House Of The Dragon Characters X Sick!Reader

𝐅𝟏 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃 ─

𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 → f1 grid x fem! driver oc!

𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → platonic! f1 grid x fem! schumacher! figure skater! reader

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐄𝐍 → 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 → 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐂𝐂𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → f1 grid x fem! alonso! pageant/beauty queen! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐀 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 → f1 gird x fem! partner! reader

𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐗 𝐀𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐍 ─

𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → alex albon x fem! influencer! reader

𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐙 ─

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → carlos sainz x fem! marquez! reader

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐃 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → carlos sainz x fem! barca! football player! reader

𝐑.𝐈.𝐏 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → carlos sainz x fem! redbull! race engineer! reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐂 ─

𝐅𝐈𝐗 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → charles leclerc x fem! heiress! reader

𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → charles leclerc x male! actor! reader

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → charles leclerc x fem! santos! redbull! formula one driver! reader→

𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐌 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → charles leclerc x fem! kpop idol! blackpink! reader

𝐑𝐄𝐃 + 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 → = 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐋𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → charles leclerc x fem! chelsea! footballer! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 → 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐇𝐈𝐌 → 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → charles leclerc x fem! korean! engineer! street racer! reader

𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎 ─

𝐈 𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → daniel ricciardo x fem! gf! texas cowgirl! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → daniel ricciardo x fem! tattoo artist! reader

𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐍 ─

𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐖𝐄𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → esteban ocon x fem! actress! reader

𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎 ─

𝟏+𝟏=𝟒? ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → fernando alonso x fem! wife! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐁𝐎 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → fernando alonso x fem! mega-famous! pop star! reader

𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐄 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐋 ─

𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐖 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → george russell x fem! actress! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 (𝐈𝐋)𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐋 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → george russell x fem! tsunoda! lawyer! reader

𝐊𝐈𝐌𝐈 𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐊𝐊𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐍 ─

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → kimi räikkönen x fem! redbull! f1 driver! reader

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 ─

𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lance stroll x fem! korean! chaebol! reader

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐊 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lance stroll x fem! aston martin! f1 driver! reader

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 ─

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐌𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lando norris x fem! artist! reader

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 → 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐀𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lando norris x fem! gasly! reader

𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐊𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍! ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lando norris x fem! streamer! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lando norris x fem! gf! reader

𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐎𝐍 ─

𝐕𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐄 ─ 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 → lewis hamilton x fem! wife! singer! reader

𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lewis hamilton x fem! actress! reader

𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝟒𝟒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lewis hamilton x fem! fashion designer! reader

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐌 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lewis hamilton x fem! tennies player! reader

𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lewis hamilton x fem! russell! model! reader

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lewis hamilton x fem! rapper! sneaker head! reader

𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lewis hamilton x fem! poker player! reader

𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → lewis hamilton x fem! surfer! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → step dad! lewis hamilton x fem! young teen! reader

𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐓 ─

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → logan sargent x fem! university student! reader

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐄𝐁𝐁𝐄𝐑 ─

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃? → 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐃? ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → mark webber x fem! retiring! red bull! f1 driver! reader

𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐍 ─

𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 → 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐂𝐄 ─ 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 → max verstappen x fem! polish! mma fighter! reader

𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 𝐂𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! singer! reader

𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐎𝐍𝐄 → 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐎 → 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! hamilton! engineer! reader

𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! singer! reader

𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐕𝐎𝐎𝐑𝐓 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! leclerc! pianist! reader

𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐎 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! actress! reader

𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! newly wed! single mother! reader

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐂𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! alonso! model! reader

𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! kpop idol! soloist! reader

𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! leclerc! runner! reader

𝐒𝐄𝐀 & 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → max verstappen x fem! australian! surfur! reader

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𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 ─

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𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎 𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → mick schumacher x fem! ocon! super model! reader

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐋𝐅𝐅 𝐈𝐍 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → mick schumacher x wolff! merc! engineer! reader

𝐎𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐏𝐈𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈 ─

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𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → oscar piastri x fem! motogp driver! reader

𝐒𝐔𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → oscar piastri x fem! gf! reader

𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐄 𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐘 ─

𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → pierre gasly x fem! french/korean! singer reader

𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 → 𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → pierre gasly x fem! photographer! reader

𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐕𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 ─

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄 & 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → sebastian vettel x fem! wife! writer! director! reader

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𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 → 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐀𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐋𝐄𝐘 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → toto wolff x fem! wife! billionaire! reader

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐒𝐖𝐀𝐍 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → toto wolff x fem! wife! prima ballerina! reader

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐙𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → toto wolff x fem! ferrari! f1 driver! reader

𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐏 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → toto wolff x fem! wife! mercedes! sports psychologist! reader

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𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐀𝐍 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → yuki tsunoda x fem! arab! heiress! reader

𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐏 𝐁𝐅 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → yuki tsunoda x fem! gf! bookworm! reader

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𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐔 ─

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ─ 𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄 → zhou guanyu x fem! japanese! architect! reader

i love non-sexual intimacy and astarion having no bloody idea how to handle it, so of course i couldn't resist writing 3000+ words about it. enjoy!

let the pulses run (astarion x gender neutral!reader, baldur's gate 3)

Astarion waits for it. Expects it.

A beseeching glance, a teasing smile, a flirtatious remark. Hells, even an outright proposition - he can’t quite imagine you pulling it off, but at least it would be something familiar. 

And yet - nothing.

Well, he amends as you settle beside him before the campfire, perhaps not nothing. 

“How is it?” you ask, a solemn slope to your brow as you take in the wound on his arm. A lucky shot from a rather unlucky goblin, who’d received your rapier to the gut for his troubles. 

“Oh, this?” He raises his arm, nonchalant. The wound had stopped bleeding, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. “Barely a scratch, darling.”

Your brows furrow. Liar, they say. 

“You’ll need blood.” You take a second glance at his arm and grimace. The scent of iron clings to the air. “A lot of it.”

Astarion tilts his head, allows a few silver curls to fall artfully across his brow. You track the movement, though your gaze is quick to dart back to his own. He fights a smirk and loses. “Astute, aren’t you? Yes, I’m afraid I’ll need to do more than my usual share of feeding tonight to fix this mess.”

You say nothing in response, not at first. He wonders if you’ll actually say it, or if you’ll hem and haw yourself to death trying to free the words from your tongue.

“If you truly have need of it,” you begin, reaching up to touch your fingertips to your throat. The mark from his first feeding had long since faded, but you remembered where his fangs had struck. 

“How generous!” Astarion exclaims, a little touched despite himself. It took a certain amount of fortitude to offer yourself to a hungry vampire, after all. “If you’re certain - “

You don’t answer with words, merely tilting your head and baring your throat to him. Astarion longs to draw out the suspense, tease you with the anticipation of his bite, but that furrow hasn’t left your brow and he finds himself unwilling to add to your worries. Besides, his body cries out for the meal you’ve so graciously offered, practically rejoicing as he lowers his mouth to your throat.

There’s a certain… intimacy to be had during the act of feeding, he’s learned. Not so much in the bite itself, but in the aftermath: the pull of precious blood, the quickening of a pulse, the flush of warm, living flesh. 

Astarion has never felt the like, not until he first drew blood from you. To know that this is what he had been missing for all the centuries he’d spent feeding on vermin makes his hatred for Cazador climb higher, though he pushes thoughts of his former master far from his mind before they can truly take root. He will not think of his tormentor here, not with you. 

You draw in a breath; it sticks in your throat, your pulse beating like a drum in the back of Astarion’s brain. He can smell your skin, the sweat and blood from your latest battle mingling with the scent of sweetgrass and rainwater, the scent of you, light and sweet against the back of his tongue. 

He can smell more than that. Unease and pain cling to you like a film while he feeds, but beneath that, clinging to your flesh like a limpet, he finds what he’s been searching for - the familiar musk of arousal.

Well, then, he thinks victoriously, feeling a shiver work down his spine as your blood coats the back of his tongue. There’s all the proof I need. 

He had wondered if your lack of amorous advances had been due to disinterest, but no. The body doesn’t lie, and yours was basically singing, crying out its need with increasing frequency the longer his fangs remained buried in your throat.

So then why? Why did you flit away from his advances like a rabbit evading a predator? He knew what you wanted and had no qualms about giving it to you. It would cement your trust in him, bolster your growing bond. Your union would be advantageous to you both. 

He’s so consumed by his thoughts that he doesn’t notice your hand moving until it’s braced against the back of his neck, your palm warm against his skin. He waits for your signal to move away, hungrily swallowing another mouthful of your sweet blood in case it happens to be his last, but all you do is reach for the riot of curls at his nape and pass your fingers gently through them. Once, twice more, until you’ve built up a steady rhythm.

It feels… well, it feels rather nice, actually. It’s far from the first time someone has ever run their fingers through his hair, and yet your touch feels… lighter in comparison, unweighted by sensual delight or a precursor for greedy lust. You’re not touching him in anticipation for more - you’re just… touching him.

It confuses him so greatly that Astarion finds himself pulling away before he’d truly wished to, feeling more than a little bereft when your fingers slip from his hair and land, half-curled still, in your lap.

“That will do, darling,” he mumbles, pushing himself to his feet. It’s a good thing the blood loss has dazed you somewhat, or else your eagle eyes would have quickly taken notice of the bewildered expression upon his face. “A boar or two will more than suffice for the rest. You should sleep, while you’re able.” His nose wrinkles, and he can’t help himself from adding, “But perhaps bathe first.” 

Your eyes narrow at the thinly-veiled insult, but you push yourself clumsily to your feet and head for the river flowing near camp. “Keep your eyes about you while you hunt,” you call to him over your shoulder. “There may still be goblins about.”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that goblins - and hunting, for that matter - are among the last things on his mind. He merely watches you walk away, his fingers creeping to the thatch of curls you had so gently carded through, and wonders what the hell he’s supposed to do with you now. 

Your growing affection for him remains more than apparent as the days pass. You’re devoted to finding a cure for the parasites that writhe within your minds and playing savior for everyone you meet along the way, but in the moments between - slivers of time carved out for rest and respite - you gravitate toward Astarion, leaving the vampire torn between petty satisfaction and growing confusion, because you simply refuse to acknowledge his increasingly thinly-veiled offers to fuck you. 

It’s ridiculous. Madness, really. The number of conquests under his belt had grown too numerous for Astarion to recall, his expertise in the art of seduction unmatched, and yet you remained unmoved by his every attempt. Oh, you would flush, your eyes would flit about as though you couldn’t bear to meet his gaze, your body itself would sway towards his like a tree bough rocked by the wind, but still you would play at ambivalency. 

Astarion might be inclined to believe himself incorrect - a rarity, to be sure, but stranger things have happened; that your reaction to his bite was merely a result of the intimacy of the act rather than any true desire you might hold for him, and yet your behavior afterwards serves to lay that theory quite soundly to rest.

You’ve become quite… tactile, with him, as of late. A bracing hand on his shoulder whenever an enemy’s attack knocks him off his guard, elbows brushing whenever you’re gathered near the campfire, even a rather memorable moment where you’d brushed his curls free of his brow late in the night, your hand hovering in the air between you and a bewildered expression writ across your face, as though shocked that you’d actually done it.

It’s driving Astarion mad, wondering what could possibly be going on inside that skull of yours. The thought of tapping in to the tadpole’s power just to catch a glimpse passes swiftly through his mind, but to his eternal chagrin, knowing somehow feels more daunting.

Besides, he’s… curious. Curious as to what you’ll do next and how he may react to it, and so he doesn’t ask you to stop. You would, if only he were to indicate a dislike of your touch, and yet to do so would prove the vampire a liar, for he finds that he actually quite enjoys the fleeting brush of your fingertips across his brow, or the firm, comforting weight of your shoulder against his. 

Gods, what has he gotten himself into?

He ponders his plight late into the night, until his eyes slip closed and he’s confronted by another new pressing issue - nightmares of his former life and dear old master, memories of previous torments and casual cruelties assaulting his mind from every front. 

Astarion twists upon his bedroll, fingers spasming atop his chest as Cazador flits through his mind like a phantom. Sweat beads on his temples, leaving his curls damp. Fear bubbles through his blood like some molten creature.

“Astarion.”

He awakens with a shout, his dreams clinging to his mind for another awful moment before their claws finally release him. You’re the first thing he notices as soon as he’s set himself to rights, kneeling by his bedside with a discomfited expression upon your face. It had been your voice, then - yours, not Cazador’s - that had called out to him, broken him free of his agony. 

His lips try to twist into their customary smirk, but fall short of the goal and tremble instead. He presses them into a firm line. “Apologies, my love,” he murmurs, grimacing at the drying sweat along his brow. “Did I wake you?”

You shake your head. “I had first watch,” you explain. Your hand twitches at your side. You want to touch him, he realizes. Reassure him. By the gods, with the way he’s feeling right now, Astarion might actually let you do it. “Are you alright?”

“Wonderful,” he bites out, reaching up to push sweaty curls free of his brow only to find that you've beaten him to it, your fingertips callused and blessedly cool against his skin. The urge to swoon like a damned maiden is nearly overwhelming, and yet Astarion resists, only allowing himself the luxury of closing his eyes and indulging in your touch for a few brief moments. 

“Nightmare?” Your voice is low, dreadfully soothing. Keep talking, he thinks, pushing his brow into your palm. Don’t make me do it.

He hums in the affirmative. Your fingers drift to the crown of his head, smooth through the flattened curls at the base of his skull, and rest there, holding him. 

“Cazador?” The name sounds like a curse on your lips, and might as well be for all the vitriol you spew it with. 

Astarion’s lips twitch. It shouldn’t thrill him, the ire you hold for a man you’ve never met, but he knows it’s there simply because its bearer has caused him harm. You’re protective of those you hold dear. 

“The one and the same,” he mutters into the curve of your shoulder, having allowed his chin to rest there while your fingers curled around the back of his neck. You smelled of embers from the fire and the sweetness of the cool night air, and Astarion breathed deep, soothed by the scent. 

“What do you need?” It’s a gentle query against one pointed ear, and for a moment Astarion stares beyond your shoulder, beyond the camp, all the way to Baldur’s Gate and Cazador’s cold, cruel gaze, waiting for his return. You’re silent, patient for his response, and in that moment Astarion is certain that you would give him anything, if only he would ask. 

He could ask for you - for the distraction that your body would provide this night, and you would give it to him. You would trust him with it. 

He can see it so clearly, the rapture of it driving the echoes of Cazador’s voice from his head. But he can see the aftermath, too, and your disappointment when you realize that it’s all he can truly give you, and only because he knows of no other way to be. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs into your shoulder, and it’s the truth, for all the good that does him. 

He feels you nodding, feels your cheek resting against his hair, feels more than hears you say, “Let me know, whenever you figure it out,” and listens to the faint beat of your pulse until his dreams seem like nothing more than misshapen fragments, unimportant, without teeth. 

Something shifts between you then, or perhaps it’s more appropriate to say that something settles. His machinations cease, insomuch as he stops trying to manipulate you into bed, though teasing you with ill-concealed innuendo remains a habit he can’t quite shake. 

You’ve promised to help break Cazador’s hold upon him, and judging by the sharpness in your eyes whenever the subject is pressed, you’re determined to uphold it. 

You care about him; of that, Astarion is more than certain. He sees it in the way you look at him, feels it in the touches you bestow. He hears it, your pulse as clear to him as the warmth of the blood in your veins. He’s earned your trust, your affection, your protection. And you’ve earned his. 

How could he keep it from you, when you’ve not only unearthed his past but vowed to help him escape it? How could he guard himself against you when he’s seen that fire in your eyes, watched you wield it against that vile drow who’d called him a thing and urged you to allow him to bite her?

Astarion shudders at the reminder. If it had been Cazador in your place, he would have taken the offer without thought, without care for Astarion’s comfort. But not you. 

It had angered you - not just the drow’s request, but her flippant disregard of Astarion’s autonomy.

“Astarion is his own person,” you had said, practically spitting the words through gritted teeth. “And he said no.”

You were still angry, by the looks of it, if your gritted teeth and flashing eyes were anything to go by. 

“Are we going into battle?” he calls out, catching you as you’re about to stomp by.

You jerk to a halt and give him a look, completely confused. He bites back a laugh.

“It certainly seems so, judging by your face.”

“My face?” You reach up as though to check, and this time Astarion does laugh, a soft huff that seems to startle you, but also leave you looking incredibly, undeniably… fond. It’s… well. It’s a nice look on you.

“You’re angry,” he explains, reaching over to rub the furrow from your brows. You go cross-eyed trying to watch him, and another laugh bubbles from his throat before he can stop it.

And ah, there’s that fondness again upon your face. He feels warm beneath that look, full, as if he’s freshly fed. 

“I am angry,” you murmur, drawing closer. “Her ignorance, her arrogance - it infuriated me.”

“Obviously,” Astarion quips, lips twitching as your mouth twists in annoyance. He allows the humor to drain from his tone before he continues, a touch more solemnly, “Thank you. I appreciated that.”

Your head tilts. “What did I do?”

Astarion huffs a breath, astounded by your obliviousness. “I spent two-hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back to my Master. What I wanted, how I felt about what I was doing, it never mattered.” The memories, though old, are fresh, and he does his best to shake them free of his mind. This isn’t about that. This is about you. “You could have asked me to do the same, but you didn’t. And I’m grateful.”

“I never would,” you return, and your words are firm. Resolute. You need him to believe them. “It wouldn’t have been right, forcing you to do something you didn’t want to do.”

“You’re the first to think so,” Astarion murmurs. “The first not to make me feel like something to be used and discarded.” He had still been living as though he was exactly that, he realizes. Still a puppet, a pawn to be ordered about at his master’s whim. But that wasn’t who he was, anymore, and he would never be that way again. You would aid him in making sure of it, and not simply because he’d seduced and manipulated you into doing so. You would do it because you wanted to. Because you cared. 

Because you were his friend. 

“Thank you,” he repeated, a lightness to his shoulders that he hasn’t felt in centuries. 

You stare at him, throat working for a moment as if you don’t know what to say in return, and he smiles. Silly thing. 

But then you’re stepping forward, a determined glint to your eye, and Astarion is left with no other recourse than to gawk over your shoulder as you wrap both arms around him. Your cheek comes to rest against his shoulder, your chest settling warmly against his, and Astarion - 

Astarion crumbles. His arms come up to wrap around you, gingerly at first, until he hears your sigh - a soft thing, sweet, happy - and then he’s squeezing you against him, brow falling to your shoulder.

Gods, when was the last time someone had embraced him like this? He wracks his mind and still fails to recall a single moment where he was gathered so close without an ulterior motive to facilitate it. 

He doesn’t want to let you go. It’s an intimidating thought. A terrifying thought. And yet the terror doesn’t make it any less true. For the first time in centuries, he wants - he actually wants something, just for him, just because.

He wants you.

It would be easy for the fear to consume him, then, fear that this will crumble to dust beneath his hands like so much else, and yet you won’t allow that terror to seep through. It can’t, not with your arms curled so sweetly around his waist, your smile tucked against his shoulder, your pulse a soothing beat in his ears, assuring him without words that he had been right all along.

You want him, too. 

Day 8! 12 days of labors continues! 🤟🏛

Heracles labor 8: "Steal the Mares of Diomedes"

Here's what Diodorus tells us of the 8th Labor:  "The next Labour which Heracles undertook was the bringing back of the horses of Diomedes, the Thracian. The feeding-troughs of these horses were of brass because the steeds were so savage, and they were fastened by iron chains because of their strength, and the food they ate was not the natural produce of the soil but they tore apart the limbs of strangers and so got their food from the ill lot of hapless men. Heracles, in order to control them, threw to them their master Diomedes, and when he had satisfied the hunger of the animals by means of the flesh of the man who had taught them to violate human law in this fashion, he had them under his control. And when the horses were brought to Eurystheus he consecrated them to Hera, and in fact their breed continued down to the reign of Alexander of Macedon."

Thanks for looking and reading! If you share this image ill sail over and wrangle any carnivorous critters roaming your neighborhood for you! xoxo

Aug 2019

Reblog this to prove your blog was made before the February 2022 tumblr resurgence

masterlist

charles leclerc

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domestic bliss — snippets of charles and y/n's relationship

carlos sainz jr.

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keeping up with the sainz — snaps of their vacation and a potential addition to the sainz family

keeping up with the sainz ii

F1 VARIOUS

scandalous — people always think the grass is greener on the other side; unfortunately, max is gonna find out that it could not be further from the truth... and certain pilots are more than happy to take care of you and your daughter.

one, two, three, four, five, six

snippets: one, two, three, four, five

sweet like cinnamon — charles had done his best to keep you away from f1 and everything that had to do with motorsport. It's time you break his golden rule and give him something to really stress about.

one, two, three, four, five, six

snippets: one, two, three, four, five

DRABBLES

domestic leclercs

cold season ♡ sister biased // little leclerc with the gfs // may the best brother and their gfs win // holidaying without the leclerc sibs //adopting ollie

obsessed with her cheeks // what's the tea? with the leclerc sibs! // little leclerc getting married? // lorenzo being a comfort person // forever our baby (+1) // fia's sincere letter // charles being a walking safe space // fangirling with sebastian vettel // little leclerc being jealous // impromptu visists with the clingy bros + surprise boyfriends!! // cancelling a sibling night // sad and depressed bros

leclerc brothers and their reactions to their baby's first relationship

forgetting a sibling night • charles • arthur

paddock groupies.

♡ top dogs in the paddock // mr. redacted // brother in law(s) tolerance scale // least hated brother in law // inlaws fighting // from disliked to extremely // paddock competitions //

one where toto and christian agree

carlos sainz : carlos and little leclerc // family functions // polaroids and cut outs // sweet talking yn leclerc, fake it til you make it kinda! // reyes/charles/carlos drama // golf dates with carlos and lando

pierre gasly : pierre, the wild card // pierre and his perks // they're just friends ? [♡] pierre and little leclerc

max verstappen : max and little leclerc // choker? ♡ choker! // max in the dms [♡] max and little leclerc ♡ max's brownie points

mick schumacher : it's going to be okay // micky. how. //

lance stroll : the strolls

sebastian vettel : meltdowns and lipgloss with sebastian vettel

daniel ricciardo : dates with dani

AUS ♡ SLC WORLD

sweet dream was over ♡ MICK SCHUMACHER

FIRST LOVES AND HEARTBREAKS ♡ FT. DILF(s)

which dilf is it?!

little leclerc's charm + possibly an ex?

enchanted with jenson

seeing an ex in the paddock

how can i move on?

breakups!

iceman featuring

aftermath or when the heart still yearns

so smitten

there goes our plans

could have been us, i want it to be us ft jenson

another chance at love

OSCAR VERSION

playlists and priorities

maybe the aussie!! / yes to the aussie!!

oscar's favorite song

road head

NEW!!

JENSON/READER/SEB VERSION

unspeakable activities

despicable activities

dilf activities

praises and priority / SLC MAIN

dilf victories and army of simps / grid studs au

so what are we? jenson / grid studs au

ways to win / grid studs au

♡requests are opennn♡

Omg can you write a small little drabble about kissing/biting astarions ears? I am not immune to elfs 😭😭😭

Astarion x GN! Tav

Slightly NSFT - implied sex, ear kissing, ear biting, ear massage, first person POV. 600+ words

---

The first thing I noticed about him were his ears.

Pointed and long, the smallest tint of red at the tips from the sunlight that bore down upon his back—

Your typical elf ears, belonging to a man with a dagger poised in my direction and a wicked smile across his lips. I held my hands up in defense, promising no ill will towards the man if he were to just lower the weapon.

We became quick allies, and even faster friends.

Astarion was the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, although he would certainly deny it if anyone were to say it. Each decision along the way only making our friendship grow fonder—

To the point where I felt I could finally acknowledge those adorable, unbelievably cute ears of his.

“Have you ever thought of piercing them?” I asked one night, reaching up to run my fingertip just along the side. My friend shivering in response and soon slapping my hand away.

“And risk scaring my beautiful ears? Not a chance!”

I let the subject drop, but kept stealing glances at his ears. So very cute… and so very kissable.

The first time we laid together, my hands found their way into his hair, pulling his lips onto my own and claiming those lips. My thumb and index finger coming together to gently rub up his ear and to the tip. He moaned into my mouth, tilting his head into my touch and silently telling me ‘more.’

I soon found myself touching them at any opportunity. Anytime we would kiss, anytime we would lie side by side and whispering our newfound infatuation to one another late into the night…

“You have quite the little obsession, don’t you?” Astation asked while we cuddled in his tent together. He was so firm yet comfortable in my arms, I let my lips graze against his ear as he arched his back into my chest. “Always touching my damn ears.. as if they’ll fall off my head one day.”

“We can never be too sure,” I replied. My breath cascading down his ear and his neck. I gave the tip a soft kiss, followed by an even softer bite. “I adore them.”

“And here I thought it was me that you adored. Of course, you were only after my ears,” Astarion teased. But he lowered his head back, his eyes closing as he sighed and gave no protest. My tongue traced over the edge of his ear, up to the point where I kissed him again, Astarion groaning in reply and taking my free hand to the front of his trousers.

He rolled over to kiss me, his hands sliding down my chest and pushing me into my back as he moved to straddle me. It was instinct now to bare my exposed neck to him, openly trusting him to feed from me without worry. As his teeth lowered to my neck, I gently caressed his ears, massaging them as he bit into my flesh…

We moaned together as my blood hit his tongue, his distraction prompting him to finally attempt kissing his ears as he fed from me. His reaction was perfect, his bite a little harder, his hands shaking as he held me, his hips twitching as he continued.

“I love you, Astarion,” I mumbled and kissed his ear once more, letting my eyes close as I gave into the warmth of his embrace.

In the morning he would laugh as how his ears must be black and purple from my bites and incessant kissing during our love making—

But then he hugged me when no one was looking, and whispered his own confession.

Dukedom AU masterlist

all posts related to the main dukedom au and its spinoffs will be here!

original Dukedom au: first part + part two

1. baby fever + 2 + 3 2. lipstick and kisses 3. terms of endearment 4. dolling up 5. simon and johnny find out about graves 6. how did it start? 7. Graves and Reader first meeting? 8. what if reader's baby does not look like john? 9. Genuine fondness between graves and reader? 10. baby girl 11. mini-reader baby boy 12. more than a commodity 13. post-request 14. does simon need a wife? 15. what is graves like?

Spinoff angsty dukedom with konig + part two

angsty dukedom, no konig

Distracted

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

Summary: Locked in a room with the boy who has the relic you've been hunting, you try whatever you can to get it back.

Content: fight scene, flirting and making out, a bit suggestive but nothing explicit

A/N: requested by @superpositvecloudshipper - hope you like it! Also can you tell it's my day off with the way this is my third fic in less than 12 hours lol

Word count: 1.9k

As yet another auction came to an abrupt end, the crowded room filling with screams and alarms, Lockwood began to wonder if he was developing a track record.

He was there for a book, written at the very beginning of the Problem, which George insisted would be invaluable in the case they'd just accepted and which DEPRAC were determined to put into secure storage. Nobody had seen it for years, but a week ago it had been listed as the star item at Fothergills Auction House. It wasn't anything as serious as the Bone Glass, but the team had still had to blag their way into the auction with a pocket of tricks each and an unofficial nod from Barnes to do whatever was necessary to prevent the book from winding up on the black market.

So it was that Lockwood found himself surging through the throng of panicked auction-goers, scrambling to escape Lucy's recently detonated smoke bomb. He could barely see through the mass of bodies, made worse by the cloud of dark grey fumes and the pulsing red light of the alarm system. It was only a matter of time before the sprinklers activated. He had to get the book before then.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted an unusual movement - another figure fighting against the tide of bodies. Probably a relic man with more greed than sense, but at least they'd thought to put their hood up and draw a scarf across their mouth to protect against the smoke. Lockwood pressed forward with increasing urgency.

He reached the podium seconds before the mysterious figure, snatching the book and giving in to the urge to throw his pursuer a triumphant grin. They swore, drowned out by the alarm as it shifted in pitch to indicate the activation of the water sprinklers. Lockwood tucked the book into his coat and bolted for the nearest door, the other person hot on his heels.

Overhead, an automated voice alternated with the alarms.

"Defence alert. Room cleared. Initiating lockdown procedure."

Oh no.

—

You forced your way through the crowd, eyes trained on the book. It would fetch you a pretty penny and give you an advantage over a group of relic men who were giving you grief. As you reached the podium, you stumbled to a halt at the sight of a scrawny dark-haired boy clutching the book. Your book. You scowled, expression deepening as he gave you a bright victory smirk. Well, that was that. No way were you letting him leave here without getting the book. As he sprinted for the door on the left, you followed.

Too late, you realised the door the boy ahead had chosen was not the one for the offices, but for a storage cupboard which would usually have held the items for auction but now was almost bare. Too late, you noticed there were no other doors or windows, just the one that had now sealed behind you.

"I swear," he growled, hand on his rapier, "don’t come any closer. There's nowhere to go and I've fought enough relic men that if you want to get out of here alive you'll keep your distance."

You scoffed, a higher sound than Lockwood was expecting.

"Excuse you, relic man? Presumptuous much?" As you spoke, your scarf shifted to reveal plump red lips, and in one smooth movement you tugged down your hood, scooping the mane of windswept hair it concealed into a messy ponytail.

Lockwood froze for a second before switching on his trademark charisma. No sense in making enemies straight away, besides the more he looked the more he realised there was little room to use his rapier without risking self-injury.

"I meant no offence, I thought Flo Bones was the only relic woman."

You'd heard of Flo, of course, but didn't run in the same circles. She was a one-man, well, one-woman band, except for whoever this guy was it seemed. You tended to keep to yourself, but occasionally took advantage of the more simpering relic men who were so desperate for a woman to look their way that they'd give you anything, making you the leather-clad rogue to Flo's knitted outcast.

"Easy mistake to make, darling, but it won't happen again." You returned his charm with your own, thinly veiling the threat behind your words. "Just give me the book and we can both go on our merry ways."

"I don't think so." He dropped the act in a flash, gripping the book.

Your scowl returned. "Fine. That door's not budging, so I've got time to change your mind."

Without warning, you lunged, catching him off-guard enough that he almost lost his footing. To your dismay, he recovered quickly, pushing you back to give him time to adopt a defensive stance. He was trained, then. Probably from agent work, judging by the rapier. By the book, though. Time to see if he fought dirty.

A scroll of paper was about the only thing left on the shelf beside you, but it would have to do. With a grunt, you tossed it past his shoulder, and as he watched it sail past (no doubt questioning your aim, as you'd planned), you used his distraction to slip closer and force him backwards into a shelf. He cried out as the metal bit into his back and for a moment you hesitated. The boy was only young, he looked about your age, and he wasn't bad looking at that. You could have been in his place in another life, or he in yours. Or both of you on the same team, fighting off some other scoundrel. Unknowingly, you eased off the pressure on his shoulders.

Big mistake.

Lockwood shoved you once more, finally deciding to bring the fight to him and reaching for his rapier. You couldn't allow that, but you were running out of ideas. So you did the only thing you could think of: whipped off your jacket and hurled it directly at his face. The boy was quick, though, you had to give him credit, as he batted it away like a pesky fly. Suddenly he was in your space, hands locking around your now bare wrists and foot snaking out to knock your feet from under you. You fell, unable to stop yourself, but with his grip still on you he lowered you almost gently to the floor, arms pinned above your head and his weight straddling your thighs to keep you from lashing out. He did fight dirty. Interesting.

Your breath was heavy, both from the fight and from finding yourself in such close quarters with the young man. With nowhere to turn, you finally got a proper look at your rival. His dark eyes were trained on you, filled with a mixture of anger, respect and something else. His previously coiffed hair now fell haphazardly across his forehead, and his face was flushed. Still had that insufferable smirk, though.

"I think," you paused to catch your breath, "we got off on the wrong foot. Care to start again?" Your hands were still pinned, hanging loosely against the cold stone floor, but you brought one up in as close to a handshake as circumstances would allow. He didn't take it.

"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

"Does it matter?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"What you want with the book."

"Let's call it personal insurance."

"I see."

"Do you, darling?" You'd met his type before - rich, cocky, scornful of anyone who'd fallen into the relic hunter lifestyle to keep themselves alive. Then again, he seemed to know that other girl Flo well enough, and he hadn't given any indication he disliked you beyond having the same target, and really it was very hard to form any other opinions of him when his pelvis was practically on top of yours.

He leaned a little closer, pressing your wrists more. "I'm not your darling, darling." The last word came out low and husky, and you resisted the urge to squirm beneath him. It wouldn't do to give him any more of an upper hand just yet, not that there was much more he could get.

"You could be, if you wanted, the position you're in." You'd been watching him through your lashes, but with those words you allowed your gaze to slide down to his lips as your own parted slightly.

Lockwood took the hint.

His kiss was passionate, almost frantic, and you returned it equally. To get low enough to reach your lips, his hips had bucked into yours, and as you gasped at the sensation his tongue darted in. He tasted like bergamot tea. One hand never left where he was keeping you pinned, but the other came round to support the small of your back as you arched into him. Eventually (it took him long enough, distracted as he was when you dragged your teeth across his lower lip), he realised he was supporting all his weight on your wrists, and he propped himself on his other hand and let go. With this newfound freedom, you pushed yourself off the ground, leaning into him until he was sitting back on his feet, your legs still under him but torsos upright and pressed together.

Now on a more even playing field, you were able to have a bit more fun. Not that you were going to complain about the original position, to be fair. It had certainly made things interesting. In the back of your mind you registered that the sirens outside had stopped, but you still had time to kill.

You slid your hands up his chest to the collar of his coat, sliding it down until it gathered around his remarkably firm biceps, then loosened his tie. All the while, your lips never left his, kissing him hungrily. He responded by reaching up and removing the tie from your hair. One hand travelled back down to your waist, the other twisted into your hair with a playful tug. You gasped against his mouth again, tugging his tie which brought him up off his heels. The pressure eased from your legs, and in one swift movement you pulled them through the gap.

As your legs disappeared from under him, Lockwood found himself leaning back with you taking position above. Your hair cascaded around your face, tickling his ears, and he broke the kiss for breath and to stare up at you in wonder. His hand left your hair to support himself, but you adjusted to balance yourself so your hands could slide into his coat and around his waist.

"Well, that's certainly not how I expected this auction to end, but I can't say I'm disappointed," he chuckled.

"Me neither." Behind you the door hissed as the automatic lock disengaged. Abruptly, Lockwood felt your hands retract from within his coat and he dropped painfully onto his elbows. You stood, brushing yourself off and retrieving your jacket, which you slung over your shoulder. At the same time as Lockwood realised his coat felt significantly lighter, he noticed the book tucked under your arm.

"This has been fun, we should do it again some time," you said with a wink as you stepped through the door.

Lockwood scrambled to his feet. By the time he made it to the doorway, the auction room was empty. You'd gone, and so had the book.

He didn't know which he was more disappointed about.

(siren/mermaid reader x simon “ghost” riley written on a whim and a rush)

There’s a silence that only the sea understands; a quiet lull between the crash of waves and the breath of something other watching from below.

You rise just before the tide turns.

Water beads like silver across your shoulders, trailing rivulets down the curves of your scaled skin. The moonlight paints you in cold beauty- sharp and soft, haunting. Your hair drips with salt and secrets. Your tail, dark as the ocean trench and rimmed with glints of blue, curls beneath the surface like a big, lazy question mark.

The boat creaks as you settle on the edge of it, arms resting on the slick wood, claws tapping like soft bells.

And there he is; the one man you cannot drown. Ghost, you’d heard the other fishermen call him. Simon, the seas whispered to you.

You’ve tried. Not out of malice, not really. You’ve never spared the ones who drift too close- those ruddy-faced tourists with their cheap beer and loud mouths, hearts too full of their own importance to sense the predator beneath the waves even when the locals who’ve seen you sinking down whole ships are the ones to warn them. Their skulls now rest in coral nests far below. A song, a smile, a brush of your fingers on their dreams- that’s all it ever took.

But him?

The first time you sang to Simon, he didn’t blink. He didn’t bleed from the ears or follow you into the rocks like a lamb, did not give into the sweet song of death. He just looked at you- as if he knew your song already.

You wish it had ended there, but no. No. He did much worse, he had even freed you-

You can still remember the trap. Rusted iron strung between two forgotten pylons, slick with barnacles and hunger. It had snapped tight around your waist as you’d swum through a kelp forest, cutting into your flesh with a mechanical groan that still makes your bones ache. You’d thrashed, thrashed until your voice broke against the water, until your blood painted the reeds crimson. And then- he had been there. Still, unafraid, with dark eyes peering at you.

He didn’t speak. Just waded into the cold, metal snips in hand, and cut you loose. You had stared at him, weak and trembling, the tide lapping red around you.

That was years ago. And ever since, you come to him. Not always. Never with warning.

Only when the moon calls.

Tonight, it hangs low and red like an omen. The kind that makes fish leap onto shore and birds fly inland, and a different type of hunger coil like eels in youe stomach. Blood moon, the fishermen call it. She will be hunting, they had said. And most know to stay far away when it rises. When you rise.

But not Simon. Never him.

Simon stands on his boat, the Wretch’s Mercy, steady as stone. He doesn’t flinch when you breach the surface, eyes gleaming like polished bullets. Doesn’t reach for the knife on his hip, even if you think he should. He is too defenseless; it takes the taste out of food.

“Was wonderin’ when you’d show.” He says. His voice is low and dry as cracked rope, wrapped in northern smoke and salt.

He’s wearing the same black mask, the white skull painted across it like a silent threat. But his eyes- those ever-watchful eyes- glint amber in the dark. Not human. Not quite. How have you never noticed it before?

“I don’t perform on demand,” you purr, tail flicking. “There are no fools in the water tonight.”

“No,” he agrees. “Only monsters.”

You bare your teeth in something like amusement, too sharp to be called a smile. “… You’ve never feared me, sailor. Why?”

Simon shrugs, tugging gently at a net as it coils along the deck. “Yer not the scariest thing I’ve come across, love. Not by a long shot.”

You lean forward, hair dripping over your chest, your irises dark as shipwrecks. You swear your teeth ache with the need to bite into him. “Do they know what you are?”

Simon finally looks at you- really looks.

There’s no shock in his face. No hesitation.

“Who, the locals?” he says, low. “They think I’m just a fisherman that won’t bloody die.”

You study him, the way his broad shoulders roll with the boat, how his body moves with the tide instead of against it. Like you.

“You smell like the deep,” you whisper at last. “Like volcanic vents and whale bone. You’re not surface-made.”

Silence stretches between you. It’s the same quiet the ocean gives before it devours something.

He steps forward, towards you. “You’re not wrong.”

You blink. Your claws curl slightly into the wood. “Then why pretend?”

“Because monsters scare off the catch.”

You laugh- low, velvety, the sound of waves lapping at a sailor’s final breath. But your voice softens then. “You could have let me die.”

He’s close now. Close enough to touch. The net dangles loose in his hands. “Didn’t want to,” he says simply. “Didn’t feel right.”

“Why?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re mine.”

That words stir, primal in your chest. Something that snarls and sings and sinks ships into the bottomless ocean.

“You think you can keep me?”

His hand reaches up- not fast, not rough- just firm. His fingers trail along your damp jaw, calloused thumb stroking the corner of your lip. You don’t pull away, and you don’t bite, even though you should.

But your heart stutters like a dying gull anyways.

“I don’t think,” he murmurs, voice deeper now, trenches miles below. “I know.”

You stare at him, senses drinking him in- his scent, his heat, the thrum of something old and hungry beneath his skin. You lean in, then, lips nearly brushing his, your breath a chill against his mask.

“When the time comes,” you whisper, voice of broken shells and broken vows. “You’ll have to catch me.”

Simon’s smile beneath the mask is something no man should wear. It is something no man would wear- but another deep water monster would.

“Oh, I will. When you follow me down, you won’t want to come back up.”