. Iceman.”

He brushes his thumb over your cheek. “I just want to keep you safe. Those crowds make me nervous.”

You kiss him softly. “I’ll be okay.”

His eyes bore into yours, icy blue melting into tenderness. “Still. Stay close to me out there from now on. So I can protect what’s most precious.”

Your heart flutters under his intent gaze. You lace your fingers through his, feeling infinitely cherished.

“Always.”

***

“Kimi, your phone is ringing again,” you call from the couch.

He doesn’t respond, gaze fixed intently on the TV as he navigates a difficult turn in his racing video game. The phone buzzes angrily on the coffee table.

With a sigh, you reach for it. The caller ID says “Bane of My Existence.” You frown. That’s the third call from her this week that he’s ignored.

“Kimi ...”

“Hmm?” He pauses the game and glances at you, eyebrows raised.

You hold up the phone. “It’s your PR officer again. Don’t you think you should answer and see what she wants?”

His expression clouds over. “No. Told her not to call me anymore.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” You keep your tone light and curious.

He shrugs. “Kept trying to get me to do stuff. Go to parties and all that.”

You bite back a smile, warmth flooding your chest. Your shy homebody of a husband, sought after on the celebrity circuit but wanting none of it.

“Well, I’m glad she hasn’t lured you away yet,” you tease gently.

The corners of his mouth quirk up as he takes the phone from you and sets it aside before pulling you into his lap.

“Don’t worry,” he rumbles, nudging your nose with his. “You’re the only party I need.”

You kiss him softly, heart overflowing. The glitz and glam means nothing to your Kimi. Home is where his heart is.

***

You awake to whispered voices and the smell of something burning. Bleary-eyed, you shuffle to the kitchen doorway.

Kimi stands at the stove, hair endearingly mussed from sleep. He’s scowling down at a frying pan, clutching a spatula like a weapon. Your brother leans against the counter, trying and failing to stifle laughter.

“What’s going on?” You ask through a yawn.

Kimi’s scowl deepens. “Trying to make you breakfast. Not going well.” He prods the blackened lump in the pan disdainfully.

Your brother snorts. “He nearly set off the fire alarm. I got here just in time.”

“I told you I don’t cook,” Kimi mutters, avoiding your gaze.

You pad over and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, love.”

He relaxes back into your embrace. Your brother mimes gagging behind his back. You stick out your tongue at him.

“Here, I’ll show you,” you say, gently prying the spatula from Kimi’s hand. “Just go slow ...”

Soon, the three of you are gathered around the table, eating the pancakes you made together. Kimi’s are a bit misshapen, but edible.

He looks inordinately pleased as you sample his. “Good?”

You beam at him and squeeze his hand. “The very best.”

His rare unguarded smile warms you more deeply than any breakfast ever could.

***

You awaken to the dipping of the mattress as Kimi slips under the covers. The red glow of his bedside clock reads 3:48 AM.

“Everything okay?” You murmur, rolling over to face him.

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close against his chest. You feel the steady thump of his heart under your palm.

“Yeah. Couldn’t sleep.” His voice rumbles low near your ear.

You nuzzle into him, breathing in the familiar scent of his skin. “Worrying about the race this weekend?”

He exhales, his breath stirring your hair. “No. Just thinking.”

When he doesn’t elaborate, you lift your head to study his face in the dimness. His eyes shine in the faint light, gazing at you with an intensity that makes your own heart skip.

“What is it?” You whisper.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his callused fingers infinitely tender. “Sometimes I still can’t believe you’re here. That you’re mine.”

Emotion swells in your chest, words escaping you. You cup his stubbled face and guide his lips down to yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

When you finally draw apart, he pulls you close again, tucking your head under his chin. No more words are needed. You understand each other perfectly in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. Soon his breathing evens out in sleep, and you follow him down, still nestled safe in the circle of his arms.

***

You’re just drizzling the last of the chocolate over the molten lava cakes when you hear Kimi’s keys in the front door. A smile spreads across your face. Perfect timing.

He wanders in a few moments later, hair adorably rumpled, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“Mmm, something smells good,” he says, crossing the kitchen to wrap you in a hug.

You kiss his scratchy cheek. “Made your favorite for dessert. Now go get cleaned up while I finish.”

He squeezes you tighter, stubble tickling your neck as he nuzzles into it. “Can’t I have you for dessert instead?”

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Go on, you. Plenty of time for that later.”

He steals one more kiss before sauntering off, a grin playing about his lips. You shake your head, unable to stop smiling. After all these years, he still makes your heart race as if you’re teenagers again.

When he returns, you’ve set out the seared salmon, roasted vegetables, and the two perfect chocolate lava cakes. His eyes light up.

“Have I told you lately that you’re the best wife ever?” He asks, pulling out your chair.

“Hmm, I think you could stand to mention it more,” you tease.

He takes your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. His eyes pierce yours. “You’re the best wife ever,” he says solemnly.

You lean in and kiss him, happiness bubbling up inside you. However many times he says it, you’ll never get tired of hearing it.

***

“So, what’s it like being married to the grumpiest driver on the grid?” The reporter shoves a microphone in your face, invasive and smug.

You recoil, blindsided. “Excuse me?”

“Come on, he’s not exactly Mr. Personality.” The reporter leans closer. “Does the Iceman thaw out at home or just freeze you out?”

Humiliation burns through you. Before you can respond, Kimi is there, gently moving you aside. His eyes are blazing.

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife like that,” he growls at the reporter. “You know nothing about our life.”

The reporter withers under Kimi’s icy glare. You feel a rush of gratitude for your protective husband.

Kimi turns to you, face softening. “Let’s get out of here.”

Once you’re alone, he brushes a strand of hair from your face. “Sorry you had to deal with that. He had no right to badger you about our marriage.”

You lean into him, safe in the circle of his arms. “It’s okay. You came to my rescue like a knight in shining racing gear.”

He snorts. “Hardly a knight. But for you, always.” He kisses you tenderly.

No matter what the media says, your life together is not theirs to define. Your love writes its own quiet story each day.

***

You awake in the dark to a loud crash from downstairs. Heart pounding, you shake Kimi’s shoulder.

“Kimi, wake up! I think someone’s broken in.”

He’s up in an instant, alert and poised to strike. You hear footsteps creeping up the stairs. Kimi pushes you behind him and grabs the baseball bat by the bed.

The footsteps reach the landing and a shadowy figure appears in the doorway. Kimi flicks on the light, bat raised menacingly. You both freeze.

It’s Sebastian Vettel, eyes wide, hands raised in surrender. “Whoa whoa, it’s just me!”

Kimi’s shoulders slump as he lowers the bat. “Seb? What the hell are you doing here?”

Seb runs a hand through his messy hair. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was in town and my rental car broke down outside. I was hoping I could crash here tonight.”

Kimi sighs, shaking his head. “You couldn’t call first?”

Seb grins sheepishly. “Forgot to charge my phone.”

You step out from behind Kimi, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s fine, love. Let’s get some fresh sheets for the guest room.” You turn to Seb. “We’ll figure out your car in the morning.”

Seb’s shoulders sag in relief. “Thanks, I really owe you guys.”

As you make up the bed, you share an amused look with Kimi. Only Seb could turn up unannounced in the middle of the night and get away with it. But then again, that’s why you love him.

***

You’re waiting at the finish line, heart in your throat as the cars scream past for the final lap. Kimi is battling for a podium finish, but has fallen back after a poorly timed pit stop. He’s gaining ground fast, but is he out of time?

The crowd roars as the frontrunners cross the line. P2 … P3 … waiting for P4. Come on, Kimi.

Then you see it, the red and white Alfa Romeo flashing past the checkered flag, narrowly clinching third. You leap in the air, cheering loudly. Kimi did it!

You rush down towards the pits, arriving just as Kimi climbs from his car. His race suit is drenched, hair plastered to his forehead, but his eyes are bright. When he spots you, a grin breaks across his face.

You throw your arms around him, heedless of how sweaty he is. “You were amazing! I’m so proud of you.”

He lifts you off your feet in a bear hug, laughing breathlessly in your ear. The sound sends joy bursting through your veins.

As he sets you down, you cradle his stubbled face in your hands. “I love you,” you say fiercely.

His grin softens to something more tender. He tilts his forehead against yours, heedless of the crowds milling nearby.

“Love you too,” he murmurs.

The cameras flash around you, eager to capture this rare unguarded moment. But Kimi only has eyes for you. Third place has never felt so golden.

***

“Ugh, your wife is so annoyingly positive all the time. It’s nauseating,” the other driver’s girlfriend gripes to Kimi at a race afterparty.

You freeze mid-laugh, stung by her disdainful tone. Kimi’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“I would rather have a positive wife than a miserable cow like you,” he says coldly. “Come on, let’s go.”

He takes your arm and steers you firmly away. You blink back tears, embarrassed.

“Hey,” Kimi says softly, tilting your chin up. “Don’t listen to her. I love how positive you are. Don’t let anyone make you feel bad for spreading joy.”

You give a watery chuckle. “Really? You don’t find it annoying?”

“Are you kidding? Your light balances out my darkness perfectly.” He punctuates this with a swift kiss. “You keep me from being a constant grump.”

You laugh and swat his chest. “Impossible. No one can tame the Iceman’s grumpiness.”

He smiles tenderly and pulls you close. “You do. Don’t change for anyone else.”

***

You pace the bathroom floor, heart racing. The little white stick sits innocently on the counter, but its result will change everything. One blue line for negative, two for positive.

Three minutes have never felt so long.

When the timer finally beeps, you take a deep breath and turn it over with a shaky hand. Two blue lines stare back at you.

Positive.

Emotions swell within you — joy, nervousness, excitement. You and Kimi have been trying for a baby, but it still feels so surreal now that it’s actually happening.

You hear the front door open and Kimi call out your name. It’s time. Clutching the test behind your back, you go to him.

He must read something in your face, because his brows furrow in concern. “Everything okay?”

Your face splits into a teary grin. “Everything’s perfect.” You bring the test out from behind you and hold it up wordlessly.

Kimi’s eyes widen. For once, the unflappable Finn seems utterly flapped. “You … we ...” He stares at the two little lines, then back at you. “We’re having a baby?”

You nod, vision blurring with happy tears. With a joyful shout, Kimi sweeps you up in his arms and spins you around. His excitement is boyish and uncontained.

When he sets you down, he cradles your face in both hands. “I’m going to be a father,” he whispers in awe.

You put your hand over his, overjoyed tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’re going to be the best father.”

***

You fidget impatiently on the exam table, Kimi’s hand clutched in yours. After months of waiting, today is your first ultrasound. If all looks well, you’ll get to see your baby for the very first time.

“What’s taking so long?” You huff. Kimi smiles and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Relax, they’ll be here soon.” His calm steadies you, as it always does.

Finally the technician arrives and asks you to lift up your shirt. She squeezes cool gel over your swelling belly and begins moving the ultrasound wand through it.

The screen comes to life, showing grainy black and white images you can’t decipher. The technician frowns, adjusting some dials. Your heart leaps into your throat.

Sensing your distress, Kimi gives your hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. Just be patient,” he murmurs.

After a few tense moments, the technician’s face clears. She turns the screen towards you with a smile. “There we are. There’s your baby.”

You gaze in wonder at the little shape filling the screen, tiny arms and legs visibly squirming. Your vision blurs with tears. That’s your child, your little miracle.

Beside you Kimi is utterly transfixed, eyes shining. “That’s our baby,” he whispers reverently.

He lifts your intertwined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “Thank you,” he says, voice husky with emotion. “For this gift.”

You have no words. You simply lean into him, his solid warmth anchoring you as joy washes over you both.

***

You stare glumly at your reflection in the mirror. At eight months pregnant, you feel like a beluga whale. Your ankles are swollen, your back aches constantly, and none of your clothes fit over your enormous bump anymore.

Voices sound from downstairs as Kimi arrives home. You feel tears prick your eyes. You don’t want him to see you like this, a beached whale in sweatpants.

Sniffling, you ease onto the bed and bury your face in a pillow. Kimi finds you there a few minutes later. The mattress dips as he sits down and rubs your back.

“What’s wrong, love?”

You shake your head, embarrassed. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

Gently he turns you over, brushing the hair from your damp cheeks. “Talk to me,” he says softly.

A sob escapes you. “I’m hideous like this! I’ve gotten so huge. You must be disgusted looking at me.”

Kimi’s brow furrows. He takes your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his earnest gaze. “Is that what you think? That I find you disgusting?”

Ashamed, you drop your eyes, fresh tears spilling over.

“Look at me,” he says gently. You do. His ice blue eyes pierce yours. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are right now, carrying our child.”

He places a reverent hand on your belly. “You are giving us the most precious gift in the world. How could I not find you beautiful?”

His words pierce your heart. You cover his hand with yours. “I love you,” you whisper.

He gathers you close, dropping feather-light kisses over your face. “And I love you. Always.”

You cling to him, feeling foolish and so very loved.

***

A contraction rips through you, more intense than any before. You cry out, squeezing Kimi’s hand desperately.

“Breathe, love, breathe,” he coaches, face taut.

You gasp air into your lungs as the vice grip on your insides finally releases. Kimi dabs the sweat from your brow with a cool cloth.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Our little one will be here soon.”

Even through the haze of pain, his voice anchors you. Your Kimi, always steady as a rock.

Too soon, another contraction wrings a ragged shout from you. Kimi never leaves your side, letting you nearly crush his hand as you ride out the agony.

“I can’t … I can’t do this ...” you sob.

Kimi presses his lips to your temple. “You can. You’re the strongest person I know. I’m right here with you.”

His faith buoys you, even as your body is wracked with wave after wave of excruciating spasms. Your world narrows to the circle of his arms.

Then finally, miraculously, comes the thin, piercing cry of your child. Your exhausted tears mingle with joyful laughter.

Kimi cuts the cord with shaky hands, eyes shining brighter than you’ve ever seen. When they lay the squalling, pink bundle on your chest, the universe crystallizes to this one perfect point.

Your family, whole at last.

***

You awake in the small hours before dawn, reaching across the cool sheets only to find Kimi’s side of the bed empty. Padding down the hallway on silent feet, you peer into the nursery.

Your breath catches in your throat. Kimi stands over the crib, your tiny daughter cradled against his chest. One large hand gently supports her downy head.

He’s speaking softly to her in Finnish, too low for you to understand. But the love shining through his voice brings tears to your eyes. Your tough, taciturn Finn transformed into a doting father.

As he lays her tenderly back in the crib, you hear him murmur in a whisper, “Don’t worry little one, your isä will always protect you. I promise you that.”

He tucks the blanket snugly around her and brushes a feather-light kiss over her forehead. The tenderness of it makes your heart ache.

You slip silently back to bed before he notices you, not wanting to intrude on this private moment between father and daughter. But the image stays seared in your mind.

When Kimi joins you a few minutes later, you turn and press your face into his chest so he won’t see your tears of joy. His arms come around you reflexively.

“You okay?” He rumbles.

You nod, a lump in your throat. Your family is so very blessed.

***

The paddock is bustling with activity as you push your daughter’s stroller through the chaotic maze of the paddock. She’s only six months old, wide-eyed at all the commotion.

Mechanics pause to coo over her, their grease-smudged fingers surprisingly gentle. PR people stop to fuss and take photos. Word has spread — the Iceman’s baby girl is here.

Kimi strides over, stooping to drop a kiss on your head and tickle his daughter’s tummy. His race suit is on, grey eyes intense and focused.

“Sure you don’t want me to take her while you concentrate?” You ask.

He shakes his head, a corner of his mouth quirked up. “I need to see my two favorite girls before I drive.”

Your heart melts. Kimi scoops her up, and she clutches at his nose and gurgles. Nearby, you hear shutters clicking madly. The Iceman undone by a baby — it’ll be all over the press tonight.

But Kimi only has eyes for his daughter, face soft in a way it never is before a race. With a deep breath, he cuddles her close and murmurs something in Finnish before handing her back to you.

You kiss his cheek. “Go show them how it’s done, Daddy.”

He winks and strides off towards the pit lane, determination in his stride. Your daughter waves a chubby fist as he disappears from view.

No matter how many races he wins, now his best trophy waits for him at the finish line. His family.

***

“Must be lonely married to a man called the Iceman,” the reporter says slyly. “He’s not known for being warm and affectionate.”

Anger flashes through you. How dare this stranger imply your marriage is lacking.

“You couldn’t be more wrong,” you reply sharply. “Kimi is very attentive and loving in private.”

The reporter raises her eyebrows. “But his public image ...”

You cut her off. “That’s all it is — an image. Kimi deserves more respect than tired old stereotypes.”

Your voice softens as you glance to where Kimi is chatting with fans, his body angled protectively towards you.

“There is no one kinder or more loyal than my husband. He cherishes our family greatly, he just doesn’t flaunt it to the world.”

The reporter looks taken aback by your fervent defense. You almost feel sorry for her. She’ll never truly know the man behind the Iceman legend. But you do and you won’t tolerate anyone maligning him.

#f1 imagine #f1 #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #kimi raikkonen #km7 #kimi raikkonen imagine #kimi raikkonen x reader #kimi raikkonen x you #kimi raikkonen fic #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 one shot #f1 x y/n #f1 drabble #f1 fandom #f1blr #f1 x female reader #kimi raikkonen x y/n #kimi raikkonen one shot #formula 1 #kimi räikkönen #opposites attract #iceman #scuderia ferrari #alfa romeo

[call-sign-shark]

Of Bending and Breaking || Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: Always being the one who cares for others comes with a price: you break down, but the most unexpected person is here for you: Tommy, the man you were forced to marry.

Words: 2,3k

TW: Hurt/Comfort, very tiny mention of past sexual assault, no proofreading 'cause it comes from clearing my drafts.

Notes: Aunt Isabella's is a tribute to my own aunt Isabelle who, unfortunately, died because of cancer a few years ago.

It all started with Polly shaking Tommy like a tree, her thin hands firmly grabbing his nephew’s broad shoulders: “You can’t keep sabotaging yourself like this, Tom.” These were the words that left her quivering lips as she dragged his staggering frame to the bathroom and pushed his face into the bathtub right under the tap. When the freezing water splashed all over his neck, Tommy opened his blank eyes wide and inhaled sharply, as if he had suddenly come back to life. Since Grace’s awful death, the gangster was the shadow of his former self. When he wasn’t waging a senseless war with Father Hughes and the Italian, or when he wasn’t keeping his buzzing mind busy with work, Tommy usually numbed himself with a deadly combination of whisky and opium until his deep-seated pain became bearable. It was the night he almost overdosed that Polly decided to take charge of his nephew and found him a new wife, in the hope of soothing his nephew’s mind and finding a mother figure for poor little Charlie. The idea had obviously sent Tommy in a fit of anger but Polly Gray couldn’t care less.

Regarding your own situation, it was not the opium nor the loss of a dear lover that had led you to Birmingham’s most dangerous man but rather the bump in your belly. Aunt Isabella had understood what you were suffering from the moment you had stormed out of the vardo to throw up your breakfast in the nearest bush. The tall and lean woman, whose light brown and curly mane danced in the cold autumn wind, had looked at you right in the eyes and raised one of her thin eyebrows. If there was something pleasant with her, it was that words weren’t necessary.

Yet, later she encountered Polly, with whom she had been a great friend since childhood, and explained that a powerful American man had forced his seeds in you during his stay in England. Not willing to go through the traumatic experience of aborting, Isabella only saw one solution to your problem: you needed a husband who could protect you and your future baby from the evil man with his scarred lip. A wedding would be your salvation. At the realization of what Aunt Isabella had planned for you, you tried to run away from the camp in the middle of the night but she knew you too well and soon caught you, her sly hand firmly grabbing your wrist: “Y/N! It’s for your sake! He’s rich, he needs a wife and he is feared! You’ll be safe with him, don’t you understand?” She explained, cupping your face with her long fingers adorned with claws painted in red and far too many rings. “I don’t need a man to protect me! I don’t need anyone. He’s older and he’s a criminal! Who’s going to protect me from him eh? Have you think ‘bout that?” You cried, the soft light of the sunrise turning your tears into liquid gold.

But still, you wedded him and what was supposed to be the happiest day of your life turned out to be a dull event during which you dissociated the whole time. The only memories you had in mind were two piercing and frightening turquoise eyes staring right at your soul and soft whiskey-tasting lips stealing a quick peck from your cherry lips. A kiss devoid of any form of affection. And then, the groom left.

From what Aunt Isabella told you, your husband had spent most of the celebrations with his brothers, drinking and taking bets outside of Arrow House. Months had passed and still, you felt estranged to this place and its staff. The only moments your heart lightened were when Aunt Isabella visited you, or when Charlie spent time with you, otherwise you remained emotionally closed, trapped in your own mind. Overall you could not complain: You had a house far too big for you with plenty of workers willing to exhaust every one of your wishes. Charlie was a sweet boy, who loved you with all his heart even if you were well aware that you’ll never replace his mother. As for the Shelby clan, they were cordial with you without being really friendly either. And there was Tommy…

Cold and distant Tommy, who you only saw late at night when he discretely slipped under the bedsheet and turned his back to you without uttering a single word. Busy Tommy, whose replies remained concise and spoken with a quiet husky voice each time you asked him something — at least he talked to you a little bit. Trapped in a loveless marriage, that was what you were: Tommy was more a stranger, a mere gust of wind in your life, than the love of your life.

Still, the gangster stayed true to his words and he provided for everything, never refusing to give you money when you asked, and protecting you from the man who had taken your innocence. He even gifted you a wonderful stallion because he knew how much you missed riding. In exchange for his protection and riches, all you had to do was take care of Charlie and do your best to be there for your husband when his darkness threatened to swallow him whole.

You found out about the nightmares shortly after your wedding and quickly decided to do something about it. When he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat after tasting the tunnels’ dirt and Grace’s crimson blood in his troubled sleep, you always cradle him, your fingers losing themselves in his wet dark hair to pet his head gently. At first, you feared his reaction, expecting the infamous Tommy Shelby to push you and not-so-kindly ask you to keep your distance but, to your greatest surprise, he never did. Instead, he would bury his face in your cleavage, panting and trembling, and let you reassure him. Just like he let you bring dinner to him each time he drowned himself in paperwork and forgot to eat. He never commented on your cooking skills though, even if he always handed back empty plates.

The blood on his skin? You cleaned it.

The wounds of his flesh? You never failed to patched them up.

The hole in his heart? You tried to seal it off with caresses, soft kisses, and shoulder massages. Maybe one day he would slowly turn his iciness into affection. Little did you know that he needed it. And by it he needed you. Just like the whole family. How many times did you walk the streets of Birmingham at night, seeking for Arthur and then bringing him home to take care of a wasted and high him? Far too many to keep track. Similarly, you had spent countless evenings helping Ada when she felt overwhelmed, either nursing Karl or cleaning her house when, just like her brother, she overworked herself. And finally, Polly could never thank you enough for everything you did to soothe her mind after the gallows, still haunted by the bite of the hanging rope on her throat.

“Thanks Poppy.” Arthur muttered, the gravel in his voice coated with shame now that you were down clearing and disinfecting his split knuckles. The oldest brother had started to affectionately call you so for the sole reason that, according to him, you must probably grow better when blood was considering how much you had seen when patching the Shelby siblings. “Sorry for errr… For the mess.” He went on, his steel blue eyes fleeing yours.

“That’s okay.” You replied in Romani, “You, sweet idiot.” Endeared by how surprisingly soft Arthur’s harsh complexions could turn, you couldn’t help but gently put your hand on one of his cheeks. And during this tender display of affection, Arthur was convinced he had caught sight of a smile — a scarce event barely happening on your beautiful but resigned face. Comforted by the warmth of your palm, he leaned into your touch and looked at you through dark lashes, his lids half-closed.

“Tommy’s one lucky bastard to have ya for himself, eh."

"Let's both flee together then." You teased, the familiar tone of Romani language rendered even more melodious by your siren-like voice.

"Don't tempt me, little one." Arthur replied, softer than intended and probably only half-joking.

The oldest Shelby brother had barely closed the door when your smile disappeared and tears flooded your eyes. Admittedly, spending months of repressing your own anguish didn’t do any good to you despite thinking that focusing on others would have helped. Quite the contrary, all those negative emotions you had left on the back burner turned into a silent and deadly parasite that was eating you up. Dragging your tired frame to the cold and empty marital bedroom, you curled up in a ball in a corner of the room, your bruised knees pressed against your chest, “Positive. You gotta stay positive and push forwards y’see Y/N? Do the right things for the family…” You whispered to yourself as your breath started to quicken for the ball of sorrow in your throat was growing more and more. Yes, you had to smile and say that all was just fine because you knew you were lucky to be here and that you hadn’t any real reason to complain now according to the rest of the world. And yet, the truth was you were tired. So tired and overwhelmed by everything around you. With your wild soul trapped here in the mighty walls of Arrow House, you could not help but drown in an excruciating feeling of worthlessness.

You were lost in a world too difficult for you to understand. Lost and unprepared for a life that asked for too much. When you were living in the vardo with Aunt Isabella life seemed so much easier despite the lack of money and, sometimes, food. Prior to your wedding, she used to tell you that everything would become clear once you’d be a wife and a mother. You’d be an adult adult, you see? But she lied. They all lied. Even with a husband and kids, you still felt like a scared and confused child, who wanted to hide under the blanket of her warm bed and never face the world ever again. These concerns of yours? You never shared because you wanted the Shelby to keep seeing you as a reassuring presence— moreover, God knew how much their broken hearts needed your silent care.

Bringing your trembling fingers to your mouth, you muffled a first sob, convinced it would be enough to keep you from crying. What you didn’t expect was to burst into tears, uncontrollably weeping. After all this time forcing yourself to be strong, your mind had enough. As your heart-wrenching cries echoed in the room they muffled Tommy’s footsteps that were coming closer and closer. When the door flung open, you did not even move, lost in a spiral of pain and psychological exhaustion.

“Y/N?!” Tommy called you, his usual coldness swept away by a surge of panic. He closed the distance between you and him with hastened steps, and put one of his knees on the floor to be at your level, “What’s wrong, ay?” His husky voice asked, worries thickening his Brummie accent even more. You hiccuped and raised your flooded eyes towards him, parting your lips to answer. Yet, as soon as your gaze met his turquoise iris you started weeping again, louder this time. Words were at a loss by dint of never having the chance to express what you felt throughout your life. “Bloody Hell, Y/N! Speak!” Tommy hissed, his heart now drumming in his chest at the sight of his young and always-so-strong wife crumbling in bits in front of him. Never in his life, he had felt so powerless, not even in the tunnels… And, God, he hated it.

“N-nothing. I don’t… I don’t even know it’s just that— I’m so fucking tired, and lost, and confused, and afraid!” You spoke with a very fast pace, spitting years and years of repressed emotions flowing from you all the while feeling deeply ashamed of your mental breakdown. When you were done venting, you simply turned your head and waved off the topic, tears still rolling down your reddened cheeks “Anyway! You’ve got — more important things to do.”

“Stop it, Y/N,” He scolded, low voice rumbling in his chest. His strong and calloused hands, damaged by the war and hard work, cupped your face with a softness you didn’t know he possessed. For the first time in your life, his grip felt utterly reassuring as if you knew these scarred palms were not going to let you fall apart. Never. “You’re what’s important right now.” With that being said, Tommy leaned his forehead against yours and his enchanting eyes soon met yours to force you to focus on nothing else but the vast blue oceans which composed them. “I want you to calm down.”

“I can’t, I can’t—“ You tried to speak but you couldn’t, struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of your panic attack. Your mouth gaped, looking for the oxygen it couldn’t find.

“Oi!” Tommy said louder. So loud that his voice managed to overcome the cacophony of your beating heart and the buzzing sound of your anxiety that filled your head, “I want you to breathe with me, Y/N. Alright? You can do that for me, ay?” He asked, his eyebrows slightly frowned and charming crowfeet appearing at the corner of his eyes — how odd it was to see Tommy’s face veiled with something else than unsettling placidity. Caught off guard by the sudden realization of how close he was, you quieted down a little bit and soon followed the pattern of his breathing.

One long inhale through the nose, one longer exhale through the mouth, and a short pose.

Do it again.

Your shaky hands slowly grabbed his wrists in a desperate attempt to anchor you to reality. This, as well as the focus you had on his mesmerizing complexions.

His long dark lashes — you inhaled slowly.

His cat-like turquoise iris — you exhaled.

His salient cheekbones — You stopped breathing for a very short while.

The myriad of freckles — “Breathe with me, Y/N.”

The soft, hoarse lilt guided you through the dark and thick fog of your own brain, just like a lighthouse. Coming back to clearer waters, your body finally relaxed and fell almost limp in his arms. And once again he caught you, keeping you all safe against his chest. Tommy’s voice, low and steady, resonated one last time in the bedroom with a reassuring warmth as he uttered the simple yet powerful phrase, "I'm here." Each word carefully enunciated, carrying a quiet strength that soothed and reassured, like a comforting anchor in a stormy sea.

Keep your writers motivated: Reblog and/or comment if you liked it, you filthy animal! o/ English is not my first language btw.

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @zablife @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @dearshelby @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @emotionalcadaver @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @red-riding-wood

#Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby x reader #Tommy Shelby imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #Tommy Shelby smut #Thomas Shelby #Thomas Shelby x reader #Cillian Murphy #peaky blinders x y/n

[littleseasiren]

Hypothetically speaking

Summary: Hypothetically speaking, Bucky Barnes is the perfect man. You have a list that proves it. What happens when someone overhears you telling Natasha about it?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Words: A drabble at 800 words

"All I'm saying is, hypothetically, Bucky is the perfect boyfriend," you whisper to Natasha over the kitchen table. 

"And why do you think that?"  Her green eyes stare past you, making you nervous for a second before her gaze meets yours. "Hypothetically speaking, of course." Natasha knew how you felt about Bucky but humoured you nonetheless.

You don't hear anything so you continue, "Well, I mean, he's the full package. Just look at what he's like," you chuckle. You lift your thumb as you start counting the points. "He's handsome with his dark hair and his eyes to die for." Your index finger goes up, "He's quiet but authoritative, like the time he saw a guy bothering me at the bar. He didn't hesitate before threatening him with bodily harm if he didn't stop bothering not just me - but all the ladies in the bar." Your middle finger rises, "He's got muscles galore like we've seen when he and Steve burn off extra energy in the gym and take their shirts off." Your ring finger raises, "And he's kind - too kind sometimes. Remember I told you about that time we were stuck in the rain in the middle of nowhere on a mission? He gave me his jacket and stood freezing in the pouring rain for more than an hour while we waited for our pickup." Finally, your pinkie raises, "Then there's the vibranium arm," you say as you drop your hand, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

Natasha smirks at the look that crosses your face when you talk about Bucky's prosthetic arm. "What about his arm? Most people would think it's a bad thing."

"Huh, as if! If they think that, then they're stupid. His arm is amazing. The black and gold design makes him look like a masterpiece painting. If I were an artist, I could spend hours watching him, getting every shadow and groove perfectly immortalized on the canvas." You giggle softly before continuing, "He's super strong - even stronger than Steve is, with that arm. He has amazing coordination and precision, and the temperature difference between his human hand and his vibranium hand is awesome. On a hot day, you can hold his left hand without sweating like crazy, and on a cold day, his right hand will be nice and toasty. But the biggest thing?" You take a deep breath, "His arm is vibranium, so I'm 100% sure his arm won't fall asleep like a normal man's when spooning with him in bed. A woman can lie on that arm for hours - I'm sure Bucky won't move an inch. That's the type of man he is..." A dreamy look passes over your face as you imagine yourself in that situation.

A perfect eyebrow raises in question, "Honey, why don't you just tell him you like him?" 

"What? No, I don't! I was speaking hypothetically!" You aren't like Natasha, you can't just walk up to Bucky and confidently tell him you like him. Just thinking about it makes you anxious.

Natasha's smile is huge as a shadow hovers over you, making you feel like your heart is beating out of your chest.

Please, please don't let someone be behind me.

"Hypothetically speaking," a deep, confident voice starts behind you, making you drop your head into your hands, "if I do my best to live up to your expectations, would you go out with me tonight?"

You slowly raise your head, seeing Natasha leave the kitchen quietly and Bucky take her spot opposite you.

Why can't I keep my big mouth shut?

You can't meet his eyes, your cheeks burning with humiliation as your eyes focus on your wiggling hands. "Uh, Bucky, how much did you hear?" 

This time, Bucky's voice is softer, unsure. "Pretty much everything. I know I shouldn't have listened; I couldn't help myself. Not when I heard your hypothetical. How about it, doll? Do you want to go out with me on a date?"

"Bucky, you don't have to do that just because I embarrassed myself. You don't want to go out with me."

You slowly meet his blue eyes, a smirk plastered on his handsome face. "Of course, I want to, doll. I honestly just never thought you would want to go out with me. You're so sweet and beautiful. I just never thought someone like you would be interested in me. Not with all my baggage." His gaze becomes nervous at your hesitation. "If you give me a chance, I promise I'll do my best not to disappoint you."

Can he be any sweeter? "You could never disappoint me, Bucky. You're amazing." 

His face lights up at your honest reply. "So, how about it, doll? Let me take you out on a date. If you play your cards right, I'll let you test your theory on my arm tonight. I promise I won't move an inch if I get to hold you all night long. I won't even cop a feel tonight; I'll be a perfect gentleman, I promise." 

You can't stop from giggling, feeling mischievous. You weren't making stupid promises like that, something he might figure out soon if all goes well. "It's a deal, Sarge," you reply as you grasp his hands, shivering from the hot and cold sensation. 

This is going to be fun. 

Tag List:

@cjand10

@buggy14

@crazyunsexycool

@tripleoyaa

@mandijo17

@fluffysucker

@moviegurl2002

@shelbygeek

#bucky x y/n #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barns x reader #bucky fluff #the avengers #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #natasha romanoff #avengers tower #james barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine

[whirlybirbs]

please god give me "[ CLING ]: having finally been reunited, the sender pulls the receiver into a tight, overwhelmingly relieved embrace, clinging to them and burying their face in their shoulder" with astarion and gale.

┊ astarion ancunín + f!tav!reader┊ CLING

His voice is a near shriek — full of irritation.

"What is wrong with you, hm?!"

"Astarion, I am not in the mood—"

"Oh, well pardon me, my dear lady," comes the snarl of a snarked jest as he follows hot on your trail, "Had I known you weren't in the mood, I would simply have kept my mouth shut and let you die!"

"I had it handled!" you fire back, throwing your hands in the starry, night air and very much ignoring the inquisitive looks from the rest of camp. Astarion does not let up, in fact he jogs to follow more closely than before — right on your boot heels.

"He had a knife to your throat!"

"Wouldn't be the first time that's happened!"

"God, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever met—"

You finally reach your tent and slam your pack down on your makeshift vanity. Inside, the stolen wares rattle amongst pinched gold and silver. A few scrolls, a few potions; enough to get you and your rag-tag team through the next few days on the road.

You'd embarked into the town at sundown, with Astarion by your side, to pull a few old tricks. You're not a stranger to the silver-tongued methods of a thief. A few plucked lute strings, a few batted eyes. Usually, it's quick work. But, tonight you'd met a bit of resistance behind the town's tavern.

At the edge of camp, it's darker. The moon is hung half-full in the sky, and you gather your matches lighter to ignite your trusty lamp. However, the moment you move to flick the ignition, there's a hand on yours.

"Will you listen to me?"

"I told you," you huff haughtily, "I'm not in the mood, Astarion—"

Suddenly, he slaps the pack of matches from your hands.

It hits the ground a few feet away.

You look up at him, brow wrinkled in shock and confusion.

"...Rude..."

His face is set in a firm frown. And then, suddenly, he's pulling you into an embrace that is as unpracticed as it is rough. Your arms are cramped to your sides as the vampire presses his face hard into the crook of your shoulder. You can feel him huff, and then soften slightly.

Your attitude melts away.

"Don't do that again," comes a quiet, desperate utterance. You swear it will cling to your throat forever more; the sound of his true intentions, "As much as I hate to admit it, you've grown on me."

Your eyes slip shut. "...I'm sorry."

He scoffs. His nose, cold and delicate, brushes the skin of your throat.

Astarion can feel the thrum of life beneath your skin there; a familiar feeling. His heart pangs in want. He knows your scent best — comforting. Home. Even if you aren't entirely aware of it.

...But, he'll keep that to himself for now.

And maybe forever.

┊ gale dekarios + tav!reader ┊ CLING

It's a long trek back to camp — and by morning, you've never been happier to smell the last embers of a fire that's burnt noon and night.

Morning rays, fresh from the dawn, spill over the horizon as you meander into the camp. There's dew on your boots and blood in your hair. The gash along your side has long since coagulated into a sticky, cold mess; your leathers are drenched in all sorts of gore. Not all your own. Most belonging to the three Gnolls who had attempted to take you along with your hunted prey for the camp's dinner.

You lost the boar, your favorite bow, and a good amount of pride in the scuffle.

The moment you cross the threshold of camp, you can taste the tang of magic in the air.

You know, immediately, that it's Gale.

Perhaps it's your own awareness of the Weave, or a particular tenderness for the Wizard himself, but you feel him before you see him.

And then, it's a crushing embrace.

His toiling is long forgotten the moment he lays eyes on you, in all your brutality, and he can't help but surge forward with enough momentum to nearly knock you both breathless.

"Where the hell have you been? Avernus?" he mutters, one hand moving to gently cradle the back of your head. His palm is warm, radiating already with a healing magic that alights the air with the smell of lavender.

"Met a bit of trouble fetching us dinner—"

"Karlach will have your head," Gale says, leaning back to eye you up and down as a warm sweep of light graces your edges. You feel it, like a touch white-hot against bare skin. Intimate. Caring. Different entirely from Shadowheart's healing entirely, "She has been out all night searching for you — Astarion, too."

"I'm fine," you mutter — pointedly keeping the fact you had been chased up a tree by the aforementioned Gnolls to yourself — hands falling to his waist, "And I'm ruining your robes."

"Hush."

The magic pulses hotly, and you slip your eyes shut at the intrusion. His sternness comes robed in warmth. A safe sort of thing.

Gale pulls away only long enough to plant a kiss on your brow.

AS ALWAYS: prompts are here, the ask box is here.

#astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion bg3 #astarion imagine #gales dekarios imagine #gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #gale x tav #astarion x tav #uber rare birbs formatted post #like #a super shiny pokemon card #baldurs gate imagine

[p0ckykiss]

good morning love - mark lee

summary -> mark appreciating you in a sleepless state and playing the guitar for you.

-> another repost from my old account!

the plain white bed sheet, wrinkled and warm, looked so lovely with you laying on it–thought mark. lusciously laying there in a sleepless state, eyes closed and lips dry. yet you looked as beautiful as ever.

his eyes kept moving down, examining you.

oh, your bare-less neck, covered in only a couple moles. he felt the need to mark it–to kiss it with his plump pink lips. there, only lay a gold necklace with a small jeweled heart. it looked cheap and plain yet it made you look rich; beautiful.

mark absolutely loved it on you–when his lips met the cold metal when kissing you all over.

mark glanced at your hard nipples poking out of your thin cami top. he loved how it made you most comfortable to sleep without a bra, to feel free. this light pink flowery top you were wearing made you look innocent. it was pretty, thought mark.

his fingers delicately grazed your open stomach and underwear band with his hand scratching you ever so slightly.

mark watched you start to stir awake, your face now turning to the wall. mark barely smiled and finally stood up from his bare knees, moving to sit on the floor. he picked up your beige-colored acoustic guitar against the wall and strung a couple chords, looking to see if you awoke.

nope.

mark started to softly play in the tune of your recently most loved song–that being ‘get you’ by daniel caesar. he admired this song too, finding it so calming and breathy. the soft words spoken about diving into your lover and worrying about losing them. constant worry of just being so lucky to have you. wondering, what did he do to find you?

mark hadn’t thought of finding his true lover, he knew it was impossible, but he’s always wanted to love someone. he envied those who had someone to go home to holding someone in their arms like they were too scared to let go. mark wanted to feel that love so bad. it came sudden when he contemplated if he was even good enough to be loved. the time just taking forever.

“through drought and famine.. natural disasters.. my baby has been around for me,” mark started softly. he softly tapped the chords and bobbed his head to the rhythm. he looked behind and saw you now sleepily staring at him.

you flashed him a small smile, looking at mark as you lay on your right arm. mark blushed and teeth-ily smiled back at you.

“good morning love, did i wake you?”, mark spoke, stopping his singing. “mm-mmh”, you mumbled softly, “keep singing for me”

“but then you’ll fall back asleep”, mark frowned. he didn’t listen to himself and turned back to play. his bare shoulders tensing against the cold air; his slender fingers delicately strumming over the same strings.

you loved mark so much, god, it felt like too much. like, you couldn’t even love him enough. like there wasn’t enough room in your heart to love all of him.

was love supposed to feel this tight? did it sound obsessing? probably.

but, well, mark just felt the exact same way.

it always felt perfect when you were both together and you never want it to end.

#nct #nct dream #nct dream fic #nct fluff #nct 127 #nct 127 fic #mark lee #mark lee fic #mark lee fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee scenarios #mark lee x reader #mark lee x you #nct mark #nct mark lee #nct scenarios #nct x reader #nct angst #mark lee angst #mark lee smut #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut

[cheriladycl01]

Winning Gold in Life - Lando Norris x BritishOlympicFigureSkating! Reader

Plot: You and Lando will try to coordinate his helmet designs to your figure skating outfit, so that you guys can match and win together.

Credits to off-t0-the-races for the GIF

"You looked amazing out there baby!" Lando grins picking you up and spinning you around as you got to the edge of the ice rink by the gate to leave.

You orange dress that had the Mclaren Logo all up the sheer see-through sleeves and on the back as if it were a tramp-stamp flowed around you hips as he spun you.

"Ah that was so nerve-racking having you watching me!" you exclaim, leaning your head into the crook of his neck. You both sat on the stands waiting for the results.

"Y/N, that was an fantastic performance. Think we have a chance for Gold!" your coach says coming over to you handing you your coat and gloves like she normally did after you'd been out on the ice.

"Thank you Maddie, I just hope it was enough!" you nod nervously. Lando rubs his hand up and down your legs in a comforting manor before pulling you into his hold.

"You did do well, no matter where you come... I'm going to be proud of you for just going out there today!" he whispers in your ear and tears start to build up in your eyeline. Some of you eyeliner and mascara had already started to melt off your face but Lando couldn't stand to see himself make it worse.

"Ohhhh, don't cry baby!" he laughs seeing your little pouty expression that he found adorable. You look at him is his thumbs wipe under your eyes trying to fix the black and brown makeup that had started to streak and make you loosely resemble a Panda.

As you waited for the results to come in, you anxiously bite your lips until you hear you name said by the Chinese commentator before the English one making you look at Lando and your trainer.

"Was that my name or am i tripping?" you ask looking between them and Lando has a huge grin on his face.

"That was your name baby, GOLD!" he exclaims and you crouch down into a sort of squat in shock. Tears streaming down your face.

"Y/N come on! Onto the ice!" you trainer grins and you take Lando's hand dragging him so he's as close to the barriers between the ice and the stadium seats as possible.

You see the camera on you and the other two medalists who you immediately pull into hugs, you'd gotten close to them since you guys landed here in Beijing.

You stake out to where the podium is and stand on the top place, getting help from someone to get up onto it. You smile at your flag, proud of what you've done for team GB.

The medal gets placed around you neck after the others and you get handed your flowers as you all stand listening to the British National Anthem, your hand on your heart and medal while you look up trying to keep the tears at bay.

You skate back and see Lando is filming your arrival making you make a silly face at the camera before showing your cold medal to him and the camera with a big cheesy grin on you face.

"Darling I'm so proud of you!" he smiles pulling you in for a hug and kisses your forehead as he takes a second to observe you.

"I love you so much, having you here for support was everything!" you admit, knowing you probably wouldn't have done as well if he wasn't here cheering you on.

"Well, now that you've got your first gold. I think it's time that I got my first win..." he smiles.

"Yeah? Will that be in Bahrain with your new matching lid" you grin at him and he nods.

"Need my good luck charm with me, if I'm going to win!"

And that was how you found yourself once again in the fuel scented paddock that you'd become accustomed too over the few years you'd been dating Lando for.

"Things have been looking promising babe! You guy's sandbagged hard!" you grin, knowing there was a lot more oophm to the car than what they'd let on in February's pre-season testing.

"Zac's orders. We'll be up there with Red Bull and Mercedes this year!" he grins and FP1 and FP2 proved that. He had a mega performance having the quickest time in the first and going third fastest in the second.

Sunday came around far to quickly for your liking and you were sat in the paddock in shorts and Lando's Mclaren Shirt for the warm weather Bahrain had brought. You even had to go to the merch stand to by yourself a McLaren hat because the darkness to you hair had started to burn the top of you head.

It was an embarrassing interaction, you asked for a Lando Norris McLaren hat but it was so busy and so loud they'd mistaken it for a Lewis Hamilton Mercedes hat so you were strolling through the paddock with that on your head.

"Ahhh, well if it isn't my biggest fan Y/N Y/L/N!" Lewis says catching you as he strides past on his scooter stopping to talk to you.

"They made a mistake at the merch shop. I didnt have the heart to correct them..." you chuckle and he laughs as well, he pulls out a pen starting to sign it while it was on your head.

"For my biggest fan" he laughs and you cant help but laugh as well. Only seconds later do the media catch on to the two athletes conversing and pull them up on it.

"Hey guys, how are we doing today!" one of the interviewers asks making you freeze a little like a deer in headlights.

"I'm doing great, just you know spending time with a fan!" Lewis jokes making the reporters laughs and turn to you.

"Yep, big fan of his work. Ppppft whose that Lando Norris guy in pole position. I don't know him..." you joke back knowing Lewis and Lando had the front row locked out.

"Y/N, all jokes aside it's great to see you back in the paddock now after all the training ... which clearly paid off congratulations" she smiles and you blush a little nod liking to brag or show off.

"Thank you, my team and I worked really hard. I obviously had the power of Mclaren and Lando on my side and I'm happy to have achieved Gold after my not so good attempt in 2018!" you cringe remembering when you were so much younger and naive that you hadn't performed as well, just missing out on a bronze medal.

"Well all the best to you and Lando!" she grins before keeping Lewis and letting you dash off back to McLaren.

2 hours later and you were anxuously biting your nails watching Lando catch up to the lead of the race after a slow pitstop and reclaim his P1.

It wasn't until the last lap, where DRS was enabled that he could overtake Charles and take back his P1 having an advantage on the final turn and straight for him to cross the finish line in P1.

His first F1 win.

You didn't have the most graceful reaction for a WAG, that was for sure but seeing Lando win after working so hard towards his goal, you couldn't contain your emotions.

You ran up to him, and you jumped on him not caring about the wetness of his suit from sweat and you were wrapping your arms around his neck and legs around his waist as his gloved hands came down to support you holding just under your bum.

"You are amazing!" you cry pulling up his visor so you can see his own eyes that are full of tears.

You later watched on as he celebrated his podium with Charles and Lewis, and you saw the elated and happy expression on your face that you would do anything to keep on their permanently as your favourite thing about him was his smile.

That was your man... and he was forever your man.

y/user

Liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell and pietra.pilao

y/user: Life recently! Winning Gold in all aspects of life ... McLaren Papaya inspired drip, and Lando getting a new lid for 2023 (I’m not allowed to show you guys till race weekend) <3

Tagged 1 person

View all 347 comments

landonorris: my gorgeous baby! I love you 🥰❤️

-> y/user: I love you more! Thank you for all your support recently 🫶🏼❤️

mclaren: when the drip is dripping 😦🤭🧡

-> y/user: always 🧡

fan1: it’s so cute how Lando and Y/N always match🥺

fan2: Y/N show us the lid we won’t snitch!

maxfewtrell: thank you for making it to the merch drop. We miss seeing you!

-> y/user: missing you too Max 🫶🏼

pietra.pilao: beautiful, gorgeous girl

-> y/user: no you 👆🏼☺️

-> pietra.pilao: let’s date ❤️

-> y/user: YES! Spa days for life 🫣🫶🏼

fan3: P and Y/N’s friendship is so funny 🥺🧡

Instagram Story Caption

Back to training, without my mans 😭🫶🏼

Taglist:

@littlesatanicassholebitch @hockey-racing-fubol @laura-naruto-fan1998 @22yuki @simxican @sinofwriting @lewisroscoelove @cmleitora @daemyratwst @lauralarsen @the-untamed-soul @thewulf @itsjustkhaos @purplephantomwolf @chasing-liberosis @summissss @gulphulp @starfusionsworld @jspitwall @sierruhhhh @georgeparisole @youcannotcancelquidditch @tallbrownhairsarcastic @ourteenagetragedy @peachiicherries @formulas-bitch @cherry-piee @spilled-coffee-cup @mehrmonga @bigsimperika @blueberry64857959 @eiraethh @lilypadlover @curseofhecate @alliwantisadonut @dark-night-sky-99 @i-wish-this-was-me @tallrock35 @butterfly-lover @barnestatic @landossainz @darleneslane @barcelonaloverf1life @r0nnsblog @ilove-tswizzle @laneyspaulding19 @malynn @viennakarma @landosgirlxoxo @marie0v @yourbane @teamnovalak @nikfigueiredo @fionaschicken @0picels0 @seomako @urdad-hot @tinydeskwriter @ironmaiden1313 @splaterparty0-0 @formula1mount @styl1shl1v

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #formula one #formula one fanfiction #lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando imagine #lando #lando x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris fic #lando norris one shot #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 #ln4 x reader

[sakkiichi]

CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

#astronetwrk #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x you #neuvillette x reader #lyney x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #xiao x reader #genshin impact angst #neuvillette angst #lyney angst #scaramouche angst #wanderer angst #kazuha angst #xiao angst #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x y/n #neuvillette x you #lyney x you #scaramouche x you #kazuha x you #wanderer x you #xiao x you #genshin imagines #genshin angst

[sollsmith]

I'm All Yours

Daemon Targaryen x female!reader

Words: 2.1K 

Warnings: SMUT, sex work, fingering, oral (fem receiving), degradation, slight breeding kink, breast slapping, slightly rough sex

Summary: Daemon finds out you have been entertaining other men at the brothel in his absence.

The gold and silver coins made a delightful clink as they hit the bottom of the glass jar. Enough to house and feed yourself for the week, and possibly treat yourself to one new silk. Dreaming about that aqua iridescent silk that hung in the back of the drapery, you began to clear your room for the night, not noticing the dark figure looming in the doorway.  

“Thought you could replace me?” Daemon’s voice is low, a scolding expression on his face as you nearly jump out of your skin, almost knocking over the vase of flowers resting on the table you were clearing. 

“My Prince!” You try to suppress the smile that inches its way onto your face, but it is not possible. Daemon had quickly laid claim to you all those years ago in Mothers, to the point you were assumed to be reserved for the Prince if he chose to offer his patronage to the brothel at any point. Other men would not approach or ask for your price. You belonged to Daemon Targaryen. Everyone knew it. 

Daemon hums in response as he stalks down the few steps into the room and heads in your direction. It had been three years since you had last seen him. A cold night on Dragonstone, when he had put twenty gold dragons in your hand, told you to pack your things and to return to the capital. He would not take you with him to war. 

All the thoughts of your last interactions are whipped from your head as Daemon presses up against the wall, evident arousal poking your inner thigh. He smells of wine, and another woman. The quick words that were on the tip of your tongue, die as his hand finds your throat, applying just enough pressure to intervene with your breathing.  

“You didn’t answer my question.” He says, pressing a little harder on your neck, looking you directly in the eye, as his hand moves under your skirt and edges it way to your heart. “Have you been replacing me? Hm?” 

You nod as well as you can with a hand around your throat. It was true, while the twenty dragons had afforded you to live comfortably for two years without the need to sell your body, but the last year proved difficult and you had made your way back onto the street of silk, and it had been a profitable one. With the Rogue Prince gone at war, men happily paid handfuls of silver and gold for your company. 

“Need to give you a reminder on who this cunt belongs to?” Daemon’s large hand finds your cunt, letting two fingers enter your willing hole, while pushing the ball of his palm into your throbbing clit. A small growl leaves his throat as his fingers slip into you, still wet from the hedge knight that had spent the last hour buried in you. Looking up at him, a gentle moan leaving your lips, you nod eagerly. 

“How many? Hm? How many men have you let run my perfect cunt?” Daemon taunts, wanting to hear you humiliate yourself for him. He loosens his hand that is gripped around your neck slightly, allowing himself room to start leaving wet kisses just below your ear.

“I- I’m not, not sure.” You answer honestly. It’s not like you keep track, you work until you have enough coins, whether it be one man or six. Daemon tuts are your answer, digging his thick fingers in as deep as he can, instantly finding that spongy sweet spot that no other man can seem to reach, as his palm works your clit at the same time. You begin to clench around him instantly, peak coming in quickly. Daemon, knowing exactly where you are heading, quickly removed his fingers and palm, leaving you with nothing. A small whine leaves your mouth at the loss of contact, your mind focusing on keeping your shaking legs up right. 

Daemon’s hand leaves your throat, hand untying the thin lace gown you have, leaving it to pool onto the ground beneath you. His arms quickly hoist you up, carrying you back to the bed, tossing you down as gently as he could muster in the moment. He quickly discards his white tunic and breeches, his naked body leaning over yours, lips attaching to your neck, and hands pawing at your stiff nipples. Your legs wrap about his waist, using your feet to pull him closer to you. 

Daemon’s kisses begin to move down your body, lips enveloping your collar bones, nipples, ribs and stomach. He leaves no part of you untasted as he makes his way down, face finally level with you warm and wet heat.

“Such a pretty cunny, just as pretty as the first time you gave her to me,” He hums as his head moves forward, licking a bold stripe to your dripping core, lips locking onto your clit and sucking gently. A gasp leaves you at the instant overstimulation. “Did those other dirty men look after her for me?” He raises his head, looking up at you from between your legs with a glint of mischief in his eyes. Wanting to save yourself from the embarrassment of answering you, buck your hips up to meet his mouth, wanting him to continue, but his arms wrap around your thigh and hands push down on your hips keep you away. “Answer my questions, doru-borto riña. Then you will get your reward.” 

“No.” You whine out, the tone of your voice making the heat rush your cheeks. 

“They didn’t look after her?” Daemon mocks in a cooing voice, a smirk etched on his face, his thumb lightly rubbing circles on your clit. “Did they neglect my poor cunt? Just used her for their own pleasure?”

You nod, mumbling out confirmation, tears welling up in your eyes. You have waited three years for this moment and the teasing is driving you insane.  All you care about is getting him inside you as quickly as possible. 

“Poor cunny. We’ll have to fix that won’t we?” His question was answered with a small squeak from you, as Daemon's mouths at your swollen lips, his tongue leaving his lips to poke at your hole, sucking on your clit.Tongue and fingers reaching the spongy parts of you that have you screaming for him. Just when you think it can’t get any better, he is humming into your wet folds and looking up at you with those lilac eyes, forcing you to the edge. Your toes curl and drag up his back as a loaded moan leaves your mouth, Daemon’s name slipping from your lips in babbles. Daemon groans into your cunt, electrifying the aftershocks of your toe-curling height. 

“Perfect like always,” Daemon presses a final soft kiss to your clit, causing your hips to jerk, hitting his chest as he crawls his way back up your body, caging up under him. He looms over you, a smile inking its way onto his face, lips and chin still glistening with your arousal. “The hedge cunt that was in here before me. What did he have you do?” 

You hesitate for a moment, eyes widening as you realise that Daemon had been in the brothel a lot longer than you thought.  His lips are going over your eyes, eyes burning into yours as he waits for your answer. 

“Answer me, whore.” Daemon speaks, hand roughly coming down on your breast, demanding an answer, lips reattaching to your neck leaving wet kisses. 

“He had me ride him, my prince.” You hummed, one of your hands finding its way into his now cropped hair. He huffs, before rolling off you, lying back beside you, head resting on the plush pillows. His hand reach to your hip, tugging you towards him. You scramble over to him, crawling on-top of him, thighs gently straddling his stomach. Your hands resting on his pecs, you look down at Daemon, biting your lip when his hands find the globes of your ass, kneading the flesh before landing a harsh spank across your left cheek, causing you to jut forward grinding your wet folds along his length. 

“Well go on then…show me.” He grunts out, you quickly follow his orders, reaching between your legs to grab his thick cock in your hand, teasing the tip along your entrance before sheathing yourself on him, sliding down slowly until he bottoms out inside of you. 

He can feel your walls stretching and fluttering around him, trying to accommodate him. You’re always so good and take all of him like he knows you can. You stay like that for a moment, not moving a inch, trying to control your breathe

“I said g-”

“You’re so much bigger” You whimper. Daemon smirks, as his hands move from your ass to your hips keeping you in place as he bucks his hips up, pulling out to then fully shove himself back into again. 

“Did you talk back to that last man that you let fuck you? Hm?.” His voice is condescending. You shake your head, and he tilts his brow down between the two of you, indicating for you to get to work. Quickly, you're fighting the slight burn from the stretch of him and lifting yourself up off of his cock and coming down in a steady rhythm. Daemon looks up at you, amused at your slow rhythm as you attempt fuck yourself on him, the look on his face causing you to grind harder, getting his cock to hit within you deeper, hitting your spot you love with each trust. 

“There you go. Did his cock make you feel like this?” Daemon questions, as his hands drift from your hips to play with your bouncing tits for a moment, before moving back to your hips for a moment, gripping them tightly to give himself some leverage to snap his hips up to meet your thrusts. Your walls instantly clamp around him, forcing a groan from his throat. 

“No? Only my cock can make this little cunt feel this good.” Daemon grunts, thumb reaching between your thighs to rub your clit and his lips finding one of your nipples sucking harshly. Your hands are softly rubbing his toned chest as you moan his name, fingers lingering on the mangled flesh of his left side, your mouth begging for him to keep on going. 

“Only you, only you.” You mumble out and he can feel that you’re close, can feel that at any moment you’re going to spasm on his cock and milk him for all that he’s worth. Suddenly Daemon’s flipping you on your back and roughly pushing your legs up over his shoulders so that it’s easy for him to plunge his cock deep inside you.

“You want my seed, whore? Milk my cock and carry my bastard? Is that what you want?” Your nodding as your hands grasp at his back, any words you hand dying on in your throat when he reaches his thick fingers down to rub quick circles on your clit,  walls clamping tightly down on him and tears beginning to well in your eyes. “You need to ask for it.” 

“Yes! Please, please fill me with your seed, I want it. Want your bastard in me.” You sound so broken and desperate and it causes Daemon’s balls to tighten as they continue to slap against your ass. 

“Take it then.” Your body stiffens to it high and the pleasure is so intense black spots begin to cloud your vision as Daemon fucks you through your high, eventually finding his own as he spills inside of you. He continues to thrust softly as he rides out his own high, eventually coming to a slow stop. He stays loomed over you, your legs still hook around his shoulders as the two of you to catch your breath. 

You gently unhook your legs, bringing them down between your bodies, Daemon lowering his body onto yours, his head dropping onto your bare, heaving chest as your hand moves to play with his silver strands. His cock stays nestled within you, among the sticky mess that he both created and left. 

“No more other men.” He whispers out. It’s gentle, but you know it is an order. You place a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead, continuing to stroke his soft hair. 

“I’m all yours.”

Enjoying writing these little one-shots! Any feedback in the form of likes, reblogs, comments or asks is deeply appreciated!

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[trashogram]

He Chose You (P. 7)

Lucifer/Reader: You’ve been chosen to be the Mother of the Antichrist. Rated E.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

Your sleep had become fitful with dreams that, while not full of violence, left you waking in a cold sweat most mornings. You couldn’t remember most of what happened aside from a parade of images and feelings of discomfort. Sometimes, downright fear. 

The blonde woman was still the star, but you couldn’t remember a word she’d say. The sight of her frowning at two men replayed in your head between sleeping and waking. She frowned at you with dewy wide eyes. 

The woman held her arms out to you: beseeching, sheltering, hurriedly hiding but you were able to escape the gaze of one of the men. 

Fear had spirited you away from unconsciousness when the man’s brown eyes sparked into an unnatural gold. They heated with anger at the mere sight of you. 

—

The only equivalent you could come up with for how you awoke was being jump-started like a car. It took a solid moment of gulping in air and eyeing your surroundings before you could calm the beat of your heart.

“Lucifer?”

It took too much energy to turn and look for him, but you saw that the sheets beside you were disturbed, but duck-less. 

You were overly warm, hopelessly reaching out to run your hand down the opposite side of the bed despite what your eyes told you. 

For a while there was nothing to do but lay in the silence of your darkened room. Eventually your hand drifted into your belly. 

It had become a reflex to pet your own tummy, to feel the bump that had formed there, as small as it was. 

—

You faced forward, looking directly at the screen of your TV without really seeing it. Beside you, Lucifer giggled at whatever was happening between Kermit and Gonzo onscreen. 

His bare hand was latched onto yours, fingers entwined, claws digging into your skin just enough to hurt. Not a lot, just a little bit. Strangely, the discomfort kept you grounded and away from the outlandish yet very real fear that you’d float away without it. 

‘Is it dissociating or disassociation?’

You’d gone long enough with it happening multiple times now but you couldn’t even remember what it was called.

You were pregnant. 

Well, you’d been pregnant for about a month and a half. And your partner in crime had been excited. So excited he’d literally exclaimed ‘oh my golly’ at the news. 

Then he’d had a panic attack, complete with big yet shallow gasps for air and arm flailing, hands flapping, short legs in knee-high boots pacing a hole into your carpet.

You were somewhat grateful for his outburst, if only because taking the steps to placate him was placating unto itself. 

— 

The memory made you smile weakly. A memory that seemed so long ago, even if it had technically happened only a few months prior. 

Everything that had happened afterward had made it seem rosier than it should’ve been. Before things soured so thoroughly that you could barely get out of bed. 

Now, you were exhausted day and night, plagued by not-quite-nightmares during your hibernation-like snoozes, and — when awake — eaten at by fears and doubts. 

You’d never thought seriously about having children. 

There was this permanent barrier to the very idea that lingered in the back of your mind. You don’t know when it formed, or if it was merely a protective mechanism of some kind (God knew you had plenty of those already). Nonetheless, you’d stuck to it, never straying… until now. 

You weren’t the motherly type. And technically you weren’t going to be. As much as Lucifer mooned over you, whether for his own entertainment or because he was genuinely fond of your stupid sarcastic comments and bouts of literary trivia, you would not allow yourself to trust him completely. You had no compunctions about raising the Antichrist once you had fulfilled your end of the deal. 

So you told yourself. Especially when you cycled through detachment and guilt about the creature growing in your womb. Especially when Lucifer was curled up with you, basking in your warmth and bringing you little trinkets and laughing with you at whatever was on TV. Especially when he dropped everything to lay down with you in your sickness, and did anything he could to make you smile, be it with magic tricks or stories from lifetimes ago.

Last night he’d held your hair as you threw up, courtesy of the raw beef you’d craved (thank you, you freaky little fetus). Then he entertained you by shape-shifting into cute animals until you’d cuddled up with his duck self and fallen asleep.

The little slope of your stomach quivered with the rest of your body. You felt the sudden urge to cry. 

—

“Lucifer?”

You braced yourself against the wall to get out of your bedroom. Standing was enough to make you dizzy, skin growing clammy and perspiring while you struggled to move. You were winded after five steps through your rather small apartment. 

Your curiosity was the only thing keeping you going after hearing a series of beeps from outside your door. 

“Aw, shit. Shit, shit, shit! Hold on!”  Lucifer called from a few feet away. 

He was here, in your apartment, more often than not. As a matter of fact, you had the feeling that if you didn’t push him to return to his duties, Lucifer would’ve been with you 24/7. 

Speaking of, he appeared from around the corner just as you buckled and slid against the wall. 

The Devil sprang forward, arms out and ready to catch you. Had you been more yourself, you’d have laughed at the absurdity as most of your weight sagged against its surface and he’d more or less landed on top of you from the side. 

“I’m so so sorry!” He cried, jerking away when you winced. 

“Sorry.” He whispered loudly. “I got your tea and I was trying to make it without waking you but the darn thing wouldn’t stop beeping.” 

“Cassie was here?” You let yourself sway to Lucifer’s side instead of the walls. He was practically carrying you into the living room. 

Unnames illness aside, you found an additional slight against your existence that you still had to keep in contact with your weirdo neighbors. They were both their own flavors of bizarre, but Cassie in particular was extroverted and nosy. 

She brought you tea from her kitchen garden — 

“Just bits and bobs from my little spice garden, things I’ve been growing ‘round the house. Pretty basic stuff: you got your chamomile, mint, there’s rosemary in there too, some cinnamon, ya know.” 

— and wanted to brew it for you while having chats at your kitchen table almost every day. 

Even Lucifer was annoyed by her persistence. 

“Here as in ‘at the door’ but not inside. She actually got it through that thick skull that I didn’t want you to be disturbed.” Lucifer said, equal parts irritated and triumphant. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder. “Thanks.” 

Your eyes closed to avoid the sudden onslaught of more tears when your companion tensed. He stopped short of the couch to relish in the contact. His wistful sigh made your heart throb painfully as you wondered for the umpteenth time how the fucking King of Hell could be so effortlessly sweet. 

‘Just to make pulling out the rug from under you later a bigger betrayal.’

The intrusive thought brought more tears, from eyes screwed up as you wished it away. 

“… can’t make tea as a duck.” Lucifer had carried on while gently lowering you on the cushions. “I did try though, to be fair.” 

He had yet to notice your tears, but your laugh was wet. “I’m sorry I missed that.”

It was sudden when cold hands cupped your face and turned your gaze up. You were met with deeply worried crimson eyes. 

The cold was so nice that you had to snuggle into that touch. “It’s ok.” 

Lucifer’s maw opened and closed a few times, helplessly. 

“Do—uh… do you want me to do that? I can try it again!” He jumped back, getting ready to shift in a puff of fireworks. 

“No, come sit with me.” You held up a shaking hand, trying to ignore your own ashen skin. 

The blond hesitated. 

“Please, Lou.” 

—

Lucifer melted at your request. He came to you immediately and took great care as he rearranged your frail body against his own. 

He was grateful that he’d thrown on his velvet robe that morning twicefold now — once to avoid his elderly worshipper seeing his dick, and twice to be able to pull it to the side so that you could lay your forehead against his cold chest.

The King’s skin would warm up with time and human contact, but he knew that his natural icy exterior did wonders to help your over-warm skin. 

Lucifer fought to not chuckle at the ticklish feeling of your hair against his neck. You laid there against him for a long time, breathing lightly and letting him hold you close. The silence was easy for once, not awkward or uncomfortable. Just one person relying on another for quiet solace.

When you finally spoke, it nearly scared him. “What’s it like? In Hell?” 

“Wh-why’re you asking?” Lucifer tried to play it cool. “That’s not really a fun o-oo-r relaxing…!… topic.” 

“Mmm,” Your head slowly lifted until he count easily count your individual eyelashes. 

“I don’t know if you know this, but there’s a little guy in here.” You pointed between yourself and him, to the little slope of your stomach. “And they're gonna call Hell their home soon. It might be good to know what that’s like before I ship them off.” 

“Oh!” Well, that was easier. “It’s uh, it’s red… and warm.” Lucifer wracked his brain. “Well, my Ring is. See, there are 7 Rings total, and technically I rule them all, but my brothers each kinda made their own homes out of them.” 

“Mine though — mine is full of Sinners, which is what we call the humans that died and were condemned to it. They’re all kinda packed in there, heh. Like, uh, tiny fish. That reek.” 

Your lips pursed. “But no one is burning in molten lava at all times or anything, right?”

“No-oo! Well, I mean it’s not impossible. But it’s not the norm. Nah, people go about their way like they do up here, but even more selfishly and violently.” 

Lucifer smiled at your frowning face. 

“It’s like on Earth? So people work, sleep, eat?”

“Yep!”

“They pay bills? Go to parties? Fuck?” Your brows were nearly to your hairline.

“Mmmm-hm!” 

“And they do it for all of eternity? Forever?”

“Pretty much! In a nutshell…” Was his jolly reply. He squeezed you to him for extra measure.

It was your turn to look flummoxed by the picture he painted, the words he spoke that sounded both improbable and spot on for what Hell would be if it was real. 

Well, not if. 

At last, you sighed. 

“I guess it couldn’t have been all that bad if… if you’ve been there for so long and you’re still so sweet.” Your words were barely audible, muttered into Lucifer’s chest when you gave up on making sense of anything.

But the Ruler of Hell had to stop the last-minute ejection of his own wings at your words.

***

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#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel x reader

[dazai-ritualist]

The doe darling fic was so sweet! Yan!Alastor is really perfect husband material.. which has me thinking.. How would he propose to his darling and what kind of wedding would it be?? 😳 What are his thoughts leading up to asking and how nervous would he get if he does? Thank you so much! ❤️

LOOK INTO YOUR EYES, AND THE SKY’S THE LIMIT!

— yandere!alastor x fiance to be!reader

— bad day @ school today, this made me feel better HAHAHA

alastor always knew his darling would be the one he’d marry. call it love at first sight, call it an obsession, call it what you want— you were his from the beginning

but now, he’s finally made you fall hard in love with him, as madly in love with him as he has been with you. it’s time for him to pop the question

he’ll create the ring himself out of the shadows of his powers, no ring made by those lowlife jewelers will be perfect enough to have the pleasure to rest itself on his doe’s pretty ring finger; no gem will shine bright enough, no ore will be pure enough, and simply— nothing will ever be good enough.

a precious rose gold ring encrusting a huge diamond, shined to perfection. and, on the inside of the ring; ‘my darling doe’

he’d find it really hard to find the perfect time to propose… after all, this is a once in a lifetime event. everything has to be perfect.

there was no turning back now. tonight would be the night. as he walked with you, arm interlocked with his— his breath heaved. alastor’s eyesight hazed as his muscles stiffened under your gentle touch.

“alastor? dear, are you okay?” you tilted your head at his odder-than-usual behavior. “of course, my doe! why wouldn’t i be?” he said with a bit of fake bravado, the radio static growing with his anxiety.

what if you’d say no? all this courting, just for you to say no. you’ll marry him, that’s the fact. but, it’s up to you whether or not you choose the hard way. he really hopes that you’ll say yes. he wouldn’t want to taint your image of him because of a simple bump in your relationship.

here you are, ducky park— one of your favorite places in hell. the cold iron fence protecting residents from falling into the fiery lava pit as many of lucifer’s ducks follow the flow of the lava.

as you arrived to your favorite lamp post, you took in the gruesome sights of hell, sinners fornicating, murdering, and fighting.

alastor looked down at you, nothing but pure worship in his eyes. you noticed the soft eyes that were gazing down on you, meeting his eyes with your pretty eyes.

“very well then…” alastor sighed, confusing you to no end. he got down on his right knee, pulling a wine-red velvet box from the pocket of his coat.

and then, he revealed the beautiful ring he made for you, drowning in the gorgeous way your big eyes widened in shock, your breath stopping a beat.

he was finally doing it! alastor took a deep breath, calming the nerves that dared to ruin his speech. “my doe, from the very first moment i met you, i have been nothing short of infatuated. i’ve been obsessed with you, from your immeasurable beauty all the way to your sweet innocent heart. i’d like to spend the rest of my afterlife by your side… as your husband. that is… if you allow me that pleasure?” alastor asked breathlessly, taking your left hand in his.

you stood in shock, trying to get the words out of your mouth. “ah… i…” you stuttered. “yes. i will.” you sighed, lifting alastor to his feet.

alastor’s smile grew as he ecstatically placed the ring on your finger, marking you as his darling. you grinned as you pulled him into a kiss, sweetly albeit a bit cliche.

despite wanting to show off his cute doe and now soon-to-be spouse, alastor would only hold a small wedding. close friends of yours, the staff of the hotel, and rosie!

just like your engagement ring, he’d craft the rings himself! two bright gold wedding bands. the initial A carved into the band, boldened by the black ink in the crevice. and for him, a similar band, one imprinted with your initial.

the venue would be just right out of the hotel, within the gates as to make sure you don’t run away or anything! we wouldn’t want that, would we?

he’d let you handle the decor and menu of the wedding, just as long as his darling is happy!

of course, he wouldn’t want you stressing out just before the big day, let your future husband take care of the seating. strange how no men are near your table…

but, don’t fuss over that! you’re finally married to alastor, aren’t you happy, doe?

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hasbin alastor #alastor hc #alastor headcanons #alastor hazbin x reader #yandere

[joelmillerisapunk]

candy hearts

Joel Miller x Reader

masterlist

↳ wordcount: 3k

↳ summary: In the post-apocalyptic world, you and Joel find solace in each other's arms. As you explore an abandoned building, a stray acoustic guitar becomes the catalyst for a passionate night of music and intimacy.

~or~

You find the perfect Valentine's gift for Joel

↳ warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, this is during the outbreak

↳ notes: Happy Valentine's. Will you be mine? 🥹 tysm @saradika-graphics for the dividers.

As you and Joel make your way through another abandoned building, you can't help but feel a sense of relief. It's Valentine's Day, and you're grateful to have Joel's company and a roof currently over your head in the midst of the chaos and uncertainty of the outbreak.

“See If you can find a good spot to set up for the night, I'll make sure the rest of the house is clear.” As Joel starts rummaging through cupboards and drawers, he comes across a stash of old candy hearts tucked away in a corner. "Hey, look at this," he says, picking up the candy and showing it to you. "It's those dumb candy hearts. Must be from before the outbreak."

You walk up to Joel and take a candy, reading the red printed message on it: "U R CUTE." You can't help but smile and chuckle at the simple, heartfelt sentiment.

Joel picks out a candy heart with a message that catches his eye: "Be Mine." He holds it out to you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Well, will ya?," he says, his voice flirty.

You take the candy heart and look at the hard to read text, "Be Mine, huh?" you say, trying to sound coy. "Well, I don't know, Miller. What's in it for me?"

Joel grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "What do you want?" he asks, his voice low and playful.

You give Joel a flirtatious smile and say, "Well, for starters, how about you try to find some blankets for our bed? Wouldn't want to catch a cold on Valentine's Day."

Joel's grin widens, and he nods. "I think I can manage that," he says, his voice full of promise.

As you head upstairs, you continue to playfully banter. "And maybe, just maybe, if you're lucky, I'll let you share my body heat," you say, winking over your shoulder.

Joel chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I'll do my best to earn that privilege," he replies, a playful glint in his eyes.

As you reach the top floor, you start scouting for a good spot to set up camp for the night. You come across a large, open room with a few pieces of furniture scattered around, and you immediately feel drawn to it.

"This looks perfect," you say, setting down your bag and starting to unpack your things. As you're setting up your makeshift bed, you notice something in the corner of the room that catches your eye.

It's an old, worn acoustic guitar.

Your heart skips a beat as you make your way towards it, feeling like you've struck gold. You run your fingers gently over the strings, plucking them softly to test their sound. To your surprise, they don't sound bad, but they could sound better. You quickly remember the spare strings you salvaged a few months back from a broken guitar body and pulled them from your bag, excited to replace the strings and surprise Joel.

But just as you start removing the strings, the job proves harder than usual. Taking the strings off is easy, but you aren't paying attention to where they come out from on the guitar as you pull the original ones out. As you continue, you hear Joel's footsteps on the stairs. You turn around just in time to see him enter the room, a stack of blankets in his arms.

"That doesn't look like a bed," he says, his eyes scanning the room.

You grin, feeling a rush of excitement. "No, it's not," you say, pulling out the new strings that you've been saving for months. "But I found something even better."

Joel's eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he takes in the strings in his calloused hands. "Where did you find these?" he asks, his voice full of curiosity.

"I found them a few months ago," you say, holding up one of the strings. "I was just waiting for the perfect guitar to come along."

Joel chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "And you think that there is the perfect guitar?" he asks, looking at the old acoustic guitar with a skeptical eye.

You nod, feeling a sense of determination. "I do," you say, starting to replace the strings.

He starts watching you with amusement as you try to figure out the first string. “Need help darlin’?”

You look up at him pausing, “No, you already ruined the whole surprise part. I'm not letting you ruin this for me too."

Joel grins, shaking his head in amazement and chukles. "You're kinda sneaky, huh?"

You giggle. "Maybe a little," you wink at him.

As you work, Joel sits down next to you, watching with interest and amusement. “You sure you don't need help? Can I just show you how to do one at least?”

You roll your eyes, trying to act like you've got it all under control, but you can't help but feel a little embarrassed. "Fine, fine," you say, handing the guitar over to Joel.

Joel takes the guitar from you, a smug look on his face. "Alright, let's see what we've got here," he says, examining the guitar closely.

Before you know it he's swapped out more than a couple, “Hey, you said you were gonna show me one not fix the entire thing.”

Joel smiles and then begins showing you how to properly replace a string. You watch carefully, trying to commit his movements to memory.

"Alright, last one you try," he says, handing the guitar back to you.

You take the guitar, feeling a sense of determination. You carefully thread the string through then wrap it around the peg, pulling it tight. You turn the peg, watching as the string tightens and the pitch rises.

Joel's eyes twinkle with excitement as he watches you replace the last string. "Not bad at all," he says, impressed with your progress. "You might just have a talent for this."

You smile, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "Well, I've been saving these strings for the perfect guitar," you say, running your fingers gently over the now-tightened strings.

Joel's eyes linger on your hands, a hint of desire in their depths. "I think you've found the perfect one, alright, darlin"

"I hope so," you say, giving him a playful smile.

Joel grins back, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, let's see if we can get a tune out of it, shall we?" he says, grabbing the guitar and testing the strings.

You pick up the blanket and pillows from your bag, laying them out on the makeshift bed. "You make yourself comfortable while I finish setting up this bed," you say, glancing back at Joel as he tunes the guitar.

Inspecting the guitar, Joel's fingers find the right chords, and the room fills with the sweet sound of a well-played tune. "Well, I'll be damned. It sounds almost new, whatcha think darlin’ how does that sound?" he calls out to you, his voice rich with the melody.

You can't help but be mesmerized. "Sounds amazing," you say, your voice filled with wonder.

Joel smiles, a sense of satisfaction in his eyes. "I've sure missed playin this thing," he says, strumming the guitar once more.

"Would you teach me how to play that?" you ask.

Joel's eyes light up, and he nods enthusiastically. "Of course, darlin'," he says, setting the guitar down and offering it to you.

You take the guitar, feeling a sense of excitement at the prospect of learning something new. Joel sits you down on his lap, guiding your hands as you place them on the strings.

"Now, first things first," he says, adjusting your fingers on the frets. "You've got to get the grip just right."

You nod, focusing intently on Joels hands, mostly how good they feel on top of yours, so large, so rough. "Got it," you say, feeling the strings beneath your fingertips.

Joel's eyes linger on your hands, a hint of desire in their depths. "That's it baby, just like that," he says, his voice low and seductive. "Now, let's try a chord."

You follow his instructions, strumming the strings as he showed you. "Wow, that's actually not as hard as I thought," you say, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

Joel grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "See, you're a natural," he says, winking at you. As you continue to practice playing the guitar, Joel's hands rest on your hips, his breath warm against your neck as he watches you play. The room is filled with the sweet sound of music, and you can't help but feel a sense of contentment.

Finally, Joel sets the guitar aside and looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes. "I think that's enough practice for now," he says. “Come on to bed now, baby.”

The two of you settle into the makeshift bed, pulling the blankets up around you as you snuggle close to one another. "Hey, darlin'," he says, his voice low and seductive. "I'm feeling a little cold. Mind if I snuggle up to you?”

"I'm cold too," you say, your voice low and seductive. "Maybe we can help each other warm up.”

Joel chuckles, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I think that can be arranged," he says, pulling you closer to him.

As you snuggle up to one another, your bodies pressed close together, you can feel the heat radiating off of him, warming your skin and making you feel safe and protected in his arms. You take a moment to breathe in his scent, a mix of sweat, dirt, and something uniquely Joel, that you've come to associate with him and the comfort he brings. Your hands begin to wander over his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath his shirt. You can feel the rough texture of his calluses, evidence of the physical work he's done to survive in this new world, and it only adds to his appeal.

You trace your fingers over the lines of his abs, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch. You move your hands up to his shoulders, feeling the strength in his arms, the way they encircle you, holding you close. Your fingers graze over the rough stubble on his jaw, feeling the way it scrapes against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You lean in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the way they part slightly, welcoming you in. Your hands continue to explore his body, feeling the way his chest rises and falls with each breath, the way his heartbeat quickens beneath your touch.

Joel responds to your kiss, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you closer to him. You can feel the hard length of his erection pressed against you, and it only serves to heighten your desire for him. Joel's hands wander your body, cupping your breasts through the fabric of your shirt. He teases your nipples, causing you to gasp with pleasure.

You break the kiss, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "Joel," you moan, your voice full of need.

Joel's lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. "Yes, darlin'?" he asks, his voice husky with desire.

"I want you," you say, your voice low and seductive.

Joel's eyes darken with desire. "I want you too, darlin'," he says, his voice thick with need.

He lifts your shirt and bra over your head, tossing it aside as his lips find yours once more. He teases your nipples with his tongue, causing you to moan with pleasure.

You run your hands over his chest again, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt. You tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Joel's hands wander down your body, cupping your ass and pulling you closer to him. You can feel the hard length of his erection pressing against you, causing you to moan with need. He trails his lips down your body, kissing and licking at your skin as he goes. He reaches your pants, unbuttoning them and sliding them down your legs. You help kick your pants aside, your body now bare before him. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he takes in the sight of you.

He stands up, removing his pants and boxers in one swift motion. You take in the sight of him, his body muscular, his erection long, thick, and hard. Joel crawls back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours. He looks into your eyes, his own full of desire.

"You sure, darlin'?" he asks, his voice low and seductive.

You nod, your eyes locked on his. "I want you, Joel. I need you."

Joel's eyes darken with desire as he looks into your eyes. "You've got me, darlin'," he says, his voice thick with need. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he positions himself at your entrance. He teases you with the tip of his erection, causing you to moan with need. Finally, he thrusts inside of you, filling you completely. You cry out with pleasure, your body adjusting to the massive intrusion.

Joel sets a slow, steady pace, his hips moving in a slow, circular motion. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside of you, taking exactly what you need. You feel the tension building between you, the pleasure mounting higher and higher like a rollercoaster about to reach the very top of the track. Joel's thrusts become more urgent, his hips moving faster and faster.

As the tension continues to build, you can feel yourself getting closer to coming apart. Each thrust of his hips sends a wave of pleasure crashing through your body, leaving you breathless and trembling. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest as his hands roam your body, exploring every inch of your soft, supple skin.

"Oh god, Joel," you moan, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm so close. Please don't stop."

Joel's response is a low growl, his body tensing as he drives deeper into you. His thrusts become more erratic, his movements more urgent as he races towards his own climax. You can feel his cock swelling inside you, the veins standing out as he pumps his hips faster and faster.

"Fuck, m'gonna come," he gasps, his breath hot against your ear. "You ready for me, baby?"

You nod, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure becomes almost too much to bear. "Please Joel, need your come deep inside me."

With a final, powerful thrust, Joel reaches his climax, his cock twitching as he empties himself deep inside you. You can feel the warmth of his seed spreading through your body, triggering your own release as you cry out his name. Your orgasm rolls through you in waves, leaving you trembling and gasping for breath. Joel collapses on top of you, his body slick with sweat.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him close as your bodies come down from the high. Joel reaches over into the pile of candy hearts and pulls out a new one. He looks at it for a moment, a smug smile spreading across his face.

"Think this one sums up tonight perfectly," he says, holding it out for you to read.

You take the candy from him and read the message aloud, "Heavenly Match."

Your heart flutters, and you can't help but smile. "Couldn't agree more cowboy," you say, leaning in to press a kiss to Joel's lips.

Joel grins, his eyes shining with affection and love. "Forever yours, darlin'," he says, his voice low and husky.

You smile back at him, feeling a sense of warmth and happiness that you've never felt before. "Forever yours," you say, pressing a kiss to his lips.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you bask in the afterglow of your love. As you lie there in each other's arms, basking in the warmth of your love, you realize that amidst the chaos of the world around you, you've found a sanctuary in each other. The abandoned building may be filled with shadows and uncertainty, but in this moment, there's nothing but the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the windows, casting a gentle light on your intertwined bodies.

With a contented sigh, you snuggle closer to Joel, feeling his steady heartbeat against your chest. In his embrace, you find solace, strength, and a sense of belonging that you never thought possible in this harsh new world.

As you drift off to sleep, the sweet melody of the guitar still echoing in your mind, you know that no matter what tomorrow may bring, you'll face it together, hand in hand, hearts intertwined, forever bound by the unbreakable bond of love.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you