#request fic

Since your moonblood had come upon you, you had not done much other than lie in your bed. You were immensely tired, with little to no desire to do anything other than sleep, eat, and perhaps read a little from the book on your bedside. 

Your husband knew what these monthly periods were like for you, and despite his best wishes, he attempted to be peaceful and bother you as little as possible. He left you to your own devices during the day, and made little fuss in the evenings when he fell into bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and dragging you closer to him with a satisfied grunt. 

If it was possible, these moments made you fall in love with Lyonel even more. You knew your husband’s tendencies, the boisterousness, the sensitivity to boredom, the random and rather mad ideas that sometimes put him in harm’s way at some precariously high point of the keep at Storm’s End. But in these moments, when he was actively softening himself, when he was being careful not to speak too loud lest you have a headache, or when he gently pressed his palm to your lower belly to keep you warm where you hurt most without saying a word, you could not help but feel overwhelmed with love for him. 

“How have you fared today?” He asked, voice a low sleepy rumble against the top of your temple. 

He had only just come in from some feast with his friends and a small hunting party that had begged lodgings for one evening. He smelt slightly of drink, and though it was not necessarily pleasant, you had become accustomed to it. 

His hair was loose and messy, draping onto your forehead in a way that tickled, and a lazy smile painted your mouth. You tilted up and blew on it to push it away, watched the greying strands flutter in the air then resettle a little higher on your head. 

His arm draped heavily over your middle, clutching you close to him as he practically lay half on top of you. You stroked your fingers up and down the taut muscle of his bicep, mimicking the motion of his hand along your ribs just under your left breast. He was half naked, wearing only a loose pair of linen trousers, his preferred sleepwear. 

The room was warm from the hearth, and you were just reaching the point of getting too hot, your skin flushing and beginning to shine. You wore only a thin nightgown, the sleeves having been pushed up to your elbows from your uncomfortable shifting in the bed, and the covers had long since been kicked down to the end of the bed. 

“Alright I suppose,” you whispered back, eyes drifting shut as you tried to melt further into his hold. You would not ask him to dim the hearth because in a few hours it would burn away on its own and then you would be far too cold. “Uncomfortable more than pained, the worst of it has passed I think.” 

He hummed low against the side of your head, nodding a little then lifting up to press a firm kiss to your temple, his beard rubbing against the skin. He rested his head once more and you smiled again, turning your head to press a return kiss to his bare shoulder. 

“I missed your company today,” you whispered again, nuzzling your cheek to his shoulder. 

“Mm,” you could hear the satisfaction even in that little sound, your smile growing as his did. “I missed you as well, my fawn,” he told you in a low voice, mouth moving against the side of your head, creeping closer to your ear. “The company of all these men put together does not come close to comparing to the joy I feel from one moment in your presence.” He nuzzled his nose into the space behind your ear and you giggled, shifting away from him at the oddly ticklish feeling and the way his beard rubbed at your neck. But he did not allow you to get far, one massive hand spanning over your side and forcing you back. 

“You have a knack for flattery, beloved,” you told him with a laugh, shaking your head before turning it to the side so you could look at him properly. 

“It is not flattery when it is true,” he told you firmly, shrugging as if it was that simple, and even that made your insides turn warm. It truly was just him that did it for you. 

You shifted again, trying to get comfortable, but you grimaced at the wet feeling between your legs. The cloths you were using had become soaked enough to beg a change now, and the wetness smearing between your lips, be it blood or slick, would not be pleasant to keep there. 

“Ugh,” you groaned, pressing one hand to your eyes as you thought of getting up to change when you were far too comfy and cozy here. 

“What?” Lyonel asked, brows furrowing in confusion as you began attempting to move. He did not release his grip on you and you sighed a little. 

“I must change my cloths. Either blood or desire for you has rendered it necessary,” you groaned, patting his arm so he would move it off. But rather than release you, he only lifted himself higher so he could look down into your face. 

“Desire for me, huh?” He asked teasingly, eyebrows wiggling with suggestion, and you huffed a laugh, dropping your forehead to his shoulder as you shook your head. 

“I should not tell you I desire you, it only feeds your bloated ego further,” you teased, giving in to the intrusive desire to bite the flesh of his shoulder. He let out a little sound at the feeling of your teeth but did not push you off. 

“On the contrary, you should always tell me you desire me so that I may make your wishes come true!” He exclaimed before leaning down and pressing his mouth firmly to yours. You made a surprised little sound into the kiss, closing your eyes and responding with eagerness. 

You reached up and caressed his cheek then scratched at his beard a little under his chin. He growled into the kiss, pressing even harder against you and opening your mouth with his own to lick into the hot space there. Your chin was rubbed raw every time he became voracious in this manner, but you did not mind one bit. 

Lyonel pulled away, beginning to kiss over your cheek and down your neck, wet presses of his mouth to the skin there that made you shiver and pant. But as his hands began to traverse up and down your torso, stroking over your belly and up to your breasts that were already beginning to tighten at the tips, you nudged him at the shoulder until he rose to face you. 

“I am still bleeding,” you told him in a small voice, something akin to shame and timidity colouring your eyes and mouth. 

“So?” He asked, one eyebrow raising in question as if you had asked something completely ludicrous. “A little bit of blood has never bothered a true man, and my darling, you are blessed to have the truest of men in your bed.” He smirked then, hurriedly leaning down and pressing an obnoxious and loud kiss to your mouth as you giggled, before reaching down and beginning to bunch the skirt of your nightgown up to your waist. 

You shifted upwards a little, rising onto your elbows, and you panted as you watched him push the hem of your night gown out of the way, and focus on your smallclothes. He pulled them down, quick but gentle, and then looked up at you as he reached between your thighs. You shivered, swallowing a little as you resisted the urge of slamming your legs tightly closed. 

But he just stroked along the flesh of your thighs softly, little movements of his fingertips over the expanse of your leg and warm tingles shot through you at the motion. He curled in on himself so he could bend and press a ticklish kiss to the thigh closest to him, smiling up at you before he reached between your legs again. You were a little more relaxed now. 

He pressed his fingers to the bundle of cloths you had pressed to your cunt to catch your blood, and after gaining a firm grip, he slowly began to swipe up with them. He wiped through your lips, ignoring the tremble that ran through you and the small sound that left your lips when he pressed against your clit for a moment. Once the cloth had dragged through fully, he pinched it to fold it, then wiped between your legs again. When much of the blood had been wiped away, he fisted the bundle and tossed it onto the floor on the other side of the bed. 

You were pulsing at your core now, panting and shivering. You were so much more sensitive during your moonblood, and even the softest touches to your tender skin made you feel ten times what you would normally. He gently touched your lips, pressed the softest finger to your clit, and when you jolted and moaned, he smirked and huffed out a chuckle. 

“Mm, I like you like this,” he teased. You smiled a little, but you could not focus on anything other than his hands and the sensations between your legs. 

He clambered over your thigh, and once he was snugly situated, he pushed both of your thighs up until your knees were closer to your breasts than not. He caressed the back of your thigh, smirking when you twitched at the ticklish feeling, and he began to push the hem of his own trousers down.

“Will you be gentle?” You asked tentatively, hands settling on his shoulders as he held himself up with one hand and pumped his cock in the other. He stopped his motions and looked up at you, eyes softening as he nodded. He leaned down and kissed you, long and slow as both of his hands held you at the waist. 

“Of course, my fawn,” he agreed against your mouth, and then he was reaching down again, situating his cock at your hole, and beginning to push forward. 

You fluttered your eyes shut, grip tightening over his shoulder, and your mouth dropped open though no sound came out. He was spearing through you, and it was tender and raw and immensely pleasurable. It almost hurt but in a rather good way, your insides pulsing aggressively at the feeling. 

Lyonel’s head dropped to your chest and neck, his beard rubbing the skin there raw. He slowly pulled back and then pushed in again, barely a movement more than the roll of his hips. He reached up, gripped the neck of your nightgown and yanked it down, cupping your one exposed breast in the same hand and instantly sucking the nipple into his mouth. You moaned, a sound punched from your chest at the sensation. 

It was a rhythm from then on, a steady, loving pace, whereby he simply rolled his hips, barely pulling out and simply pressing a little deeper. You were lost to the feeling of it, eyes closed and focused on the tingles and warmth and the colours that burst behind your eyelids. His pelvis rubbed your clit and it only made everything else better. Your knees pressed into his ribs and you began rolling your hips against his, chasing that euphoria that was just at your fingertips. 

Lyonel kissed up your neck, then back down, and returned to sucking your nipple, harsher this time, forcing the pleasure sparks to hit you like lightning. He mumbled against your skin, words of praise, nonsensical phrases, and the like. You only really caught the words “hot cunt” and “will fucking kill me” through your own haze. 

You began moaning in earnest as the pleasure reached higher and higher, his name falling from your lips in whispers then whines then unabashed moans. You pressed your hand to his shoulder, clinging on for the final fall. 

“Lyonel,” you panted, writhing under him. “Lyonel, Lyonel!” You yelled as you came, a rush, a spark, a flame. It was falling, seizing up, being engulfed in warmth and a feeling that could not be matched by anything else. 

He fucked you a little harder then, little shoves of his hips back and forth, hurried movements before he yelled and followed you into oblivion. His grip on your waist was bruising, his other hand pressed so far into the mattress that the shape would be forever altered. 

And then the two of you were arriving back to your bodies, back to your lovely warm room at Storm’s End. You blinked your eyes open, slowly beginning to catch your breath. You were hot and sweaty and very sticky in places. Lyonel remained on top of you, sprawled as if you were the mattress. You stroked a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp a little, and he hummed in pleasure. 

“Do not fall asleep on me,” you chastised quietly, though your own eyes were closing. “I must get up and change.” 

“Mhm, yes, of course,” he mumbled, barely coherent, and did not budge an inch. 

“Lyonel,” you sighed, though it was half-hearted. 

His jaw flexed. He turned without a word and disappeared into the bathroom. You heard the creak of pipes and the rush of water. When he returned, he didn’t even glance at you—just grabbed the hem of your jacket and started peeling it off your arms.

“You smell like copper and stupidity,” he muttered.

You grinned. “You say the sweetest things.”

He tossed the jacket aside, unfastened your breastplate, and tugged your undershirt up, slow enough not to aggravate the cracked rib beneath. His touch was rough but careful. His expression though? That very specific stormcloud he got when he was trying not to say what if I lost you again.

This guy is such a softie...

Hoisting yourself onto your tiptoes, you pressed your forehead to his. “Still here, y’know.”

He exhaled, nose brushing yours.

“Barely.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “You missed me.”

“I told you not to go with that unit.”

“I’m charming,” you said. “They needed morale.”

He shot you a look. “You are five feet of broken bones and poor decisions.”

“And yet you’re still trying to get into my hakama.”

“I’m trying,” he said, picking you up like you weighed nothing, “to get you in the fucking bath before your dumbass goes into shock.”

You yelped and laughed, half-curled in his arms, pressing your face into his shoulder as he carried you down the hall.

“Sanemi.”

“What.”

“You’re such a wife.”

“I will drown you.”

“I’m into that.”

---

The bath water steamed up to your collarbones. It stung. You didn’t flinch. Didn't need another lecture.

Sanemi didn’t take his eyes off you.

He knelt beside the tub, one hand braced on the rim, the other in the water, cloth dragging in slow circles between his fingers like he was trying to remember what his hands were for.

You watched him over your shoulder.

“You keep looking at me like I’m going to vanish.”

His jaw flexed. His eyes didn’t move.

“You walked through the door covered in blood and grinning like you hadn’t just scared the shit out of me.”

“I said I was fine.”

“You say that every time,” he muttered, mindlessly dipping the cloth again. “And then I find out how deep it really went...”

His hand finally moved.

He brought the cloth to your back first, dragging it up the slope of your shoulder blade. The heat bled through your skin slow, like breath. His touch wasn’t rough—but it wasn’t detached, either. Every swipe was deliberate.

“I’m not going to break,” you said.

He made a quiet sound in his throat. Not a laugh.

“Yeah, you will,” he said. “One day. The way you throw yourself into shit.”

“You’re one to talk.”

“That’s different.”

You arched an eyebrow, glancing over at him.

“How?”

He wrung out the cloth. His hands were steady now, but tight—like he didn’t trust what might come out of him if he relaxed.

“I don’t look like you when I’m bleeding.”

You blinked. “...What the hell does that mean?”

He looked at you for the first time in a full minute. Really looked.

Like he was worshipping something that made him furious to need.

“You sit there like this,” he said. “Half cut open, bruises blooming, still mouthing off, still smiling like you don’t owe the world a fucking thing—and all I can think about is how bad I wanna put my hands on you.”

Your throat went dry.

His eyes dropped to the waterline.

“Not to fuck you,” he said quietly. “Not yet.”

The cloth moved again. Down your spine. Across the side of your ribs. Gentle over the cracked one.

“I want to feel your skin under my hands. All of it. I want to remind myself that you’re real. That you’re not going to slip through my fingers when I blink.”

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t—not with that heat crawling up your throat, not with the weight of him behind you, hands worshipping your wounds like they were the only part of you he was allowed to touch.

The cloth moved again. Slower this time. A drag over your side, the press of his knuckles near your ribs. Reverent.

It was unbearable.

He wouldn’t look at you again. At least, not directly. Not after saying what he’d said.

Like your body was something fragile, something borrowed, something he didn’t trust himself not to break just by wanting it.

And maybe that’s what undid you.

You blinked, slowly. The ache in your body hadn’t faded, but something warmer had settled underneath it. Something heavier. The quiet understanding that this man, kneeling outside the bath, was trying to show love through ritual. Through control. Through distance.

But that wasn’t what you needed right now.

So you reached for him.

One hand curled into the open collar of his half-buttoned shirt. It was already damp from the steam. You felt the fabric stick to his chest. His eyes snapped up to yours—sharp, startled.

He opened his mouth. You didn’t wait.

You just pulled.

Decisively.

Water splashed up as his knee slipped forward. His other hand caught the edge of the tub, but you had him off-balance. The motion dragged him toward you. His chest nearly hit the water.

“Hey—what the hell are you—?”

You tugged again.

The rest of him followed.

Water splashed up over the edge of the tub, his knees hit the porcelain hard, and for a second—just a breath—he looked at you like you’d slapped the sense out of him.

Chest heaving. Shirt soaked. Hands curled tight on the edge of the bath to keep himself from folding fully on top of you.

You didn’t even flinch.

You leaned back against the rim, let your knee slide along the inside of his thigh under the water, let him feel it. Let him look.

Let him want.

But he didn’t surge forward like you expected.

He just stared. Struck dumb.

​His half-clothed, muscular chest, crisscrossed with jagged scars, rose and fell with a tense stillness as his eyes, damn near black now raked over your features.

​Then he reached up and touched your cheek.

His thumb slid along your cheekbone, just enough to smear water there. His other hand rose to cradle your jaw. His whole body was straddling you now.

“Don’t do that,” he said, voice low.

Your brow ticked. “Do what?”

“Get me this close, when you’re still half dead.”

You laughed, even though your breath caught. “You saying I can’t handle it?”

“I’m sayin' I need to know you’re not shaking from blood loss before I put my hands on you the way I want to.”

You blinked, stunned. It hit a little lower than you expected.

His gaze moved over your face, like he was reading something there you hadn’t written. Then lower—your chest, your ribs, your stomach under the water. Then back up.

“You eat today?”

“Don’t start.”

“Answer.”

You hesitated, suddenly feeling shy. “...No.”

He exhaled through his nose. Dropping his head, barely able to break his gaze away from your puppy dog eyes.

He let his forehead rest against yours. Steam curled between you.

“You’re not getting me tonight,” he sighed. “Not like that.”

You swallowed a retort, you knew when to pick your battles

His thumb then brushed the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll hold you all night. I’ll kiss you until your legs shake. But you’re eatin' first. Lying down second. If your hands are still steady by the time I’m done with that, then I’ll fuck you stupid.”

You stared at him.

“You’re kind of a romantic, you know that?”

He didn’t smile.

But his lips grazed yours once, soft enough to make your chest ache.

“I’d die for you,” he said.

Then kissed your temple.

“But I’d rather feed you first.”

---

Somehow, some-fuckin-how after all that, Sanemi managed to put something edible in front of you.

Game over.

The primal hunger won instantly, and you ate with focused efficiency, all objections forgotten.

You didn't notice, but, he watched your mouth the entire time.

He couldn't stop thinking about tasting your tongue.

---

The food had settled warm in your belly. The sheets were rough against your back, but clean. Familiar. Your skin still smelled like soap.

And Sanemi had just finished wiping the corner of your mouth with his thumb like you hadn’t dragged him into the bath twenty minutes ago and dared him to do something about it.

You watched him from where he sat beside you on the bed, one knee up, elbow resting on it. His gaze flicked down your body.

Assessing.

His hand lingered on your thigh. Thumb stroking idle circles, like a man checking the pulse of a horse before the run.

“You good?” he asked.

You nodded.

He didn’t look convinced.

“Anything feel off? Pain? Dizziness?”

“Nope.”

“You lying to me?”

You snorted. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

His hand stilled. His pale irises met yours.

The tiny, dark pinpricks of his pupils were framed by a sudden, violent filigree of red.

Something behind them changed.

You recognized it too late.

“Good,” he said, low. “Then I’m fucking done pretending I’m not starving.”

You didn’t even have time to gasp.

Sanemi’s hand slid up your thigh—fast, no more slow circles. His other hand came down hard beside your head as he climbed fully over you, straddling your hips, the weight of his body finally pressing you into the bed.

You opened your mouth to speak—he leaned down and kissed you before the sound left your throat.

His mouth crashed into yours. Hot breath, wet lips, tongue deep and shameless and impulsive.

He kissed like he meant to leave a bruise on your tongue. Like he was tasting something he’d bled for.

You whimpered, running out of air.

He pulled back just enough to speak, voice ragged, breath hot.

“You don’t get to look at me like that after licking rice off a spoon and not expect me to want to taste you.”

Your thighs clenched. He noticed.

“Oh,” he said, voice dropping. “You’re already wet, huh?”

You reached for him. He grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head with one hand. Not hard. Just enough to make it clear—his turn.

“I’ve been patient,” he growled against your neck. “I fed you. Washed you. Waited.”

You felt his mouth at your collarbone. Teeth. Tongue.

“No more waiting.”

You tried to answer, but he was already moving—kissing down your chest, mouthing over every bruise, every healing scrape like he wanted to suck the pain out through his teeth.

When he reached your stomach, he looked up at you. That grin was back. Feral.

“I said you were sweet,” he murmured, nosing below your bellybutton.

“Now I’m gonna prove it.”

His hands gripped your thighs and spread you open. His grip was a familiar, intense claim, simply taking the access that had always been his. Unapologetic. Worshipful. Your knees fell to the sides, and the air hit your cunt, hot and humid between your legs where he was already breathing in deep.

“Fuck, look at you.”

He said it like it was more of a curse, than a compliment.

He ducked his head, nuzzled the inside of your thigh. Inhaled.

“You always smell like this when you're smug?”

You tried to close your legs. His fingers dug in to the soft flesh.

“Ah ah.” He glanced up, mouth against your skin. “You wanted me hungry. So now you’re gonna lie there and take it.”

Then he kissed your inner thigh again. Higher.

And again. Higher.

His lips grazed your mound. Still not your clit.

You were already squirming.

He saw it. Felt it. Smiled a toothy grin into your skin.

“You’re starting to twitch.”

“You’re starting to talk too much,” you muttered, voice thick with arousal.

He barked a soft, cocky laugh—equal parts predator and lover. “Don’t worry,” he said, dragging his teeth across his lower lip like he was picturing it. “I’ll shut up once my mouth’s full.” His gaze pinned you. “And I’m not stopping ‘til I’m fucking drenched in it.”

Then he went down—no warning, no mercy—and dragged his tongue between your folds in one long, obscene stroke. It was filthy. Wet. Loud. His tongue parted you like a mouth-starved animal, hot and hungry, slicking through every inch of your soaked cunt.

Focused didn’t even cover it. He was locked in, nose deep, tongue greedy. Like he couldn’t stand a single drop of you going to waste.

He started low, tongue pressed right at your dripping entrance. Dragged up the full length of your cunt, slow and shameless. The slick sound of it made your stomach twist. He licked the full length of your cunt like he was trying to mark it, tongue flattening to taste everything, from your slit to your clit and back down again. Your juices were everywhere already.

You gasped—shoulders curling off the bed. His tongue was so warm. So fucking perfect.

Warm and wet and wide enough to press against your whole slit, covering you in one greedy stroke. He licked you like a man starved, tongue laid flat and dragging with brutal slowness, spreading your slick until it coated his lips, his chin, dripping down his jaw.

He didn’t need to pin you—your body was already limp under him, twitching with every stroke of his tongue. He just kept eating, slow and filthy, mouth dragging through your slick like it was the best fucking meal he’d ever had.

“Sweet,” he muttered. “Fuck.” His lips were already glossy with your slick. He didn’t wipe them.

His grip shifted—one hand bracing hard on your inner thigh, fingers digging in, bruising. The other slid under your ass and hauled you up, tilting your hips like his personal fuck toy, presenting your cunt to his mouth like he owned it. Your ass came off the bed and stayed there, spread wide and helpless in his grip.

Then he dove back in, messier now, tongue fucking into you with sharp, hungry thrusts. He licked like he was trying to get his tongue inside—it was fucking obscene, like he wanted to replace his cock with his mouth and just stay there.

And then—gods—his mouth sealed over your clit. His tongue flicked it once, sharp, fast, a bolt of lightning down your spine. Then he started sucking. Wet and rhythmic, cheeks hollowing, his nose nudging your mound with every pull. You nearly screamed.

“Oh yeah,” he panted, tongue dragging slow across his lower lip. “Right fucking there. That’s where you start falling apart. That’s where I break you.”

And then—he stopped escalating.

Didn’t press harder, didn’t move faster. He just stayed right there, tongue barely flicking now, slow and cruel. Just enough to keep you on edge. Just enough to make you suffer.

Then he circled his tongue over your bullied clit once more—just once—then pulled back. Completely.

You made the most pathetic fucking sound. High. Desperate.

And Sanemi just sat back on his heels, his scarred chest rising and falling hard—like he’d just fought for it. His face was a fucking mess. Lips swollen, chin glistening with your slick, the wet shine trailing down his throat.

He wiped his chin with the back of his hand, slow. Watching you squirm. Then he sucked the taste off his knuckles. Eyes locked on yours. Watching the way your spread legs trembled, your cunt still fluttering around nothing.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he drawled, voice low and mean. “I’ll make you cum without laying another fucking finger on that soaked little pussy.” He spread his knees wider. “Or maybe I’ll watch you do it. Rub that swollen clit like I haven’t ruined it already.”

You couldn’t catch your breath. Your chest heaved, mouth open, sweat clinging to your throat. Your cunt ached. Every nerve buzzed, everything wet, and you were still fucking empty.

He leaned in, slow and smug, and kissed the inside of your shaking knee like a tease. Barely a brush of lips—lazy, filthy affection that had no business being this hot.

“I’ll go back,” he whispered, voice dark and low, “when you fucking beg for it. On your knees, if I say. Cry for it. Make it pretty.” He licked his lips again. “And maybe then I’ll let you cum on my tongue.”

---

Sanemi was still crouched between your legs, looking up at you like the devil who wanted to drag you to hell with his mouth alone.

And he hadn’t touched your clit in over thirty seconds.

Which, frankly, was fucking criminal.

He tilted his head slightly, mouth still near the inside of your knee. Close. But not close enough.

“I’m waiting,” he said, voice quiet.

“You’re a goddamn menace,” you muttered.

He grinned. “Say it.”

You shifted, tried to grind toward him—he pulled back just an inch. Just enough to make you feel the absence.

“Say it pretty.”

You glared down at him. Your legs were shaking now. You could see it.

Fine.

You dropped your head back to the pillow. Let out a breath. Then looked down at him through your lashes—on purpose.

“Sanemi,” you said, voice low. “Please.”

That smirk faltered. Just a little. A victory.

So you kept going.

“I want your mouth back on me. I want to feel your tongue, slow. I want you to make me cum with nothing but that sharp, smug mouth of yours.”

His breath caught. You saw it—right there at the base of his throat.

Still, you weren’t done.

“I pulled you into the bath. I let you feed me. I’ve been so fucking good for you.”

Your voice dropped, barely a whisper now.

“Please, Sanemi. Let me be worse.”

And that did it.

Sanemi growled—actual sound in his throat—and shoved your thighs apart like they offended him.

“You wanna be worse?” he rasped.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

He buried his face in your cunt.

No teasing this time. No slow circles. No pretending this was about control.

He fucking devoured you. Tongue wide and relentless, nose buried against your mound, jaw working like he was trying to chew the orgasm out of you. The wet sounds coming from between your thighs were obscene—sloppy, soaked, each one wetter than the last. You were dripping down his chin, and he didn’t stop to breathe.

He latched onto your clit like it owed him something. Lips sealing around it, tongue flat and ruthless, he sucked slow—hard enough it felt like he was pulling your soul out through your cunt. Every drag of his mouth forced your legs wider, made your hips twitch. He wanted everything—every breath, every moan, every humiliating little whimper you couldn’t hold back.

Your back arched immediately, heels digging into the bed, nails clawing at the sheets — it was too much, too fast. His name tore from your throat without warning—raw, desperate, shamefully needy.

He moaned into your cunt like he’d just tasted something holy. The vibration shot straight through your clit and made your entire body seize.

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, voice thick, slurred with lust and spit. He pulled back just far enough to speak, breath hot over your drenched pussy. “Give me that voice again. Scream for me."

You did.

Whimpering, legs trembling, hands clutching at the sheets like you didn’t know if you wanted to run or pull him deeper.

You were right fucking there. That white-hot edge, that screaming pulse of release, hips grinding helplessly against his mouth, chasing it—so close. Your clit throbbed, your thighs shook, your orgasm curled tight in your belly—

And then the bastard pulled back. Completely.

What came out of your mouth wasn’t language—it was a wail, ragged and raw, somewhere between a sob and a moan. It punched straight from your chest. Needy and ruined and fucking furious.

He grinned, mouth wet, jaw tight. He knew what he’d done.

“Already whimpering?” he said, voice gravel low. “Thought you’d last longer.”

Your hips bucked up without thinking, chasing any kind of contact, grinding against nothing like a desperate little bitch in heat. His hand came down—flat, heavy, right on your belly—pinning you in place with effortless strength. Like you were just a thing to hold still and ruin.

“Ah, ah—don’t fucking move,” he growled. His palm tightened against your stomach. “You wanna be good for me? Then lie there and take it. Be still. Let me wreck this little pussy how I want.”

He bent down again—your breath caught, heart tripping—only for him to press a single, closed-mouth kiss to your clit. Soft. Cruel. Then he pulled away like it was nothing. Like your cunt wasn’t fucking screaming for more.

“Ya' hear that?” he muttered, glancing up through his snowy lashes. His voice was smug, wrecked, already half-feral. “That nasty little sound every time I touch you? You hear how wet ya are for me? Like your cunt knows who it belongs to.”

Two fingers dragged through your folds, barely pressing in—just enough to part your lips and feel how soaked and swollen you were. The sound was wet, sloppy, downright embarrassing.

He pulled them back up and held them out in front of you, glistening with your slick. Dripping. Like a warning. Like proof.

“Look at that,” he purred. “This is what I do to you.”

You swallowed. Your pulse was in your clit. Your vision blurred. Your whole body was caught in that aching limbo between shame and desperation.

He sucked the fingers into his mouth and closed his eyes like it was a fucking religious experience.

“God, I should make you watch me stroke my cock to this.”

“Sanemi—”

Your voice broke. His smirk sharpened.

“You gonna beg again?” he asked, tongue wet against his bottom lip. “Or are you gonna try to grind against my face like a brat until I make you cry?”

He moved before you could answer.

One slow lick—tongue broad and hard, dragging from your soaked entrance up to your throbbing clit in one devastating, sloppy stroke. It wasn’t sweet. It was claiming. You gasped. He hummed into you, pleased.

But instead of following through, he dragged his tongue away from your cunt and down to the inside of your thigh.

Bit there, soft. Then kissed the spot.

“You twitch like a little cockdrunk whore,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded and feral. “So fuckin' cute when you think you’re getting what you want.”

You writhed, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around nothing as you fought the unbearable emptiness he left you in.

And he just watched. Kneeling between your legs, jaw tight, cock straining, looking like he could sit there for hours just watching you fall apart for him.

“Keep squirming like that,” he muttered, almost to himself, “and I’m gonna fucking blow without even touching my cock.” He exhaled hard, jaw flexing.

“You don’t even know what you do to me, do you? One look at your dripping cunt and I’m ready to fucking lose it.”

And thats when instinct took over.

Your hand twitched toward him—just to touch, to grab, to do something—and he caught you. Lightning-fast. Fingers around your wrist before you’d even realized you moved, his grip firm enough to make your stomach clench.

“Don’t.” His voice cut through you—low, lethal, dripping control. Velvet-wrapped steel, nothing but command. “I said lie the fuck still.”

Then, after what felt like a lifetime of nothing, he dipped down again—slow, deliberate, like he wanted you to see it coming and still not be ready.

Like he wanted the anticipation to burn.

This time, his tongue didn’t stop.

He flicked it over your clit once, twice, three times, just fast enough to make your breath hitch, to make your thighs start to pull in—

And then he ripped it away. Again. Again. Just as your climax started to break through the haze. Just when your legs began to tremble harder. His mouth was gone.

You actually whimpered.

He wiped his mouth, slow, looking proud of himself.

“Mm,” he sighed, voice drenched in false innocence. “You were about to cum again, weren’t you?” He tilted his head. “Poor little thing. You must be aching.”

You glared. He chuckled.

“Oh, you’re so fucking cute when you’re pissed.” He leaned in, close enough to feel his breath on your clit. “You think glaring’s gonna save ya'? You think I don’t want to see you crying from how bad you need it?”

Then—like a switch—his mouth was back.

Hot. Intentional.

Not merciful.

He fucked you with his tongue, deep and hard, like he wanted to break you open from the inside. Filthy strokes that had you arching off the bed, mouth open, hands clenched in the sheets. Your body couldn’t decide if it was cumming or crying. And then—right at the crest of it—he stopped. Again. Left you gasping, ruined, and nowhere to go.

Again.

You were seizing.

He kissed your hipbone. “What’s that face for?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Your body was on fire.

He dragged his tongue up the side of your thigh. Leisurely.

“You’ll get there,” he murmured. “But you’re gonna have to earn it.”

This fucking man.

This sadistic, beautiful bastard with your orgasm on a leash and your sanity tied to his fucking tongue.

“S-anemi—”

You choked on it.

His name, broken and desperate, ripped out of your throat like your lungs were trying to plead for you.

He’d made you come close. Too close. Too many times.

And every time you clawed toward the edge—every single time—he pulled away. Left you fucking throbbing, twitching, clenching around empty air.

And now you couldn’t take it. Your mind gone. Muscles trembling, cunt soaked, heart racing like it was trying to break through your ribs. You were past frustration. Past shame. You couldn’t fucking take another second of this.

You looked down at him—eyes glossy, lip trembling, your whole body betraying you with every desperate twitch.

“Please—please, fuck, Sanemi, I need you to—I need to cum—” The words poured out of you broken and ugly. You couldn’t even finish the sentence without gasping.

Sanemi leaned in and licked one lazy, wet stripe through your folds.

Didn’t go near your clit.

“Need what, sweetheart?” he murmured into the crease of your thigh, lips brushing just close enough to make you twitch. “Say it. Use your words. Beg like a good little slut.”

You whined. It was pitiful. It humiliated you.

But you gave it to him. You gave in.

“I need you—I need your mouth, your tongue—your fingers, fuck, anything, please, Sanemi, I’m going to lose my fucking mind—” The words tumbled out like sobs. Zero thoughts. Only need.

He grinned into your cunt. Didn’t touch it.

“That’s not what you said earlier,” he murmured. “Earlier you were mouthing off like you had a choice.”

You were crying without tears.

Your eyes burned, your thighs jerked, your cunt clenched around nothing as your body spasmed in tiny, pitiful pulses that gave you no relief. Your voice cracked so hard it nearly broke apart mid-syllable.

“I don’t—I don’t, Sanemi—please,” you begged, the words slipping out on gasps. “I’ll do anything. Anything. Just let me cum.”

And gods, the sound he made in response—low, wrecked, absolutely delighted. Like he was savoring every piece of your collapse like it was the sweetest fucking thing he’d ever tasted. That hum in his throat vibrated through the air, through your legs, and landed right where his mouth should’ve been.

But he still didn’t move.

He leaned in, slow, deliberate, and kissed the crease of your thigh. Your body twitched hard, helpless. He just looked up at you with those feral eyes, unreadable.

“You’re shaking.”

You nodded. You couldn’t speak anymore. You couldn’t even moan. Your chest was heaving. Sweat dripped from your neck to the sheets.

“You like that?”

Another nod.

“You want to cum on my mouth?”

A broken yes. More breath than voice. The sound of your desperation made his cock twitch against his pants.

“Loud?” he asked, his voice dipping deeper, darker.

You whimpered—an honest-to-gods whimper, shame burned out of you long ago. “Yes—please.”

And finally—finally—he lowered his head, and gave you one long, slow, perfect flick of his tongue right over your clit.

Your body snapped. You seized, every muscle going taut like wire. The sound that tore from your throat was closer to a sob than a scream.

“God—fuck, Sanemi—”

He pulled back.

Again.

And smiled.

“You’re not cumming yet.”

You nearly fucking sobbed.

“You’re not even close to ruined,” he said. His voice was hot, low, relentless. No room to breathe in it.

“You want it? You’re gonna lie there. You’re gonna take everything I give you and nothing else.”

You nodded, eyes wide, body trembling so hard it hurt.

And he licked you again.

Slower.

Deeper.

Tongue pressing into you, fingers now finally slipping back under your ass to tilt your hips up and hold you where he wants you.

You moaned like it was the first time.

He groaned into your cunt. “God, the sounds you make. You fucking love this, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

So he gave you another flick. A pulse of pressure. A rhythm.

Not enough.

Never enough.

He pulled away again, lips wrecked and swollen, devilishly handsome grin plastered across his face.

“You’ll cum when I say. And when you do—”

He kissed your soaked thigh.

“—you’re going to thank me with my name on your tongue.”

---

You’d stopped keeping track of how many times he edged you.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Sanemi’s tongue had you shaking so bad your calves kept cramping, and every time you hit that edge—just about to fall over it—he pulled away.

Licked your thigh.

Bit the inside of your knee.

Whispered something cruel and sweet and unbearable right into your skin.

Now?

Now he was staring up at you from between your legs, mouth slick, flushed and grinning like the devil.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes locked on your ruined face. “You’re shaking so bad.”

His gaze flicked down. You were trembling—hips twitching, cunt glistening, your body stuck in a helpless, overstimmed loop of clenching for something that never came. He watched your cunt flutter. Watched the mess he made drip down your thighs.

“Poor thing,” he said. Then licked his lips—slow and greedy—with your taste still on them.

“You don’t even have the strength to grind on my face anymore, huh?” His voice went mock-soft, faux concerned. “Came in here all mouth, and now you can’t even move. Can’t even ride it.” He smirked. “Fucking useless.”

The sound you made wasn’t a word.

You whimpered. High, broken, completely defeated. You didn’t even know what you were asking for anymore—you just wanted something. Release. Mercy. Anything.

And that noise—gods, that fucking noise—made Sanemi growl. Growl.

Low in his chest, raw and guttural, like it hit him where it hurt.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice rough as sandpaper, eyes heavy with heat. “That’s good. That’s fucking good. You sound so pretty when you’re pathetic.” He dragged a thumb up the inside of your thigh, close—but not touching your clit. Watching the way you twitched. “I could get off just to that whine.”

You turned your face into your shoulder, embarrassed—ruined.

He reached up and grabbed your jaw, turned your face back toward him.

“Don’t look away. You’re gonna look at me while I finish this.”

And he went down again.

Tongue flat, slow, perfect—pressing against your clit just long enough to make you choke on air.

Then gone again.

You whimpered—pathetic and real.

Sanemi smiled like it was better than the sound of his own name.

“Yeah. That’s it,” he rasped, voice thick. “I want you wrecked. I want you soaked and crying and begging me like your fucking life depends on it.”

Your legs trembled. Your fingers clenched the sheets. You were past blushing, past caring.

“Please,” you whispered, “I can’t—I can’t—Sanemi, please, I need to—”

He kissed your clit. Just once. Open mouth. Tongue soft. Slow enough to make you feel it echo in your spine.

You gasped. Your hips jumped like your body had forgotten it didn’t have permission to move.

Then he stopped. Again.

“No,” he said, voice calm. “You want to. You don’t need it. Not yet.”

The moan that ripped out of you was pathetic—too loud, too naked. You heard yourself and still didn’t care. Couldn’t care.

He was rock-hard in his pants, humping the bed now, grinding into the mattress as he watched you squirm for his mouth.

“You wanna cry for me?”

You nodded. Desperate. Already halfway there.

“Say it.”

“Sanemi—” Your voice cracked. “Please. I wanna cum—I wanna cum so bad, I—fuck—please, I’ll cry, I’ll do anything, I’ll let you do anything—just let me—”

You felt it. That first sob. Shameful. Raw. Pathetic. But real. Honest. The kind of noise your body makes when your pride finally breaks.

And he groaned into you like he’d been waiting for that. Like your unraveling was the only thing that could satisfy him.

“There she is,” he breathed.

He held your hips down with both hands now, mouth finally locking on.

No more games.

Just reverence.

---

You didn’t know which part broke you.

Maybe it was the way his mouth latched on this time—real, no teasing, no threat of retreat. His tongue flicking over your clit with slow, relentless pressure, steady and filthy and perfect in it's rhythm.

Maybe it was the hands holding your hips down like your body was going to launch off the bed.

Maybe it was the sound—his voice, gone low and worshipful, like he was half-drunk on the taste of you.

But when it hit?

It hit.

Your body locked.

Back arched.

A moan cracked out of your throat like something being ripped from you. Your eyes rolled back. Hands flying to your face, or his hair, or nothing—you didn’t even know what you were grabbing anymore.

“Fuck—Sanemi—fucking—thank y—”

He groaned into your cunt as you came.

Possessed.

And he didn’t stop.

Tongue still moving, slow now, dragging through your orgasm with utter reverence. He licked you like he was savoring your aftershocks, moaning quietly as your thighs clenched around his ears.

You were gasping. Whining. Boneless.

And he just… kept licking.

Not teasing anymore. Just tasting what he earned. Mapping your folds. Savoring your taste.

You whimpered, voice thin, nerves firing like static.

“I—I can’t—”

He finally pulled back.

Looked up at you, mouth wet, flushed from cheek to collarbone.

And he was smiling, wolfish, as if he was watching something bleed out and loving the slow death..

“You say that,” he murmured, “but your cunt’s still fucking throbbing.”

You flushed like he’d slapped you. Heat rose so fast it burned, shame and arousal tangling so tight you couldn’t tell them apart anymore.

He didn’t care. Didn’t slow. Just leaned back down and dragged his mouth up the inside of your thigh, breath hot, tongue wetter than it needed to be.

Then higher. Then again.

Then bit.

Not hard. Just enough to make you jolt.

“I told you,” he said, licking the mark he left, “that was just the beginning.”

You blinked up at him like you didn’t know where you were anymore. Like you were lost in your own body.

And he loved it.

He dragged two fingers through you—slow, lazy, like he was sampling you—and pulled them back slick and glistening.

Then sucked them into his mouth, slow.

“Still sweet,” he said around them. “Still hungry.”

He leaned in again.

And whispered into your trembling, dripping cunt:

“Next one’s with my fingers.”

---

You were still trembling, muscles jerking every few seconds like you couldn’t hold yourself together—because you couldn’t.

And he was so damn calm.

He touched you like he had all night to watch you come apart.

You felt one fingertip—just one—slip between your folds, slow as a breath. He didn’t push. Didn’t try to stretch you open again. Just gathered your slick and spread it.

And you whimpered.

It didn’t sound like a moan anymore. It sounded like surrender.

Sanemi huffed a laugh into your thigh. “Still wet,” he said, like it offended him. “And still dripping. You just don’t know when to quit, do you?”

You turned your face into the pillow, flushed to your scalp.

He bent down and licked you again.

Slow.

Solid.

You gasped like it hurt. Like pleasure had crossed the line into something else—

—need. Overload.

He didn’t stop. His tongue stayed pressed flat against you while that single finger slid lower, dipped just barely inside, and then dragged your slick back up over your clit.

You shuddered.

“Oh, fuck—Sanemi—”

He moaned, thumb brushing your hip lazily while his mouth stayed warm and close.

“You hear that?” he murmured, lips dragging over the skin of your thigh. “You’re so fucking soaked, I could drown in it.”

His finger sank in just a breath deeper—just studying it. Feeling how you pulsed around him.

Your breath stuttered. Your body clenched.

He didn’t move.

He just stayed there, finger dipped flush to your heat like he could hear it begging. The pad of it traced maddening, lazy circles—wet and slow—like he was trying to memorize you from the inside out. Like this was just the warm-up. Like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

“Don’t wanna get you off again yet,” he whispered. “Not yet.”

He kissed your mound, wet and lazy.

“Just wanna keep you messy,” he said. “Keep you aching and sweet and stupid for it.”

You whimpered. Your hips bucked gently—reflexive.

He groaned. Deep. Hungry.

“Fuck. You’re leaking all over my hand.”

He pushed in a little more. The pad of his finger curled slightly, just enough to stroke the soft, swollen spot inside you—

Your moan hit the pillow.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s it. You stay wet for me.”

He started to move the finger a little more now, slow and shallow.

Just stirring your slick.

Spreading it. Coating his skin in it.

Keeping your body ready.

“I could do this all fucking night,” he rasped. “Keep you like this. Open. Aching. Leaking for me until I decide you get to cum again.”

His thumb found your clit. Didn’t press. Just rested there. Heavy.

And your body throbbed.

He licked his lips.

“Still not done tasting you.”

You didn’t mean to beg again.

It just slipped out—cracked with the edge of a sob. Your voice was nothing now, not after what he'd done to you. After the first orgasm. After the relentless, teasing ruin he kept you in with one damn finger and a smile that said you were his to play with.

You didn’t even register what you said at first.

Didn’t realize the sound leaving your mouth was please—until it echoed in the silence.

And then you looked up.

And you saw his face.

That smirk. That sharp glint in his eyes.

Like he'd just won. Like he knew exactly what kind of mess he’d turned you into.

Smug. Dangerous.

And completely in control.

“Please,” you gasped. “Sanemi, please, I—I need it—just touch me, just—fuck—please, I want to cum again—”

He laughed.

Laughed.

A dark, guttural sound from deep in his belly—your begging hit some nerve in him.

He wanted more. He needed more.

The sound of you unraveling just made him hungrier.

“You’re really losing it, huh?”

You whined.

He curled that one finger just slightly, brushing your front wall—and your body jumped.

He watched.

“I could fuck you with one hand and never let you cum,” he said, half in awe. “Just keep you leaking for hours.”

His mouth dropped to your inner thigh. Warm. Wet. He kissed it once. Then sat up on his knees, hand still buried shallow in your cunt.

You blinked up at him—dazed and fucking aching.

His other hand lifted. Two fingers traced the air near your belly. Breathing form. But slower. Precise.

And then—

You felt it.

A gust of air, sharp and cool, like someone exhaling right onto your soaked clit.

Except it wasn’t random.

It was goddamn perfect.

It hit like a tongue.

You screamed.

Your back arched off the bed so fast it hurt, thighs trying to close around his wrist as your pussy clenched and throbbed, a second orgasm crashing over you without warning, without mercy—just from the wind. His wind.

Sanemi laughed again—stunned, almost reverent.

“Holy shit.”

He did it again.

Another flick of his hand. Another controlled breath of wind right to your clit.

You cried out, twitching, legs buckling open.

“You like that?” he asked, eyes wide now, voice rough.

You couldn’t answer.

“Fuck—fuck, you’re so wet,” he growled. “I can feel you dripping down my wrist.”

He pressed his finger deeper this time—inside, curling, stroking slow and deep while the last shiver of air hit your cunt again.

You moaned, tears hot in your eyes now.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Overstimmed already? We’ve barely started.”

His smile was sharp now. Wild.

“I’m gonna use every fucking form I have on this pussy before the sun comes up.”

And your body didn’t know what to do anymore.

You’d cum twice already—after what felt like hours—and now your clit was throbbing again, too sensitive, too swollen, too wet, too quickly, and Sanemi was still between your legs with that same look in his eye. The one he got when he was hungry.

But not for food. For the next sound you’d make.

For the next shudder. The next cry.

“Still breathing?” he asked, low and dark, his finger sliding slick and slow out of your pussy.

You nodded. Barely.

“Good.” His grin sharpened. “You’re gonna forget how soon.”

He shifted his knees between yours, and you barely registered the slight change in posture—until you saw his hand rise again.

Two fingers. Drawing another pattern in the air.

You felt it a second later.

Another gust—icy, sharp, directly on your clit with maddening accuracy.

You screamed.

Your thighs clamped shut instinctively, hips jerking. He grabbed one, and forced the other apart with his knee, keeping them pinned to the bed with a strength that made your whole spine bow.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled. “You’re taking this.”

You tried to sob something—his name, a word, anything—but all that came out was a breathless sound, half-moan, half-cry.

He licked his lips. Didn’t even bother pretending he wasn’t hard now, grinding lazily against the soft flesh of your thigh as he watched you shake.

“I can feel it,” he whispered, reverent. “You’re dripping down your thighs.”

He slipped his finger back in—precise now.

Curled it. Dragged it against your front wall.

Then again—another Wind Breathing technique.

Not a flick this time.

A series.

A gentle, rhythmic series of gusts, each one a kiss of air against your clit—a maddening, measured silken friction perfectly timed.

You went rigid.

“Fuck—Sane—mi— I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he said, and his voice was so calm. “You’re doing so good. Look at you. Taking every fucking gust like your pussy was made for it.”

You cried out—guttural this time, raw.

He stroked you inside once more.

And again.

“God, you’re pulsing. I can feel you getting close.”

You were. So close.

But it felt different this time. Way too fast. Too much. You were still soaking from the first and second, and now this—

“I’m gonna—fuck—”

He smiled, slow and deadly.

“Go on then,” he murmured. “Cum from the air, baby.”

And you did.

Harder.

Worse.

Your third orgasm snapped out of you like a snapped cord. No control. Just pressure—white-hot and screaming.

Your back arched, whole body seizing, and you sobbed his name into the sheets. It hurt, almost. Your nerves were frayed. Your muscles jerked with every twitch of wind.

And he still. Didn’t. Stop.

The rhythm slowed, but the wind kept brushing you. All over. Every sensitive spot. Up your chest. Inside the shell of your ears. Behind your knees. Caressing and teasing like second sets of devious hands.

He was watching you with dark eyes and a slack jaw, breathing hard like he was the one who’d just cum.

“I could make you do that again,” he whispered, licking the air like he could taste it. “No fingers. No tongue. Just breathing techniques and your slutty, soaking cunt.”

You gasped, hips flexing, trying to crawl away.

He slid out of you, grabbed your thighs and dragged you back down the bed.

“Where you going, princess?” he murmured. “You think you’re done? That was two. I’ve got nine forms.”

Your orgasm hadn’t even faded before he was moving again.

You tried to sit up—failed. Sanemi’s palm found your chest and pressed you down, gentle but firm.

“Don’t move.”

His voice had dropped, rasp gone feral-soft. “Not until I’ve had all of you.”

He traced your belly with two fingers—slow, slick with your own cum and sweat.

“You want to feel it everywhere?”

You nodded, hazy.

“Say it.”

Your voice cracked. “I-I want to feel it everywhere. Everywhere, Sanemi. Please”

And he smiled like he’d waited years to hear that.

“Good girl.”

He shifted forward slightly—one knee still between your legs, the other now braced beside your hip—and drew his fingers through the air again.

Wind Breathing. Second Form.

You barely saw the movement—just the flick of his fingers slicing through the air.

But you felt it.

A gust of air brushed over your nipple—sharp, a sudden lick of pressure and heat.

Your back bowed off the bed. Hard.

You gasped, breath caught and ragged.

He did it again—other side.

Another burst. Another sting of heat and chill lashing your skin, tightening everything in an instant.

You cried out. Couldn’t stop it.

He looked ecstatic.

“You feel that?” he breathed. “The air wants you open.”

Your nipples stiffened instantly. Your toes curled in the sheets. You could hardly breathe.

He bent down then—finally—tongue dragging over one peak, slow and maddening, while the other caught another gust. Perfectly aimed. Perfectly cruel.

You writhed.

“Look at you,” he said, lips brushing your skin.

“Look how fast your body begs.”

You moaned—loud now.

And then—Wind Breathing, Third Form.

A spiral of air, precise and dancing, traced the curve of your waist. You felt it swirl around your ribs, dip under the slope of your breast—like invisible fingers teasing your skin.

Your thighs jerked.

“You want the next one?” he rasped, licking down your stomach. “You want to feel it where you’re aching again?”

You nodded, wild now. Eyes pleading through blurry lashes.

He drew another shape.

Fourth Form. Rising Dust Storm.

This time the wind rose from the bed like a lifted hand—brushed up between your thighs, dragging over your pussy in one firm, gentle wave.

You sobbed.

Your legs tried to close. He slapped your thigh—hard.

“No,” he growled. “Stay open. Let it touch you.”

You tried. You did.

But it was too much. The air—everywhere. Him—caging you wide open. Your cunt throbbed. Your nipples burned. Your whole body felt like it was being kissed inside-out by something you couldn’t see but could feel in every nerve ending.

He kissed down your stomach. Bit your hip lovingly.

“You feel fucked yet?” he whispered. “Because I haven’t even put my cock in you.”

You couldn’t speak.

And then without warning:

Fifth Form. Cold Mountain Wind.

A pulsing rhythm of air from above.

And not just one. Many. Like a breath you couldn’t catch.

All centered on your clit.

The current vibrated relentlessly. Perfectly. Timing the pulses of wind over your clit to your racing pulse. Just shy of overstimulating and just strong enough to force your body to react.

Oh and did your body react.

You came again.

Harder.

No warning, no build—just wind.

Your hips rose off the bed. Your mouth opened in a silent scream.

Your cunt clenched around nothing. Slick pouring, soaking, dripping.

Sanemi was grinning, sweat sliding down his battle-scarred chest, eyes locked on you like you were prey he wanted to starve and devour all at once.

“That’s five.”

He leaned over you, kissed your mouth—soft, finally, the wind gone for a moment.

“You want six and seven?” he whispered into your lips. “You want to be wrecked so deep the air’s inside you?”

You couldn’t breathe.

Your skin had turned impossibly raw, making every whisper of contact feel immense and almost fucking unbearable. Everything felt linked to your clit.

Your thighs. Your hips. The back of your neck.

Even your scalp prickled with sensation, like the air around you was alive—coiling and biting and dragging over your skin like invisible fingers.

Sanemi’s chest was still heaving. His body gleamed with sweat.

And he hadn’t even touched your body in minutes.

You were soaked.

More than soaked—flooded. Leaking down onto the sheets, overstimmed and still wet, still twitching, still begging for something your mouth was too broken to say.

He tilted his head, grinning. Sharp.

“Still with me?”

You tried to nod.

He kissed your knee, then traced a fingertip up your thigh so slow it made your skin burn.

“You sure?”

“Sanemi—”

It was a whimper. Not a warning.

He leaned in, nuzzled between your breasts. Bit your collarbone.

“I told you not to beg if you weren’t ready,” he rasped. “You wanted everything?”

You nodded. Desperate.

He exhaled. Stood up over you—casting a long shadow over the topography of your curves. Eyes half-lidded. Body feral.

“Then take everything.”

Sixth Form. Black Wind Mountain Mist.

This time, you didn’t feel it as a gust.

You felt it as pressure. All around you. Heavy. Humid.

Like the air was wrapping around your limbs, sealing you in.

You cried out—and it echoed.

The wind caught it. Trapped it. Folded it back into your mouth.

You whimpered again—another moan, looped and swallowed by the mist, forced down your throat by pressure and wind.

You were crying now—from it, through it, into it.

Sanemi stepped back, watched the mist form tight tentacled vortexes around your hips, your throat, your ankles.

“Still want to be ruined?”

Your body twitched. A yes without words.

He crawled back between your thighs, hands finally on you again, hot and rough and so fucking real compared to the air. You melted into him.

Two fingers slid into your cunt. Deep. Unforgiving.

You screamed—only to have the wind catch your voice and fold it back into your mouth.

Sanemi was watching your face now. Almost dazed.

“You feel that?”

You sobbed. Just two of his fingers felt so big. They were stretching you out so much. But he kept stroking you. Slowly. Gently. Curling deep. Massaging that soaked, swollen spot inside you like he owned it.

“The wind doesn’t want to let you go,” he whispered. “It wants to keep you.”

You clenched around his fingers. It felt so good. So perfect.

“Good,” he growled. “Then let it.”

Seventh Form. Gale—Sudden Storm.

The air slammed into you. Cold. Unpredictable.

Licks of pressure over your ribs.

A sudden gust over your breasts—your nipples screamed.

A whip of wind between your legs, brushing your clit with no rhythm, no mercy.

One flick curling up your collarbone and into you inner ear, leaving you tingling everywhere.

Another found it's way under your lower back and traveled up your spine.

You shrieked—your voice bouncing in the mist, coming back to you a split second later.

Sanemi leaned down, bit your thigh.

“You’re gonna cum again,” he growled. “Not ‘cause I’m fucking you. Because everything is.”

Another gust hit your side. Your stomach. The soft skin between your legs.

Your pussy clenched around his fingers.

“Come on,” he hissed. “Let the air fuck you.”

And then it hit.

Immediate, absolute, and fucking final.

The wind pulsed right over your clit at the exact moment his fingers dragged against your g-spot, and you shattered.

You came screaming.

No sound.

No air.

Just convulsing, body locked, mouth open pleasure.

Sanemi watched you like he’d never seen anything so fucking beautiful in his life.

You—shaking, spasming, mouth open but silent from how hard it hit. Eyes wet and glassy and unfocused.

And it wasn’t his tongue.

Wasn’t his cock.

It was him—his breath, his body, his technique—wringing that orgasm out of you like the wind had been crafted just to feel your scream.

He stared.

In awe. In reverence.

His mouth open.

His cock painfully hard.

And his body not touching you at all now.

Just the wind.

And your own soaked, shuddering body.

It was a fucking vision. A storm he summoned just to worship.

He couldn’t breathe for a second.

You were strength and sweetness and utter ruin.

And it was all for him.

He should’ve stopped.

You were limp beneath him — breath shallow, lips parted, eyes glazed with the kind of dazed, ruined haze that screamed done. Your body twitched around nothing, still fluttering, still leaking. Still twitching for him.

But that only made it worse.

He crouched over you again — finally lining himself up.

The head of his cock dragged through your folds, catching on your slick, twitching entrance. Not inside.

Not yet.

Just there.

He didn’t move. Just stayed there, watching the way your body trembled, still caught in the aftershocks, already desperate for more.

Sanemi made a sound. Something low and animal.

He should’ve worshipped you. Should’ve held still and let you come down. Let you breathe.

Instead—

His hands tightened on your thighs. Too tight. He dragged you closer like he owned your hips, like your softness was something that belonged under his hands, spread and shaking and soaked. His breath hit your skin in broken huffs.

"You still want more?" he whispered, voice barely human. Strained. Almost shaken.

"You want to take me like this? Still shaking… still full of wind and want?"

His cock twitched against you, wet with your mess, and he bit back a groan that sounded more like a prayer.

“Let me wreck you with it,” he said, voice low and tight. “Let the wind tear you open from the inside while I fuck the rest.”

But he didn’t move. Just let his forehead rest against your chest, breath ragged, jaw tight.

“Let me stay,” he whispered. “So every time the wind touches you, it feels like me crawling back in.”

------------maybe to be continued?---------------

Tysm for reading (∩∀`*) I'm not normal about this man. I hope I did him justice! [Also LMAO guys I know he has 9 forms but I barely survived this 7 ok...]

From a young age your father had made sure you knew the business, drsminf of having you take over. He taught you everything he knew. From the making of the orders, to quality check, and even materials secured.

That day it was your parents 25th anniversary and a big party was thrown for them. Business partners and friends were all invited to the event.

The only thing your father had not warned you about, was the extensive dangers of the N109 Zone. He'd tried to shield you from just how dirty the world could be.

A rival family had crashed the party with a seemingly endless group of thugs. Before anyone had realized what was going on, gunshots filled the air. People started screaming and running in a desperate attempt to get to safety. Pushing and shoving others out of their way as they went.

A stray bullet hit your arm and blood immediately started pouring from the wound. You grunted as the pain slammed into you and momentarily lost your footing just a another bullet whizzed past the air where your head had been seconds ago.

You heard your father calling your name and pushing through people trying to get to you. You could see your mother sitting on the ground near one of the stairs columns. She was tying a makeshift bandage around someone's leg. Trying to staunch the bleeding.

You felt like your life was running in fast forward as you watched your father continue to push through the crowd and then he suddenly stopped moving as his eyes widened and he looked down. Blood was blooming across the white shirt of his suit and staining the black jacket. In the center of the stain was a hole. You felt sick seing that hole pierced through his chest over his heart.

"Father!" Your scream rang over the gunshots and panic as you tried to run to him. The long him of your dress got stepped on and you fell to the floor landing hard on your side. Pain zipped through your body at the hard smack to the unforgiving marble floor.

You desperately fought to get to your feet as it finally seemed like the crowd was thinning out. Thankfully no one stepped on you or your clothes again. Just as you reached your father the gun shots stopped and the following silence seemed to bring the air of dread.

The scent of blood was strong, making you gag as your stomach heaved. You push the feelings back and reach out to the injury, hands shaking as you try to staunch the blood flow. He grunts with the pressure and his eyes open slightly. You start muttering words but even you don't believe what you are saying.

"It's ok father, we can fix this. I'll get help, the doctor will fix you right up and then everything will be ok." Tears arr pouring down your face as he smiles weakly. He reaches for your face, trying to touch your cheek. Just before his hand can touch you a great force yanks you back.

You scream out at the pain, pulling you scalp. A heavy fist has gripped your hair, yanking the strands hardly and then a voice is in your ear. "I'll blast a hole in your head if you move a muscle." The voice growled near your ear as he tightens his grip on your hair. Your cried our in pain and he just tugged harder, you bit back the second cry as hot tears rolled down your face.

His arm grabbed your hand and forced you to your feet, perking you to face the way he wanted. He kicked the back of your knees forcing you to kneel in front of a man. Tugging your head back as he allowed you to stare at the man clearly responsible for this entire plot.

Fear stuck you as a cold, malicious smile stretched across his heavily scarred face. His eye was like flat steel. No luster or shine to its grey depths. A scar cut through his left eye and down his cheek, going all the way down to his mouth. Burn scars were also intermingled on his face.

His eye itself was an ugly milky color, it held no pupil or iris. On the right side of his face three long jagged scars could be seen stretching from his ear down to his chin. Little tremors went through your body. This man had an overwhelming presence and the sense of evil wrapped around him like a cloak.

"Well, well, well if it isn't the little princess. Your father was careful to hide you away from me. Protecting his biggest weakness. I must say I do admire him for that."

In contrast to his appearance his voice was smooth, a slight rasp clung to his words. Whatever had attacked and scarred him had obviously affected his vocal cords. He worked it to his advantage, speaking in a way that soothed you on the surface. Even if his words were unsettling or foul.

He reached for you, his fingers and thumb just barely brushing your face when a loud caw shattered the silence. With the bird cry black and red mist began pouring into the wide space and the air got heavy. As if gravity itself was pushing down on everyone and everything in the room. The mist covered and hid everything in its path. Blinking you realized you couldn't see the man in front of you.

A deep, suave, sexy voice seemed to come from no where as helped had seemed to arrive. "It seems you did not learn your lesson. I don't mind teaching it to you agiain, Osric." The mist wrapped around him, holding him still. Footsteps tapped across the floor, the occasional sloosh as he stepped in a puddle. Your body shuddered, knowing exactly what liquid he stood in.

It took a few minutes before you realized that the man who had been gripping your hair was no longer touching you, or even anywhere near you.

The mist began swirling into the center of the room, right next to you. Looking into the mist you could just make out a tall silhouette. As rapidly as the mist had spread it was now retreating.

A tall well built man was standing right beside you. Silver hair carefully styled. Red eyes piercing and promising danger. The right one seemed to be glowing.

"You have some guts, touching something of mine, I don't take kindly to thievery. The man, Osric, was hoisted into the air with the mist. He gasped and sputtered clawing at the mist to no avail.

Two men appeared by your side then. One offered his hand, bit you hesitate. Both are wearing black crow masks with subtle red lines on the face of the mask and a red tipped beak. Two red horns poke through the hoods they wear and a gold ring is on one of them. The two are slim and tall, you can tell nothing of their appearance. Clothing and masks make it impossible to discern any identifying features.

The first guy is still holding his hand out to you, he seems neither impatient nor upset that you haven't accepted it yet. Finally seeing no consequence to taking his offered hand you lightly place your palm in his. He gently but firmly grasps your hand and assists you in standing. He let's go after you are steady on your feet and positions himself at your side. The second does the same on your right. Like they are bodyguards.

"Screw you Sylus"! Osric sputters out, still trying to break free of the mist. His fingers are bloody from his efforts to free himself. "Luke, Kieran, see to it that she comes to no harm." The silver haired man says as he squeezes his hand. The mist constricts around Osric further cutting of his air flow completely.

One of the two lightly grabs your arm and spins you around just as a sickening crunch reaches your ears. This kind of thing happened a lot here. Those with power ruled over the weak. It was nothing new.

You had long grown accustomed to the way Sylua dealt with traitors and rats. He did not tolerate disloyalty and gave no second chances.

The events of your parents 25th anniversary party had happened five years ago. You often wondered how your life would have gone if you had never accepted his hand when he gave it. Your father had been supplying weapons to Sylus' organization for years. He'd apparently stuck some kind of deal with Sylus, that had involved your protection.

Sylus had married you, per your father's request and now he owned almost half of your family business. Haven acquired your mother and father's shares. He'd left yours to you.

At first you'd been absolutely terrified of him. His aura radiated danger, almost like he was a living grim reaper. He so often came back to the manor covered in blood. The twins were his direct subordinates. They followed his every command quickly and without hesitation. But at least they had a personality and could provide a sense of calm.

It had taken almost a year before you could approach Sylus without feeling nervous. You hadn't been able to understand your fear of him. He'd posed no restrictions on you, didn't make any ridiculous demands and had never threatened you with harm of any kind.

The turning point had been the day he'd come home injured and concern over his bleeding wounds had overrode the fear. Despite his insistence that he didn't need any first aide treatment, Sylus had not pushed you away or tried to stop you from cleaning his wounds.

After that he began spending time with you and talked to you. Before you knew it you looked forward to when he would come home and just talk to you for awhile. These little gestures and act of kindness had resonated in your heart and little by little you felt yourself falling for him.

He'd granted your request to be touched by him and he spent a night with you. Thinking that he too had given his heart to you, you lived your days believing that he loved you back. That was until she appeared.

In an instant his entire demeanor changed. He made her his top priority. Spending any and all time he had with her. Most nights he didn't even come to your room anymore. His side of the bed was often unspent in.

You hadn't officially met her yet, only seen her in passing. She was beautiful. Long dark hair hung in neat and straight lengths down to her very slender waist. Piercing eyes almost the shade of jade framed by thick dark lashes. She was on the shorter side, even you were taller than she was. This woman held some kind of connection with your husband and the knowledge that your place was very quickly being stripped away gnawed at you from the inside.

Wandering aimlessly through the manor one day you discovered the ladder that lead up to the roof. Even though it was cold outside, you still sat there on the roof. Wondering how long it would be before you were forgotten completely.

Despite the cold and the swirling snow, you dozed off hugging your arms to your sides. What seemed like minutes later you were woken up by a piercing light. The sun was beginning to sting your eyelids, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun's first rays of the day, you tried to sit up straight. Your whole body was numb and cold. It took several minutes to rub feeling back into your fingers.

Carefully moving away from the edge of the roof you stood up. Your legs shook from the movement. Having been in the same position for too long, they had gone to sleep.

You did some light stretches and gradually the shaking and numbing little stings subsided and you felt more sure on your feet.

Finally you made your way to the roof latch, having left it open all night there was a pile of snow at the base of the ladder and it was freezing cold to the touch.

You descended the ladder and walked around the manor. It was quiet, most everyone was asleep at this time. Feeling the desire to see Sylus, you turn around and head to his room. He was usually there at this time. You hesitate at the door. Whenever you'd come to his room he was usually accompanying you.

Just as your about to knock, a voice addresses you from behind. "He's not here, Sylus went out for work. I've been waiting for him to return since last night." Turning around, you see that woman. Feeling angry for a reason you can't quite grasp, you turn around

and storm by her. Purposely bumping into her on the way by. She stumbles but you keep going.

Your sour mood lingers throughout the day killing any appetite oyi might have had. Your wandering leads you back to the roof and you sit in the same spot from the night before.

From your spot on the roof, you can hear his motorcycle approach the manor and you sit their contemplating what to do. Finally after another two hours you head back to his room. When you get there the door is adjacent and you silently push it open. You feel your heart stop.

There on the bed is Sylus on top of her. She's pinned down and it's very obvious what is going on. His naked back is to you and her equally naked leg is wrapped around his waist. Their kiss is intense that you feel your heart break. His hand is twined with hers and pinned above her head. You back away and run down the hall and go to the roof.

Hot tears are streaming down your face as you realized that Sylus had never loved you. He'd just been indulging you for the last several years because you were useful. He could even hate you for all you knew. The one he truly loved was currently tangled with him on his bed.

You feel your heart break further as you realize that with no family or friends you have nothing. You had only ever been useful to Sylus because of you family's business. That was not love and never could be.

You cry yourself to sleep on the roof again, completely defenseless and unaware of the eyes watching you. When you wake up again, there's a dull ache in your head and a ferocious growl in your stomach, but you have no desire to eat or even move.

You sit there watching the stars for what seemed like days. Eventually the sky begins to lighten as the sun begins its ascent across the sky. You continue to sit, even as heavy clouds roll in. Another snowfall is coming, you remembered from the weeks forecast you had read a few days ago. But still you don't move.

It's only when the wind cuts through you, chilling you to the bone that you get up. Once again you rub feeling back into your frozen limbs and head down the ladder. You avoid your room and his. Just the thought of sleeping in a bed you had shared with him makes your stomach turn. Your entire body burns with the feeling if betrayal, but you can neither act on it or alleviate it. The feeling simmers in your stomach driving away the need for food.

Eventually you end up on the couch. The warmth from the fire burning in the hearth slowly warms you up and a drowsy feeling over comes you. Stretching out and pulling the throw down over you, you manage to drift off into a restless sleep.

After what feels like minutes, your body is shaken awake. It's that woman again, hate burns through your veins. You want to tear her apart and rip her to shreds. You glare at everything.

"Hey, the cook said you didn't eat dinner. So I brought you some food" She offers the plate to you. It's all your favorite things. A light fruit salad with beautifully cut fresh fruit and a stack of golden waffles topped with whipped cream and raspberries. Your anger overtakes you and you sit up and shove the plate away from you. She's so surprised at this action that she stumbles back, dropping the plate as she does. The delicate China shatters on the floor as the fruit scattered and the waffles sit there on top of the broken peices.

She looks at you with hurt on her face. "Why did you do that?" She asks just as Sylus enters the room. He looks annoyed at the mess on the floor. Concern overtakes him as he comes closer. Of course none of it is for you, she's the only important one in his eyes. A shard of the plate had bounced of the floor and put a cut on her arm. She had a line of bright red blood blooming out from the slice.

"Did you really think I would accept anything from YOU?" You spit the words at her like venom and stand up. "I know your not so stupid as to be unaware that Sylus is my husband." Your words are as cold as the ice outside. Red blooms across her face as realization strikes her.

You turn to leave the room and just as your about to step into the hall something grabs your arm and yanks you back. Your head whips around and your suddenly face to face with Sylus angry expression.

"She is my guest, you will treat her with respect. Don't lay your hands on her again." You rip your arm from his grasp. "You must think I'm an idiot. She's getting a hell of a lot more than hospitality from you. I owe her NOTHING. She is nothing to me but a sneaky slut that wormed her way into a married man's bed. Both of you disgust me." You storm from the room. As you leave, you take notice of the twins. They are also watching you, but you do not care.

You return to your room and begin to make preparations. You're almost certain now that Sylus hates you. "Divorce is pretty much guaranteed." You say out loud to no one. As you look around the room you realize that nothing in it is truly yours. Everything had been given by Sylus after your marriage. "What a joke I am. I must be the biggest idiot in all of the world. I never should have married him. He was a complete stranger. What a fool!" You kick the dresser in anger, the pain just spurs you on.

After ripping the sheets off the bed and throwing them to the floor your anger had only increased. Grabbing the nearest object, your hurl it to the floor. Feeling satisfied as it shatters. You begin throwing things all over the room. In minutes the neat, beautifully decorated room is in shambles. Glass, sheets, books, jewelry, makeup, and nick-nacks are all over the floor. You turn and leave the disaster you made, making sure to slam the door as hard as you can on your way out. The paintings on the wall tremble from the force.

You storm through the manor headed for the stairs again. You don't recognize the lightheaded woozy feeling that has over come you and you feel dizzy as you reach the ladder that goes to the roof. Halfway up, your foot slips. Before you fall, in a burst of adrenaline you manage to grab the ladder securely. Your heart is beating out of your chest as you cling to the rungs. "That was too close," you mutter taking deep, steady breaths.

Undeterred, you climb the ladder anyway, resolute in seeking peace on the roof once more. It takes a lot more effort to climb up than it had in previous climbs. Your huffing and puffing by the time you manage to get up.

As you walk to the ledge and glance at the snow covered ground below, you realize something is off. The footsteps in the snow are not yours and since it had been snowing for hours, the ones from earlier would have long since been hidden under more snow.

You whirl around ad your mind screams danger. You hands fumble through your layers of clothing to grab the knife you always kept with you. It was a custom blade and designed to attach to your bra. Although it was small, it was very sharp and could easily cut and stab in defense. As your hand manages to grab the handle a figure appears from the top of the roof. He easily jumps down to where you are.

"To think that the infamous wife of Onychinus' boss would be so easy to get to. No bodyguard?" He asks in a taunting tone. The man is dressed head to foot in black. His entire body is covered save for his eyes. Black as a blank night sky and soulless. He points a gun at you. "Drop the knife, or I'll put a bullet in you right here." He says his finger twitching on the trigger.

Having been taught how to fight from a small age, you fein dropping the knife as he moves closer. Just as he's within reach you spin it around and drive it into his upper arm. Unfortunately he was prepared for your tricks and fires the gun. The bullet burries itself deep into your thigh. You cry out and collapse to the ground clutching the wound. Blood seeps between your fingers and down your leg. Falling upon the snow.

"You're going to regret that." The man says as he pulls the blade out of his arm and flings it to the ground. He reaches out and grabs you. You're enveloped in a blinding light and then everything fades away. Sight, sound, and feeling are gone.

It feels like you're floating in darkness for a long time. You struggle to move, bit something is restricting you're movements. A rattling sound is the first thing you can hear as your senses come flooding back. The pain slams into you again and you groan. You realize that you've been blindfolded with a thick cloth.

"She's finally awake. I would really like to know about that blade she stabbed you with. It really did a number on your arm. It must have been very sharp.

"Shut up and just do your job. The boss needs information and she's going to have it. He said do whatever it takes to get it out of her. Just don't kill her." A gleeful cackle made you shudder and then footsteps came closer to you.

"Darkness makes the pain more intense. You will tell me what we want to know." The man says and then you can hear metal being moved around. Your heart begins to race. There is nothing for you to tell them. Sylus had always made sure that you knew nothing of his business and plans. You had only ever overseen the production of weapons. You didn't know their purpose or intended use.

"I imagine I'll get away with it if I do kill you though. Osric was his brother just so you know. Boss has a personal grudge to pick with you and Sylus. This is going to be delicious. Let's begin. We'll start with something easy." He said and then you could feel him standing at your side.

Hours had passed since the torture had begun, but no matter what question he asked the result was the same. You didn't know.

He had tried a variety of methods to break you. The first had been pulling you fingernails our. It had been excruciating and you nearly passed out several times. The he had tried whipping you. Your back was a raw bloody mess from all the cuts. That had made you pass out. His ways of waking you up again were resolute. Dumping ice water on you seemed to do the trick.

Your mind felt like it was going to snap if this went on much longer. Your voice was raspy and hoarse from the hours of screaming and crying. At first you had tried to hold back, but this maniac had taken it as a challenge. Several times he had said you were boring him with your instant responses.

"You're n-not going to-o get any.. anything fro-om me. I have nothing to tell. Even if I wanted to." This was not the first time you had said those words. It's just they fell on deaf ears. "Ju-just kill me al-ready. I I'm useless to yo-ou. He-e doesn't ca-are about me. Ju-just end it already. I-I don't kn-ow anything." This went on for days. You knew time was passing but you had no idea how much until finally a different person entered the room.

"Boss is fed up with you. He wants to know why she hasn't spilled her guts yet. He's tired of waiting for what he wants to know. Can't believe three days and she hasn't cracked once." His voice sounded disappointed and uninterested.

You'd lost count of all the methods they had tried to get you to speak. Several times you had begged him to just kill you but he'd only laughed in response. Sleep had been allowed a few times and sips of water had been given.

They had never removed your blindfold, and you were glad that you could not see what had been done to you. Even if you could feel every injury, being able to see them would have made it ten times worse.

Just as he was getting ready to start again, the door was blasted open. It sounded like it had been ripped right off the hinges. Chaos ensued with whatever had cause the door to explode, and the man started yelling.

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" Crashes followed the words, and then a guttural sputter followed. Seconds later, you felt hands touching you, and you flinched, thinking that more pain would follow. To your surprise, the restraints on your arms and legs were removed, and then someone was carefully helping you sit up. A pair of hands touched the blindfold and then dim light hit your eyes. You screwed them shut feeling that it was painful.

Every part of your body hurt. Stinging and burning sensations were running rampant all over and you just wanted it to end. "We need to move." A familiar voice said in your ear. You open your eyes, ignoring the pain from the light and look at the voice. To your complete surprise Luke and Kieran are by your side.

"We've come to get you. Boss is so angry. I don't want to stick around here." The twins had their usual care free attitude as they watched you. "Why?" You asked looking at the pair. You could sense their confusion. "What do you mean why? You're Boss's wife. Of course he will take back what is his." One of them said as the other drapped a blanket over you and then carefully picked you up.

You grimaced and tried not to show the pain. "M-my leg is broken." You managed to get out between gritted teeth and gasps. They said nothing as they took you out the door.

Having never seen any of the place you were in, you were surprised at the twisting hallways and maze like route that you were taking. But the twins seemed undeterred and walked quickly. Before long there was a heavy metal door in front of you. It was all dented and it looked like an explosion had hit it. The door was already adjar and upon further investigation, you notice that it's hanging off the hinges.

Walking down another short hallway you come up into a large room. With a start you realize that blood is everywhere and there are bodies scattered through out the room. At the front leaning against a table is Sylus. He looks irritated and he has blood spattered on his face. He stands up straight when he sees you and the twins. His gaze hardens as he looks you over.

"Why did you come?" He looks at you blankly, his face giving nothing away. He just looks at you like he's staring right through you.

"Did you ever, even for one second love me?" You ask after several tense minutes go by. He still says nothing. Feeling the unsaid confirmation of what you had thought to be true now a reality you close your eyes against the tears.

A minute later and you open them again. "I am over this. I just want it to end. I don't care about anything anymore. I no longer want anything as I also posses nothing. You can have it all. I just want it to end." After letting go you feel like a weight has fallen off your shoulders. All the hate and resentment you'd felt several days ago has disappeared.

"Take her to the manor and contact the dr." Sylus finally says after many moments. The twins immediately move out. Despite their best efforts you get jostled several times and the pain makes you pass out. You surrender to unconsciousness, thankful to escape for however short a time it will last.

Over the next several months you are confined to bed to allow you injuries to heal. The scarring isn't as bad as you had though it would be, but it extends over most of your arms legs and back. The whip scars will never disappear and serve as a constant reminder to never show your back to anyone.

Eventually the day arrives that the dr tells you all of you injuries have healed and he discharges you from his care. Eight months have passed since that day and finally you are back on your feet. Having packed a bag with a few sets of clothes you grab the strap and the papers you had asked for a few days ago.

Without hesitation you go to Sylus' office and open the door. He is sitting at his desk reading some documents. You walk over and set two things down. One of them reads Transfer of Assets and the other says Annulment of Marriage. Placing a pen on top of it you say resolute "sign them and then you'll never see me again." You take a step back and wait.

He sets the papers down and looks at what you have placed on his desk with a raised eyebrow. "What is this?" You inwardly sigh. "Sinc you do not love me and I have no desire to play second fiddle to anyone else I am not staying. Clearly there is no place for me here. This is to repay the treatment I was given. You owe me nothing and I owe you nothing." You're confidant that with relinquishing your rights to your family's business and everything you endured being at his side will more than repay him.

He appears to be lost in thought as he reads over the papers. "You really want nothing in return?" The only thing you had asked for in the divorce agreement was that he not seek you out and that your paths never cross again. You nod and finally he moves to sign them. You turn on your heel and walk out of the door, out of his manor. This corrupt part of the city and out of his life forever.

A sense of peace washes over you as you get into your car and turn the ignition. Ready to begin your own life.

****************************************************

And thus ends another one. I did make some tweaks to the original plot line I was given because it flowed better in this way. I do hope you don't mind. I stuck to what you gave me as much as possible. I hope you enjoyed this one

Tag list:

@tom-pls-fuck-me

@barbuse @mariposa666haruka @cosmocup1d @xthefuckerysquaredx @bokerayboke

@ellieevu @prettytemis @bananagoesbonkers4 @dreamerwasfound @sweet2wth

🤍💙💖💙🤍

Being the second-eldest daughter of the Archeron family, and twin to Nesta, had been tough.

But nothing had been so difficult as being mated to the Shadowsinger of the Night Court, Azriel.

Not that you didn’t love and cherish the male with all of your heart, that wasn’t what was difficult about it.

It was being a former-human-turned-high-fae that was difficult, at least when you were in Illyria with your mate. Which happened to be nearly all the time, now that you lived here with Azriel and your soon-to-be-born twin boys.

As much as Azriel detested the ways of his people, he couldn’t bear to see his children outcast by them entirely. So when he had asked you if you would be comfortable moving here, ready for you to reject the notion entirely? You had said yes, even knowing how difficult it could be.

But your Archeron upbringing had trained you well for it, right?

Wrong.

While Nesta had occasionally been cold to you, your father distant, and your mother downright abusive, your upbringing had been nothing to the scorn and hatred shown to you by the Illyrian people, for having dared to be mated to one of them.

Azriel had flown you to the mountains when you had been only three months pregnant, to have the two of you find a suitable plot of land to build your house - well, for Azriel to build your new home. He had fussed over you the whole way, his shadows wrapped around you everywhere that he wasn’t touching, making sure there was no chance that you could be dropped or having any sort of harm befall you on your journey.

You had merely giggled at his overprotective behavior, which had been present since your courting and mateship, but now that you were pregnant? He had gone overboard with it, sending at least five shadows with you everywhere you went that he didn’t, an increase from the usual two. You found it cute, how he just wanted to keep you safe at all times.

The entire time you were in Windhaven, no Illyrians approached the two of you, instead staying a safe distance away, their scornful eyes watching the pair of you closely. You had hardly noticed it at the time, but four months later, when Azriel had finished the cabin and the two of you had moved in?

It was all you could notice.

You were eight months pregnant when you moved in, and from what you had heard of Azriel’s young adulthood, pregnancy was a blessing to be celebrated by the entire war camp.

But no one came to visit with well wishes, not that you’d expected them to, and yet… You had hoped you might be accepted by your new neighbors, at least on a surface level.

You and Azriel made do with your situation, celebrating the birth of your twin boys with the company of your family, one of the happiest days of your life.

When you looked at Azriel, and then to the twin boys sleeping in your arms, you knew that whatever hardships that may come would be worth every second of joy you would have.

🤍💙💖💙🤍

Fifteen. Your twins, Kai and Keiran, were fifteen years of age now, and had already been training in the rings with the older males for five years, giving you plenty to use you cauldron-gifted powers on.

You hadn’t been given much in the way of sheer power by the mythical force, but what you had been gifted was healing magic, which was more than enough for you.

Initially, you had hoped that your ability to heal wounds would have you accepted by the camp, but it actually had the opposite effect. Your sons, and any that you healed, were seen as weak for needing their injuries mended beyond stopping death’s cold hands from taking them.

Still, you healed the younger females in secret, knowing that even with Rhys attempting to change the thinking of the Illyrian people, their lives were hard enough as it was without having scraped hands and knees.

At the current moment, you were washing laundry in the slow paced stream on the edge of the camp, a few paces away from the other mothers and daughters of the camp. They had been staring at you scornfully the entire time you’d been crouched on the bank, scrubbing at the endless pile of Illyrian leathers that your sons went through over the last week.

It wasn’t until you saw the shadow of a pair of wings covering you that you turned around, coming face to face with Devlon.

“Can I help you, Lord?” You asked politely as you set down the leathers, staring up at the male that only came around to make your life difficult.

“Perhaps,” He said coolly, staring down at you with disdain. “It appears that one of the young girls who had her wings clipped last night also seems to have had them healed soon after, leaving her able to fly. Do you happen to know anything about that?”

You blinked up at him, forcing yourself to look confused. “No, I don’t know anything about that, Lord. Perhaps your warriors weren’t able to cut the tendons properly? Also… Isn’t wing clipping forbidden under the High Lord?”

Devlon seethed down at you, raising a hand in the air as if he would strike you.

“Is there a problem here, Lord?”

Kai appeared at your side not a moment later, one wing curling protectively around your back.

“It would be awfully rude of you to strike our mother when you have no proof of wrongdoing,” Keiran said as he stood at your other side, copying his twin’s pose, arms crossed over his puffed out chest.

“Especially if High Lord Rhysand were to find out about the supposed wing clipping that you just asked her about,” Kai added cheerily.

Devlon let out a hiss of annoyance and stormed away from the three of you, and you let out a sigh of relief. You may not be as afraid of him as you once were, but you were still well aware of the threat that the male posed to you.

“Thank you, boys,” you said, giving them each a kiss on the cheek when you finally stood. “What ever would I do without you?” You asked sweetly as you looked at them, carbon copies of their father.

“You’d threaten him all the same, momma,” Kai remarked as he gave you a quick hug. “We should probably get back…”

Keiran leaned in to give you a longer squeeze, pressing your cheeks together as he had since he was a babe. “We’ll see you for dinner, yeah?”

“I’d better,” you warned as they began walking away, wings fluttering lightly in the breeze. “You boys be good!” You yelled after them when they started running back towards the training rings, shaking your head at them.

🤍💙💖💙🤍

Eight months later, Winter Solstice was upon you. This year, your sisters and their mates came to stay in Rhys’s cabin, just a short winnow away from Windhaven. That meant all of you would be attending the festivities in Windhaven, something Rhys had been attempting to do every other year since your boys were born, in hopes of improving relations between the Dreamers and the Illyrians.

Early in the afternoon, though, Azriel was called away to the Hewn City, Keir had caused a scene when Rhys had offered only a short visit from him and Feyre tonight.

You spent the time before your sisters and their mates showed up preparing your boys, dressing them up nicely in fine leathers that you and Azriel had spent the last few months making in secret.

After all, this was the first year that your boys had crushes! You wanted them to look their best for Solstice!

And this morning while you were getting ready, Azriel had surprised you with a gorgeous fur gown that he had made for you in secret as well, perfect for keeping you warm in the snowy Illyrian mountains. He had  lowered the gown over your head, then shoulders carefully before guiding your arms through the sleeves, his touch so gentle it brought tears to your eyes. It was only after he had gotten the dress in place that you pulled him in for a kiss, full of all the love you felt for your sweet, dedicated mate.

“Do you like it?” He had asked lowly when you pulled away, his lovely hazel eyes searching yours.

“Azzie, I love it! How long were you working on it?” You’d asked, marveling at the perfect stitching, the white fur trim lining the edges of the tan dress, and of course the sleeves that were fitted to the elbow before billowing out past the edge of your fingers.

“Oh, a few minutes here, a few minutes there,” Azriel had said softly, smiling at your laugh before pulling you in for another kiss, this one more heated.

It was then that Kai and Keiran had burst through your door in search of their outfits, ‘ewing’ when they saw the two of you break away from each other.

That had been eight hours ago, just before Azriel had been called away, and there was still no sign of them. The festivities had already begun, the bonfire already lit - your favorite moment to share with Azriel.

You sighed and poured yourself a glass of wine before wandering over to a bench, not wanting to disturb your sisters at the moment, who were busy canoodling with their own mates. How you wished yours would return at this moment, bringing happiness and warm to this otherwise frigid nights.

Already, you could see the disapproving stares of those around you, your family excluded. It was only a matter of time before the whispers started…

In your fifteen years in Windhaven, you had only been to one Illyrian celebration without Azriel by your side, a harvest festival that your boys had begged to go to, even though their father had been away on the Continent that week. After that, well… You always made sure that Azriel or your boys were with you, if you went to any festivities.

Tonight though, you would deal with the whispers, the stares, the leering males who took the opportunity while Azriel wasn’t around to threaten them over it.

“She looks so pathetic over there, her mate can’t even bother to spend Solstice with her,” one female whispered loudly, smiling at you when you made eye contact with her.

“I bet he’s off fucking someone else,” the person next to her tittered.

“I know I wouldn’t be able to stand touching her,” one of the men nearby said.

“I don’t know, I feel like she’s got to be a freak to keep that bastard entertained,” one of the males chortled, his eyes greedily looking over you.

You were just about to give up and go home, having stood from your spot on the bench, when a pair of strong arms wrapped around you, wings curling around your body next.

You looked up and back, a grin breaking over your face when you saw Azriel’s gorgeous face hovering over yours. “Hi,” you whispered.

“Hello, my love,” Azriel murmured before placing a gentle kiss on your lips. After parting from you, he spun you in his arms, his eyes taking on a more serious look. “How has your Solstice been?”

“Oh… You know…” You trailed off, not truly wanting to discuss the cruel words that had been whispered in your presence.

“Who do I need to take care of?” Azriel growled as he pulled you closer, eyes looking over his wings to see who might have hurt you.

You buried your face in his chest, taking in a deep breath of night chilled mist and cedar before you said the name, directly into his leathers.

“I’m sorry, love, I didn’t quite hear that.”

You sighed, and pulled back from his chest to look in his eyes. “Torin, straight in front of you. And… Everyone he’s standing with.”

Azriel growled again, his eyes locked on the male for a minute before turning back to you. “Are you alright? Do you want to go home?”

“I’m alright, now that you’re here,” you replied with a smile.

Az nodded. “Good. Do you mind if I go talk some sense into them?”

Your smile only grew. “No, go right ahead my love.”

He unfurled his wings from around you, and squeezed you one last time before you stepped to the side, turning to watch as he stomped furiously through the snow over to the group, for once grateful that he hadn’t taken the time to remove his knife belts.

Maybe they would finally learn to stop shit talking you, at least within earshot of you.

In a moment, Azriel had the male pinned to the floor by his neck, one of his boots holding a wing to the ground, painfully if the male’s whimpers had anything to say about the situation.

“The next time I hear that you’ve talking about my wife, I will take you into the ring for your last time, am I understood?” He asked, tightening his hold when Torin didn’t answer. “Am I understood?!”

Torin tapped on Azriel’s arm, nodding as much as he could in his hold. “Yes, yes,” he croaked out once Az let him go, straightening out and leveling the rest of his group with a glare.

“That goes for the rest of you, do you understand?”

The group nodded, wide eyed as they murmured yes, none of them daring to help Torin stand from where he was still laying on the ground, clutching at his throat.

“Good! Now, my sweet mate, would you join me for a dance?” Azriel asked after he turned from the group, his hazel eyes soft and caring once again.

“I’d love nothing more, mate,” you replied, letting Azriel lead you over to the bonfire, where you could see your sisters and mates dancing among the others.

🤍💙💖💙🤍

Ana wandered outside onto the veranda. It was a stunning day, warm with a light breeze, the perfect weather to sit outside and read her book.

The grounds looked beautiful, with luscious greenery, bright flowers, and the occasional orange tree. The pool was unoccupied, which surprised her. She’d reckoned she’d find Carlos and his younger charge out here playing rough and tumble as boys do. Maybe because Teto wasn’t here.

Lando was a year or two younger than her, Carlos’ current rookie teammate. She’d met him briefly before in Barcelona, smiley and energetic, while also a bit shy. Apparently, they were good friends, as her brother had never brought any of his fellow racing drivers home before. But he was a bubbly sweetheart, and their family adored him.

She gasped when she rounded the corner to the loungers and found them. It wasn’t a surprise to find her brother snoozing under one of the umbrellas, though Piñón was usually somewhere near. What she hadn’t been expecting was to find them both curled up together on a single garden chair.

Carlos was mostly on his back, leaning a little to his left side. Lando had his curly head on his chest, one of his legs hitched up. Their arms were thrown over each other.

Ana smiled, getting out her phone from her dress pocket. She couldn’t resist snapping some photos. The pair of them were clothed in shorts, Carlos in a t-shirt, while Lando drowned in a hoodie. One that was definitely her brother’s, actually.

Interesting…

Settling down onto a nearby lounger, she put on her headphones and went back to reading her book. The shade was perfectly cool, and she was fast absorbed back into the story: the son of the President falling in love with a British prince. Somewhat forced friends turned secret lovers. The two of them in the public eye, in a world where their romantic relationship would be frowned upon by those in power. But to those who knew them, it was obvious they cared deeply for each other.

Ana looked at the two of them still curled up fast asleep. Carlos in particular relaxed and peaceful. At least they could have some sanctuary here if anything more came of their friendship.

Lando stirred, and she smiled again, darting her eyes to her book so as not to scare him. It would be impossible for him to miss her, and she winced at having picked the lounger opposite them. She didn’t mean to be intimidating.

In her peripheral vision, she saw him freeze. She looked back up to reassure him, but her movement spooked him further, and he scrambled away, bare feet smacking against the patio.

The noise woke Carlos, who looked confused at waking up alone. Ana took off her headphones as he sat up.

“Don’t worry, he was here. I think I scared him, sorry about that.”

“Oh. Shit.” He raked his hands over his face and then one through his hair. “We were just napping together. He struggles with sleeping at night sometimes.”

“You don’t have to justify anything to me, big brother. I do have photos, though,” she teased, flashing her phone. She laughed as Carlos groaned. “Blanca will love to see these!”

He rolled his eyes at her. “You are such a menace, Anita.”

“Well, that wasn’t a no, please don’t do it!” She immediately sent them to their older sister. She wouldn’t see them until later, as she was at work, but she would come home armed with everything she needed to tease Carlos all the more.

She loved being the baby of the family sometimes.

“Are you gonna go see where he’s hiding?” she prompted, as Carlos still hadn’t moved.

“Doesn’t he need space if he ran away?”

“Carlitos, he ran away from me. He was more than comfortable with you. Go and find him, idiot!”

He kissed her on the head as he walked back inside the house, and she smiled as she settled back and continued to read about the two boys under public scrutiny falling in love.

~

It was the weekend, and Blanca was visiting home. It was Carlos’ summer break from racing so he was also in Madrid, as was his younger colleague and friend.

Lando was sweet, always wanting to help Mamá in the kitchen with preparing the food, or trying his best to speak Spanish with them all. He was new to the language, and it made her laugh sometimes, but he always listened with rapt attention and a blush in his cheeks whenever they tried to teach him something new.

Especially her brother.

If Blanca didn’t know any better, she’d say the young Brit had heart eyes for Carlos.

Lando’s gaze would gravitate to him whenever they were in the same room together. They could almost always be found together, no matter the activity. She got it to a point. They both had the same career; their diets and training regimens were similar. Lando, new to their home, no wonder he felt safer following Carlos everywhere.

He didn’t seem to be a golf fan. However, her brother seemed determined to get him interested. Their father would take them to the course or around their rally track. He’d come in rambling excitedly about that every time. And she was sure when they ended up in Mallorca at the end of the week with the extended family, they’d be out on the ocean on one of the yachts.

A kid with a crush on his older coworker was adorable. What concerned her was Carlos’ own look back at him. The way he’d light up with Lando in the room, cackling and screeching when he mispronounced a phrase in Spanish, the pokes and squawks.

And the sleeping together.

Well, it wasn’t quite like that. Ana had sent her the photos of them together on the veranda. Both of them sharing one lounger despite the many empty ones around them. Curled up together like they were more than friends.

Blanca would be happy for Carlos, she would, only his previous relationships had been from outside of work. Lando was nineteen and only just beginning his career. Carlos was well established, driving for a historic team. She loved him dearly, and she had a soft spot for Lando, but she couldn’t help worrying.

She entered the library with her laptop. There was a balcony on the west side set up like a reading nook, and it was one of her favourite spots in the house. Shaded by the nearby trees, it was secluded and comfortable, allowing her to get lost in her writing for hours at a time. Ana preferred the open expanse of the grounds rather than being hidden up here. Carlos always enjoyed being out in the sun when he was home.

So imagine her surprise when she walked through the library and found them. There were some books open on one of the tables, along with a tablet set up on its stand. A stack nearby looking like a mixture of golf, old model cars, and Spanish football books. A pitcher of water sat on a placemat, alongside their phones, one on top of the other.

The two of them were on one of the sofas. Carlos was sitting, his head fully leaned back against the cushion and turned away from her. Lando was curled up with his head in her brother’s lap, one of Carlos’ hands resting in his curly hair. Both asleep once again.

Sighing, she placed her laptop carefully on the nearest chair to muffle the sound. Then she got out her own phone and snapped a couple of photos for Ana. Her baby sister would gleefully enjoy the ammunition against their brother.

She was picking up her laptop when Carlos stirred. He rubbed his eyes before taking in the still-sleeping body on the sofa before him, stroking his resting hand through Lando’s curls. It was a sweet, intimate moment to catch, and Blanca swallowed as she moved, knowing it would alert him.

“Oh, hello, Blanquita. Sorry, we didn’t mean to intrude on your favourite spot.”

She waved him off. “It’s your home too, Carlitos, and I understand if you wish to show our special guest around.”

His face immediately flushed, and she placed her laptop down again before taking a seat opposite them. Lando still appeared to be asleep, body relaxed instead of tensed like he seemed to be most of the time.

“He can sleep anywhere, he’s out cold,” Carlos said fondly. He hadn’t taken his hand away from Lando’s hair. “What have you been up to today?”

Blanca stared at him. He didn’t seem worried at all.

“What?”

Sighing, she sat forward, one leg crossed over the other, one hand resting on her knee. “Do you really think this is okay?” she gestured to Carlos and the young man in his lap.

She saw his eyes dart down to Lando and then up to her, his expression darkening. “You have a problem with me being affectionate with a male friend? That’s a bit rude, no? I don’t ever see you complain about Teto, or you and Ana with your own friends.”

“Please, we both know it’s more than that, whatever this is.”

“I did not think you were the type to be homophobic, Blanquita.”

She rolled her eyes. “You really think that low of me? It is simply not proper for you to be messing about with your colleague. Have you even thought about what this could mean for your career? What if you were to get caught? You’re jeopardising not only your career but Landito’s also!”

Carlos’ face crumpled. One of his hands rubbed at his chin, then raked through his hair. “I know, okay? Nothing else has happened yet, I swear it. We’re just friends, it’s different.”

“Yet you brought him here to Madrid. You’ve never done that before with any of your previous teammates.”

“It’s not the same. I can’t explain it, Blanca.”

“You haven’t stopped touching his hair, little brother. Look, I understand there are some feelings between the two of you.” Carlos’ head shot back up. “You don’t have to deny it, okay? I worry that you’re supposed to be coworkers first, not friends, never mind more than that. If you get too close, it could hurt you both.”

“You care for him, too?” he asked. His voice was shaking, and his eyes were shining.

“Clearly not in the same way as you, but yes. He’s a ray of sunshine and a shy little thing, but he comes alive around you. And you around him. Just please be careful.”

“Okay.” He nodded with a smile. “Thank you.”

She stood up to collect her laptop and make her way outside, just as Lando stirred.

“Love it when you speak Spanish,” he mumbled in English. Smiling and shaking her head, she got out of their way as she heard Carlos talking softly back.

She might be a protective older sister at times, but she was also proud of the person her brother was becoming.

~

Caco loved his family and their traditions.

Every year, they all gathered together in Mallorca. Christmas tended to be a bit too cold to enjoy the outdoor space that was perfect for setting up multiple tables for everyone to mingle. The height of summer was perfect. The beautiful weather, the sprouting fruit trees and vegetable plants, the refreshing spray from the Mediterranean.

Being his cousin’s manager was both an honour and a curse in the sense of being closely related. Sometimes the lines of professionalism were a lot more blurred than people would consider healthy. Caco was heavily involved with Carlos’ racing, which he loved, while they also spent close time together outside of the world of fast cars, too. Family duties and gatherings, to sponsorship deals and training camps, and then, of course, talking to other teams about a race seat.

Carlos had hopped around a lot already throughout his career. Getting kicked out of teams was becoming a habit they were both determined to break. So far, McLaren had been a clear winner among the rest.

His cousin was happier and looser, certainly goofier than at any of his former teams. Laughing a lot more and genuinely excited to see the team’s development. It was nice to see, especially with a team that wanted him to stick around.

Caco wouldn’t be his manager, however, if he wasn’t scouting other teams regardless. Formula 1 was a brutal sport, with only twenty seats available ever. Exclusive and sometimes luck of the draw when it came to a driver keeping their seat for a long-term contract. Carlos shouldn’t be burdened with midfield teams for his whole career. It was Caco’s job to keep an eye out for even a sniff of a chance at a top team.

Sipping on a beer, he watched as his cousin made his younger rookie teammate laugh so hard he wiped his eyes. Lando being here was unusual. A break in tradition. Carlos had never brought previous teammates to Madrid and Mallorca before. Nobody from work or the racing world. Previous girlfriends, sure, whose work was the opposite of the F1 paddock.

Carlos having Lando here was dangerous. Not in the sense of him being around the family, it was clear the young Brit was adored by everyone he spoke to. Caco included, who had gotten to know him in the quiet moments outside of the races – the packing up afterwards, the vibes in the driver rooms before the sessions, as well as chatting over lunch in team hospitality.

It was trouble for his cousin. The world of F1 wasn’t built for a bond like Carlos and Lando’s. Strong friendship, fun, a non-competitive environment within the same team. Bubbling feelings complicating things.

He’d seen them together over the year, always spending time together whenever they had the chance – in their driver rooms, in their hotel rooms, at their respective houses. It was without doubt something special between them. Now here, during summer break.

Thinking about Carlos’ career, his future, he wasn’t sure how this could continue.

He quickly got absorbed chatting with Teto, who blew over like a tornado with his usual high energy, demanding his attention.

An unknown amount of time later, taking some shelter out of the worst of the heat, he wandered inside. He’d had a message on his phone, and it was an important one to pass on to Carlos.

Nobody had seen him, though, or Lando. Ana and Blanca had both mentioned they were probably napping somewhere, which Caco thought a little conspicuous with lots of guests around. Carlos wasn’t a big napper, even if it was considered normal for the Spanish to take naps around this time. It wasn’t one of their usual traditions, and apparently something he’d picked up from Lando.

So he wasn’t shocked to find them both sleeping in the upstairs lounge. However, he did raise his eyebrows at how they were sleeping. Cuddled up together on their sides, Lando’s back to Carlos’ chest, his cousin’s arms protectively around him.

It couldn’t have been all that comfortable in their slacks and shirts, though the balcony doors were open, bringing in the afternoon breeze. The lounge was on the opposite side of the house from the backyard, so it was quieter too.

He wasn’t sure how long they’d been asleep. Their phones lay on the coffee table, so he assumed one of them had set an alarm. He sat down in a nearby armchair, scrolling on his phone, the message in his inbox sitting at the forefront of his mind.

Lando shifted in his sleep, and Caco saw Carlos’ arms tighten around him on instinct. They’d better not get themselves caught at McLaren like this. Though he did have some hope that his cousin was professional enough in the workplace. Here, in his own home, he could let it slide.

One of the phones sharply rang into the silence, making him jump, and he couldn’t help laughing as Carlos flinched awake so violently that Lando nearly fell off the sofa. Lightning reflexes saved him from face-planting the floor, and somehow, he was still asleep. It wasn’t unusual for Lando to be caught napping around the garage, the tyre blankets in particular one of his favourite spots.

“Oh, hi there, Caco,” Carlos groaned as he blinked the sleep away. He kept one protective arm around Lando, rubbing his face with the other.

“Enjoy your nap?” he smirked, enjoying the way Carlos’ face turned as red as the message on his phone.

“Yes. I didn’t think I’d get into the habit so quickly, but every time Lando falls asleep, I’m never far behind.”

“It’s been a busy season, I’m not too surprised you might still be recovering.” Consistent points finishes and only a couple of DNFs were practically a dream start for his new team, who had been solid backmarkers last year. Lando had a few more non-finishes, both reliability and other cars driving into him, but he still had a good amount of points. It was a promising start for both of them.

“Are you not going to ask any questions?” Carlos asked.

Caco shrugged. “I might in a bit. For now, I have some pressing news that you could be thinking about, from me as your manager.”

“Okay…” He gestured for him to continue. He definitely wasn’t fully awake yet, and Caco smiled.

“Some rumours are flying regarding potential seats elsewhere. Listen before you start complaining, Carlitos!” He cut in as his cousin tried to protest. “I’m passing on the information. Vettel isn’t happy over at the Prancing Horse, and it seems like it’s a mutual thing. Concerning Leclerc. Something to keep an eye on into next year, no rush just yet.”

Carlos’ eyes bugged out of his head. “Ferrari?” he whispered, voice full of awe. “Shit. Wow.”

“Nothing confirmed, but something you’d be interested in?”

Carlos blew out a breath. “Well, it’s Ferrari, no? Who would turn that down?”

“Okay, I’ll keep that in mind.” He put away his phone and leaned back with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Is that everything?” Carlos sighed as he lay back down.

“Can I ask about your young friend and teammate here? He’s not gonna wake up anytime soon, is he?”

“He needs the naps during the day as he doesn’t sleep so well at night,” Carlos answered all too easily, and Caco suddenly had the thought that them sleeping together like this was not a one-off. He didn’t get to all of Carlos’ races, but he also didn’t always hang out in the team hub with them so as not to disturb their preparation routines. “Blanca has also given me a lecture already about it being improper. I don’t need it from you.”

Ahh, well that explained the manner in which she’d spoken about them napping together.

“I can understand her concern,” he said as Carlos huffed. “If you both get too close, it could make things worse in the long run. You’re gonna end up breaking Landito’s heart, Carlitos.”

“Only his?” Carlos asked miserably. “I hate that Formula 1 is so complicated. Fucking politics.”

“And you know, while McLaren might accept the two of you, Ferrari has strict customs you’d have to obey.” He’d researched all of that, too, of course he had. The prancing horse meant prestige, upholding a legacy. It could be even worse.

“Being in separate teams wouldn’t be so bad, no? Yes, it would hurt initially, separating like that. But we’d be more careful with spending time together. It would have to mean something to us both. Not just convenience.”

“That’s…one way of looking at it.” He should take it as a positive that he would move teams if it were above the midfield.

Lando shifted again, this time rolling over to face Carlos, who immediately shuffled himself to lie on his back, the Brit nestled on his chest. Snoring softly. Not going anywhere for the time being.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Caco chuckled, clapping a hand on Carlos’ ankle as he left the room.

~

Reyes finished loading the washing machine and went to make herself some lunch. Her adult children had been out on the yacht for most of the day, coming home with freshly sun-kissed faces, and soaking wet swim clothes and towels.

Lando was also staying with them for the week, including their three days in Mallorca. Reyes had taken to calling him little chicken, with his big, round cheeks and the way he squawked when he laughed. He was here as Carlos’ guest, but the Sainz Vázquez de Castro family had fast taken to him as one of their own.

He was a bit shy sometimes, but when he got more comfortable, he was loud and chatty. He also loved helping Reyes with any chores that needed doing, always with a bright smile. Landito was a sweetheart, and she could see why Caco, her husband, and her son had bonded with him.

Her son, in particular, seemed to be deeply taken with the young Brit. She’d catch Carlos watching him, a pink tinge to his cheeks. They would be making each other laugh most of the time, as well as always orbiting in the same space. They were never far away from each other, their arms brushing together or pinching and poking, or resting around each other’s shoulders or waists.

Carlitos had never expressed romantic love for anybody else but the young women he’d brought home before. His relationships never seemed to last very long, but she understood how tough it was. Carlos was always travelling, always training, rarely getting more than a week at a time off, and even then, he was in the team factory working on the simulator or filming sponsorship videos.

Their little chicken was somebody who not only understood his hectic lifestyle, but was also physically close to him as his current teammate. Reyes found that just because they were welcoming Landito into their family as an honorary son, it didn’t mean that the two boys were brothers. A future son-in-law was just as warmly welcomed.

Having made herself a sandwich and poured herself some wine, she made her way upstairs. The main bedroom had a balcony with a beautiful view of the sea, and she was heading there when she heard music playing from another one of the rooms. Ana and Blanca were outside with the dogs, while her husband was out at the golf club for the day.

Assuming it was Lando’s music, she poked her head into the room to see if he wanted a snack. She almost dropped her wine glass as she surveyed the bed. The music was playing from one of their phones, while the two of them were cuddled up on the sheets. Lando had his head buried inside his hood, lying on Carlos’ chest, her son on his back with his arms around their little chicken. Both of them taking an afternoon nap.

Well, wasn’t this a pleasant surprise! Carlitos had never been much of a napper, electing to keep awake, working and training, taking every spare minute of the day to better himself as an athlete and racing driver. Pushing himself too much, if Reyes had anything to say about it. So to see him actually resting, especially after their busy day out on the yacht, made her want to take a photo to preserve the moment.

She leaned her head against the door frame, taking a moment to watch the two of them. Landito looked comfortable sprawled across Carlos’ chest, like it was familiar. She had caught him wandering the house at night before back in Madrid, and he’d admitted over a glass of milk that the stress of the season often affected his sleep. Reyes had hugged him and promised to make him a warm drink every night to help him out. He was very fond of milk.

He was still young, brand new to Formula 1. Of course the pressure was difficult for him. A nap during the day would do him wonders. And if her son was also helping, then who was she to stop them?

Carlos stirred, and she debated whether to scarper, before they locked eyes and he smiled at her. She thought the little chicken would wake up too from his movement, but she watched as Landito settled back onto the pillow Carlos slipped beneath his head.

Knowing he would follow her, she headed through to the main bedroom balcony and settled down onto one of the cushioned chairs. Carlitos joined her, and she offered him half of her sandwich, but he waved her off. She watched as his gaze settled out towards the sea, the breeze gently disturbing his hair.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?”

“Please do not tell Papá. About Lando and me.” He turned to her, his eyes shining and pleading.

She placed her hand over his on the table. “I don’t understand why you feel the need to keep it a secret, but of course I will not say anything.”

“Because even I am not sure what to call what we have.” He said it quietly, just above a whisper, like he hoped his words would get lost in the breeze.

“There’s no need to call it anything, Carlitos. How do you feel in here?” She pointed to his heart.

He took a breath. “He means a lot to me. More than I can put into words. I feel protective of him in the paddock. I want to shield him from all of the hate that he gets in the media. I want to see him all of the time; it’s like something is missing on the days I don’t see him. Is that strange? You’d think I’d get sick of him with the time we spend together, but I only feel the opposite. I’ve never felt like this before.”

She smiled proudly at him. “Why would it be strange?”

“Because Landino is not a woman, Mamá!” he rushed out, huffing and rolling his eyes. Then he covered his face with his hands. “Fuck.”

“And why don’t you want your father to know? He loves you, you have nothing to be afraid of–”

“–I have everything to be afraid of!” Carlos’ voice broke, a couple of stray tears slipping down his cheeks. “I am his only son, I cannot disappoint him!”

Reyes cupped his face, gently wiping them away. “You could never disappoint us, Carlitos. It does not matter who you fall in love with, my sweetheart. We only want you to be happy. That is all a parent wants for their child, my sweet, sweet boy. Come here.”

She hugged him to her, t-shirt dampening as he continued to cry in her arms. She hushed him and rocked him, something she hadn’t done since he was a child.

“Thank you, Mamá,” he sniffled as he sat back. She offered him her wine, and he took a sip. “Shit, Lando will be waking up soon.”

“Go to him. Let our little chicken take care of you as you do him.”

He kissed her cheek as he departed, and she relaxed back into her seat, looking out over the Mediterranean, and began to tuck into her sandwich.

~

Carlos Sr exited his dressing room. He was taking Carlos out for an afternoon of golf. Young Lando was reluctant to come with them, no doubt a little scared of making a fool of himself. He truly had nothing to worry about, but Senior wouldn’t pressure him into it.

The boy was a delight. Kind and sweet, with the manners of a kid who was raised with love. He rambled about his family, eyes sparkling with affection, and his laughter was a joy to behold.

He clearly held some insecurities, normal for a teenager, especially one who was a Formula 1 rookie. He faced a lot of pressure and expectations. Carlos was much the same, though he’d been slightly older and hid it better.

But a father knows his child. Carlos had never invited his previous teammates to Madrid before. Then again, Senior hadn’t gotten to know any of them as they had Lando while accompanying Carlos to his races. His wife was smitten, as were his girls, and the extended family they’d stayed with in Mallorca. Landito had them all wrapped around his finger.

He would be a wonderful son-in-law.

Heading to his son’s room to see if he was getting ready, he was taken aback to find them cuddled together beneath the sheets. Both were facing the door, Lando’s back against Carlos’ chest, the pair of them at least wearing t-shirts. It was an adorable sight. He almost didn’t want to disturb them.

Luckily, he didn’t have to. Lando sighed as he awoke, before his eyes opened, and he hid his face as soon as he saw Senior standing in the doorway.

“Oh, shit, fuck, umm, I’m sorry!”

Senior watched as he carefully extracted himself from Carlos’ arms, smiling softly at the young man’s panic. He was indeed fully clothed, in a t-shirt and shorts, his bare feet tapping lightly against the tiled floor.

“Landito, it’s okay, mijo,” he reassured in English. “You’re not in trouble.”

Lando covered his face with his hands. “God, now everyone’s caught us. Fricking hell. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again, sir!”

The poor boy was hugging himself, looking even tinier than usual. Senior placed his hands gently on his shoulders. “My sweet boy, you are welcome here. Please don’t think this changes how any of us feel about you, okay? You make my son the happiest I have seen him in a long time, and for that I am very grateful.”

Lando went as red as the tomato plants. “Oh. Umm, cool. Thanks? Shit, I don’t know how to do this. Sorry for swearing!” He covered his mouth, and Senior couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Carlos was still asleep.

“Stop apologising, mijo, there is no need. Now, I came to collect Carlitos for our golf game. Do we think he’s still up to it?”

“Yes, he was really excited. You should still go! We forgot to set an alarm.”

“And what about you? The invitation is open to you, too, Landito.”

The boy waved him off. “Nah. I‘d only slow you down. Carlos has tried to teach me the rules and how it works, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to pick up a club yet. Next year! Oh no, wait, that’s incredibly rude of me. Sorry.”

“Rest assured, you’re welcome in our home any time, mijo.” He delighted in seeing Lando light up at his words. His shoulders relaxed, and he looked less pale. “I’ll leave you to wake him up, yes? Tell him to meet me downstairs in half an hour?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Enough with the sir, now, come on. We’ve known each other for long enough now, mijo,” he said lightly.

“Right. Yes.”

An hour or two later, he was playing the local course with Carlitos. His son wasn’t playing to his usual best, which made him think he was distracted, lost in his head.

“You have quite the strong bond with our Landito, no?” he asked as he picked up his tee.

“What makes you say that?” Carlos replied slowly, getting himself into position.

“You brought him here, for one. You’ve never done that before. There’s nothing wrong with it, my boy, I’m simply curious.”

Carlos sighed, spinning in a circle as his club slid through his hands. “We’re friends, Papá. I enjoy his company.”

Senior hummed as Carlos did a few practice swings before hitting the ball. It sliced to the right, and his son screwed up his face as he sighed again. Then he mumbled under his breath.

“You certainly seemed to be enjoying his company earlier. Do you sleep together often?” He smiled as he began to walk back to the golf buggy.

Carlitos, however, had frozen. His mouth opening and closing like a fish.

“It–It’s not like that!” he spluttered. “I swear, Papá! We are always clothed. I only sleep beside him when he asks. I never wanted you to find out! Oh my God!”

“Ay, come on, my boy, sit down in the buggy before you pass out.” He waited for his son to catch up, his limbs shaking as he climbed in. “Deep breaths now, you’re okay.”

“Fuck.” He took off his glove and raked his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Papá. I told Mamá not to tell you we nap together–”

“–She didn’t tell me anything–”

“–Or that I like men and not women!” He covered his mouth at the admission, and Senior was horrified to see tears come streaming from his eyes. “Fuck. I don’t want to be a-a disappointment to you. I-I’m not the perfect son, and I’m s-sorry I’ve let you down.”

“Carlitos, my darling.” He placed his hand on the back of Carlos’ neck. “I love you, you are my son, yes? I only want you to be happy, and if that means you loving Lando and you wanting to marry him someday, then how can I not support you? It shouldn’t matter who you love, and yes, I understand in the world of racing it does matter, but what is most important is that you follow your heart. That you be yourself without fear. It might have to be private, yes, damn the world we live in, but you will always have the support of your family, okay? I am so proud of you, my baby boy.”

Carlos buried his face against his shoulder and wept. Senior let him get it all out before they continued with their game. His son played even better and almost managed a hole-in-one.

He and his wife watched in delight as Carlos hugged Lando tightly once they got back, picking him up and spinning him around, Landito’s loud squawks echoing through the halls.

~

The winter sun was barely up in the sky when Carlos stirred.

He was cosy and comfortable, helped by the heated weight he was entwined with. Opening his eyes, he couldn’t help but smile as he was greeted with Lando’s beautiful sun-kissed face, softened with sleep. His curls were mussed, and the freckled skin just beneath his neckline was dotted with hickeys. The aftermath of last night.

Carefully, he raised a hand to stroke the back of his fingers against Landino’s cheek. Light and gentle, snorting softly as the younger man let out a snore. His fingers moved up to his forehead, brushing aside some of the curls that were tickling his skin. Memorising his beauty marks. The moles Lando was always so insecure about.

Carlos loved kissing them, showering them with the love they deserved. The same all over his body. It meant a lot for Lando to even sleep shirtless, his broadening shoulders on display his boyfriend wished were meatier. Carlos loved them anyway. Lando was still growing into himself. The more he trained, the more toned muscle he was building up.

Besides, it was the person on the inside Carlos was most in love with. Lando, who wore his heart on his sleeve, who openly loved his closest circle, who was selfless and kind. Lando, who was hilarious, had allowed Carlos to embrace his goofier side, indulging him and making him laugh to see and hear him light up and squawk. Lando, who drew people to him like the bright light he was, who leaned on those he trusted around him, and who wasn’t afraid to admit how he was feeling.

He’d taught Carlos a lot over the past year.

He leaned in and pressed his lips to Landino’s cheek, then his forehead. He saw his nose scrunch adorably as he started to wake. He dipped his head and kissed over the marks he’d left, soothing his tongue over them as Lando sighed.

“Morning, querido,” he grunted out, his voice thick.

“Buenas, mi amor.”

He delighted in seeing Lando’s cheeks flush as he came back up to meet his stunning hazel eyes. His lips pressed into a smile that had his cheeks pushed up, and Carlos couldn’t resist leaning in to capture them. Lando’s hand carded through his soft hair, deepening the kiss, before rolling them over so he was straddling his thighs. Carlos groaned at the pleasant sensations that lit up his entire body. There was no better way to wake up.

They kept kissing, slow and lazy, but enjoyable, both of them basking in the morning glow. Lando eventually shifted so he was lying on his chest, face buried against his neck, Carlos’ hand stroking down his back. They were in no rush to get up and ready for the day, and he could already hear the tell-tale signs of their families moving around downstairs.

He felt slightly chapped, warm lips press against his neck.

“Love you,” his boyfriend mumbled.

“Te amo, mi vida.”

When they eventually showed themselves for breakfast, hand in hand, their siblings were the first to tease and make kissing noises, while their parents hugged them and ushered them to the table.

It made butterflies erupt in his stomach to sit beside Lando and not have to hide. His hand could rest on Lando’s thigh. He could feed Lando a bite of his avocado toast. He could lean into him as Lando wrapped his hands around his arm, resting his head on his shoulder while he nursed his morning coffee.

“How did you sleep, darling?” Cisca asked, returning from taking their empty plates to the sink. Flo and Ana were washing up.

Lando looked to him and smiled. Carlos kissed his temple.

“Like a dream.”