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film-bro-hotch · 1 year

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I'll Cowboy the Best - Hotch x Fem!Reader - one shot

I have been working on this one for a little bit, but it has been so fun. This is 100% self-indulgent (like most of my stuff), but I really hope you all like it. I have to give credit where credit is due, though, because I used to despise the holidays. It wasn't until living with @honeypiehotchner that I have maybe started to like them a little. What was supposed to be a funny cowboy!Hotch fic has now turned into a Holiday Season cowboy!Hotch fic. Thanks, K. The month of December is a bit more tolerable because of you ;)

Synopsis: You are visiting family on their Texas farm for the holidays and decide it's time your boyfriend meet your parents. One of your problems, though, is that your family isn't too fond of him. There is nearly a 10 year age gap between the two of you, and worst of all, he is your boss. Hotch is determined to make them like him, even if that means saddling up and playing the part of a cowboy.

Warnings: This is an age-gap relationship, but these two are both consenting adults. Reader is near 30 - we don't do that huge age gap stuff. Also there are discussions about the inherent power dynamics between you and Hotch with him as your boss. But mostly this is fluff! This is a happy story!

WC: 8.2k

Find me a horse that I can cover Find me some stars to sleep under Find me a train, I’ll hop out west If she wants a cowboy, I’ll cowboy the best

You watched his hand flex as he gripped the wheel a little bit tighter. Usually this kind of behavior was reserved for when you were in a high-speed chase trying to catch an unsub and Hotch was about to pull some stupid move and drift an SUV in a way that it certainly wasn’t made to do.

But that wasn’t the case. You were on day two of your trip down to visit family, and you had switched off drivers a few hours ago. You had offered to drive the rest of the way since you knew the town, but Hotch insisted for some reason you couldn’t quite figure out yet. Driving instead of flying was your idea in the first place anyway.

He looked less than enthused, but you somehow managed to talk him into it. You only had about 30 minutes before you were supposed to make it to your family’s Texas ranch, and he seemed to be getting more stressed by the minute.

“Aaron, are you good? You’ve been tense for the past hour, and we aren’t on a crowded interstate.” Truth be told, you had only passed maybe 5 other cars in that time.

“I’m okay, really. I’m just…a little nervous.”

It was something that you hadn’t really thought of. It would make sense, though. Meeting the parents was something nerve-wracking anyway, but Hotch probably hadn’t had to do it since high school. And your parents were already…not exactly thrilled with him. He was almost ten years older than you, and he was your boss. Both your mom and your dad were quick to point out the implications, and the trouble both of you could get into for dating. You had mostly brushed it off, changed the subject or made an excuse to hang up the phone, but being there for the holidays made it much more difficult to ignore.

You were gentle as you placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing your thumb along his muscle. “It’s going to be okay, I promise. Once they get to know you, they are going to love you just as much as I do.”

He played off a laugh and muttered, “Well I hope not that much,” to which you promptly slapped the arm you had just been caressing.

“You know what I meant,” you said with a pointed gaze, but that smirk on your face let him know you weren’t actually mad.

The rest of the ride was uneventful, the majority of your scenery being flat, snow-covered farmland and the occasional herd of cows. Your family’s ranch was one of the closer ones to town, meaning that it was still a good 20 minutes to any store. You could tell that Hotch was analyzing everything as they entered the driveway, committing all of it to memory. The driveway was still gravel, the familiar sound of tires crushing and compacting the rocks and snow beneath settled your nerves a little. The house you grew up in was the exact same as the day you left to move to Virginia. A one story brick home, classic white shutters and a porch that looked like it needed to be restained. Your mother had her Christmas lights on the porch, though it was more because she never took them down than her getting into the holiday spirit.

The farm was mostly corn, some pole beans and cucumbers planted throughout to help with the soil, though none of that was planted now with the cold. The other half of the land was grazing for the cows, goats, and chickens, and a small barn kept the few horses your parents still had around.

“You didn’t tell me it was a farm,” he said with a cocked eyebrow. You might have fibbed a little and just said you lived on a lot of land growing up, which wasn’t untrue.

“You never asked,” you said simply. You were already out of the car before he could say anything more. It was the perfect kind of cold outside. Just a little nippy to wake you up, but no harsh wind feeling like it was cutting your cheeks open. You had only grabbed one bag of your luggage when you heard the screen door open, followed by quick steps on the gravel as your mother called your name. She pulled you into a hug, kissing the side of your head and then your cheek.

“It is so good to see you! I was just telling your daddy, I can’t believe the two of you drove all the way here!” she said. You looked over at Aaron, offering him an encouraging smile.

It didn’t last too long, though. You hadn’t even heard the screen door open, but your dad had found his way outside at some point and was leaning against the porch railing. “He could have easily bought y'all tickets.” So this was how the trip was starting.

Aaron may have had so much experience with confrontation, but you could still see his tells, his little ticks that gave away his nerves. Usually his shoulders were relaxed and he stood at his full height. You could see the tension even through his winter coat. He was slouching a little, perhaps bringing himself a bit lower. Even with that, he towered over your dad. You were about to defend him, tell your dad it was your idea, but Aaron spoke first, talking as he walked over to your dad.

“Good thing we didn’t fly. That front coming in has delayed or canceled almost every flight out of D.C. Besides, I wouldn’t want to hassle you with having to pick us up at the airport,” he started, offering his hand to shake. “Aaron Hotchner.”

Your dad wasn’t the most cheery person anyway, but you could tell he wasn’t exactly thrilled at having Aaron here. He did, however, pride himself on being a gentleman, so he shook his hand. “Curtis L/N. Good to finally meet you in person.”

“You too. Y/N has told me so much about you and your wife. I’m curious to see how much of what she told me is true.” He was taking a risky move joking like that, but at the very least it got a huff out of your dad, which was better than the blank stare you would get sometimes when you made a joke.

“Come on, let’s get inside! I don’t want to freeze my ass off,” you said, earning a look of disapproval from your mother for the curse, but the two of you grabbed the bags from the car and followed the men inside.

Your mother, being the gracious host she always had to be, left the bags by the door and pointed down the hall. “Now at the very end is the spare bedroom that you can sleep in, Aaron. It’s got a little bathroom attached to it,” she then turned to look at you, “you can just use our bathroom, sweetie.” Oh, you should have expected this. You knew your parents were traditional, so of course there was no way they were going to let you share a room with him unless you had his last name.

While you loved your parents and were happy to see them after living in D.C. for so long, you were quite tired, and there was only so much of them you could take. “Thanks, mom, but I think Aaron and I are pretty tired. We’ve been driving all day, so we might turn in a little early.” You look at Hotch, expecting him to agree, but he seemed quite determined to get your parents to like him.

“I can stay up and talk a little longer,” he started, but your dad was already waving his hand dismissively.

“I’m usually out like a light before 8:00. I ain’t got much socializing left in me today,” he said, to which Aaron gave a quick nod, wished your parents good night, and went to the guest bedroom. If you were able to follow him, you would joke that your dad sounded a little like him. He may pull late nights at the BAU, but if he could keep from socializing, he would.

You may have been in your childhood bedroom, but you found it incredibly hard to sleep that night. Perhaps it was because you had been away so long that the place felt foreign to you now. Maybe it was the anxiety of your parent’s approval, or maybe it was the fear that after meeting your family, Hotch wouldn’t want to stay in the relationship. You chastised yourself for that one. You knew it was a stupid thought. You grabbed the phone on your nightstand, deciding to text him.

Maybe it’s a good thing we didn’t get to share a room. We wouldn’t have been able to get away with anything with that squeaky mattress. I can hear you every time you turn

His reply was quick, almost like he had been debating texting you as well. I feel like I’m sixteen again.

I told you I would make you feel younger

Not exactly the way I thought you would do it.

You stared at the message for a moment, knowing he probably felt some of the same anxieties, which was saying something considering Aaron Hotchner was not an anxious person. You should go ahead and get some sleep. They will probably be up early working

I love you.

I love you too

—

You woke up the next morning a little earlier than you usually would have, though you attributed it to the fact that you went to bed pretty early, and you were dealing with a time change, so it was really closer to 9:00 back home. You could smell breakfast in the kitchen, likely cooked a while ago and your mother left it out for you to reheat whenever you got up. When you walked out, you could see the door to the guest room open, but when you peeked inside, Hotch wasn’t there.

Going down the hall to the kitchen, he wasn’t in there either. You went about your business, fixing a plate of eggs, bacon, biscuits with gravy, and a little bit of grits. Coffee had been brewed probably an hour ago, but you fixed yourself a cup, stirring in sugar and cream before heading outside to the porch where you knew your parents were probably sitting and drinking their coffee. They had probably already worked this morning, feeding the cows and chickens and horses.

It was still cold, but most of the snow had melted, and your dad had put heaters by the porch for this very reason. Your mom does this every morning and still complains that it’s cold, so I had to fix something, he had said to you on the phone one night. A heater didn’t sound too bad right then.

“Mornin’ sweetheart,” you heard the moment the screen door creaked open.

“Morning,” you replied, taking the rocking chair on the other side of your mother, “Have you seen Aaron this morning?”

“He went out into town a little bit ago. Said he forgot a couple things and needed to run to the store. I’m having him pick up some more Folgers while he’s out,” she said, cradling her vintage coffee mug in her hand with a smug smile. You know that partly why she missed you was because she missed sending someone else into town. But what could Aaron have possibly missed? He was so particular when it came to packing. He had lists for his lists, and he went over everything with a fine-toothed comb.

You were about halfway through your breakfast and cup of coffee when you heard the sound of tires against the gravel. You cradled your cup, watching as Aaron stepped out of the car, going to the back and picking up a few grocery bags, a hand behind his back. He swiftly moved up the steps to the porch, kissing your cheek and whispering, “Morning.” He revealed his arm and handed a bouquet of flowers, blue hydrangeas mixed with baby’s breath. The second bouquet he handed to your mother along with a comically large red tin. “I didn’t forget about you. Sunflowers and a value-sized Folgers classic roast for you.” You knew what he was doing, and it was totally working on your mom.

“Aaron, you shouldn’t have,” she said as she took the flowers, inspecting each petal carefully.

“In the Christmas spirit already, St. Nick?” you teased, looking up at him from behind your mug. He had a half grin on his face, shrugging his shoulders.

“Maybe for some people,” he joked dryly.

He made his way inside, presumably to go about putting the groceries away.

Your mother started a little conversation, asking you a few things about your job, D.C., and about Aaron. It wasn’t long before that conversation turned into your mother going on about the town gossip. How Claire that you went to high school with was married and had two kids with her highschool sweetheart, how they still lived down the road from their parents. You loved yours, but you could not fathom staying in the same zip code as them as an adult. She told you about her hairdresser and how “Bless her heart, she’s new, so she doesn’t quite know what I like yet.”

At some point during the conversation, your dad had made his way inside, his cup of coffee gone as well. It was when you made the realization that your boyfriend was now left alone with your dad that the door opened, both men walking out and heading down the porch steps.

“Where are you guys going?” you asked, trying to hide the concern in your voice.

“I’m just going to show him around the farm,” your dad said, but there was a glint in his eye that told you he was going to do much more. Aaron looked back at you with a look that screamed help me and was perhaps the most boyish you had seen him in your relationship. As much as you wanted, you couldn’t really do anything, so you watched them walk down the gravel drive toward the barn and said a silent prayer that your father wasn’t planning on killing a federal agent.

“And this right here is my 57’ Thunderbird. I don’t take her out much, only on special occasions.” Curtis had been showing Hotch around the barn for about thirty minutes, telling him all about how it worked, how the hay was kept in the loft which had holes to the feeding troughs in each stall. He seemed the picture of calm, but Hotch could tell he was just waiting for the right moment to talk about the elephant in the room. The older man turned to Hotch, and he expected it to be then that he asked him why the hell he was messing with his daughter.

“You ever rode a horse, Aaron?”

He was taken aback by the question. He had been prepared for anything - for accusations, for an interrogation, for some kind of psychoanalysis, but this…

“No, I haven’t,” he replied hesitantly. “Why are you asking me this.”

“Because you are going to ride a horse today, boy.”

Hotch had decided that this was worse than any kind of interrogation he was expecting from your father. No, this had to be some kind of divine punishment for a wrongdoing he couldn’t fathom. He should have been offended that your dad called him “boy.” He hadn’t been called that in decades.

Curtis had already left him by the vintage car and was walking toward a section of the barn to the side with concrete floors. One half looked to be open stalls for grooming, and the other side was filled with saddles, blankets, different ropes and metal chains. He had no idea what was used for what, and part of him was terrified your dad had a murder weapon hidden amongst everything. What should have been the trim by the ceiling was covered with award ribbons of various colors, but an overwhelming amount seemed to be blue. Upon further inspection, it looked as though they were organized by year. The wall closest to the stables held a corkboard with no more room for pictures or trinkets. Tickets and newspaper clippings covered each other, a cluster of memories dating back to around the same time as the ribbons on the wall.

“How much did she tell you? About all this?” Curtis asked, motioning to the board and ribbons.

“She would bring it up sometimes. Always fondly. She told me the family showed livestock and raced horses.”

Curtis crossed his arms, an almost sad sense of nostalgia filling his tone. “Not so much anymore. It’s not as big as it used to be, and I’m getting a little old for hog-tying a calf.”

Hotch found himself laughing, a little surprised he actually cracked a joke.

“There was one time we were in Montana for a case. We were in the middle of nowhere in the mountains, and the local police helping us were all on horses for our search. She joined them like it was nothing. One of our coworkers asked why she never told us she could ride, and she just smiled and said we never asked.” The more Aaron thought about it, the more he realized in that instance you sounded a bit like your dad. He could see now why you put up with his dry sense of humor, and why you had a bit of it too.

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you today,” Curtis started, grabbing a saddle. It was an older one compared to the shiny, brighter ones displayed on the wall. This one was still a deep reddish brown but had discoloration in the most well-loved spots. Decorative etchings lined the leather, and silver pieces whose design was near flat adorned places where leathers met. Curtis handed him the saddle, picking up a blanket and a few other roped materials for the horse.

The two walked back into the stabled area, and Curtis stopped at one of the few stalls that actually had a horse inside. “Now most of them go out in the pasture, but Ole Handsome here likes his solitude.” The horse was like salt and pepper, a white sprinkled throughout with gray and black. It was hard to tell exactly what was his color and what was dirt.

“Ole Handsome?” Hotch asked, raising a brow.

“We got him when Y/N was about 15 I think. Even for a colt he was a scrawny little thing. Looked just pitiful, but she loved him. I started callin him Ole Handsome as a joke, and it just stuck. Now he fits the name.”

It was an odd moment for Aaron, looking at this animal, a tangible piece of your past that you rarely shared. It made him smile just a bit.

Hotch stood back and watched as your father led the horse out of the stable, slipping the bridle onto the horse with an ease that showed that had both done it a million times before. He went along with the blanket, adding the saddle on top and tightening it with expert hands. Your dad looked back at Hotch, motioning him forward. He wasn’t going to admit it, but the fact that this creature was nearly as tall as him and could easily crush him scared the shit out of him.

“Now what you’ll do is put your left foot in the stirrup, yup, that thing right there,” he pointed as Hotch followed his words. “Now grab a little bit of his mane.”

“His hair?” Aaron asked, unable to hide his shock. Was he trying to trick him? Would this horse not just bolt the moment he tugged on its hair?

“Well you don’t put all your damn weight on it,” Curtis said, motioning to the other side of the saddle. “You’re gonna hold on to that with your other hand and push yourself up with the stirrup. Holding the mane is just so you are holding on to something else. It ain’t gonna bother him if you pull just a little. It’s like brushing hair with a knot.”

Aaron was hesitant, but he gently placed his left hand on the horse’s mane, taking a fistful while trying to be gentle. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised by the texture. It was much more coarse and wiry than he had been expecting. “Don’t kill me,” he breathed to the horse before placing his other hand on the other side of the saddle and pushing himself up, swinging his leg over and finding the other stirrup.

Curtis looked half surprised, half impressed. “Wasn’t so hard, now was it?” he asked, taking the reins and pulling them in the front so he could lead the horse. “Now you’ll want to sit up straight when you’re riding. Put your hands on the pommel of the saddle. I’ll just walk him around a few circles so you’ll know how it feels.” He made a soft clicking sound with his mouth and gave a gentle tug on the reins, and Ole Handsome gave a snort before moving forward. The motion at first was a little jarring. Hotch felt like he had to fight to keep balance, though he attributed that more to his nerves than anything else.

The motion of the saddle almost reminded him of ocean waves, a rocking that sent him forward and back. It was a rhythm that was jarring at first, but after a few circles became welcomed.

“See, not so bad,” Curtis said. “Want to take it up to a trot?”

To be honest, Hotch didn’t know exactly what that entailed, but he was willing to try just about anything to win your dad’s favor. “Sure,” he said, finding himself holding on to the saddle a little bit tighter.

—

You and your mother had been watching the boys from inside the house as the two of you cleaned up breakfast. It started as fearful glances to the barn, making sure you still saw his figure standing by your father in the hopes that your dad hadn’t killed him and hid his body. You could see the two of them talking by your dad’s vintage car, but between drying a few dishes, they had left and weren’t in your eyesight. You were watching out of your own fear and anxiety, your mother was watching because she found it incredibly entertaining.

You tried to tell yourself to calm down, that you were overthinking and working yourself up, and you did manage to calm down a little bit. You had fixed yourself a hot cup of tea and had joined your mother by the heater on the porch. It was upon sitting down in the rocking chair and looking into the barn that you saw your boyfriend riding your horse.

“Holy shit,” you said, not even bothering to censor yourself for your mother’s sake. “What the hell is dad doing?”

“Language,” your mother said with a pointed gaze, sipping on her second cup of coffee. “Evidently your father conned your poor boyfriend into getting on Ole Handsome. I’m just keeping an eye on the two of them.”

So much of you was terrified for Hotch, but part of you was shocked your father even managed to get him on, and another part was impressed because Aaron was actually doing well.

“Don’t look so scared. Your daddy won’t kill him, at least I don’t think,” your mother had said, moving back and forth in her rocking chair, a fuzzy blanket in her lap, covering her lower half.

Later your father would swear that it was a barn mouse that scurried in front of your horse. You thought it was a little more intentional, but either way, something scared Ole Handsome, enough for your father to lose grip on the lead as he sprinted off towards the pasture, Aaron holding on surprisingly well. You practically skipped the steps of the porch in your haste, running through the barn to chase after the two. When you caught sight of Aaron, he was off the horse, pulling himself up from the ground, dusting off an arm of his jacket.

“Are you okay? I just saw Handsome bolt,” you said, taking him by the shoulder and looking him over.

He brushed your hand off, somehow having good spirits about the whole thing. Did he get a concussion? What seemed to shock you the most was that he actually started laughing.

It took him a moment to actually stop laughing, and you could have sworn you saw a tear in the corner of his eye. “In all my career, I’ve been shot at, I’ve gotten my ass kicked, I have been in multiple car chases and accidents, but nothing has scared me as much as when that thing started to run.”

You heard your dad’s jogging footsteps behind you, calling out, “You okay, Aaron?”

Hotch gave him a breathless thumbs up. “Never been better, Mr. L/N.”

And you had never heard a more obvious lie. Yesterday’s snow had mostly melted away by then, but you knew it was still cold. The ground was still frozen and hard, and Hotch was sure to have a mark wherever he landed.

“Y’all go on inside. I’ll go fetch Handsome before he tears down one of my damn fences again,” your father said, giving Hotch a quick pat on his arm, the one you hoped he didn’t fall on. “I gotta admit, you did a hell of a lot better than I thought you would.”

Aaron gave a little half laugh, something between finding a genuine humor in the situation and not knowing what else to do. “Thanks,” he said. You could hear the edge of a question in his voice, something that told you he wasn’t quite sure if he meant it or not. As the two of you walked back, your arm locked with his, you reassured him that your dad wasn’t one to give out compliments. Hotch joked and asked if that was considered a compliment, and you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face.

“In his own little way, yeah. And right now we are going to take what we can get.”

You took care of Hotch for the rest of the day, coddled him really. He tried to tell you that he was fine, that it didn’t hurt more than anything he had gotten on the job. You pointedly told him that was a terrible scale considering most of the BAU had been shot at some point in their career. He only agreed a little, but you think he enjoyed the peace the day brought after his hectic morning.

The two of you sat on the couch most of the day, curled up against each other with a blanket as you kept the Hallmark channel on. Your mom joined for one of the movies considering these were her favorite things to watch during the holiday season. You may have inherited a love for their cheesy, cliche nature from her. Meanwhile, Aaron would point out plot inconsistencies or try to psychoanalyze the characters. You would throw a piece of popcorn at his face when he would, rolling your eyes and saying, “Aaron, babe, these movies aren’t supposed to be that serious. Now shut up and watch the successful journalist find her true love from high school in her hometown coffee shop.”

You weren’t sure what movie you were on when you dozed off, your head on Aaron’s shoulder and his arm around you as he suffered through the cheesy movie you weren’t awake to watch. Your mother had gone to bed not too long ago. You were beginning to nod back into reality, and you noticed your side was colder than before, whatever body heat Aaron had given you was gone with him. You were starting to tune into a conversation in the kitchen.

“You really want to help out? 5:00a.m. I want you up and ready by then. I’ve got to feed the animals, and one of the fences needs repair.”

Was your dad really trying to get Aaron to help around the farm? You started to stir on the couch which quickly hushed both voices. When you looked up, Aaron was taking steps toward you.

“Sorry if I woke you. The couch was starting to kill my back a little. Maybe an actual bed would be better to rest on after getting thrown off a horse.”

You gave a soft nod, still half asleep. “Yeah. Are you going to bed?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding towards your dad in the kitchen, “early morning tomorrow.”

Aaron was no stranger to waking up early, though he hadn’t exactly planned on getting up that early during his time off. It’s okay, this is all for her. Just get him to tolerate you, he told himself. Your dad didn’t need to become his biggest fan. He just needed to see that he cared for you. And if that meant getting up before the sun and shoveling frozen shit in the snow, he would do it.

Five in the morning came much sooner than Aaron wanted it to. The sun wasn’t even up, so he found himself yawning much more than he would have cared for. At the very least, his new purchases would come into use. When he went out into town the day before, he did stop by the grocery store for flowers and coffee, but he also stopped by one of the stores that were tailored for western and work wear. The amount he spent buying work boots, cowboy boots, even a high-quality hat…Rossi would have laughed in his face if he ever found out.

He pulled on the steel-toed boots, a slick design that he at least could find a way to style later. He didn’t want to drop nearly $200 on shoes he was just buying to appeal to your parents - he already did that with more traditional boots. Hotch pulled his puffer jacket a little closer and made his way to the porch where Curtis was already sitting with a cup of coffee. Of course.

As he opened the screen door, Curtis looked down at his watch, raising a brow. “Couple minutes late, but to be honest I thought you would have slept through morning chores,” he said, his eyes finally meeting Hotch and looking him up and down.

“What the hell are you wearing?” Curtis asked, his eyes specifically pointed down at his shoes. Well shit, Hotch thought, these clearly weren’t the right boots.

“They are work boots…with the steel toe,” he said, tapping the porch with the end of his boot.

“They are Blundstones,” Curtis said bluntly.

What did that even mean? “Is that not good?”

“Well for one, that’s the cleanest work boot I’ve ever seen. Second, Blundstones are what the frilly boys down in Houston wear when they want to look the part. Any real worker is wearing Ariat or Carhartt. Simple as that.”

Yes, the hierarchy of work boots. Simple as that.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Let’s get to work.”

It had snowed when they arrived, and though most of it had left yesterday, sometime during the night it started again. There wasn’t much on the ground, but it was still falling. He figured they would have a decent bit by the time you and your mother were up. While it was still relatively dark outside, the whiteness of the snow seemed to give just a little more light.

“First order of business, it’s cold enough that the top of the water in the horse’s trough might be frozen,” he continued on as he handed Aaron some kind of metal rod and gloves, “Just break it and get the chunks of ice out for them. Once that is done, you can get the feed out of this bucket here. Two scoops should do the trick, and if the goat that hangs out with the horses cries for more, don’t listen.”

Aaron followed the orders dutifully, feeling like he was back in training when he first joined the FBI. Sure enough, like Curtis said, the water at the top was frozen, but it didn’t take much to break it apart, tossing the glass-looking shards of ice to the side. He turned the buckets over, ridding them of the snow that had accumulated during the night and started to fill them with food. He had only put one scoop in when he heard a sound like thunder, a group of horses making their way to the edge of the fence, crunching snow beneath them. A little goat, white as the snow and with stumps on his head where it looked like horns should have been, followed right behind them.

Hotch continued to fill the buckets, putting two scoops in like Curtis had said. The horses had started to eat, and when he approached the last one, the goat seemed to be waiting patiently like some well-trained golden retriever. He placed the two scoops in and turned to leave, stopping only when he heard a loud bleating sound from the goat.

“I’m not giving you anymore,” he said dryly.

The goat bleated again.

“No.”

It cried again, an awful wavering sound with a touch of an attitude behind it.

“For God’s-”

“Hotchner, are you yelling at the damn goat?” Curtis called from the barn.

“No, sir,” he called back, his jaw setting as he looked back at the animal. “No more food,” he whispered, walking back towards the barn.

Curtis was already putting gloves on, a roll of barbed wire by his side. He handed Hotch a shovel and what looked to be a metal fence post. “Handsome wasn’t very kind to my fence after he threw you off yesterday,” he muttered, though he seemed rather unphased by it all. The more he spent time on the farm, the more he wondered how anyone could see these animals normally. Yeah, the five-foot-tall, nine-hundred-pound thing running and ripping your fence out of the ground is pretty normal.

The two men walked along the fencing and frozen ground, soon enough coming up to the post and wire that needed replacing. Even with the gloves, Hotch’s hands were freezing. The kind of cold where it almost feels like they are burning. “Let’s get this over with so we can go inside and get some coffee,” Aaron said, earning a raised brow from your father.

“Chickening out already?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well then get to diggin’.”

The ground was much harder to break than he thought it would be, but the physical work at least warmed him up a little. After a few hard strikes with the shovel, he finally had enough depth to where he could push the post in securely. Once the post was in, repairing the fence didn’t take long. Curtis connected it to the rest of the fencing and checked the stability before he called it a day and said the two of them should head inside.

Hotch was happy to take off his coat and start brewing the coffee. The sun was just starting to appear, though it seemed that neither you or your mother were up yet. Curtis walked into the kitchen, grabbing a cup for himself. “You know, Aaron, I’ve got a confession to make.”

Whatever followed those words was never good. “Okay.”

“Usually I don’t make guests do farm work like that, you know. But after seeing you get on that horse yesterday…I kinda just wanted to see how far you would go. You seemed committed to trying to impress me, so I thought it would be fun to test it, and I believe I was right.”

Hotch leaned against the counter for a moment, listening to the coffee maker groan as the pot filled with the steaming liquid he hoped would get him through the conversation to come. “And? Are you impressed?”

“I suppose for a fed I shouldn’t be surprised by your dedication. I guess what I am still trying to figure out is why an older man like yourself, with a son, would want someone like my daughter. The answers to those questions are never something a dad wants to hear, but you can figure why I wanna know. Not to mention that you are her boss, and I won’t have you screwing up her career. I hate not to have her home, but that job makes her proud, and I won’t have you fuckin’ it up for her.”

Aaron didn’t want to admit it, but all of those were valid points. The optics of your relationship were…questionable at best. He knew that the moment you started your relationship. It was still something kept on the down low, even though you were practically living together. No one else in the BAU knew…except Rossi. He knew Hotch a little too well and connected the dots. And he caught the two of you having dinner out one night. Being aware of the faults didn’t get rid of the inherent power dynamics, though. Aaron was in a position of power over you, and the thought that you could have felt pressured at all made him sick.

“I know there is not much I can do about our age differences or the fact that she works under me, but I want you to know that there is nothing I wouldn’t do for your daughter, Mr. L/N. If need be, I have paperwork ready for a transfer. I would rather lose my job than lose her.”

It was the first time Hotch saw genuine shock cross Curtis’s face. “So you have actually thought about this?”

“I have…a lot. And I know that your daughter makes me the happiest I have ever been, and I hope I do the same for her. It’s why I got up this early on my time off to help, it’s why I agreed to ride that stupid horse and not complain when he threw me off. It’s why I dropped nearly $700 dollars on boots and a hat.” That last part kept the shock on Curtis’s face. “I did it because you are important to her, so I wanted you to like me.”

Curtis seemed to process all that he said, crossing his arms and starting to quietly fix his cup of coffee. Was he just going to leave the conversation there? He could see a slight rise and drop in his shoulders as he fixed the drink, and it took Hotch a little too long to realize he was laughing at him.

“You’ve gotta be some special kind of stupid if you thought spending that much money on boots and a hat was gonna make me like you more. You really are a fed…but you’re alright, I reckon.”

He was alright. It was much better than any other outcome that has run through his head. “Thank you, sir.”

“Ah, now don’t get ahead of yourself. I’m still not exactly fond of your relationship…but you make her happy, and it’s pretty clear she’s doing the same for you.”

In the end, that was all that mattered to Hotch. That you were happy, and that he was the reason.

—

Like the morning before. You woke up more from the sun being in your eyes than your body telling you to wake up. The snow made the reflection of the sun much brighter. You groaned as you made your way out of bed, throwing on sweatpants and walking into the kitchen to find a sight you never thought possible.

Aaron and your dad were in the kitchen. They had both borrowed your mother’s aprons and were in the process of finishing up making breakfast.

“Did Hell freeze over while I was asleep?” you asked, unable to hide just how baffled you were at the sight. You were sure your dad hated him.

“Sweetie, sometimes Christmas miracles do happen. Best not balk at them,” your dad joked. Aaron just gave a shrug that said something along the lines of “take what you can get.” Most of the food was already on the table and ready, the sunflowers Aaron had given your mother yesterday were in a vase at the center.

The spread on the table was a lot like the day before. Eggs, bacon, grits, and all the fixings. What was new, though, was the addition of pancakes that seemed to have something in them. “Are those pancakes with pecans?” you asked, a little more excited than you meant to sound.

“Just for you,” Aaron added, placing the bottle of maple syrup by them. The two of you would often make these at either of your apartments, usually listening to The Beatles’ white album from front to back. Sometimes you would even catch Aaron using the whisk as a microphone when he thought you weren’t looking.

You couldn’t help the feeling of peace that a breakfast like this gave you. Having your parents there reminded you of when you were a kid, but the kind of domesticity that was Aaron Hotchner making pancakes with a stupid apron was something that just couldn’t be replicated. It was simple, but it was perhaps what made you happiest.

After breakfast, you decided to take Aaron out for a walk, wanting to see how he was holding up with the pressure of your father. Selfishly, you also wanted to see if maybe he was thinking the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

The snow under your feet was near perfect. Fluffy, not too frozen or mixed too much with water that hadn’t turned to snow. Each step it crunched under your boot with a satisfying sound. You forgot how beautiful the farm looked in winter. Icicles dangled from the gutter of the barn and little beads of melting ice clung to the trees like they were ornaments. The sun was out and heating up the land just a little to start to melt the snowy landscape, but for this moment it gave a bright sheen to everything.

Somehow in this snowy place, Aaron looked even better. The sun gave his black hair the lightest hints of a ruddy brown. The cool, nippy air gave his cheeks and the tip of his nose a dusted red hue. You were sure the tips of his ears looked that way too, though you couldn’t see for his beanie. He looked softer, more at peace than the supervisory special agent you knew at the BAU. This wasn’t Hotch. This was Aaron. This was the man you had fallen in love with. Even in the cold, bundled up like this with him felt like home.

“You know, this is the perfect snow for building stuff,” you said casually, looking at him out of the corner of your eye.

“Hm?” he raised a brow, seeming to wonder where you were going with this. You pulled away from his arm, leaning down and grabbing a handful of snow.

“You know, it’s perfect for snowmen and forts. When I was a kid I would make a snowman and then try and make snow farm animals,” you said, continuing to pack snow into a tight little unit. “Hey, Aaron?” you mused, waiting for him to look over before taking the compressed ball of snow and chucking it right at his face. It exploded right at his forehead, taking his beanie off. Flakes of snow clung to his hair, his eyebrows, his lashes. You could see a scowl starting to form on his face, and you were worried if you actually had hurt him or annoyed him.

“You know, that was really immature of you,” he started, leaning down to pick up his beanie. You took a step forward, opening your mouth to apologize and instead having it filled with snow as Aaron launched some at your face. You took a step back, nearly losing your balance as you tried to spit out the cold. When you looked up, Aaron was doubled over, laughing and wiping the snow off his brow.

“Oh, that was a dirty move,” you said.

“I didn’t realize we were playing fair,” he said, breathless from his laughter, the clouds of his breath visible.

“We certainly aren’t now.” At the same time you both went for the ground, trying to craft an arsenal of snowballs as fast as you could. You were the first to throw, but he was quick on his feet and dodged, throwing one toward you and pelting you in the shoulder.

You weren’t sure how long this went on for, the two of you running around in the snow like little kids again. The way when you finally made it to his side, you tackled him to the ground. He rolled over, tossing snow in the air, in your face, in both your jackets. It was impractical, and childish, and stupid, and you hadn’t seen a smile this wide on his face in a long time.

The rest of the day was spent much like the day before, sitting at the television with the Hallmark channel going. It was sometime around 4:00 that Aaron spoke up and asked, “How long would it take you to get ready?”

You had an odd look on your face, your brows scrunched as you tried to understand what he could possibly have planned. “An hour, give or take a few minutes. Why?”

He smiled a little, a curl of his lip that didn’t yet show his teeth. “Just get ready. Don’t be too fancy. Pants might be preferable,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before leaving the couch. “I’ve got to get a shower before we go.”

You wanted to call after him ‘go where?” but he was already down the hall. He had that look in his eye, the one that showed up when he had a plan for a date night but didn’t want to tell you. Usually he was pretty bad at keeping secrets like that from you, but this time…you really had no clue what he had planned.

It wasn’t until a little over an hour later you sat in the kitchen, flipping through one of your mother’s worn cookbooks that you started to put the pieces together. You had dressed somewhat casually. Jeans, boots, and a nicer top, a jacket hanging on the chair beside you. When Hotch came out from the always, though, you weren’t sure whether you should laugh or find it a little hot.

At his feet were boots. Real boots with the pointed toe, though most of the design was hidden by his jeans. They were…different from the jeans he normally wore. A little tighter and actually showed off his ass a bit. You tried not to stare as he did a little spin, hands on his hip asking if you liked it. The belt buckle was huge, one you couldn’t tell the engraving of from this far away. His shirt was tucked into his jeans, a of type western-styled button-up, each button even up to the very top, done. And the cherry on top of it all was the cowboy hat. His fucking cowboy hat. White, clearly of well quality, and fitting him just right. You didn’t think cowboys were your type, but Hotch as one…you could get behind this.

Your silence seemed to worry him, though, as his face fell a little. “You don’t like it, do you?”

You shook your head, taking a few steps his way. “No, I like it,” you said and unbuttoned the top two buttons. “But now I love it.” You smiled against his lips as yours met his, lingering with your hands on his chest for a moment longer. “Should I even ask how much you spent on all of this?”

“When I let it slip to you dad, he compared me to a frilly Houston boy.”

“Oh, so what I’m hearing is I’ll be paying for food tonight?”

“Now, I never said that. Besides, if I have learned anything about your father, it’s that he liked tradition. So I will be paying, and driving, and dropping you off at a reasonable hour.”

You rolled your eyes a little, but you still had a smile on your face. Your dad and Hotch…you never actually thought the two of them would get along, but somehow he actually managed to win your dad over. Aaron wrapped your coat over your shoulders, your arm holding his as the two of you walked to the car. “Hey Aaron?” you mused, “Could you wear this a little more often?”

“Only for you - and only when we are far away from Virginia.” You gave your cowboy one more longing kiss before the two of you rode off into the night.

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anotherkindofloveletters · 1 year

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Hello! I was wondering if you can do a Charles one where him and the reader are childhood friends and Charles and his family moved so him and the reader lost connection and he kinda forgot about her but the reader still watches his races and one day she goes to one of his GP’s and recognizes her?🥰

You’re a Pond and I’m an Ocean – Charles Leclerc x Reader

request

Hi! So I really loved this idea and I hope I made justice to it. I’ve just decided to change a little thing because it made more sense to me that the one moving would be y/n rather than Charles considering most of the drivers live in Monaco. I really liked writing it, let me know if it was good enough. Thank you for trusting me with the idea. Maybe a part 2 friends to lover? I don’t know about it though. Let me know 🥰

Tw: pure fluff, a bit of sadness, nothing crazy I think. Not very proofread and English is not my first language.

Moving from Monaco was one of the toughest things y/n had to face in her whole life, she misses everything from that small beautiful gem on the sea. The way the houses are built, the smell of the cafes around the city center and the fancy cars running all over the place and of course the Grand Pr ix that was always such an exciting event. Everything was so different in Paris, she loves it too, but in a very different and way more mature way. Monaco always made her feel carefree. It happened when she was only twelve, but the things she experienced there and the people she met she would always cherish in her heart, some more than others.

“Is Charles racing again?” her mum asks her looking at the big screen in their french apartment “Yes mum, he does every Sunday.” she giggles at her mother’s words, despite living for many years in one of the most important city for Formula 1 she still was clueless about it all. “You should go back to a Grand Prix once, it should be fun.” suggests y/n mother’s looking at her so focused on Charles’ car on screen “I guess so…” she mumbles with a slightly sad tone.

When she had to left Monaco it looked like the biggest tragedy for her and Charles, they used to spend almost everyday together at school, after school, spending time at each other’s place with both their families joining for the holidays. She loved spending time with him, they would go karting, swimming during the summer and everything was so much easier back then. When she had to go to Paris they were both very sad to be apart promising each other to always be there for each other, but life happens and they grew up apart from each other as the years went by. At first it was because of school, going into high school and having many more things to do, then Charles’ formula career and the messages started to become fewer and fewer and eventually disappeared at all. Y/n knew perfectly that it was going to be hard, but she did not imagine this hard. In spite of not talking to Charles anymore she followed him through all his career on TV, each and every race even when he was racing at 7 am she would get up and watch the race, she was her greatest supporter even if she was always so quiet about it especially with her family. Her parents perfectly knew how hard has been over the years to have had to move to Paris and they always have felt a bit guilty because y/n did not manage to have the same happy youth she would have in Monaco and she knew, so she never brought it up to them, because it was not their fault. At the beginning Charles really struggled with y/n so far from him, she was her bestest friend, they would do anything together and she was there for all the important moments, but becoming a f1 driver so young really messed up everything in some way and in his mind there kinda was a separation between what happened before that and the present, disconetting with everything from the past.

Y/n decided considering her mother’s idea and impulsively buy a paddock pass for the French Grand Prix, at the end of the day she really missed seeing a race in real life and it was not that bad being able to feel all the adrenaline once again. As soon as she arrived there she started seeing so many people she used to know and see at the karting races, Max, Pierre, Esteban. So inevitably something came to her mind that she had not yet considered, what would she have done if she had met Charles? As the thought crossed her mind she could not believe it, seeing the Monegasque boy coming out of the Ferrari hospitality with his teammate and walking towards her direction. The panic started to flood her like a wave on the sand and Charles notices her staring at him with a kind of frightened look.

“Hey… do you want to take a picture?” he is assuming she’s a fan? - those words bring her back to reality and she shakes her head a little “em… sorry for staring i-i just…” she tries to find a way to tell him who she is, but failing considering how embarrassed she was about what just happened “wait… y/n?” it’s just like an epiphany to him. He first notices your glasses, still the same from when you were kids, then your eyes behind them, the pale skins turning bright red as every time he joked around a bit too much with you and you got shy, then everything else one detail after another, painting the whole picture. “Yes… I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you.” she giggles looking at him still speechless “It’s really you. After all these years!” he finally gets back to himself and open his arms to let her hug him. Charles holds her tightly for what looks like a very long second, remembering that safe feeling and space he knew once so well, almost feeling guilty about forgetting it that easily “I am sorry I haven’t recognized you straight away, I mean it has been so long…” “It’s easier for me now that you’re a star.” she giggles. Carlos eventually chimes in asking his teammate for an explanation and with everyone bursting into a laugh Charles tries to briefly explain it to him. “Y/n, I really have to go now, but please give me your number I need to see you after the race.” she smiles and give it to him taking her place to see the race.

Unluckily Charles’ race ended way earlier than expected but oddly enough this time that doesn’t seem to bother him, as he reaches back to the hospitality and reaches out for y/n right away. She doesn’t wait for the race to end and get to Charles, after heading to the bar area and pick up some snacks. “I cant’ believe it’s really you.” he smiles at her while they’re both sitting at a table in the hospitality “I know, I can’t believe this is happening either, I mean you’re the predestinato now” they giggle at that famous Charles’ nickname “I’m sorry about the race.” He nods with a weak smile acknowledging her apologetic look “but I have an idea to cheer you up, even though, no sorry it’s stupid.” she mutters with Charles looking confused “C’mon what is it” he insists “Well, do you remember that every time you lost a karting race I would buy you something sweet?” he nods at those words “Here…” she says taking out of her tote bag some chocolate bars. There is a sparkle in Charles’ eyes seeing that gesture that managed to bring everything back to him, every day spent together, every detail and with them the feeling that he would never, ever let that happen again. “We are not doing this again” y/n frowns at those words “Sorry… I said it was stup-” he stops her “No. We are not separating each other again, I need you back in my life y/n. Now it’s all coming back to me. I won’t let you go again.”.

#anotherkindofloveletters requests #f1 fan fiction #female!reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x female!reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc fluff #chilhood friend #charles leclerc imagine #one shot fluff #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc request

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babyyhoneyyyyy · 11 days

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༘⋆🛡️𝓜𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓵 📜₊˚ෆ - One Shot [h.s]

Storyline: Three centuries before the conquest of Eldoria, the monarch showcased his grandeur alongside his loyal soldiers—those brave individuals willing to sacrifice everything for their homeland, hoping to achieve significant progress. In this scenario, we find Sir. Styles, the most prominent knight of the five kingdoms, acknowledged by the king himself and invited to a royal dinner in his honor and that of all his companions. However, upon arrival, he discovers that neither the oracles nor his adversaries from all corners of the world could have forewarned him about what he would face upon encountering the mesmerizing and exotic beauty of Lady Revna, the king's youngest daughter. Word count: +8k Smut: 🔞

જ⁀➴

"These would be two lion coins".

The elderly individual responds calmly, leaning on his cane while the man in front of him nods in acceptance. The coins are carefully deposited into his frail hand, which reflects the imprints of time and wrinkles that narrate the story of his life. The hand closes firmly, holding onto the money, but upon feeling its weight, it opens again, revealing surprise at the man's unexpected generosity.

"Oh, blessed be the gods. This is considerably more than I expected-" the old man says, although his voice is interrupted by the sudden disappearance of the man, leaving his words hanging in the air.

The street market had always been one of Sir Styles' favorite destinations. He would meticulously explore the small stalls, giving donations to those he considered truly in need, to the friendly and to the nobles. This environment was even more pleasing to him, as it was the only place where he could go unnoticed, experiencing a sense of belonging and familiarity.

Sir's childhood unfolded in an environment identical to this, running through the land, enjoying the grass, and exploring the rivers, where he could end the day in serenity. Although this stage was fleeting, he preferred to preserve that particular memory.

Consequently, every time he returned to his hometown, he chose to immerse himself in the same routine, reliving those experiences. However, this time, the course of the day would take a different turn compared to previous routines.

King Arthur, with an insistence surpassing Sir Styles' preferences, had made it clear to him and all his knights that the royal dinner would take place on the first day of his return to the homeland, emphasizing the grandeur with which they would be received.

"As if returning exhausted wasn't enough, now we must attend a banquet in your honor," remarked William, one of Sir's main companions, upon receiving the king's message.

"It's a celebration in honor of all of us," corrected him. He observed the ironic expression on his companion's face, who raised his eyebrows before responding with a sarcastic "Of course".

None of them addressed the issue again since that moment, until the present day, where a change in William's mood was noticeable, showing renewed enthusiasm to return to his place of origin to deliberate on the choice of his attire for the imminent royal celebration.

Meanwhile, Sir Styles opted for silence, avoiding any allusion to what his companion had previously stated, even though he himself experienced palpable fatigue.

It is worth noting that large-scale festive events, such as the royal ball, were not to Sir's liking, who had never participated in one of such magnitude in the past.

While he had the opportunity to observe festivities held in different regions, each with its peculiar customs, banquets, and dances, he even actively participated when he was in a considerable state of intoxication. However, such experiences always ended the same way: waking up the next day with an inevitable headache and in the company of a woman of unknown allure.

It is valid to say that he truly enjoyed the celebrations, even if they were not a requirement imposed, as was the case this time.

With the arrival of dusk, he discerned that it was the opportune moment to return home and undertake the corresponding preparations; however, he chose to make a brief stop at one of the local establishments, solely to acquire some portions of his favorite fruit. On this occasion, upon receiving the price information from the merchant, he was unexpectedly interrupted by a commotion coming from a few meters away.

The plums were reinstated to their designated location by the individual, who hurriedly secured his belongings in fear. Frowning, Sir Styles observed him for a brief moment before immediately distancing himself and heading toward the surrounding tumult.

Initially, the suspicion of looting crossed Sir's mind; however, he quickly realized that the situation was rather an act of blatant robbery. An armed man, wielding a dagger, was committing the criminal act, threatening an unfortunate fruit vendor at her stall.

Indignation and fury quickly seized his bloodstream, prompting him to react instinctively by unsheathing his own weapon. However, surprise overcame him as he realized that someone else had acted swiftly, anticipating his own actions.

Before him unfolded a skirmish between a criminal and a hooded figure who emerged unexpectedly. Both contenders exhibited presumably advanced martial skills; however, he discerned that the hooded individual displayed a higher level of proficiency, evidenced by the mere fact of wielding a sword during the confrontation.

This exceptional mastery of the art of war did not escape Sir's perception, who reflected on the irony of encountering a warrior with skills comparable to those of a member of the royal guard, a detail that did not fail to intrigue him.

The contest persisted with the agile dexterity of the criminal and the strategic cadence of the hooded figure, both eager to wield their bladed weapons mercilessly. Even he experienced an unusual concern, subconsciously fearing that the hooded figure might be injured while seeking justice for those around them.

However, in the end, this apprehension dissipated when the thief succumbed to the ground after an unfortunate move, collapsing and letting his dagger slide momentarily in the air before finally plummeting in front of Sir Styles.

Instinctively, he leaned forward, about to grasp the weapon; however, once again, he found himself bewildered as the dagger he was about to take remained inches from his chin, carefully lifting his face. His gaze remained unflinching, fixed on the hooded figure who stood triumphantly before him, assuming a position of supremacy while he remained kneeling.

He couldn't help but feel a profound bewilderment at this moment, aggravated by the inability to glimpse the face of his counterpart, leaving him enveloped in absolute intrigue that seemed within reach of his fingertips.

For Sir Styles, this moment seemed to linger for several minutes, although in reality, only a few seconds had passed before the hooded figure resumed their march toward the thief. The latter lay vulnerable as his own dagger plunged into his leg, unleashing a scream that reverberated in the space, initiating the flow of blood.

For many, this episode might represent the end of victory, but for him, it signaled ironically that, this time, the thief would not only be prevented from walking to commit robberies but would also face the uncertainty of whether he would survive such a serious injury.

At that precise moment, Sir Styles became fully aware of the crowd that had gathered around him, as applause began to resonate in his ears, intertwined with enthusiastic cheers of celebration. Even the distressed lady, who was once on the brink of threat, now joined in the jubilation in honor of the victor.

However, not even the festive uproar managed to distract him from his fixed attention on the individual. With meticulousness, he observed every step, every movement, until witnessing how a subtle crimson curl stealthily emerged from the hood of the mysterious character.

Although he perceived the situation, he was not the only one to notice it. As the hooded figure approached, precautions were taken to adjust their hair and protect it immediately. Firm in determination, they tightened their grip on the hood and swiftly fled towards the woods. Even though he briefly contemplated the possibility of following, the growing darkness in the sky indicated the imminent arrival of the night. If he did not leave immediately, he risked being late for the banquet.

With a final sigh, Sir Styles made his way towards the hills.

The monarch bestowed upon each of his principal knights a moderately-sized property as a token of recognition and gratitude, providing them with a stable place to return to after military campaigns. This generous action by the king was one of his many ways of expressing gratitude to those who served him faithfully.

Although William suggested that this gesture might be a kind of relief for the monarch's conscience, Sir Styles, regardless of the motivations behind such a gift, chose to accept it. For him, the donation implied no significant loss. He had grown up without the warmth of a family, a circumstance to which he had become accustomed over the years.

The land assigned to him was located near the hills, and while its location significantly distanced him from the village, it brought him closer to the castle. Although not much time had passed since he received the property, Sir Styles had already dedicated himself to organizing it with the necessary resources for his comfort and functionality.

Finally, observing the alignment of the stars in the sky, he realized it was the right time to embark on his journey to the palace. During the journey, his steed accompanied him, encountering his comrades and other soldiers on the way, all dressed in the same war uniform. This consisted of layers made from the skins of animals he had hunted as part of his survival tactics during various campaigns, complemented by a bronze armor resting on their robust figures. Although they all looked uniformly equipped, Sir Styles stood out as the only one with braided hair.

Sir Styles boasted a mane that had reached a considerable length, extending to his shoulders precisely. Although initially challenging to deal with this hair extension, he had gradually adapted to it. Progressively, he adopted the habit of showcasing his honor through his hair, allowing each battle victory to be reflected in intricate braids. Thus, his hair now unfolded in a braided pattern that enveloped his contour, preventing his natural curls from sliding over his forehead.

The duration of the journey noticeably shortened when, finally, the majesty of the imposing castle revealed itself to the onlookers. The structure shone under the dim light of the night moon and the flames of torches held by the guardians of the enclosure. At the forefront of the procession, Sir Styles led the soldiers, dismounting from his steed with the purpose of making his formal entrance before the castle's main Lord. However, the said Lord dispensed with the need for any formal introduction, granting the knight immediate access and stating that His Majesty was already awaiting his arrival.

As they advanced through the castle corridors, the lighting highlighted every detail before the attentive gaze of the onlookers. From colossal paintings displaying portraits of ancestral monarchs and prominent personalities of the nation to ornaments that, for the most part, seemed to be made of gold, adorned the walls of the enclosure splendidly. The parade of individuals captured the essence of the aristocracy, who meticulously observed every visible corner.

In their journey, some ladies-in-waiting crossed their path, offering curtsies and smiles to the passersby, except for the main leader, Sir Styles, who remained in a reserved attitude, focused on keeping his gaze forward, trying to limit his observations of the surrounding environment as much as possible.

Sir Styles showed no enthusiasm for the ostentatious jewelry and the magnificence of the castle, perceiving them as mere appearances and even ironies. This perception was based on the belief that all the opulence accumulated in such structures was ultimately attributable to the contribution of the people and the decisions made by those who had once chosen their monarchs. Sir's preference was to establish connections with specific individuals, directing his attention to the impression that the king and some select Lords might potentially have in the more distant future. He had internalized the premise that existence revolved around building relationships and bonds, either with strategic contacts or facing loneliness, with no room for in-between terms.

The Lord finally stopped his advance in front of an imposing wooden door that stood out for its considerable height and the golden ornamental details that surrounded it. In a decisive gesture, he signaled to the herald, who in turn conveyed the order swiftly, allowing one of the service sentinels to proceed to open the magnificent doors. It was the voice of the herald that resonated in the enclosure, announcing the arrival of the royal guard to all present, immediately capturing the attention of every individual in the room, directed towards their conspicuous leader.

Sir Styles kept his attention focused forward, leading his fellow soldiers as they advanced along the main hall's corridor. By his side, he walked in step with Sir William. Together, they headed towards the imposing table at the end of the hall, where the most prominent personalities of the kingdom, including the monarch, gathered.

Sir Styles experienced a palpable increase in the speed of his heartbeats as he advanced, yet he found it challenging to determine the exact cause of this phenomenon. He was aware that it was not solely due to the attention he garnered when passing before the king's gaze or the anticipation of the crowd watching them. Although accustomed to being the center of attention, he perceived that there was something more underlying, something that escaped his certainty but somehow guided the rhythm of his heart as he advanced, urging him to maintain a harmonious pace with his own steps while attempting to regulate his breathing.

Sir stopped his advance upon reaching the end of the hall, bowing his head slightly in a reverential gesture as he perceived the monarch advancing to stand in front of him. Upon hearing the issuance of his title by the king, he raised his gaze again. The king's smile revealed deep enthusiasm, and rightly so; his army had displayed its prowess in every confrontation, conquering the most prosperous lands and amassing wealth in their wake. With another expression of joy on his face, he initiated the celebration ceremony.

Sir Styles settled in proximity to the main Lord, while on his right, Sir William took his place, both distinguished with pure gold medals that rested with notable weight on their necks. They were immersed in the enjoyment of a lavish banquet, where the table was adorned with an abundance of suckling pigs, a varied selection of vegetables and exquisite fruits, including plums. However, when he attempted to take one of the latter, he received a disapproving look from one of the Lords present. Initially confused, he responded with a gesture, but understanding dawned when he was informed that such fruits were exclusively meant for one of the princesses. It was then that he realized, at the main table, only knights were present, and he had not been introduced to any titled lady. About to express his discontent to the Lord with a gesture of displeasure, the doors of the hall opened again, followed by the voice of the herald announcing the arrival of Their Majesties.

Two young ladies, approximately the same age, even slightly older than him, stood out in height and had wavy brown hair. The distinction of their faces was evident in their delicacy, further accentuated by their silk outfits in vibrant colors that, if not for the crowns elegantly held in their curls, would have clearly proclaimed their elevated status. Although one of them was of shorter stature than the other, both were adorned in fine jewelry that revealed their opulence even from a distance.

The reverence of the entire hall materialized as an act of homage to the ladies, and in a matter of seconds, Sir Styles stood up, following the example of the group. In the distance, he perceived the king's laughter and the enthusiastic greeting that elevated his daughters, culminating once again in the resumption of the festive atmosphere.

Both women walked gracefully towards the royal table, where Sir carefully observed the strategically reserved places for them, located next to the monarch's seat. With meticulous attention, he witnessed how the ladies took their cutlery with grace, performing an elegant synchronized movement. In a mirror effect, both raised their knives to carve the pork, bringing the fork to their lips to taste the first bite.

While enjoying their meal, their gazes remained fixed forward, occasionally exchanging laughter as they watched the attendees participate in the dance and whisper in murmurs of conversation. Sir Styles, with patience, waited for a couple of additional minutes after the princesses finished their feast, hoping to see if either of them ventured to reach for the plums laid out on the plate. However, more minutes than necessary passed, and although their plates were already empty, neither of the ladies showed any sign of wanting to extend their attention to the additional fruits.

With a final expression of discontent, Sir chose to redirect his attention to the surrounding environment, marking the initial moment of the evening when he surrendered to detailed observation. The hall came to life with a symphony of laughter, intertwined with the graceful movements of the dance participants. Sumptuous and exquisite dresses extended across the shiny floor, while the knights' shoes occasionally emitted the characteristic squeak during their movements. The music, skillfully performed by the orchestra, had the violin as its main companion, imparting a melodic and refined atmosphere to the surroundings.

Unexpectedly, a voice beside him spoke directly to him: "Are you Sir Styles?" In response, he immediately turned and found the princesses now positioned on both sides of him.

With courtesy, he simply nodded affirmatively. "Yes, that's correct". He replied succinctly.

One of the ladies initiated the conversation by praising his latest campaign, and the other continued with more specific details mentioning the lands of Thundervale. "We've heard extraordinary tales about your feats in the campaign," one of them expressed, followed by the other who added, "Particularly, we are intrigued to know if it's true that the largest marine creatures inhabit those lands".

Thus, the conversation began, with Sir Styles leading the exchange, willing to share details about the journey through the blue land that had piqued the alleged interest of the ladies. They paid meticulous attention to every word the knight uttered, although as he delved into the story, he could observe more closely the proximity of both women, skillfully identifying certain characteristic gestures of female closeness.

He noticed how both their eyes stared intensely into his, although at times they wandered towards aspects beyond his person, whether contemplating his attire or occasionally resting on his hands. These gestures, marked by more than evident curiosity, manifested through glances that pierced beyond innocence, as well as smiles that deviated from mere charm.

Sir Styles struggled to maintain a respectful distance, not expressing indifference but rather intending to preserve space and the surrounding atmosphere. As he progressed in his narrative, the laughter and the wine he savored contributed to creating a set that resonated with his emotions. His visual acuity diminished, and words escaped his lips with slight difficulty, although his level of awareness remained intact.

At a critical point in his narrative, when the story turned towards the red lands he had explored and his encounter with the legendary figure of the "great lion" in one of those regions, a practically mythical creature that guarded one of the territories visited by him and his fellow soldiers, a female voice decided to interrupt instantly. This act left Sir Styles' words hanging in the air, while his gaze shifted in another direction, disrupting the flow of his story at a crucial moment.

In front of him stood a young lady, with reddish hair reminiscent of the glow of fire and blue eyes evoking the vastness of the ocean, of which he had spoken on occasion. Her gaze was directed towards him with an ironic, almost challenging and playful tone, reflected equally in her words, in which she expressed her skepticism and refused to believe him. She referred to the fact that, according to her perception, the only individual capable of defeating the creature in question had been her own great-great-grandfather.

However, the knight's attention was, at least apparently, focused on the possibility of refuting this claim. In his surroundings, a brief moment of stillness took hold, and for Sir Styles, it was uncertain whether the cause of his momentary silence came from the influence of the wine and its sweetness, or whether the surrounding noise had deafened his senses, or perhaps neither. The lady's words lost audibility for him, although he observed that her communications were directed solely to the women on his side, although occasionally, the lady kept her gaze on his.

The woman's pale complexion evoked the whiteness of milk, and from his low position, he could distinguish the freckles adorning her rosy cheeks. In response, the knight felt compelled to blink several times, experiencing a subtle discomfort from the warm flush that began to invade his body. With embarrassment, he promptly averted his gaze to divert attention from that moment.

Soon, Sir Styles realized that he was alone at the imposing royal table. On this occasion, his gaze sought only the face of the young lady who had shared the space in front of him, finally locating her engaged in a lively dance with an unknown Lord after a few minutes of searching.

Faced with such a scene, the knight directed his questions about the lady to one of the refined Lords who had previously conversed with him during the course of the evening. The response he received was that she was "Lady Revna, the youngest daughter of the king."

"And the one with the strongest character," added another Lord with laughter.

The hue of her red hair serves as an indicator of that, Sir Styles reflected to himself. However, he chose to remain silent in the presence of others, keeping his own thoughts to himself.

Sir took another sip of wine from a distant land, whose sweetness rivaled that of honey itself, intoxicating him with its mere flavor. An intensive and instantaneous thought crossed his mind as he continued to observe Lady Revna's dance.

The question of whether she would appreciate such sweetness as that of the wine troubled him. He immediately lowered his gaze, striving to redirect his attention to his empty plate. The mere idea of engaging in conversation with her was strictly forbidden, and his mind was torn between curiosity and respect for established norms.

A sigh, almost involuntary, escaped him, plunging him into reflections for a brief moment before deciding to take another sip of his drink.

Understanding of the situation only materialized when Sir Styles directed his gaze forward again, and the lady's reddish hair dissolved once more into the density of the crowd. It was then that he noticed the absence of an element on the table: the plum plate.

Plums were his favorite fruit. Just as they were for Lady Revna.

At that instant, Sir Styles was unaware that, as he crossed the ballroom aisle with his peers, attracting the gaze of the assembly, whether due to his revealing attire or his imposing demeanor, a young lady had also become captivated by his presence. However, unlike the other astonished spectators, this lady had the audacity to follow him as he advanced before the gathered crowd.

Lady Revna moved alongside, a few meters away from him, in the vicinity of the public, unnoticed by the knight himself, remaining inconspicuous despite her appearance, characterized by her hair and attire.

While he and his fellow warriors positioned themselves in front of the king to pay homage, Lady Revna inquired about him, receiving the concise response that he was "Sir Styles, one of the lord commanders of the royal army".

From that moment, the young princess dedicated herself to observing him throughout the evening, adopting an almost predatory attitude, similar to that of a hunter scrutinizing its prey. Every movement and gesture of Sir Styles fell under the watchful gaze of Lady Revna, although at a certain point, paradoxically, she herself experienced the sensation of being the prey, enveloped in the subtle dance of his movements and gestures.

The culmination of the dance occurred when the lady, to distract her thoughts, engaged in conversations with various Lords who approached her, some characterized by their courtesy, while others, influenced by excess libations, lacked verbal coordination. Despite the disparities, the lady usually enjoyed such encounters, whether due to the splendid feast, the accompanying dance, or the limited freedom that, ultimately, was allowed within the confines of the castle.

Minutes extended into the magnitude of hours as the imposing hall began to dissolve. Although a considerable number of guests still remained, their attention and thoughts were immersed elsewhere. Therefore, when she noticed Sir Styles beginning to withdraw from the room, she hesitated briefly before her own feet took the initiative and led her towards the outskirts of the grand hall.

Her heart beat with vigor as her mind insisted on recreating a single scenario, one in which she found herself in a skirmish in the small market of her town, and a gaze of a green and mischievous tone, similar to the liveliness of the forest itself, caught her.

There was a latent fear in her, the unease that Sir might have truly recognized her during the only unfortunate 'exchange' of words they had had earlier. However, such a perspective did not even cross her mind initially. The alteration of her attire and, even more significantly, the marked change in his demeanor compared to the encounter in the market, provided her with an unexpected anonymity. It was inconceivable that these were the same eyes that, on another occasion, had observed his intensely while she held a dagger beneath his chin.

This circumstance stood as her justification, whether she eventually recognized it or not. Her priority was to confirm that Sir had not identified her, and if he had, to take measures to ensure that her silence prevailed.

As she moved through the corridors, they seemed to lengthen, simultaneously acquiring an increasingly profound silence, a circumstance that did not bode well for her situation, as she was forced to hide more frequently than initially anticipated to avoid being heard or spotted by him. However, all these complications dissipated when she found herself alone in the corridor, with no signs of the knight she had followed at some point.

Her eyebrows took on a furrowed expression as her head turned in all directions to scrutinize every visible corner of the extensive hallway, whose familiarity she recognized precisely as it connected directly to her own quarters. In the middle of the soft carpet decorating the floor beneath her feet, she stopped, expressing her disappointment and almost frustration with a sigh. The unexpected disappearance of the knight, occurring in a matter of seconds, bewildered her, especially considering that the confirmation of his presence in the street market was fading away, leaving a bitter taste on her lips.

She then decided to return to the hall from which she had chosen to withdraw, only to once again meet the penetrating and green gaze that sought her. There he was, standing in front of her in person, but this time, she lacked a hood to hide her identity and did not carry a dagger as a warning gesture.

"What is the reason for your pursuit?" Lady Revna's slightly parted lips sought air, which suddenly seemed scarce to her, and although she tried to disguise it immediately, the deep inhalation she took was undeniable to the knight standing in front of her. It was the first occasion on which the knight's voice materialized in her presence, even after having crossed paths a few times, coincidentally on the same day. Although she had formulated some assumptions, she had never managed to perceive the reality of the situation. His voice came as a hoarse murmur that enveloped her more intensely than the wine he had consumed throughout the evening. Lady Revna, hastily, responded, "On what basis do you think I am doing so?"

Sir's head tilted to one side, a look clearly incredulous towards her. Lady Revna then looked away, with an almost mischievous smile, a result of her bold response when she clearly knew the answer. However, any trace of a smile began to fade when Sir Styles took the initiative to approach, allowing his back to collide with one of the large walls supporting his property.

"My Lady, my intention is not to be impolite; I simply wait in the hope that you provide an answer to my question". The knight's words slid with a light grace, in a characteristic hoarse whisper that caused a momentary silence in the lady, before she decided to respond: "I refer to your previous words, spoken so comfortably in the midst of your tale with my sisters," she began her justification, maintaining a soft tone similar to that of the knight. "I do not give credence to it". She concluded firmly.

"You made it clear at that moment," he replied, showing no annoyance, but rather awaiting the lady's response.

"So, you don't intend to deny it?" she inquired, showing curiosity.

"Would there be a reason to do so?" he responded, formulating his counterquestion with the same calmness that characterized the exchange.

"Perhaps," the lady whispered finally. Lady Revna, guided more by her intuition than her reason, took an additional step, allowing the game of closeness to begin. She distanced herself slightly from the knight for a moment, leaning against the wall, then delicately circled around him and finally positioned herself behind Sir Styles, who watched her attentively. "Do I not cast doubt on your honor? I thought you stood beside the strongest warrior of the five realms".

"I am". He affirmed, turning his gaze back, watching as the lady's face approached even closer and then withdrew.

"Then, prove it," the lady replied, allowing her face to return to proximity with his, exacerbating the marked height difference between them and directing the knight's eyes directly into hers. "Is it true that you single-handedly defeated the great lion, or is it just another ruse?"

A smile slid across Sir Styles' lips, leaving the princess's expectant expression before he answered, "Not alone, certainly. It was with your army," he explained. Lady Revna watched him continuously, waiting for him to conclude his words: "Although I would be willing to do whatever is necessary to prove it to you if that is your desire".

Lady Revna experienced an inexplicable sensation on the tip of her tongue, an apparently appetizing yet unexplored taste, after hearing the knight's words.

She had always valued the inherent power of her title and was not ashamed to admit that, on various occasions, she had used her position conveniently. However, in this situation, she was intrigued by a different feeling, even surprised to feel a growing warmth in her body, unable to look away from Sir Styles. She was not willing to make a proposal directly; she appreciated the idea of maintaining intrigue and ambiguity. "The proposal is simple," she responded calmly. "Engage in a conversation with me, if you are capable".

Sir Styles was immersed in confusion, not precisely understanding the nature of the lady's words, and questioning whether it was some kind of ruse or trap.

In any case, the knight maintained only an unwavering certainty, that he had never before had the privilege of meeting a lady of such caliber. This conviction was supported by his extensive experience, having interacted with numerous women throughout his journeys on the sea and in distant lands. In those encounters, he had been fortunate to come across ladies of delicate beauty, others endowed with singular intelligence, from whom he had learned valuable lessons and adopted some customs for his own life. Some looked at him with admiration, while others expressed an evident desire and lust. However, none of these women could compare to the uniqueness embodied by Lady Revna.

No lady possessed those copper-toned curls, imbued with the strong character that characterizes a haughty princess. None exhibited so much confidence, manifested in a charming smile as she engaged in the dance with another knight, nor showed the audacity to express her thoughts so frankly, generating in him a desire to know more.

Lady Revna, on her part, awaited with anticipation. Like Sir Styles, she had never before encountered a knight with such characteristics, although, it should be noted, her encounters with men of this kind had been scarce.

Her life unfolded among the same guards and nobles, forming a closed circle around her. Even when she ventured to visit the village, the familiar faces of lifelong merchants remained her only reference, never encountering a knight of the stature of the one before her at that moment.

The knight in question exhibited a masculine face that, at the same time, revealed fineness in his features. His presence stood out with an imposing figure, broad shoulders, robust arms, hands marked by prominent veins, and even visibly silky hair through the braids. A set of attributes that gave a unique and captivating presence to the eyes of the world, and now, were only for her.

In this way, Lady Revna provided Sir Styles with a more secure environment to carry out such a conversation, and that place turned out to be, significantly, the closest available space at that moment, namely, her quarters.

The journey down the hallway became smaller as both advanced in parallel, now side by side, allowed by the lady with a subtle gesture directed at the knight. Noticeably absent on the way was the presence of any Lord, and, for some reason, no lady-in-waiting was in sight either. The imposing wooden door, adorned with what seemed to be golden details, stood before them, and with a delicate push, Lady Revna facilitated entry for Sir after she herself entered the room.

The quarters were characterized by the predominance of warm and golden tones, imbuing the atmosphere with the pleasant scent of jasmines and roses dispersed in the surroundings. The room was adorned with some large pieces of furniture, elegantly displaying their presence. Lighting was mainly obtained through strategically placed candles, constituting the only source of illumination, apart from the windows that allowed the filtering of the scarce night light provided by the moon.

The feeling of contentment that enveloped Sir Styles in that environment surpassed any previous experience, endowing the atmosphere with a particularly pleasant resonance.

And that delight reached its zenith when Lady Revna directed her gaze towards him.

He was in a state of palpable anxiety, sensing the accelerated beat of his heart as his mind faced internal challenges. He walked a thin line, equidistant between what was ethically correct and immoral, tempted by the forbidden personified in an ethereal countenance and a blue gaze that acquired a darker hue as it approached him.

Despite his nature being less prone to pleading, he was willing to do so in order to have her in proximity, to experience her closeness and touch. His hands experienced a persistent tingling, and he was forced to clench them into fists to restrain himself from any impulsive act. A feeling of warmth ran through his body, intensifying to a painful point, longing to be released from this incessant tension.

Nevertheless, Lady Revna had proposed only a conversation, and that was the only allowed ground for him, despite the impulses urging him to go further.

However, his desires seemed to play an untimely hand as the minutes passed. In that interval, Lady Revna's figure took shape on one of the small armchairs, and her dress lifted in a nearly inappropriate manner, forcing him to avert his gaze and suppress a gesture that partially closed his lower lip between his teeth. Initially, he chose silence, allowing the lady's words to resonate in the air, accompanied by her distinctive floral scent.

For a moment, Sir Styles struggled with momentary doubt, questioning if all of this was nothing more than a product of his imagination, a side effect of the wine that was beginning to take its toll on his perception. However, Lady Revna, with her characteristic grace, brought him back to reality with a subtle touch, dispelling any ambiguity that might have lingered in his mind.

Sir's eyes opened with a slight surprise, finally realizing the proximity of the lady in front of him. Immediately, he wondered at what moment she had come so close, as her presence left him momentarily speechless, and the expressions forming in his mind did not seem suitable to be spoken aloud.

His breathing began to show signs of irregularity, forced to allow his lip to free itself and his mouth to slightly part, attempting to deal with the sensations that the unexpected closeness provoked in him.

"Allow me to inquire, Sir Styles, do you possess the real capacity to fulfill your word?" the lady whispered, her words delicately brushing his ear, granting him a moment to regain composure before responding: "Mostly, yes".

"Mostly?" she questioned with a light laugh. Lady Revna turned her gaze ahead, letting her blue eyes settle on the green forest that stretched beyond the knight, watching him with an evident challenge, waiting for him to say what they both knew. And that was precisely what he did.

"I have recently discovered that it is not always the case".

With these words, the proximity between them finally ended, and Sir Styles' lips met Lady Revna's in a fleeting moment. Neither the knight nor the lady managed to confirm who initiated that first move, but when the body of the red-haired woman reclined on Sir Styles' lap, his self-control was finally released. The touch of the knight allowed his hands, freed from the chains that had held them cruelly, to rest on the lady's body.

The intensity that both bodies shared at a certain moment seemed to converge at that instant, causing the clothing to lose its relevance. Sir Styles' hands were positioned directly on Lady Revna's back, delving into her rebellious curls and sliding unrestricted between the strings of the corset.

Kisses imbued with pleasure were indelibly marked on the woman's neck, causing her lips to part in search of air. The constriction of her attire heightened the feeling of confinement, and a gasp escaped her when she felt her body lifted in the air, fitting even more closely to the knight's body, who held her firmly with one hand, while the other continued carefully untying the laces of her corset.

Finally, her back rested on the soft surface of the bed, covered by the elegant fabrics of the canopy, intensifying the focus of the intimate encounter and the warm air enveloping their bodies. Moans and sighs began to resonate, manifesting the growing fervor of the moment. Although Lady Revna tried discreetly to preserve some caution, the man on top of her was not exactly contributing to maintaining serenity.

Sir Styles' bare torso stood before her, his warrior attire lying on the floor for a few minutes, allowing the lady's hands to explore unrestrictedly, ascending and descending on his biceps. In her explorations, she occasionally stopped in lower areas, observing the reactions on the knight's face. Sir Styles' forehead, already covered by a fine layer of sweat, enhanced his beauty and accentuated his features in the dimness of the night.

Simultaneously, as a playful expression began to appear on the lady's face, her corset finally yielded, revealing a fine fabric that almost immediately disappeared, exposing her bare breasts for the knight's delight. Sir Styles did not grant her the necessary time to react, as his lips went directly to one of her nipples, causing a more intense gasp than usual that hung in the air.

Lady Revna's gaze remained fixed on the ceiling of the chamber, and despite her attempts to keep it there, it closed easily due to the pleasurable contact her body was experiencing. Not satisfied with limiting himself to that, Sir Styles' fingers materialized on the nipple that remained free of saliva, exerting occasional pressure that left her breathless. Although it was certainly bearable pain, she finally reflected on facing wounds caused by daggers, coming to the conclusion that this nipple squeeze was at least something she had no reason to complain about.

Sir Styles' skillful free hand did not remain idle, skillfully sliding from the waist to the prominent hips of the woman, finally reaching a sensitive region where his movement provoked an involuntary reaction, and increased pressure became evident. Sir Styles' hoarse laughter echoed in the air, barely contained by his chest, while she looked down, mentally evoking the image of his sinful eyes and saliva-dampened lips.

A sigh escaped the lady, watching as the knight's body descended gradually, exposing his bare chest and extending his attention to the lower part, initiating the process of sliding the fabric of the dress that still covered her forms and culminating in the removal of her underwear.

Finally, Lady Revna lay stripped of garments on the imposing bed of her quarters, lying beneath the figure of a man who gazed down at her with an eager look, as if he had been deprived of savoring a morsel throughout his existence, expressing an insatiable hunger for her essence and a craving for more.

Lady Revna's head tilted back accompanied by an unexpected moan when she again experienced the dexterity of Sir Styles' tongue, directed this time towards the region that claimed more attention. Her clitoris, the object of stimulation, began to awaken sensations that, despite having been pleased on various occasions over the years, bore no resemblance to any previous experience, highlighting the skillful moisture generated by the knight's tongue.

Lady Revna's hands gripped the sheets, while her hips were stirred repeatedly, as if they had a life of their own, seeking to intensify the fusion with the man's eager tongue. Meanwhile, Sir Styles' hands remained firmly placed on her hips, either attempting to smooth the movements or enhance them, however, for both, the experience proved to be extremely satisfying.

When Sir Styles finally withdrew, realizing that Lady Revna's body was adopting more uninhibited movements, he fully confirmed his theory. Lady Revna indeed possessed a sweetness comparable, if not superior, to that of wine.

An almost exuberant smile manifested on the knight's face, observing her at his feet, filled with anticipation, panting from the effort as she looked at him with eyes half-closed, still corresponding with her own smile.

Sir Styles experienced a noticeable increase in the intensity of discomfort in his sensitive area, a sensation that manifested uncomfortably through the pressure against his clothing. At that moment, he did not hesitate to dispense with the last reserves of decency he held, allowing his member to finally rest on his pelvis, while the discomfort transformed into a more constant pulsation.

Holding his member in his hand, he made slight pumping movements as he approached a region that was already sufficiently stimulated for him. Before proceeding with any further action, he directed his gaze towards the lady accompanying him, observing her intently once again.

"Are you sure about this?" he questioned at that moment, approaching abruptly. He experienced sudden regret for not addressing this conversation earlier and for waiting until their garments had faded away on the room's floor. Lady Revna took Sir Styles' face between her hands, allowing the softness of her skin to become evident through delicate gestures, causing Sir's eyelids to close in response.

The lady's hands descended gradually, while the knight's gaze remained shadowed. Her touch acquired increasing delicacy until reaching the region he craved, causing a groan to materialize in response to the lady's subtle caresses on his cock. The action he once performed himself was now being executed by smaller but equally gratifying hands, holding his member firmly and stroking its tip with her thumb. The knight's body gradually descended, adopting an inverted position, with Lady Revna now on top of him, allowing herself to be guided by her skilled hands.

Curiosity prompted her hands to transition from a slow to a faster movement in a matter of seconds, intensifying the knight's anticipation, who was eager for more. It wasn't until he felt Lady Revna's warm breath on his cock that his lips parted more firmly in search of air.

Lady Revna chose to venture, letting herself be guided by the satisfaction sounds emitted by the Sir that resonated beneath her. At times, she looked up to contemplate the knight lying on the bed, with his eyes still closed and lips slightly parted.

Her tongue made an effort to traverse the entire length of Sir's member, while she struggled to contain her breath to encompass it completely with her mouth. Intermittently, she leaned on her hand to ensure complete coverage. Finally, when she perceived the pace accelerating, she decided to ascend again towards him, repositioning her face against his.

"I've never been more sure in my life". She responded with conviction, causing the green hue to return and a darkening to intensify in the surrounding forest.

"You must know how long I have awaited this moment," he expressed with a whisper that filled the nearby space, leaning over her once again, holding his member between his hands and settling between the lady's extended legs. "Since your pretty face manifested in my mind, I haven't ceased to contemplate you".

"Is that the same speech you deliver to everyone?" she inquired with a mocking tone, although her voice carried a bittersweet undertone. She could no longer conceive the idea of sharing it with anyone else. Her desire focused exclusively on having him for herself.

"No woman comes even remotely close to your presence". Sir Styles' expressions remained anchored in her mind, gradually enveloping her with his words as she felt them penetrate her being. In this moment, Lady Revna, once again, tightly gripped the sheets, focusing her attention solely on the intense gaze of the knight on her.

"I would mutilate my hands to never touch another". He declared, causing an involuntary groan from Lady Revna's lips with the first thrust. "I would pluck out my eyes to never look at another". He continued with another thrust. "I would cut off my tongue to never taste anyone else". He added, this time accompanied by a soft scream that she tried to stifle by biting her lower lip. "Because no woman would come even remotely close to your level". He concluded, amid shared moans, permeating the atmosphere with encouraging words that further fueled the fantasy and ego of a princess who, at that moment, felt no shame in considering herself selfish. "Neither in your taste, nor in your touch, nor in your scent".

Lady Revna experienced with greater intensity the thrusts, feeling her body move in a predetermined rhythm. Her hands left the sheets to focus exclusively on the knight's back, scratching it fervently and desiring to see the marks they would leave the next day. Her legs exerted pressure against his hips, contributing to making the movement more fluid.

"Tell me how you feel," she heard the growl of a hoarse voice in her ear, and just that gesture caused another moan to escape her lips.

"Blessed gods," she responded with effort, chanting the prayers she had heard throughout her life, expressing gratitude for the mercy that had been promised to her at some point and that she now experienced materialized in one man. "It feels so good".

"Oh yeah?" she heard a gasp from him, while his pace progressively accelerated. "How good?" he reiterated his inquisitive question with surprising eloquence, contrasting with Lady Revna's struggle to articulate words. "Tell me, my princess, talk to me".

Finally, she replied, "So good. Too good. Holy shit". Lady Revna's lips were bitten once again, while she experienced the intensity of movements deepening into her being, merging with her fluids, allowing Sir Styles' cock to pass smoothly. "Keep it up, Harry, please," she pleaded. His name acted as a stimulus that increased the acceleration of the movements. While she didn't exactly remember when she had revealed his name, Sir Styles internally thanked that her lips had finally pronounced that acknowledgment, and the sweetness of her tone gave a more intimate dimension to the shared moment.

However, Sir Styles perceived how the tight walls of Lady Revna's vagina contracted around his cock, recognizing that it was only a matter of minutes or even seconds for all that tension to burst. Knowing Lady Revna's playful nature, he did not hesitate to say, "It's 'sir' for you". While holding the woman's hips more firmly, watching her closely.

For her part, Lady Revna showed no surprise; rather, she experienced a notable excitement, which she confirmed by dropping her head on the mattress, while her grip on the man intensified. Her body experienced shivers, even slight tremors, while her breathing became increasingly irregular, struggling to maintain firm control.

"Y- yes sir," she pronounced a nod with difficulty, and it was at that moment when an expressive scream, immediately muffled by Sir Styles' lips, echoed in the room they shared.

The release manifested in both parties, with Lady Revna's walls being the main recipient, impregnated with both her own fluids and those of the knight, as both let themselves be carried into the abyss of climax, experiencing the peak of pleasure they had never known before.

They remained in the same position for an indeterminate period, with Sir Styles on top of Lady Revna, practically enveloping her with his presence, while both struggled to stabilize their breaths. The knight, taking the initiative, rose first, showing indifference to the possible stain on his shirt, and proceeded to address the task of cleaning the lower area of Lady Revna, where their fluids had begun to saturate the bed linen. With skill and tact, he moved the lady gently, allowing the fabric to slide between her legs, restoring order after the small incident they had caused.

Upon completing this task, Sir Styles observed that the woman's body now rested on the bed, making space for him, while a lazy smile appeared on Lady Revna's lips.

However, before lying down on the bed beside her, he proceeded to clean himself. He diverted his gaze downwards as he scrutinized for any sign of residual fluids, at which point the luminescence of the sword caught his attention on the expanse of the chamber's carpet, dazzling with its exquisite elegance and hue.

His attention immediately shifted between the lady with red hair and the sword in a kind of bewilderment until, even through a drowsy gaze, he managed to confirm the connection between both elements.

No verbal expressions were necessary for Lady Revna to understand the shared sentiment, and Sir Styles saw no need to articulate it, as both were already aware. He took a moment to reflect on his emotions, once again experiencing the deafening intoxication and numbing curiosity, both originating from the same person. In an instant, he blamed himself for his lack of insight, as it was as clear as the ocean in the lady's eyes and in the tousled curls falling over her face. However, it was imperative to acknowledge that perhaps he would have never discovered the depth of those feelings if he hadn't witnessed the display of the sword on the floor.

Nevertheless, such considerations became secondary upon waking up with the sensation of a body embracing him, and the gentle scent of flowers filling his nostrils. The magical night became ingrained in his memory, promising to be relived every night, eclipsing any other eventual assumption.

Thus passed a night in the splendor of a medieval castle, alongside the lady who represented the incarnation of his idealized princess.

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pinklemonadeflav · 10 months

Text

Noise

"Rest well, honey. We have so much time, so many nights and days...you don't have to put it all on yourself."

Persona-coded ⍰ : Seungcheol, Bangchan

✂︎ ☁︎

wc: 1k

Reader is stressed, comfort fluff, established relationship

Sometimes, you don't realise how loud the world is until you're engulfed by silence at 1am, body pressed into the plush of the bed, the only sounds audible coming from the beating of your heart and the periodic lull of your own breathing.

The bustling drone of the morning train commute to work, the inaudible chatter of colleagues in the office. Even within the faint rhythmic clacking of the keyboard and notification chimes, your head feels like it's being cling-wrapped, the voice of your own thoughts growing increasingly fuzzy.

You get home, 'rewarding' yourself with more sound; Your phone's speakers release a wave of laughter as you accompany it with dinner, going through the daily evening routine of engaging in para-social relationships before having to go to bed to repeat it all the next day.

You could silence it yourself, but how would you live with yourself if you don't spend the little existing free time attempting to listen in on the good life?

It's become a habit for you to cover your ears at night to sleep, an irrational paranoia of something coming too close to your senses, hearing something you don't want to.

---

11.14pm, Sunday.

You shut your phone off after begrudgingly glancing at the lock screen, mind bouncing with thoughts of the oncoming week of work. Did the weekend really pass? What did you even do? You feel a heavy pressure growing in your chest as the back of your mind counts down the seconds and minutes until Monday inevitability came.

1.27am, Monday.

Your eyes were shut, lids drenched in fatigue, but you can still feel tension in your body, and it all traces back to the noise in your mind.

The muffled sound of the main door opening was followed by the quiet shuffling of feet. He's home after a long weekend of tying up loose ends on some work matters.

As you hear him continue his nighttime routine through the rushing sounds of water in the bathroom, you decide to remain in bed and turn over, keeping quiet to feign sleep.

He's tired, and so are you. You don't want to keep him up with your problems.

Finally the bedroom door creaks open and you feel the bed shift under his weight as he crawls in. You continue to face the wall, but a shaky exhale leaves you against your will.

"You awake?" He whispers.

Your voice feels caught in your throat, and you don't respond.

But you guess that he can see the tension trapped in your shoulders under the blanket, and he knows you well enough now to know when something's wrong. His arm gently reaches over and drapes over your waist, and you feel him give the back of your head a soft peck.

You string your fingers through his and give them a light squeeze. Sure that you're awake now, he gently caresses the back of your hand with his thumb.

His touch helps to ground you, the chopping of the fan's blades sounding a little bit softer and his breaths a little louder. Well, there's still a slight buzzing in the distant, but it's calmer now, more of white noise.

You blink and try to focus on his presence, the tightness of your muscles slowly melting away. A tear escapes you onto the pillow. You finally turn around, burying your face in his chest and hugging him back.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

You shake your head with a muffled noise, and he gives an understanding hum in response. He continues, letting his thoughts out without expecting a response,

"Rest well, honey. We have so much time, so many nights and days...you don't have to put it all on yourself."

"Hah...like how you spent the whole weekend saving your department's ass?"

Your stare at the shirt millimetres from your face, not trying to be mean with your comment, but a pang of guilt hits you as you realise what you said. You open your mouth again to apologise, but he speaks nonchalantly, knowing you don't mean offence

"Yea hahah, guess you're not wrong. But what matters is in how we try to treat ourselves better, right?"

You lift your head to look up at him, finding his tired lidded eyes staring back. He brushes his thumb gently under your eye, wiping the water streams away.

"We can't be perfect in what we do, or even try to feel perfect about it...Let's forget all that and try our best?"

He knows his words don't exactly make sense, and it maybe wouldn't to others too. You recall his way of doing his best, in supporting his co-workers even if it meant overworking himself, or taking care of the house despite his tiredness when he knows you're going through a rough period too.

But he also tries his best in forgiving himself when he can't do it all, in asking for your help when he really needs it, and in taking the time to heal in your embrace when you always give it.

He rolls over to face the window while still hugging you, directing you to do the same. The half-moon beams a soft glow onto your faces, and the silence of the night becomes clearer.

He's right, there's so much more outside your worries. You have him, and he has you, and there's a lot of life waiting beyond the noise inside your head.

You let out a deep exhale, one of relief this time, and allow his body heat to seep into you. You whisper a quiet 'thank you', your eyelids fluttering shut against his skin. The sounds of your breaths join in rhythm with his, silence and darkness finally falling.

I started writing this when I was in a pretty stressful period of my life, and now I'm not. If you're going through something similar, I hope you can take away the message that there are crests and dips in life, and we don't always have to feel or do fantastic, but like the fic mentions, "let's forget all that and try our best". Rest well!

#comfort #fluff #comfort fluff #good night #svt #seventeen #seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #svt fluff #one shot #one shot fluff #bangchan x reader #skz #skzfluff #bangchanfluff

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tadpolesonalgae · 2 years

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Azriel x reader: Washing his Wings - part 2

Someone asked for a part two so I gave it a go, sorry if it’s different from part 1!

Synopsis: both of you are awkward after the ‘meeting’, staying far away from each other and trying to resist the curiosity that’s burning the two of you alive.

Warnings: more fluff, not proofread!

-Part 1- -Part 3-

******** - marks where dialogue begins

There was an uneasy tension between the two of you. Neither daring to address the ember that had finally caught, slowly simmering at the back of your minds. Each to their own as Azriel took on more missions, less and less time spend at the house, while you busied yourself with helping Elain around - any spare time spent trying to probe what had been gifted to you by the cauldron.

It was some kind of nightmare. Constantly on edge, would he be back tonight? Would be suddenly appear from the shadows? Your nails were worn thin from teeth nipping at them. The moment had been so raw, so pure, almost as is revisiting it would tear it’s undeveloped state apart; make it collapse in on itself.

He would be back later tonight, perhaps even early morning, the High Lord had casually mentioned as you left the kitchen, having finished breakfast. You’d frozen and turned, asking why he was mentioning it, you would have found out the morning he returned and were in no need of a precautionary warning. He’d simply raised a single brow, then shrugged, returning to his food until your youngest sister had walked in and tugged him out of the room. It appeared they’d both be preoccupied for a while.

Mor had dropped in around dinner time, joining your for a meal and bringing Nesta and Cassian along with her. The house had kindly handled the other threes meals, leaving you to handle yourself. Once the meal had come to a close, you requested Mor winnow you to the top of the cliff that contained the house. When she raised her brows, you explained there were some things you wished to test, and you’d stay at the hut up there for the night. One of the slightly poorer lies you’d told but she didn’t seem to mind, winnowing you up once you’d gathered sufficient clothing. “Scream if you need anything,” she smiled before dropping you off at the cabin. After all this time you still weren’t sure if that would work or not.

You tugged on some warmer clothes, making up the bed properly and folded your night things. Originally, you were going to put them in the bedside draws, but those had webs in that hadn’t been disturbed in a while, thick stripes of soft, sticky web lining the insides. Instead you hid them beneath the pillow, where the spiders hadn’t sought. Then you left, walking out into the cool night, locking the door behind you.

The cabin was a way from the top of the cliff, thank the cauldron as heights weren’t your specialty, so you trekked upwards for a while, thankful that Mor had insisted on making you bring an extra layer for the cold since there was no fireplace in the hut.

By the time you reached the peek of the cliff, the sun was long gone thanks to the numerous breaks you’d taken. It had been too long since you’d been outside, the fresh air clearing out your mind, whisping your thoughts away. You shuffled to the cliff edge, kneeling down and crawling until the red stone fell away, leading to the steep drop down to the sea.

You swung your legs over the edge, keeping a firm grip on ground to steady yourself should you fall. The stars were glinting in the night sky, Velaris glowing beneath. The soothing sight made your eyelids grow heavier by the second and soon you had leant back, lying on the mossy earth, staring up at the sky as the winds tangled with your legs. Sooner or later, your eyes slipped shut, deep, easy breaths flowing steadily in and out of you, arms spread wide.

A cold wind swept across your torso, gliding down your chest and wrapping around your neck, snapping your eyes awake. You pulled your arms close, rolling over only feel the weightlessness of your feet and start upwards. Remembering where you were, exhaustion lay heavily on your bones as you realised how far away from the cabin you were. From the looks of the dark greys and pale blues merging across the sky, you guessed it was early morning. Azriel would most likely be back at the house of wind by now, the only thing stopping you from even trying to scream for Mor.

Heaving your aching body upwards, you began the long and tedious March back to the hut which was thankfully made easier by the gentle decline of the hill. Your eyes were just about managing to stay open against the lulling but fading darkness of the night, allowing you to spot the cabin not too far off.

The iron of the handle was freezing against your warmer palm, that was stiff with cold. You opened the door, shuffling inside and falling back against it once shut, cupping your hands in front of your mouth to heat them up. It wasn’t much warmer inside than it was out, but at least you had the bed.

You exited the narrow hallway, the one that led straight to the bedroom - honestly it was more of a glorified bedroom than a hut, there was the hallway, then the bedroom, a small washroom connecting to it and that was it - brushing past a curtain on your way. You turned, there weren’t any windows in the hallway, just a rack for cloaks. And low and behold, on the rack was a thick, black, fleecy cloak. A smile tipped your lips as you realised Mor must’ve winnowed it up to you, knowing how cold the room could get.

The smile was smacked off your lips when you looked to the bed, nearly passing out from the overwhelming waves of emotion and panic crashing over you as you recognised the shape of large wings lying beneath the thin duvet. He must’ve had the same idea. You released a quiet sigh as you sunk back against the wall, wondering what to do. If it were any warmer, you would head back outside and sleep there until Mor fetched you at dawn - it wasn’t too far off.

Your throat tightened as a shadow moved by his head, trailing around his hair and circling down to his ear. “Don’t wake him,” you whispered, breathing shallowly, “please.” To your confusion, the shadow stopped, curled back over itself and retreated back into the darkness of his wings. Huh.

There was enough light to see, so you peered around the room, breath clouding in front of you as you wondered what to do. Heat flushed your cheeks as you remembered his cloak in the hallway. Butterflies swirled in your stomach as you thought through your options. Sleep outside? Far too cold. Try to make your way down to Velaris? Death trap. Wake him u— mother no. You smacked the though away before it could fully develop. Guess it would be the cloak.

You peeled off your heavy jumper that was damp and cold from the mist and dew, then removing your thick trousers, leaving you in a shirt that covered your arms and shorts that reached to a big above your knees. Embarrassing, but at least you wouldn’t freeze overnight from the moisture.

Walking as silently as possible back to the hallway, you reached for Azriel’s cloak, the blackness of it making your eyes go funny, like it wasn’t really there. You hesitated, hand outstretched, pausing as doubts filled you. Was this okay? You shook your head, you’d freeze if you didn’t.

His scent hit you as your pulled the cloak tightly around you, sinking into the warm fleece that lined the inside.

Mother above.

You hadn’t accounted for this, for the tidal wave of panic and the tightness in your chest as the warmth enveloped you. The cloak reached past your ankles, pooling slightly on the floor. The slits in the back for his wings rested on your shoulders instead of staying at the back, where they would be on him. You hadn’t realised how much larger he was, the height of the cloak and width of the shoulders bringing a small wash of realisation coursing through you.

Balling your hands into fists around the material, you settled down in one corner of the bedroom, incidentally, the furthest from the bed, resting your head against the wall and leaning into the thick padding of the cloak. Your eyes slid shut once again, arms tucked tight around your knees.

********

Light seeped into your vision as your eyes cracked open, focusing in on a shape that moved without making sound, wreathed in shadow. “Azriel?” You murmured, mind still hazy from the rough night. The silhouette froze, then turned. You could make out two large wings shifting behind the figure.

“You’re awake.” His voice alone conveyed enough of the uneasy tension between the two of you. You rubbed your eyes, sitting upright and looking around the room. The bed was made up neatly and Azriel was standing a bit in front of you, making for the hallway.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I didn’t want to wake you…”

You looked down in embarrassment. You could hear the sounds of his wings shifting behind him. “I came up here last night to try somethings…when I came back, you were…well…” You trailed off, looking from him to the bed, then back at him. He nodded, stiffly. An uncomfortable silence followed.

“Oh. You’ll want—” you muttered as you stood, moving to remove his cloak from yourself, the fabric nearly swallowing you alive. In a pleasant way. “It’s fine,” he spoke. You looked up at him, confusion furrowing your brows. “It’s still cold out,” he gestured to the door.

“I see.” You replied tightly, now having no idea what to do with yourself. Another, more uncomfortable silence followed.

“Are you staying here?” He finally broke the silence, a small breath leaving you in relief. “No, I think Mor will be popping in later,” you explained, “if she remembers,” you added. His lips moved almost imperceptibly upwards. “I could fly you back.” Your eyes snapped to his. “Save Mor the journey and you the wait,” he elaborated. You thought about it, then nodded, hesitantly, moving to fold and gather your clothes. Right. Your clothes. Flaming heat scorched your cheeks and you subconsciously tugged his cloak closer.

“Um, Azriel?” You managed, unable to help the small shift in your pitch. “I, uh—,” your heart was hammering, “I’m not, exactly— you know…?” You pulled the cloak around you further. He looked at you blankly until a shadow curled round his ear. A muscle feathered in his jaw as his eyes suddenly refused to leave yours, not daring to dip any lower.

“You can put your arms through the slits in the back,” he offered and you nodded, doing just that but making sure the movement didn’t cause the cloak to open. Once you’d neatly folded your jumper and heavy trouser and collected your night clothes, you followed Azriel out into the open morning air, making sure you locked the door - singlehandedly, you might add. Before you had even properly turned back around, his arms had swept under you, wings flaring wide and pushing you off the ground.

Your spare arm immediately circled his neck, clinging to him desperately as you other hand held your clothes tightly to you. You squeezed your eyes shut, head leaning into his shoulder as you took a few steadying, deep breaths. Azriel released a low chuckle, making you open your eyes long enough to glower at him, “I knew I should have waited for Mor,” you muttered, playfully, “winnowing beats flying any day.”

Azriel did not appreciate that. The giveaway was his grip tightening on your shoulder and thighs before diving downwards, no other warning given. You screamed as he didn’t level out, continuing the sheer drop toward Velaris. “Mother above! Azriel, pull up for Cauldron’s sake!” You screamed again as he began beating his wings, propelling you downwards. Your eye cracked open, then both snapped wide as you saw how close you were to the ground, “Azriel!” You buried your head in the crook of his shoulder, shutting your eyes tightly and gripping onto him.

His wings flared as they caught the wind and slowly smoothed out into a glide. You dared a peek below, watching the roofs pass below you, a flurry of ochre yellows and chalky reds colouring your sight. “Still think winnowing is better?” He asked, a grin tilting his mouth. You scowled, “you’ve just further convinced me of the fact, yes,” you snapped, though you couldn’t help the answering grin that tipped your lips. A playful glint appeared in his eyes, challenge lurking just beneath, making you swallow.

He flew higher, to where the sun was warming the air above, just rising over the horizon. The heat washed over you, bathing you in the orange glow. This time you allowed the smile to part your lips as the floaty feeling overtook your fear, allowing it to slip away as you shut your eyes.

The wind pushed your hair away from your face, fresh air pouring into your lungs, heart hammering from exhilaration as you dared a look down. The sun glimmering across the water, sending skittering sparks of colour dancing over the surface. The roofs with hot red tiles contrasting with the thatched ones that were glinting with gold under the bright rays.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed, grip loosening on his shoulders, managing to look around properly, taking in the expanse of the sky, the landscape surrounding Velaris. A knowing smile spread across his mouth, lighting up his face in what you could only describe as understanding joy. “I might have to strand myself on that hill more often,” you laughed quietly, actually enjoying being in the air. “I’m sure Mor would be willing to winnow you back, since that’s the better option,” he grinned, his humour finally rising to the surface.

“Fine, the view is a definite plus,” you conceded, “though I’m still not quite sure it outweighs those awful dives you do,” you muttered. A wicked grin split across his face. “No—,” your eyes went wide, Azriel barely giving you any sort of warning before he folded his wings in, tucking them firmly behind his back.

He didn’t let you fall nearly as far this time, just a small dive, levelling out then quickly inclining as he circled through the air back toward the House of Wind. He glided smoothly to the balcony, landing elegantly then setting you down on the ground. Your hair was an absolute mess, small whisks curling round your cheeks that you were certain were flushed from the wind. “I’m getting you back for that, one day,” you promised, glaring at him. “I don’t think it was that bad,” he laughed.

“I could have dropped my clothes!” You snapped, pulling them closer to your body. “What if I had dropped them,” you continued, a small smile breaking apart the glower you were trying to send him, “can you imagine? Just a regular person going about their day, then a female’s nightgown drops onto the pavement in front of them?” you laughed, “how would you even begin to explain that?” Azriel was laughing with you at this point. “Well?” You demanded, trying to stop the laughs that were tumbling freely from your mouth. “I don’t think I’d actually have an answer to that one,” he admitted, grin evident on his face.

You rolled your eyes, heading inside. You spotted Nesta at the breakfast table, meal in front of her and as you approached, you spotted Cassian across from her. “Morning,” you greeted, taming the smile on your face. “You look delighted,” Nesta observed. Azriel walked in behind you. “Ah,” she threw a knowing glance at Cassian who returned it.

Cassian then turned his attention on you and Azriel, “where were the two of you, by the way?” A mischievous smile has edged it’s way onto his mouth though his gaze was primarily on Azriel. “Fuck off, Cass,” Azriel muttered, moving to the hallway where his room was, you following after him, since yours was also that way. “Nice cloak by the way,” Cassian called after you. You span on your heal realising what it looked like. “It is so not what it looks like,” you muttered indignantly, further along the hall you heard a huff of laughter from Azriel.

“And what does it look like, hm?” Nesta replied, smirking over her cup of tea. You scowled and turned, refusing to fall into her trap, walking away toward your room. From behind you, you heard a muffled ‘they totally did,’ making you glare at the floor. You almost didn’t see Azriel in front of your door, holding it open for you.

“Thanks,” you offered him a grateful smile. Remembering the cloak, you set your pile of clothes down on the small table inside the door and removed it from your shoulders. “I thought you—,”

“Well, everyone seems to think we…” you trailed off, “so you know. Might as well.” You shrugged, handing his cloak back to him. His eyes snapped to yours, wings flaring slightly. You smacked your palm over your mouth in utter embarrassment. “I meant— you know— not like that. But— with the clothes! I-I don’t mind—”

He nodded quickly, sparing you from that horrible mistake. “Gods I’m sorry,” you hid your burning face in your hand. Upon hearing a chuckle from Azriel you looked up, smile blooming across his mouth. “You can keep it,” he grinned, “I have others.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to deprive you of such a wonderful luxury,” you managed a smile back, face cooling down enough that you could look him in the eyes. “I want you to keep it,” he rephrased, and when you quirked your eyebrows he simply spoke, “wouldn’t want you to forget today. Not any of it.” Your stomach flipped. “Then I accept,” you murmured, pulling the cloak back towards you, eyes still on his. The two of you stayed like that for a moment, staring at each other in slight curiosity. Both of you seemed to zone back in at the same time, reeling back from the pull. Azriel nodded to you before moving to leave down the hallway, along to his own room.

“Thanks for the ride,” you called after him.

You heard snickering from the other end of the corridor, making you groan and slam the door shut.

#Azriel #Azriel one shot #Azriel Acotar #Azriel x reader #Azriel fluff #Acotar #Azriel x reader fluff #one shot fluff #i hope this is okay!

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invalidmanokit · 2 months

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Capsized PT. 1

(This is a 2 part lol leaving yall in suspense! not really. But I thought it would make a good 2 part tbf)

Wade was on the verge of sleeping, leaning his head on his desk. The paperwork he was supposed to have already finished was scattered across the wooden surface. He hated office work, almost as much as he hated house work. It was unstimulating, and quite frankly, he wanted nothing to do with it. He closed his eyes, deciding he would rather get in trouble than do any more writing.

But he didn’t get to do either.

A resounding explosion shook the entire carrier, causing Wade to be thrown from his chair. The back of his head cracked against the wall. He pressed his palm to the injury, but as he opened his eyes he saw his filing cabinet had been ripped from its bolts and was being flung right at his face.

He moved in time, but several more explosions followed the first. He clung to his desk, failing to keep his footing as he was tossed around his room.

Mateo burst through the door, immediately falling against the wall. He fought to remain upright as he delivered quite devastating news.

“We’re being hit by Kamikazes!” He yelled over the sounds of rushing water.

Both men knew that was a bad sign.

Right on que, the aviators and everything else in the room were thrown against the wall. The office door slammed shut. Desk, cot, filing cabinet and every other object blocked the door, with Wade and Mateo falling on top of it all. Both were knocked out on impact.

Mateo groaned and jolted into a sitting position. He felt the ice cold ocean water drip down his face. “Shit,” he hissed. They had capsized.

Wade was laying on his back, bent awkwardly over the corner of the desk. Mateo rushed to his friend’s side, grabbing his shoulders and giving him a firm shake.

Wade gave a small gasp, letting his eyes flutter open. He groaned and slowly sat up, pressing his hand to the back of his head again.

“M’teo?” He slurred. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, Wade, c’mon, we need to get out of here.”

Mateo looked at the furniture beneath them, bunched in the corner and waterlogged. “Fuck. I don’t think we’re getting that door open.”

Wade looked down, frowning. “The rest of the carrier is probably sealed up.”

“I hope everyone else made it out at least.” Mateo whispered.

The water continued to rise, which worried the aviators. They stood, discussing their options.

Mateo started to shiver, the salty water chilling his core. Wade gathered the short Latino in his arms, rubbing his back in a vain attempt to keep him warm.

“If we can manage to unblock the door, we might be able to escape through the holes the jets made.” Wade was just thinking out loud, but Mateo liked the idea.

“Who knows how deep we are, though, so air might be a problem.”

“We won’t be able to come back up for breath either. We have to hold that shit back as we go through the door.” Wade paused, avoiding eye contact with his tail gunner. “Mateo… In the likely chance we don’t survive…”

Mateo blinked, looking up at the ace pilot with curiosity. He had something to say too, but he would simply encourage Wade to continue for now. He gently placed his right hand between Wade’s shoulder blades.

Wade sighed. “I love you.”

Mateo smiled. “I love you too.”

“No, Teo… I love you.”

“I know what you meant.” Mateo replied lovingly.

Wade smiled and kissed his partner’s forehead. “Are you ready?”

“No,” Mateo mumbled. “Let’s go.”

They took a deep breath, looking at each other for reassurance, and dove under.

Mateo wrestled to get each object out of the way while Wade swam down and held them up. Mateo wriggled his way through the door, doing his best to keep it open enough for Wade to get through. They were already nearly out of breath as they desperately swam through the ship to find an exit.

Mateo grabbed Wade’s hand, leading him towards a hole in the hull just large enough for them to get through.

Mateo felt his lungs burning, begging him to inhale. He bit his tongue to keep himself from trying to breathe, focussing on Wade as they ascended. He barely broke the surface when his body finally gave in, forcing him to inhale. He coughed and gasped, turning to his back to float and conserve energy.

The aviators laughed to themselves, looking at each other in awe. How they made it out alive, they weren’t sure, but they were grateful. They let themselves relax while they caught their breath.

Wade took Mateo’s hand, intertwining their fingers. Neither of them spoke. They chose to just silently enjoy each other’s company.

Wade snapped open his eyes, glancing around. He could hear a rescue chopper in the distance. It finally found them, and hovered over them. Wade grasped the ladder as soon as it was in reach, clinging tightly to Mateo’s arm as they rose.

Once they were safely inside the helicopter, they were given blankets. They sat quietly across from each other, just glad they were out of the water.

Wade saw Mateo move his hands slightly, and looked up. The Latino was signing something to him.

“Did you really mean what you said?”

Wade smiled and signed his own reply. “Every word.”

Mateo blushed, smiling contently.

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samandcolbyownme · 2 months

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Summary: anon request - "Requesting for Jake (and Johnnie but it's not what you think) // Jake Johnnie and y/n go live in the car - Jake accidentally lets it slip that he was with someone - no one knew - y/n and Jake don't want anyone knowing that they're together ??? So they're scrambling to try and cover it up? Idk if that makes any sense but in my mind it does lolllll thanks"

Warnings: Fluff mainly, flirting, trying different candies, Jake and Johnnie being Jake and Johnnie, secret relationship between reader and Jake, cute, funny

Word count: little over 2k | not edited at all

╔═══━━━─── • ───━━━═══╗

As you're getting around to go do a video with Jake and Johnnie, your phone lights up. You lean over, picking up and smiling when you see Jake's name on the screen, "Hello?"

"Are you almost ready? Johnnie's getting a little impatient." Jake laughs and you can hear Johnnie in the background yelling but Jake raises his voice to cover it, "Well be there to get you in like ten minutes."

"Okay." You laugh, "I'm about ready."

"Okay. See you soon." Jake says and you agreed, "Yeah, bye." You smile as you hang up, getting ready to set your phone down, but you get a text that makes you stop.

It's from Jake, Remember, gotta keep your hands to yourself.

You smirk, setting down your brush to hold your phone with both hands, Aw, man. That's no fun. But since we're a secret, I guess I can manage.

You set your phone down, doing your finishing touches to your makeup, before you get another text from Jake, you're my favorite secret.

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

"Hey." You say as you get in the car, "Look at you sitting in the back already." You turn to look Johnnie in the backseat and he stares blankly at you, "I don't like it."

Jake sighs making his voice all weird, "Well suck it up buttercup." He laughs as he starts to drive away. You bite your lip, keeping your head forward as you try to keep your smile at bay.

When you're with Jake, you're always giddy, happy to see him. You're always wanting to hold his hand, lay your hand his arm, kiss him.

Anything to be touching him.

But you can't do that right now. You and Jake agreed to try and keep things on the low, just have some private time for as long as you can before word got out and everyone went crazy.

"We got some American candy and some candy from over yonder to compare them to." Jake pulls into the parking lot, leaning forward to check if he's up far enough.

"Over yonder as in.. where, Jake?" Johnnie asks and Jake puts the car in park before turning around to look at him, "Can you not just go with the flow for once? Do you have to know everything?"

Johnnie nods, "Yeah, I'm an anxious person."

"Here." Jake hands him a regular Kit Kat, "Eat this."

"Ooh. Candy!" Johnnie's voice goes high, almost like he's about to pull out the Timmy card and Jake sighs, "Please, Johnnie. Keep Timmy in your pants."

You cover your mouth, fighting back laughter as Jake turns around, looking over at you, "What's so funny?"

You look at him, smirking slightly as you shrug, "You're just a funny guy, Webber." He laughs, "Ah, ha. Ha. I know." He winks at you before starting the stream, "Hello. It's me."

"And me." Johnnie buts in and you lean over, "I'm here, too."

Jake smiles, "You guys get the three stooges today. Moe. Larry. And Curly." His eyes scan over the chat, "Today, I'm going to be making y/n and Johnnie try some candy snacks from over yonder, ya know?"

You watch as he reaches back, pulling a bag from the floor behind your seat.

"Oh!" He yells kinda loud, which makes you jump, "You can get one of these bad girls." He pinches his hoodie and pulls it out, "On the merch site."

He looks back at Johnnie and scoffs, "Stop tongue fucking your Kit Kat and show them your shirt, Jesus Christ Johnnie."

Johnnie tries not to laugh, "B-but. I thought that's what we were doing?"

You roll your eyes, laughing as he leans forward, "If you want to support us in being americas favorite ladies, click the link below."

"Yes, all proceeds will go to Johnnie smelling better than a hairsprayed chicken nugget." Jake claps his hands together, cutting Johnnie off before he can say anything, "Anyway. Let's get started."

He pulls something from the bag and looks at it, "So this is a melon flavored kit from what I'm guessing is Japan? Maybe?" He hands it to you and you look at it, "Cantaloupe I think."

You shrug, opening it up, "I mean.. it smells.. okay?" You hold the open candy up to Jake's nose and he takes a big, over-exaggerated sniff, "Mm." He groans, "Melony."

"You're so fucking weird." Johnnie shakes his head and you extend your arm back, "You wanna smell it, too?"

He leans in, "I don't smell anything."

"Hmm." You pull your arm back up, breaking off one of the bars, "Here." You hand one to Jake and he takes it, "Why thank you." He takes it and bites into it and Johnnie yells, "Thanks for waiting for us you jackass."

You laugh, looking between them and Jake puts the piece he bit off back on top of the bar, "Fine, I'll just magically reattach it."

You lean forward, "Yeah." You nod as you read the chats, "They fight like a married couple."

"We do not." Both Jake and Johnnie say at the same time and you tilt your head, "Really."

"I'm not married to Johnnie because my-" Jake stops and your eyes go slightly wide, "Because your what Jake?"

Johnnie leans up, "Yeah, Jake. Is there something I should know about?"

Jake laughs and shakes his head, biting into the candy, "Fuck you guys."

"Another woman, or man, I should know about?" Johnnie is clearly joking, but he wouldn't be if he knew about the two of you.

"Alright, no. I'm not.." Jake laughs, "I give this one a three point five."

"Way to change the subject." Johnnie says and Jake looks at him, "Can you-"

Johnnie cuts him off, "Not me. The people in the screen are saying it."

You lean forward, eyes scanning down over the chat,

User1- PLEASE they're so funny

User2 - Nahhh that sounded like Jake was about to spill a secret

User3- TELL US

User4 - JAKE WEBBER WHAT ARE YOU HIDING

User5 - he has a secret girlfriend. I'm calling it right now.

User6 - Jake would have told us, so no one jump to conclusions please

User 7 - Y'all don't know that wtffff Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake Jake please

User8 - I just joined, what happened?

"Well, I'll catch you up, Jake and Johnnie are arguing over the fact that they say they aren't a married couple." You laugh as you look at Jake, then to Johnnie, "And you guys so are."

Jake rolls his eyes, "Annyywaaay."

"Anyway." You and Johnnie say at the same time, both mocking Jake. You give Jake a smile, letting him know you're low key flirting with him.

"What the fuck." Johnnie shakes his head, "There's no way that just happened. Fucking mocking me you.. mocker."

Jake rolls his eyes at Johnnie and smirks at you, "Anyway."

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

A little while later, towards the end of the stream, you're trying these chocolate candies, "Ah." You catch chocolate in your hand, "Why is it melting like this?”

"I don't know, I can't read Japanese." Jake laughs, "Hang on." He reaches over, grabbing a napkin and wiping it off your pant leg, "Goddamn. We can dress you up but we can't take you out."

"Wait, I thought you only said that to me." Johnnie pouts, "You backstabbing bitch."

Jake laugh, hanging his down as he shakes it, "Johnnie, I can't take you anywhere in general."

"Fair. Fair." Johnnie nods and you try to eat the candy but it gets on your lip and down your chin, "Ope." You close your lip, pointing with your pinky so Jake can get you another napkin.

"Jesus Christ, y/n. You're messier than I am." Johnnie laughs and you roll your eyes. Jake wipes your chin and lip with his thumb and pops it into his mouth, without thinking of course.

"Did you just.. Jake. You're holding a fucking napkin." Johnnie points and Jake just stares at you, panicking on what to do.

You lick your lips, wiping your chin off with the napkin, "now that I can speak, Johnnie. At least I don't leave black hair color stains on Jake's white seats."

Johnnie purses his lips and points to you, "That.. is from my root cover up bullshit. It's not easy being a blonde who dyes their hair, ya know."

Jake leans back over into his seat and laugh, "That's why you're stupid, stupid fuck."

You and Jake gently, well you gently bully Johnnie. Jake just bullies him to try and cover up what he did to you, but the chat won't let it go.

User9 - DID HE JUST- he didn't

User10- PLEASE HE HAD A NAPKIN

User11 - if I was y/n right now I'd be dead

User12 - that was so hot WTF

User13 - PLEASS GELL MW THEURE DAYING

User14 - JAKE blink if you like y/n

User15 - Johnnie absolutely kills me he's so funny without even trying LMAO

User16 - Johnnie knows. Johnnie tell us. Please Johnnie. Please SPILL IT

"Wait." Johnnie leans forward, "What did I spill?" He looks around and Jake laughs, "You idiot, they're telling you to spill something, you know like a secret. Fuck, why are we friends?"

"Because.." Johnnie changes his voice, "You love me. I'm all you have."

"Not true." Jake mumbles as he glances over at you because raising his voice loud enough for Johnnie to hear, "Yeah, yeah. I guess. Whatever you say."

"I'll take it." Johnnie nods and leans back, "so is that all or is there any other things we need to try?"

"Yeah, you need to try shutting the fuck up for once." Jake tries not to laugh, but fails, snorting as he rests his head on the steering wheel, "Fucking hell, Johnnie."

"As I said. Married couple." You laugh as you break apart another Kit Kat and hand a piece to Jake.

Johnnie slowly leans forward, his voice is quiet, "You'll have to kill me if you want me to stop, because I'm never going to stop."

Jake waits a few seconds and quickly reaches his hands up, trying to get Johnnie's neck.

User17 - we're about to witness the murder of Johnnie Guilbert

User18 - rip Johnnie

User19 - idk how y/n puts up with them

You sigh, shrugging as you tilt your head, "I don't know either, honestly." You laugh, reaching up to break up the small cat fight between the boys, "Hey, no blood on the white interior."

"Yes mom." Jake faces forward, hands in his lap and Johnnie salutes you, "Yes ma'am."

You chew on the inside of your cheek, "Do we have anything else to try?" Jake shakes his head, "No, I don't think we do." He looks over at you, "I am hungry though."

You and Johnnie both agree and Johnnie sighs, "Stop. Fucking. Copying me."

"Stop fucking copying me." You mock him with a laugh and Johnnie hangs his head down, "You're lucky you're not Jake saying that because if it was Jake I-"

"What." Jake spins around, "What will you do, you big bad. Emo goth guy?" He tries not to laugh again and Johnnie just reaches up slowly, tapping him on the cheek, "That. Thats what I'd do."

"You hit like a bitch bro, remind me to never have you on my side in a fight." Jake turns around laughing and Johnnie just sighs, "I can't stand you."

"You love me." Jake smiles at him and Johnnie tries not to laugh, "Fuck off."

"You know.. I'd- nevermind." Jake laughs, shaking his head, "Nevermind. Okay. So that's it for today. See you in the next one, bye."

Johnnie waves, along with you and Jake ends the stream.

It's quiet for a few minutes as everyone gets situated for the drive to get food and Johnnie breaks the silence, "so are you guys like fucking? Or what?"

You and Jake glance at each other, neither one of you willing to answer and Johnnie huffs, “Mm. Just as I suspected.”

.·:*¨ ✘ ¨*:·.

This was literally written on a whim. I had this sitting in my drafts for a little while and I finally just sat down and kept writing until I felt like it was good enough to stop.

I hope you enjoyed, let me know what you think.

Love you all! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

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