#Between Illusions and Intrigues

[mensagemcompoesia]

Desencanto e redescoberta

Desencanto e redescoberta Me abandonou para ficar com outra Na ilusão de que tudo seria mais fácil Mas a realidade se mostrou outra Para você, ela é mais uma a ser descartada. Imaginar que tudo poderia ser diferente É perder o meu tempo Como é perda de tempo tentar te convencer Tudo segue sendo ilusão. Desse jeito, não terei vida Se terei que responder pelos seus atos Por suas decisões…

[blood-orange-juice]

interesting but i do agree with the other reblog, in my opinion it’s more likely hoyo would make childe fight us based on tsaritsa’s orders than us turning on him ourselves. for me, I don’t see it as romantic(?) well we’ve seen how we’re probably the only ones childe trusts outside of his family (telling us about his abyss story since it was also mentioned he would never tell this to just anyone) but we know how extremely loyal and devoted he is to the tsaritsa(with how he carried out the whole releasing a monster to liyue thing even tho he himself said he was reluctant and didn’t like involving the weak/helpless). he’d probably be like “dont take it personal comrade, think of it as a rematch.” also maybe in natlan we will find out more about the tsaritsa’s goal and maybe it’s something the traveler cant agree on. but i dont know, that’s just what I think🥲

The problem is... It's the most obvious thing to do and so far Hoyo have avoided obvious things.

Would be a nice subversion of expectations if they end up doing the obvious thing exactly once, of course.

In other words, he's a bit too pathetic to be tragic in this way.

And also there's Skirk's prophecy about overturning the world, so he can't die before that is addressed.

[missarchive]

american jesus ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three

summary; What starts as a seemingly innocent exchange quickly escalates into a game of trust, control, and desire. Spencer offers you more than just financial stability; he gives you attention, adoration, and a connection so intimate it leaves you breathless. From whispered words over the phone to moments of vulnerability, he knows exactly how to unravel you, guiding you to discover sides of yourself you never knew existed.

But with every dollar he deposits into your account and every command that leaves his lips, the boundaries between professionalism and pleasure blur. As you dive deeper into this intoxicating arrangement, you can’t help but wonder: are you just another outlet for his control, or has this brilliant man fallen for you just as deeply as you’ve begun to fall for him?

cw; +18 minors dni, masturbation (f), hints at masturbation (m), nudes, spencer calls reader "little girl" once, phone sex, sugar baby/daddy dynamics, inexperienced reader, pleasure dom spencer, fingering, dirty talk

an; this is the first part in my new series! as always, feedback is greatly appreciated. P.s. this is written with jesus reid in mind <3 xoxo

The idea had been absurd from the beginning—a drunken suggestion tossed out during a late-night study break, your friend’s cheeks flushed from the cheap wine you’d both been sipping.

“You should totally do it,” she’d said, her voice a mix of mischief and daring as she scrolled through her phone. “It’s not like you have to… do anything. Just talk. Flirt a little. Get someone to pay for your coffee—or your rent. What’s the harm?”

You’d laughed it off then, brushing aside her suggestion with a half-hearted joke about the kind of people who used those sites. But now, with your landlord’s polite but insistent emails piling up, along with the crushing weight of tuition bills and credit card debt, her words didn’t seem so laughable.

Desperation, you’d learned, had a way of reshaping your boundaries.

So, against every instinct that told you to slam the laptop shut and find another way, you clicked the link she’d jokingly sent that night.

The homepage was a garish blend of pink and gold, its polished glamour doing little to mask the transactional nature of it all. The tagline—"Where connections are made"—was a cruel euphemism for what this really was: a marketplace. A place where companionship, or at least the illusion of it, had a price tag.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time before you finally typed in a username: laceandliterature.

The flood of messages came almost instantly.

@ hungandrich; Hey, beautiful 😘

@ olderseekingyounger; I can show you the world 🌍💎

@ MrNaughty4U; $5k a week to be my princess. No strings attached 💵

It was overwhelming, a cascade of propositions ranging from saccharine to predatory. Some were masked in politeness, others made no effort to conceal their intentions. Your stomach churned as you skimmed through them, the realisation sinking in that you were just another product on a shelf.

And then, just as you were about to close the browser and pretend this had never happened, a new message pinged.

It was short, direct—refreshingly so:

[new chat from: @ thefourthdoctor]

@ thefourthdoctor; Intriguing profile. Shall we talk?

No emojis, no extravagant promises. Just a simple, confident statement.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you clicked on the profile. The picture was blurry, as if taken in haste, but it revealed enough: dark, wavy hair that framed sharp, intelligent eyes behind a pair of glasses. His bio was sparse but intriguing, mentioning books, travel, and a keen interest in "meaningful conversations."

Something about it—about him—felt different. Not just the lack of overtly transactional language, but the quiet assurance in his words.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard.

This was a bad idea. You knew it was a bad idea. But against your better judgment, you typed out a response.

@ laceandliterature; I suppose that depends on what you want to talk about.

The reply came almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting.

@ thefourthdoctor; Anything but the obvious.

The words were simple, but the subtext was unmistakable: he wasn’t here for what everyone else seemed to want. Or maybe he was just better at hiding it. No sleazy innuendos. No dick pics. No hollow promises of private jets or weekend getaways. Not even the tired clichés of "Hey, gorgeous" or “What’s your body count?”—just a question.

It was startling in its simplicity, almost disarming. And for that exact reason, it made you pause. The absence of the usual vulgarity felt almost like a trick, a trap designed to lure you into a false sense of security. You had learned the hard way to be cautious online. Yet, despite yourself, you couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you glanced at his username again.

A click brought up his profile, your curiosity outweighing your skepticism. The photo was blurry, clearly taken without much thought to lighting or angles. It wasn’t like the polished, professional headshots some of the other profiles sported. Still, you could make out the basics: slightly messy, long curly dark hair, intelligent eyes framed by glasses, and an awkward sort of handsomeness that felt... real.

The bio was brief—almost frustratingly so.

"Bibliophile. Traveler. Interested in meaningful conversations and unconventional connections."

It lacked the arrogance and ostentation of the others you’d scrolled past, the ones who listed their wealth or their penchant for “petite brunettes.” Instead, it was vague, yet oddly specific in its sincerity.

Your chest tightened, a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity tugging at you. Was this calculated, or was it simply honest? And why did it feel more dangerous than the others?

Still, you typed.

Your heartbeat quickened as you debated your next move. The smart thing would be to leave it at that, maybe even block him. After all, you weren’t here for emotional entanglements. This was supposed to be transactional—a simple trade: your time and charm for their money and attention. A means to an end.

Yet, against your better judgment, you stayed.

@ laceandliterature; The obvious is easier to avoid than you think, but meaningful conversations? That’s a tall order here.

There was a long pause, long enough that you started to wonder if you’d misjudged him. But then, the reply came:

@ thefourthdoctor; It depends on who you’re talking to.

You stared at the screen, the simplicity of his words sending a ripple of unease through you. There was no bravado, no performance. He was direct, confident, and—most dangerously—intriguing.

The seconds stretched into minutes as you debated what to say next. This was different from the other messages. He wasn’t dangling wealth in front of you like a shiny object or trying to buy your interest with empty promises.

And yet, the very absence of those things made you wonder what he wanted. Because he wanted something—everyone on this site did. That was the nature of it.

@ laceandliterature; Okay. What do you want to talk about?

His reply was immediate, as if he’d been waiting for you to ask:

@ thefourthdoctor; Tell me what brought you here.

The question hit like a dart, sharp and precise. Your stomach tightened as you read it again, the blunt honesty of it stripping away the thin veil you’d been hiding behind. No one had asked that before—not like this.

Most of the messages you’d received had operated on unspoken rules: you pretend this is normal, and they pretend they’re just being generous. But this man wasn’t pretending. He was asking you to be real in a space built on pretense.

And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you felt compelled to answer.

Your fingers trembled slightly over the keyboard. What could you even say? The truth? That you were drowning under the weight of your bills, your student loans, your own stubborn pride? That desperation had led you here, to a website where relationships had price tags and intimacy was commodified?

But what stopped you wasn’t the shame of your situation—it was him. The way he asked, as if the answer mattered. As if you mattered.

The tension in your chest twisted tighter as you typed.

@ laceandliterature; The same thing that brings everyone here, I suppose. Necessity.

You hit send before you could overthink it, before you could soften the edges of the truth. The reply came quickly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Necessity takes many forms. Which is yours?

You stared at the screen, his words pulling something loose inside you. This wasn’t idle curiosity. He was pushing you, peeling back the layers you hadn’t even realized you were wearing. And damn it, you wanted to push back.

@ laceandliterature; Does it matter?

You wrote, the edge in your tone slipping into the words.

The pause before his reply was longer this time, long enough to make you wonder if you’d misstepped. But then it came, and it was nothing you expected.

@ thefourthdoctor; It matters if you want it to.

The simplicity of his words sent a jolt through you, more potent than any overture of wealth or charm could have been. There was no condescension, no judgment. Just quiet, unnerving confidence.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. These conversations were supposed to be easy—shallow exchanges where you could slip into a version of yourself that didn’t feel the weight of real life pressing down on her. But with him, there was no slipping into anything.

He wasn’t letting you.

@ laceandliterature; What about you?

You typed, throwing the question back at him, daring him to offer you the same vulnerability he was asking of you. 

@ laceandliterature; Why are you here?

His reply was immediate, almost as if he’d been expecting the question.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity.

You frowned at the screen, the single word both frustrating and enticing. It was vague but deliberate, leaving just enough room for interpretation to keep you hooked.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity about what? 

The next message sent a shiver through you:

@ thefourthdoctor; You.

Your breath caught. One word, and yet it felt like he’d reached through the screen, pulling you closer, tethering you to him in a way that was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

You hesitated, the heat rising in your cheeks as you considered how to respond. This wasn’t the typical transactional banter you’d anticipated when you signed up. He wasn’t offering money or promises of luxury. He wasn’t trying to seduce you with extravagance. Instead, he was drawing you in with something far more dangerous: attention.

And the worst part? You wanted it.

@ laceandliterature; Careful. That kind of curiosity can be expensive.

This time, the pause felt deliberate, a beat of silence meant to let your words settle. When his reply came, it was sharp, confident, and devastatingly effective.

@ thefourthdoctor; I don’t mind paying for what I value. Isn’t that what this is about, anyway?

Your breath hitched, the implications of his words hitting you like a shockwave. This wasn’t flirtation—it was a proposition. But not the kind you’d grown to expect on this site. He wasn’t offering to buy your time or affection outright; he was telling you that he saw something in you worth pursuing.

And that made him infinitely more dangerous.

Your heart raced as you stared at the screen, torn between the instinct to pull back and the magnetic pull of his presence. This wasn’t just about money anymore. This was about control, power, the careful dance of who would give and who would take.

You sat frozen, his last message glowing on the screen like an unspoken dare.

"I don’t mind paying for what I value."

The words reverberated through you, sharp and calculated, leaving no room for misinterpretation. This wasn’t a line meant to charm or impress. It was a statement of intent—a declaration of control.

And it was working.

Your chest tightened as you typed, your fingers moving before your brain caught up.

@ laceandliterature; Value is subjective.

The moment you hit send, you regretted it. It felt flippant, like you were trying to undermine the weight of his words. But maybe that was exactly what you needed to do—to wrest back some semblance of control in this conversation that was starting to feel far too intimate.

The reply came after a pause that felt excruciatingly long:

@ thefourthdoctor; It is. But I’m a man who knows how to discern.

Your throat tightened, the confidence in his words striking a chord deep within you. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was setting the rules. And despite yourself, you found it maddeningly enticing.

@ laceandliterature; Discernment is rare here. 

You replied, leaning into the dynamic, testing the boundaries of this strange connection.

His next message came faster this time, as if he’d been waiting for you to lean in:

@ thefourthdoctor; So is honesty. Tell me, how rare are you?

Your breath hitched, your cheeks flushing as you stared at the question. It wasn’t what you expected—not here, not from someone you’d never met. And yet, it was the kind of question you couldn’t dismiss with a coy quip or vague answer.

@ laceandliterature; Enough to know my worth. 

You typed, surprising even yourself with the boldness of your response.

His reply came swiftly.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then you’ll understand why I won’t insult you with empty offers. Tell me what you want.

Your pulse quickened. There it was—the shift you’d been waiting for, the moment the conversation turned from hypothetical to concrete. But this was different from the others. He wasn’t throwing numbers at you, wasn’t dangling luxury in front of you like bait. He was putting the power in your hands, asking you to decide the terms.

It was intoxicating. And terrifying.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a thousand thoughts racing through your mind. What did you want? Money was the obvious answer—wasn’t it? That was why you were here in the first place. But now, with him, it didn’t feel so simple.

@ laceandliterature; That depends… What are you offering?

The pause before his response was agonizing, each second stretching longer than the last. And then it came:

@ thefourthdoctor; Time. Money. Attention. Answers, if you’re brave enough to ask the right questions.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy cloak. He wasn’t offering material things, at least not yet. He was offering something far more valuable—and far more dangerous.

You swallowed hard, your palms damp as you considered your next move. He’d shifted the power dynamic yet again, pulling you deeper into a game you weren’t entirely sure you knew how to play.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you want in return?

The question leaving you more vulnerable than you cared to admit.

His response was immediate, his words a quiet, commanding echo in your mind:

@ thefourthdoctor; Exactly what you’re willing to give me.

The simplicity of his answer hit you harder than any declaration of wealth or desire could have. It wasn’t just about money or power or control—it was about you. Your choices, your limits, your willingness to engage in this careful, intoxicating dance.

And that realisation sent a shiver down your spine.

For a moment, you stared at the screen, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You could walk away now. Close the laptop, block his profile, and pretend this never happened. But the truth was, you didn’t want to.

Because for the first time since you’d joined this site, you felt seen. Not as an object, not as a commodity, but as a person.

His words clung to you, each syllable daring you to define what you were prepared to offer. He was turning the mirror back on you, forcing you to confront not just the situation but yourself.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to proceed. He wasn’t playing by the rules you expected, and that made him unpredictable. Dangerous. But it also made him irresistible.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a clever way of saying nothing. Ambiguity suits you.

The reply came quickly, almost as if he’d anticipated your deflection.

@ thefourthdoctor; Clarity can be earned, if you’re willing to play the game.

Your breath hitched. There it was again—that quiet, assured confidence that pulled you in despite every warning bell ringing in your head. He wasn’t offering platitudes or empty promises. He was offering a challenge, one that was as maddening as it was magnetic.

@ laceandliterature; And what game is that? 

The pause before his answer felt deliberate, a calculated silence that only heightened your anticipation. When his message finally appeared, it sent a shiver through you:

@ laceandliterature; The one we’re already playing. You just haven’t realised it yet.

Your pulse quickened, your palms damp as you stared at the screen. He was toying with you, but not in the way you’d experienced before. This wasn’t about cheap thrills or transparent power plays. This was about control—subtle, seductive, and entirely in his hands.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t recall agreeing to any rules. 

The sharpness of your words masking the unease curling in your chest.

His reply was swift, the confidence in his words cutting through the haze of your thoughts:

@ thefourthdoctor; You didn’t have to. You agreed the moment you responded.

The audacity of his statement left you momentarily breathless. He was right, of course, and that infuriated you. But it also thrilled you in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself

You shot back, your fingers trembling as you hit send. The response came almost immediately.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is the privilege of knowing what you want. Do you?

Your chest tightened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t expected. What did you want? It was supposed to be simple—a means to an end, a way to solve your financial problems without complicating your life. But now, with him, it felt far from simple.

You hesitated, your mind racing. This wasn’t like the other conversations you’d had on this site. He wasn’t just offering money or gifts; he was offering an exchange of a different kind. One that blurred the lines between power and vulnerability, control and surrender.

@ laceandliterature; I think you already know the answer.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. Then we’re getting somewhere.

You exhaled sharply, the tension in your chest both exhilarating and suffocating. He had you cornered, and he knew it. But the worst part? You didn’t want to leave.

@ laceandliterature; And where exactly is that? 

The question both a challenge and a plea. His response sent a chill down your spine.

@ thefourthdoctor; Where we figure out if you’re ready to trust me.

The weight of his words settled over you, heavy and inescapable. Trust. It was a loaded word, especially here, in a space where every interaction felt transactional. But with him, it didn’t feel like a demand—it felt like an invitation.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling as you typed your response:

@ laceandliterature; Trust is earned, Doctor. How do you plan on earning mine?

The pause before his reply was excruciating, every second stretching longer than the last. And then, finally, his message appeared. 

@ thefourthdoctor; Patience. Honesty. And just enough mystery to keep you coming back.

Your breath caught, the sheer confidence of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was rewriting the rules, pulling you deeper into his orbit with every word.

And despite the warning bells ringing in your head, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting more.

@ laceandliterature; Then I suppose we’ll see how well you play. 

@ thefourthdoctor; We already are.

The message lingered on the screen, a challenge and a promise all at once. And as you stared at it, your heart racing and your mind spinning, one thing became clear:

Here’s the continuation, intensifying the emotional and psychological stakes, as well as the power dynamics:

You could feel it in the way your heart raced, in the way your mind struggled to pull together coherent thoughts. It was maddening. Dangerous. And yet, some part of you craved the thrill of it.

@ laceandliterature; What makes you so sure of that?

@ thefourthdoctor; Because you’re still here.

Your lips parted in a soft exhale, the truth in his words sending a shiver down your spine. He was right—you were still here, still engaged, still drawn to him in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

@ laceandliterature; Maybe I’m just curious.

His response was immediate, his confidence unshaken.

@ thefourthdoctor; Curiosity is the first step to surrender. And you’re closer than you think.

Your pulse quickened, his words striking a nerve you hadn’t realized was exposed. Surrender. The word hung there, heavy and intoxicating, pulling you deeper into his web.

@ laceandliterature; Surrender isn’t in my vocabulary. 

The sharpness of your reply more for your benefit than his.

@ thefourthdoctor; That’s because no one’s ever taught you how to do it properly.

The breath left your lungs in a quiet rush, your body betraying you with a thrill that raced down your spine. He wasn’t just confident—he was audacious, pushing boundaries you didn’t even know you had.

@ laceandliterature; And you think you’re the one to teach me?

@ thefourthdoctor; I know I am.

Your throat tightened, his certainty pulling you further into the undertow. There was no pretence with him, no fumbling for the right words to impress or seduce. He spoke with a quiet authority that was impossible to ignore—and even harder to resist.

@ laceandliterature; You’re awfully sure of yourself, Doctor.

You wrote, the name a deliberate choice, a way to remind yourself that he was still just a man on the other side of a screen.

But his next message stripped away any illusion of simplicity.

@ thefourthdoctor; Confidence is earned. You’ll see.

The promise in his words sent your mind reeling, the tension in your chest building with every passing second. He wasn’t offering wealth or gifts or superficial praise. He was offering himself—his attention, his intellect, his dominance—and it was unlike anything you’d ever encountered.

You leaned back in your chair, running a hand through your hair as you tried to steady your breathing. This wasn’t just a game anymore. It was a collision of wills, a power struggle where the stakes felt dangerously personal.

@ laceandliterature; And if I decide to stop playing? 

His reply came slower this time, each word calculated, precise.

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But we both know you won’t.

Your breath caught, the quiet confidence in his message leaving you stunned. He wasn’t trying to trap you—he was daring you to walk away. And that made him even more dangerous.

@ laceandliterature; You seem very sure of my choices

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of your curiosity. And that’s enough.

You stared at the screen, your heart pounding, your mind spinning. He was right—you were curious. About him, about this, about where it could lead. And that curiosity was already pulling you deeper, binding you to him in a way that felt both thrilling and terrifying.

And as you sat there, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, one thought echoed in your mind:

You weren’t just playing his game anymore.

You were losing.

His words were a masterstroke, the kind of deliberate confidence that didn’t demand submission but invited it, coaxed it out of you with unsettling precision. He wasn’t forcing you into anything. He didn’t have to.

You were leaning in all on your own.

@ laceandliterature; Curiosity is dangerous. 

The words meant as both a warning and a defense. You weren’t sure if you were telling him or reminding yourself.

His reply came almost instantly, as if he’d anticipated your hesitation.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, in the wrong hands. But I think you know by now—I don’t intend to hurt you.

Your chest tightened, the unexpected gentleness in his response catching you off guard. It wasn’t a dismissal of your fears; it was an acknowledgment, a reassurance that felt disarmingly genuine.

@ laceandliterature; What do you intend to do, then? 

The pause before his reply was deliberate, stretching just long enough to heighten the tension without breaking it.

@ thefourthdoctor; Challenge you. Teach you. Protect you, if you let me.

Your breath hitched, his words striking a chord deep within you. The power in his offer wasn’t in its force but in its certainty, its quiet promise of control without cruelty, dominance without destruction.

@ laceandliterature; That’s a tall order.

@ thefourthdoctor; I’ve never been afraid of a challenge.

The simplicity of his answer left you momentarily stunned. He wasn’t boasting, wasn’t trying to impress you. He was stating a fact, one that resonated with an authority you couldn’t ignore.

@ laceandliterature; And what do you get out of this?

@ thefourthdoctor; The pleasure of watching you grow. The satisfaction of knowing you’re safe. And maybe, if you’re willing, a connection worth more than either of us expected.

Your chest tightened, his words threading through the cracks in your defences with startling ease. He wasn’t just offering a transaction; he was offering something far deeper, something that terrified and intrigued you in equal measure.

@ laceandliterature; You make it sound so simple.

@ thefourthdoctor; It can be, if you trust me. But I won’t rush you. This is your choice.

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling over you. He wasn’t demanding anything from you, wasn’t using manipulation or coercion. He was giving you the space to decide, to choose whether to step into the unknown or retreat to the safety of your walls.

@ laceandliterature; What if I don’t know how to trust someone like you?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll show you how, baby. Step by step. But only if you’re willing.

The kindness in his words was a stark contrast to the intensity of his presence, a reminder that his control wasn’t about overpowering you—it was about guiding you, supporting you, meeting you where you were and pulling you gently forward.

@ laceandliterature; And if I’m not?

@ thefourthdoctor; Then I’ll let you go. But I don’t think you want me to.

The truth in his words hit you like a jolt, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. He was right—you didn’t want to let him go. You didn’t want to retreat into the safety of solitude, not when he was offering something so intoxicatingly rare.

@ laceandliterature; You’re very sure of yourself

@ thefourthdoctor; I’m sure of you. And I’m willing to wait until you are too.

The words lingered on the screen, a challenge and a reassurance all at once. He wasn’t just pulling you into his world—he was offering to walk beside you, to guide you through the uncharted territory of trust and surrender.

And as you stared at his message, your pulse thrumming in your ears, one thing became abundantly clear. You wanted to see where this could lead.

Your fingers trembled as you typed your reply.

@ laceandliterature; I don’t know where this is going.

His response came swiftly, his dominance tempered by kindness:

@ thefourthdoctor; Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time.

When the evening settled and the quiet of your room enveloped you, you found yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone. His last message still lingered there:

"Then let me be the one to show you. One step at a time."

Trust. The word had seemed so monumental when he’d said it, and now it felt even heavier in the quiet intimacy of your room.

Your eyes wandered to the package on your desk, the one that had arrived just days ago. The lingerie you’d bought with the money he’d sent—not something you’d ever imagined doing, much less showing anyone. But his insistence had stayed with you.

"This is for you," he’d written. "Because you deserve to feel special."

You’d laughed at the time, unsure how to process the sincerity in his words. But now, with the soft lace spread out in front of you, you felt the weight of his kindness.

On impulse, you slipped it on, the delicate fabric hugging your body in a way that felt both indulgent and empowering. It wasn’t something you’d ever have bought for yourself, but now, wearing it, you understood the quiet confidence it offered.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushing as you adjusted the straps. The blush-colored lace was intricate and feminine, the perfect balance of modesty and allure. You hesitated, biting your lip as your phone buzzed in your hand.

Finally, you snapped a photo—nothing overly revealing, just the curve of your body hinted at in the soft light, the lace framing your figure. It felt daring, intimate, and, most of all, you felt like his.

With a shaky breath, you typed a caption for the image. 

@ laceandliterature; Thank you. I thought you should see where your funds are going.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, your heart racing as the message left your screen.

@ thefourthdoctor; You’re so beautiful, my little angel.

Your breath caught at the simplicity of his words. There was no embellishment, no flourish—just a quiet, sincere acknowledgment that made your chest tighten.

Another message followed, slower this time, as if he’d chosen each word carefully.

@ thefourthdoctor; Thank you for trusting me with this. How does it make you feel?

His question sent a ripple of warmth through you. He wasn’t just admiring you; he cared about how you felt, ensuring that this moment wasn’t just for him.

@ laceandliterature; It feels… different. In a good way.

The dots danced on the screen before his next message appeared.

@ thefourthdoctor; Good. That’s exactly how it should feel. You deserve to feel confident and cared for.

You smiled despite yourself, the warmth of his words cutting through the lingering nerves. He had a way of making you feel seen, like every action, every choice you made mattered to him.

@ laceandliterature; I wasn’t sure about sending it, I’ve never done anything like that before.

You admitted, your honesty surprising even you.

@ thefourthdoctor; You don’t need to worry. You’re safe with me. Always.

The reassurance in his words settled something deep inside you. He wasn’t just saying it—he meant it, every word carrying the weight of his sincerity.

Before you could respond, your phone vibrated in your hand, his name lighting up the screen. You hadn't expected him to call so soon, but the smile that spread across your face at the sight of his name felt entirely natural.

Your throat pinched, the air suddenly feeling all too warm. Neither of you had ever initiated a call before, what would he sound like? Deciding to push your nerves to the side, you answer the call.

"I was thinking you might not pick up for a moment there," his voice was low and smooth, a hint of amusement dancing through his words. "I hope you know this isn’t just about the photo. It’s about you. What you need, what you want. If you’re ever unsure, tell me. I’ll always listen."

"I guess I just couldn’t help myself," you teased, a slight blush creeping up your cheeks at the memory of how vulnerable you'd felt.

"Yeah? Am I living up to the expectation?" he murmured, and you could hear the laughter in his voice. It wasn’t a mocking sort of amusement, just a quiet acknowledgment that you both knew where this conversation was heading. And that, he hoped, neither one of you would shy away from it.

You laughed, a softness you'd never known you were capable of settling into your chest. There had been something so unexpectedly freeing about the experience—about wearing it made you flush with warmth.

“You could say that…”

“What were you hoping for, when you sent me that photo?”

The thought sent an immediate ache through your body, the suggestion of his touch, of the things he might do to you, sending a wave of desire through you. Your mind raced with images of “him” above you, of his hands pinning your wrists to the bed as he thrust into you. The thought was enough to make you flush, the ache of need between your legs becoming almost unbearable.

"Nothing.” You couldn’t even pretend to feign nonchalance when his words had been so unflinchingly honest, when the promise of what lay ahead was so tantalisingly clear.

"I’ll make it easier for you, then. What are you thinking about right now?" he said bluntly, his words sending a rush of heat through your entire body. There was nothing ambiguous or hesitant about his command; he wanted this, and he expected you to do it. "Tell me what you want, angel. I can give you that."

You twist the fabric hem of the lingerie around your fingers nervously, chewing at the dry skin on the edge of your lips. “I- I don’t know how to do this.” 

He chuckles softly, voice still full of kindness. “Then you don’t have to do anything, let me do all the work, baby.”

You’re quiet for a moment, pondering your options. Before nodding to yourself, deciding you’d have to let go of your nerves for the time being if you wanted this to continue.

“Okay.” You whisper, almost inaudibly. He wouldn’t have been able to hear it if he’d not been paying such close attention.

You took a deep breath, feeling a surge of boldness. "I... I've always had this fantasy of being guided by a man... someone who knows what he wants and can show me new pleasures. I’ve never had that chance before… I was hoping maybe that could be you."

"Oh, angel, you have no idea how much I want to fulfil those desires," He purred. "I can be your guide, your teacher, and your lover all in one."

His words sent a jolt of electricity through your body, and you felt your core tighten with anticipation. "I... I think I'd like that very much."

"I want you to relax and get comfortable for me, can you do that, baby?. Dim the lights, light a candle, whatever you need to do."

Obeying his instructions, you lit a scented candle, filling the room with a soft, flickering glow and a hint of vanilla. You kicked off your shoes and slid under the covers, your heart pounding in your chest.

"That's it, sweet girl," He whispered. "Now, I want you to imagine my hands on your body, caressing your skin, exploring every inch of you. Feel my touch, soft and gentle, as I trace your collarbone, down to the swell of your breasts."

As you listened, you closed your eyes, visualising his strong, masculine hands on your body. You imagined his fingers brushing against your sensitive nipples, causing them to harden in response. Soft whimpers escaping your lips as you reach up to cup your breasts, mimicking his touch.

"That's right, angel," he encouraged. "Touch yourself for me. Feel how soft you are, how sweet.”

Your fingers obeyed, teasing your nipples, rolling and tugging at the sensitive peaks. You arched your back, pressing your breasts into your palms, and let out a soft cry of pleasure.

"Do you like that, little girl?" He asked, his voice thick with desire. "I wish you could see what you do to me."

"Yes, Doctor," you breathed, your voice heavy with arousal. “It feels so good."

"Now, slide your hand down your stomach, past your navel, and into the heat between your thighs," he instructed, his voice a seductive command. "Feel how wet you are for me, how your body responds to my words."

Your hand trembled as you obeyed, slipping beneath the covers and finding your way to your core. Your fingers brushed against your wet folds, and you gasped at the sensation.

"Oh, god, baby. You're so wet, aren’t you? I can hear it," He growled. "Rub your fingers along your pussy, coat them with your sweetness.”

You did as he said, moaning as your fingers slipped into your tight cunt. You were so wet, so ready, and the sensation of filling yourself sent waves of pleasure through your body. Taking the phone down your body, you hold it in front of your dripping pussy. Your microphone picking up on the sounds as your fingers slip through your folds.

"What a noisy fucking pussy, that's it, that's my girl," he encouraged. "Fuck yourself with your fingers, slowly at first, imagine it's my cock inside you, claiming your tight little cunt."

Your fingers moved in and out, your pace increasing as your pleasure spiralled. You imagined Spencer's thick, hard length filling you, his powerful body driving into yours.

"Yeah, fuck yourself for me," he urged. "Let go, angel girl. Come for me, and let me hear your sweet cries."

Your fingers worked frantically, your body on the brink of ecstasy. His words, his deep, commanding voice, pushed you over the edge. With a cry of release, you climaxed, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you.

"Oh, my sweet girl," he whispered, whispering soft praise over the phone, his voice filled with satisfaction. "That sounded like a lot, hm? You still with me, beautiful?."

"I know that wasn’t easy for you, but it was beautiful to hear." His voice was soft, filled with sincerity. 

You lay there, breathless and sated, your body still humming with pleasure. "Y-yeah, m still here. Thank you."

"You did so good, such a well behaved girl. Check your phone for me, baby. Look what you did to me."

You froze for a moment, your mind struggling to process exactly what you were looking at. And then it registered—the smooth skin of his stomach, the slight curve of his hip. A moment later, you saw it; his cock, flushed pink tip, half-hard and resting against his stomach. A small pool of cum rested near his belly button.. You flushed all over at the thought, but you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the photo. There was something so undeniably intimate about the image; something that spoke to the fact that he'd been pleasuring himself while thinking of you.

With a final, breathless goodbye, you end the call. Your heart is still racing, your body tingling with the lingering aftershocks of pleasure. His voice still echoes in your ears, warm and commanding, and the weight of his presence seems to fill the room even though he's no longer on the line. You lean back against the soft cushions on your bed, eyes fluttering closed, letting the soft glow of the lamp wash over you.

You let out a slow exhale, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the buzz still pulsing beneath your skin. There’s something thrilling, intoxicating about the way he’s able to draw you out, make you vulnerable and yet so sure of yourself all at once. But the moment feels almost too surreal, too indulgent, and you try to calm your racing thoughts when a ping breaks through the haze of your afterglow.

You glance down at your phone, blinking at the notification that has just popped up.

$500 has been deposited into your account.

-for my pretty girl

Your breath catches in your throat as your fingers instinctively swipe open the message. You freeze, your eyes scanning the details with a quickness that betrays your curiosity.

"Doctor Reid," it reads, alongside the substantial amount.

For a moment, time seems to stop, your gaze fixed on the screen as your pulse quickens once more. The money sits there, cool and impersonal, yet its presence is anything but. It’s a gesture—one that feels undeniably generous, but also loaded with unspoken meaning. This isn’t just a transaction. This is him, and everything that came with the promise of his control, his attention, his care.

You’ve known that he was willing to give, but this—this feels different. The amount is so much more than what you’d expected. What did he mean by it? What does he expect now?

You glance at the digits one more time, the weight of his name anchoring the moment. It feels strange to see it. So he was a doctor. 

A tight knot forms in your chest, mixing nerves with something else—something like desire, maybe even gratitude. You bite your lip, unsure how to feel. It was just a phone call, just a moment of shared vulnerability between you. Yet the fact that he’s followed through with this kind of gesture makes everything feel so much more real, so much more complicated.

With a heavy sigh, you set your phone down and run your fingers through your hair, your mind racing as you try to reconcile the thrill of the moment with the heavy responsibility that now feels like it’s creeping in.

At least now you had his name, Doctor Reid.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can’t stop thinking the tall horror men of homicipher. I’m like 5ft something, so I know damn well these men tower over me…am I discovering something? Maybe 👀👀👀but I know I ain’t alone. TRUE STORY: Also there was this guy that came into my place of work moths ago with his family and he was TALL, bending down to get through the doorframe TALL but he was lovely.

So how do I imagine these boy would react if they see that you’re clearly ogling them for how tall they were.

Mr crawling

Given the fact that you’ve only seen him stand once, it was enough to have your jaw dropping to the floor. He was taller than the fucking doorway that he had to manoeuvre himself under it, and suddenly you’ve forgotten that you were being kidnapped by Mr Stitch, too intrigued by his height and now understanding why he had lied to you about his ability to stand.

He thought he would scare you but in fact made you feel the complete opposite, you loved how tall he was and you couldn’t get it out of your head, even when he’s back on his hands and knees to comfort you. The illusion had worn off and now you wanted to see him tall all the time, but you didn’t want to pressure him into doing so unless he felt comfortable.

‘You’re tall, really tall.’ You said in awe as Mr crawling coddled you against his chest.

‘Scared?’ He asked as though he was fearing your answer, which broke your heart as you nuzzled your face against his shoulder in an attempt of comfort.

‘No, handsome.’ You replied as Mr Crawling made chirps and purrs of happiness as he held you closer to him.

While he’s still not fond on standing to his full height, the fear of his intimating stature would chase you away one day embedded in his heavily, he would find some comfort in knowing that you loved his tall stature and love you even more for not forcing him to do something he clearly was uncomfortable with; preferring to shower him in kisses and remind him that whether he’s standing or on his hands and knees you loved him regardless.

Mr silvair

The man can feel your eyes on his back constantly. He knows he’s taller than most but the way you looked and admired his full height like you wouldn’t be able to anymore.

He wonders whether this was something only you seemed to have or whether other humans also felt possessed by the need to gawk at people above a certain height. Or was it just you that has this particular expression upon seeing his tall stature in general.

He would take notes of how his height seemingly did something to you that then triggered a chemical reaction within your brain to make you find his height appealing and possibly a requirement in finding your perfect romantic partner.

Or more specifically people of similar height to Mr Silvair himself or anyone close enough to his height to qualify. Mr Silvair soon deduced that you liked the domineering presence of someone much bigger than you, someone who’s able to drag you wherever as though you were nothing but weightless to them, almost like a ragdoll.

He’d soon find that this is in most cases considered a kink amongst you humans who found the height difference between partner rather erotic.

Mr Scarletella

Finds your content ogling of him flattering and thinks that it means that you were finally, finally reciprocating his obsession with you for your own obsession with him.

He’s another one who takes note of how you like how tall he is in comparison to you, always looking at him whenever he was entering the room, eyes widening when you see him having to bed down to get through the doorway, and your eyes never leave him even as he’s walking towards you; seemingly getting taller with each step until he’s in front of you and you’re looking at him in awe and hitched breath.

He’s obsessed with your expression each and every time and uses his height to his advantage. Such as doing things like putting his hand above your head and on the wall, looking down at you with those obsessive eyes of his as his smile seemed to widen upon hearing your breath hitch and eyes widen once more.

His height continued to elicit a reaction out of you that Mr Scarletella loved and adored and wanted to see more of in the future.

Mr Hood

Finds your constant ogling of his height interesting.

He didn’t know why you were so surprised he’s this tall, he’s been with you this entire time and it was only recently did your mind seemed to inform you of your Incredibly stark height difference, and bam! Suddenly he’s the subject of your constant staring and ogling as though it would be the last thing you did.

It was humorous to say the least and will earn you some head pats and cheek caresses that has you leaning towards his comforting and gentle touches.

It wasn’t something that you hide from him as half of the time you didn’t realise you were doing it until Mr Hood pointed it out with curiosity, meanwhile your left flustered as your mind held certain thoughts towards his legs, thighs and large hands.

Poor Mr Hood, he understood to some extent but after a certain point it’s better to explain to him that you find his height rather appealing to you in more ways than one.

[theaawalker]

Steps to Write a Cunning Femme Fatale

1. Establish Her Persona

Define Her Allure: Craft her as enigmatic, charming, and intelligent. She should draw people in with her charisma and mystique.

Give Her Depth: Avoid clichés by giving her a unique backstory, motivations, or vulnerabilities that shape her actions.

Choose Her Strengths: Highlight skills like manipulation, resourcefulness, or combat abilities that give her an edge.

2. Shape Her Role in the Plot

Decide Her Purpose: Determine if she’s an ally, antagonist, or morally gray character, and how her actions drive the story.

Design Power Dynamics: Show how she wields control or influence over other characters, often exploiting weaknesses.

Weave Intrigue: Keep her intentions ambiguous to maintain tension and mystery.

3. Build Her Relationships

Contrast With Others: Develop relationships that show how she contrasts with or complements other characters (e.g., a vulnerable hero or a rival villain).

Show Complexity: Explore the layers in her interactions, such as her ability to mix truth with deception.

Reveal Gradually: Unfold her true nature over time, leaving both characters and the audience guessing.

4. Create a Striking Appearance

Use Symbolism: Incorporate elements of her look that reflect her personality, like bold colors, sleek outfits, or unique accessories.

Convey Confidence: Show her self-assuredness in the way she moves, speaks, and holds herself.

Highlight Ambiguity: Blend qualities that make her both alluring and dangerous (e.g., a soft smile hiding sharp intent).

5. Show Her in Action

Establish Power Plays: Showcase her intelligence and cunning through strategic actions, manipulations, or daring risks.

Create High Stakes: Put her in situations where she must outwit others or face consequences.

Balance Strength and Vulnerability: Let her excel in some areas while occasionally exposing a flaw or fear to humanize her.

6. Develop a Satisfying Arc

Choose Her Outcome: Decide if she triumphs, meets her downfall, or remains ambiguous at the story’s end.

Reflect Growth or Decline: Show how her actions shape her destiny—whether she evolves, succumbs, or holds her ground.

Tie Back to Themes: Ensure her arc aligns with the overarching themes of the story, like betrayal, love, or revenge.

Examples of Femme Fatales in Stories

1. Film Examples

Phyllis Dietrichson (Double Indemnity): Uses charm and manipulation to pull others into her schemes, embodying the classic femme fatale archetype.

Mal Cobb (Inception): A tragic yet dangerous figure, her motivations blur the lines between reality and illusion.

Nikita (La Femme Nikita): Balances vulnerability and lethal skill, creating a layered and compelling character.

2. Literature Examples

Catherine Tramell (Basic Instinct): A brilliant, enigmatic writer whose intelligence and seduction make her a master manipulator.

Milady de Winter (The Three Musketeers): A cunning and ruthless antagonist, she uses her wits and charm to outmaneuver the heroes.

Amy Dunne (Gone Girl): Subverts the idea of victimhood with her calculated and chilling actions, redefining the femme fatale for modern audiences.

Follow || Like || Comment || Repost || My Novel

[poppyquills]

Hello!! I come with more requests and ideas. Vi, Caitlyn and Jinx with a reader who is very ultra fem and barbiecore but kicks butt.. if that makes sense.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ Vi, Caitlyn and Jinx with a feminine! S/O that can kick ass HCs ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

⋆˚✿˖° warnings -> none.

⋆˚✿˖° content includes -> fluff, very silly.

VI

⋆˚✿˖° Vi doesn’t mind your ultra-feminine style at all. In fact, she thinks it’s kind of cute how unapologetically you embrace it. That being said, if anyone dares to judge you for it, they’ll have to deal with her fists.

⋆˚✿˖° At first, she assumed that someone who wore so much pink and sparkly accessories probably wasn’t ready for a fight. She’d been raised in the streets, after all—practicality and toughness were all she knew.

⋆˚✿˖° That assumption was shattered the first time she witnessed you take down an opponent with style and precision. You were a whirlwind of glitter and chaos, and Vi just stood there, mouth agape, as you adjusted your sunglasses mid-battle.

⋆˚✿˖° When you casually complained about your hair getting messed up during the fight, she couldn’t help but laugh.

⋆˚✿˖° Vi finds your juxtaposition endlessly fascinating. The contrast between your Barbiecore aesthetic and your ability to absolutely demolish anyone in your path makes her adore you even more.

⋆˚✿˖° She secretly loves when you show her new ways to accessorize or add flair to her wardrobe. While she’s still more rough-and-tumble than glam, she finds herself wanting to match your energy—just a little.

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

⋆˚✿˖° Caitlyn finds your ultra-feminine style charming. She admires your confidence in expressing yourself and ensures that no one looks down on you for it.

⋆˚✿˖° At first, she was concerned that your aesthetic might not be suitable for the battlefield. While she never doubted your intelligence or resourcefulness, she thought your style could be… impractical in a fight.

⋆˚✿˖° That was until she witnessed you effortlessly take down multiple enemies while wearing heels. Caitlyn stood there, amazed, as you smoothed out your dress like it was normal.

⋆˚✿˖° She loves how you turn heads wherever you go, whether it’s for your looks or your combat skills. She feels a swell of pride watching you navigate challenges with both grace and ferocity.

⋆˚✿˖° Sometimes, Caitlyn indulges you when you want to dress her up in pinks or add feminine touches to her usual outfits. Although she doesn’t embrace the aesthetic herself, she secretly enjoys seeing how excited it makes you.

⋆˚✿˖° She admires your ability to be unapologetically feminine while also being a total badass. You’ve changed her perception of strength, and she wouldn’t want you to be any different.

JINX

⋆˚✿˖° Jinx finds your Barbiecore aesthetic hilarious at first, especially when she compares it to her own chaotic, punk vibe.

⋆˚✿˖° Initially, she completely underestimated you. In her mind, anyone who spent so much time perfecting their hair and nails couldn’t possibly be ready to throw down. That illusion was shattered the first time she witnessed you in action.

⋆˚✿˖° Watching you take down enemies with effortless precision while rocking a sparkly pink outfit left her utterly speechless. She stood there, wide-eyed, as you wiped blood off your cheek and casually asked if your lipstick looked okay.

⋆˚✿˖° She thinks you’re the most intriguing person she’s ever met. She loves the blend of glam and ferocity and often brags about how her girlfriend can kick ass and look cute doing it.

⋆˚✿˖° Jinx enjoys accessorizing with you and even starts adding little hints of pink to her chaotic style to match yours. She might pretend to dislike it, but deep down, she loves the idea.

⋆˚✿˖° She is constantly inspired by your confidence and duality. Jinx might not fully grasp how you can be so tough yet so soft at the same time, but she adores it and wouldn’t want you to change a thing.

[zhelin-thames]

The Joker was ranting again, his shrill laughter echoing off the walls of the Justice League’s holding cells. Danny Fenton—or as they knew him, the Ghost King—leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a scowl etched on his face. The tension in the room was palpable, the League standing by in case the infamous clown decided to get creative. But Danny wasn’t worried. He’d dealt with worse.

“You think you’re so scary, huh?” Danny muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. The Joker’s grin faltered for a split second before he burst into laughter again, clearly unfazed—or pretending to be. Danny rolled his eyes. “Pathetic. You’re just loud and messy. Real fear doesn’t need a laugh track.”

The room went silent. Superman shifted uncomfortably, glancing between Danny and the Joker. Batman’s eyes narrowed, taking in the Ghost King’s uncharacteristic venom.

It wasn’t that Danny was usually chatty during these encounters, but his utter disdain for the Joker—his unwillingness to engage in anything more than curt dismissal—was becoming a pattern. Everyone noticed it, and no one dared ask. The Joker, for his part, didn’t push further. Something in Danny’s glowing green eyes made even him hesitate.

But when Jonathan Crane—the Scarecrow—was brought in a few weeks later, the mood shifted entirely.

Crane was quiet as he was escorted into a separate cell, his lanky frame hunched but his eyes sharp, calculating. The League had just wrapped up an exhausting mission to stop one of his fear toxin rampages, and they were still on edge. Crane didn’t bother with his usual monologues, which was unusual enough to make everyone uneasy.

Except Danny.

As soon as Danny saw Crane, he snorted. Loudly. The kind of derisive snort that made Wonder Woman glance his way in confusion. “This guy?” Danny said, pointing at Crane with his thumb. “Seriously?”

Crane’s head tilted ever so slightly, his curiosity piqued. “The Ghost King,” he said, his voice low and rasping. “A being of great power and…fear. How delightful.”

“Don’t,” Danny interrupted, holding up a hand. “Just don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, I’ve heard it before. And honestly? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

Crane blinked, caught off guard. “Embarrassing myself?”

Danny sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Look, I get it. You’re all about fear. Big bad Scarecrow, master of terror, blah blah blah. But do you even know what fear is? Real fear? Because from where I’m standing, you’re just a guy with some glorified bug spray.”

The room went dead silent. Flash stifled a laugh. Batman’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering between Danny and Crane. The Scarecrow, however, didn’t seem angry. If anything, he looked…intrigued.

“And what,” Crane asked slowly, “would you consider real fear, Your Highness?”

Danny’s eyes glowed brighter, his voice dropping an octave. “Real fear is the kind that makes your soul ache. It’s the kind of fear that lingers in the dark corners of your mind, whispering that you’re not enough, that you’ll never be enough. It’s watching everything you love slip away and knowing you can’t stop it. It’s the void staring back at you and realizing it doesn’t care.”

He leaned forward, his face inches from the glass separating them. “Your little toxins? They’re cheap tricks. Flashy illusions. A waste of potential. You could actually do something with all your knowledge, but instead, you play Halloween in Gotham like some knockoff horror movie villain.”

Crane didn’t reply immediately. For once, he seemed at a loss for words. The others stared at Danny, half-impressed, half-confused. Even Batman’s ever-stoic expression had a flicker of something resembling surprise.

Finally, Crane chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted. “But fear, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder. Perhaps one day, you’ll see the artistry in my work.”

Danny scoffed again, turning to leave. “Don’t hold your breath, Doc. You’d pass out before you made anything actually scary.”

As Danny walked away, Superman stepped up beside him, lowering his voice. “You’ve faced worse, haven’t you?”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve been worse. That guy? He’s just a waste of scary.”

Superman frowned. “What does that even mean?”

Danny smirked, his eyes gleaming. “Stick around, Big Blue. Maybe one day I’ll show you.”

[dee-writes-anime]

Queen of Curses

Ryomen Sukuna x Witch!Reader

In the Heian era, where curses reign and fear festers, one woman stands accused of causing death and despair. Dragged before the King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, her defiance and quiet ruthlessness captivate him in a way no other ever has. What begins as an act of survival becomes a battle of power, strength, and control as she rises to claim her place by his side—not as a victim, but as his equal. In a world ruled by chaos, she is the queen destined to match his reign of terror. -IN PROGRESS

Leave a comment if you want to be added to the tag list! And here's a playlist for those interested <3

Content Warning: This story contains dark themes, including graphic depictions of violence, death, destruction, and power dynamics that may be unsettling to some readers. It is intended for mature audiences and explores morally gray characters in a high-stakes, brutal setting. Reader discretion is advised.

dividers by @strangergraphics

Chapter 1: The Witch Accused

“Fear is a flame that consumes the weak and forges the strong.”

🩸- In a village consumed by sickness and fear, you, an accused witch, are captured by a desperate mob and dragged to face judgment before the King of Curses, Sukuna.

Chapter 2: A Caged Beast

“The eyes of the defiant are sharper than any blade.”

🩸 - The King of Curses sits upon a throne carved from fear and death, his gaze sharp enough to unravel the soul. In the labyrinthine halls of his estate, survival is not granted—it is earned, one calculated step at a time.

Chapter 3: The Witch’s Craft

“True power lies in control, not chaos.”

🩸- As you carve out a fragile sense of routine within Sukuna’s estate, your quiet defiance begins to catch the King of Curses’ attention. The concubines, quick to notice the shift, sow seeds of jealousy.

Chapter 4: Claiming Her Place

“A queen does not ask for a throne; she commands it.”

🩸- While you navigate the shifting dynamics of the estate, your presence stirs dangerous envy among the concubines, culminating in an ominous change to your routine: a lavish display of gifts and a chilling note from Sukuna. The stakes rise as you learn that your defiance has earned you not just his attention, but a test that could determine your survival.

Chapter 5: A Test of Worth

“The fire that burns can also temper steel.”

🩸- You face the most grueling challenge yet as Sukuna’s labyrinth tests your wit, strength, and resolve. Confronting illusions, traps, and your deepest fears, you prove your worth with ruthless determination. As the night ends, Sukuna’s growing intrigue leads to a charged, intimate encounter, leaving you to question not only your place at his side but also the dangerous pull between you.

Chapter 6: The Queen Rises

“The crown is not given; it is taken, bloodied and unbowed.”

🩸 - As Sukuna’s court gathers under the watchful skies of his domain, you find yourself thrust into a stage where loyalty is tested, strength is questioned, and whispers of rebellion threaten to crack the fragile balance of power. Facing scorn from lords and a direct challenge from a menacing curse user, you must prove your place at Sukuna’s side is not a weakness but a declaration of your unyielding will. 

Chapter 7: The King’s Consort

“Power is greatest when shared between those who can wield it without fear.”

🩸- On the battlefield, you unleash your full power, a force of precision and ruthlessness that silences any remaining doubts among Sukuna’s court. Back at the estate, the celebration is a stark contrast to the chaos of war, but it’s not the feasting that defines the night. When Sukuna leads you to his chambers, the tension that has simmered between you finally erupts. What begins as a battle of wills becomes a surrender—not to him, but to the undeniable connection that binds you both. Together, you are unstoppable.

Chapter 8: A Reign of Terror

“To rule without fear, one must become the fear.”

🩸 - As you and Sukuna solidify your reign as the King and Queen of Curses, your fiery relationship deepens amidst power struggles and lingering doubts. However, the celebration is short-lived as an ominous storm heralds the arrival of a new, ancient threat. The chapter ends with a foreboding confrontation in the throne room, setting the stage for a battle that could shake Sukuna’s reign to its core.

Chapter 9: The Queen’s Will

“When the king falters, the queen’s hand steadies the throne.”

Chapter 10: Eternally Bound

“Together, they are the storm that no force can withstand.”

[lecsainz]

Hope you're doing amazing! I love your blog so much! I come here almost every other day to day dream about my favourites and read your pieces again and again. Could i request Carlos x reader fic where Carlos comforts the reader after some reporters prod into their private life and the reader feels overwhelmed... Angst to fluff and maybe smut in the end?

SHE’S A BAD BAD GIRL

parings: carlos sainz x famous!reader

authors note: I gotta say, mixing a bit of AU with regular fanfic, can I just say I love doing magazine features?

summary: that one where the media makes up stuff about your relationship with carlos but he ain't gonna let that shake our relationship.

☆. . . masterlist !

Exclusive Source Reveals Startling Insights Into the Relationship of F1's Rising Star and the Elusive Heiress

The Power Couple: Carlos Sainz and Y/N Y/L/N's Love Story or PR Masterpiece?

By TMZ Magazine - September 2023

In the glitzy world of fame and fortune, where the line between reality and illusion often blurs, power couples are born just as swiftly as they fade away.

None have captured the public's attention quite like that of Formula 1 sensation Carlos Sainz Jr. and the enigmatic heiress Y/N Y/L/N. This power couple's whirlwind romance has been the subject of intense speculation, with many questioning the authenticity of their love. In a TMZ exclusive, we delve into the inner workings of their seemingly sensational union, revealing what lies beneath the surface.

It's no secret that the world of celebrity romance often blurs the lines between genuine affection and calculated publicity. In the case of Carlos Sainz Jr. and Y/N Y/L/N, sources close to the couple suggest that their relationship might be more PR strategy than a heartfelt connection. Our exclusive source, a close friend of the couple, disclosed that the pair has carefully orchestrated their romance to maximize benefits on both ends.

"They both know that being in the spotlight can help boost their respective careers," our source shared. "They decided it's a mutually beneficial arrangement. Carlos gets more media coverage, and Y/N can use his popularity to her advantage."

Y/N Y/L/N, the elusive heiress whose life has been shrouded in mystery, has raised eyebrows with her numerous high-profile relationships over the years. It's no secret that she's been romantically linked to at least eight A-list celebrities, including musicians, actors, and even fellow heirs. Despite her apparent aversion to fame and the media circus that surrounds it, Y/N has consistently found herself in the headlines due to her high-profile affairs.

"The irony is that Y/N has always claimed to hate the attention that comes with dating famous people," our source revealed. "Yet, she's continued to choose partners from the same world she professes to despise."

As the couple's relationship has garnered more attention, their PR teams have been working tirelessly to manage the narrative. They've employed tactics such as carefully timed public appearances, social media posts, and interviews to keep the public intrigued and invested in their romance. This calculated approach, however, has led many to question the authenticity of their connection.

"Their teams are skilled at using the media to their advantage," our source admitted. "It's all about perception and maintaining their status as a 'power couple.'"

As the world continues to watch this captivating couple's every move, one question lingers: Is their love story genuine, or is it a calculated maneuver to seize the attention of the masses and advance their respective careers? Are Carlos and Y/N truly in love, or are they orchestrating a well-choreographed PR campaign for mutual benefit?

Stay tuned for more exclusive updates and revelations from TMZ Magazine.

Y/N lay sprawled across the plush sofa in the cozy living room of her shared home with Carlos in Spain. The afternoon sun streamed through the windows, casting warm rays of light across the room. She'd been catching up on some reading when her phone buzzed incessantly, drawing her attention away from the book.

The headline on her screen was impossible to miss: "The Power Couple: Carlos Sainz and Y/N Y/L/N's Love Story or PR Masterpiece?" The TMZ article had surfaced online, and her heart sank as she read through the scandalous claims about their relationship. It was a relentless invasion of their privacy, dissecting their love as if it were a staged performance.

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes, and she felt overwhelmed by the intrusion into their lives. She knew she had to confront this with Carlos, who had always been her rock in times of turmoil.

Carlos entered the room, sensing the tension in the air. "Y/N, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice filled with concern as he sat down beside her.

She handed him her phone, unable to speak the words herself. Carlos read through the article, his expression growing darker with every word. He clenched his jaw, his protective instincts kicking in. "This is complete nonsense," he muttered angrily.

Carlos's anger simmered as he continued to read the invasive article. His protective instincts flared, and he couldn't fathom how anyone could twist their love into something so far from the truth.

"They have no idea what they're talking about," Carlos said, his voice low but filled with determination. "This is just trash journalism trying to stir up controversy."

Y/N looked up at Carlos, her eyes filled with gratitude. She'd always admired his strength and resilience. "I know, Carlos, but it still stings. I hate how they're trying to make our love seem fake."

Carlos's expression softened as he turned to her. "Mi sol," he whispered, using the affectionate term he had for her. "Our love is as real as the sun streaming through those windows. Don't ever doubt that."

Y/N managed a faint smile, her heart aching a little less with his reassuring words. "I just wish we could shut them up, Carlos."

A mischievous glint flickered in Carlos's eyes as he looked at her. "Well, maybe we can," he said cryptically.

Before Y/N could ask what he meant, Carlos swept her into his arms and stood up. She laughed in surprise, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"Carlos, what are you doing?" she asked, her laughter mixing with curiosity.

He grinned down at her, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I'm taking my sunshine to our room," he said, "away from all this nonsense."

Y/N couldn't help but giggle as Carlos carried her bridal style down the hallway to their bedroom. His laughter joined hers, and it echoed through their home, drowning out the noise of the world outside.

In that moment, as Carlos playfully carried her, Y/N realized that their love was a sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of fame and gossip. It didn't matter what others said or wrote about them. What they had was real, unbreakable, and filled with a kind of love that could weather any storm.

As they reached their bedroom, Carlos gently set Y/N down, and they both burst into laughter. He pulled her into a tender kiss, sealing their promise to protect their love from the prying eyes of the world.

As Carlos set Y/N down in their bedroom, their laughter filled the air like a sweet melody, banishing the remnants of unease brought on by the intrusive article. With a loving smile, Carlos cupped her face in his hands, his gaze locked onto hers.

"You know," he whispered, his voice laced with desire, "there's one thing those journalists will never understand."

Y/N's breath hitched as she met his intense gaze. "What's that?" she asked, her voice barely more than a soft murmur.

Carlos leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a teasing, tantalizing kiss. "That our love," he murmured, his voice husky, "is the real deal."

Their kisses deepened, their passion igniting like a flame. Carlos's hands slid from her face down to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Y/N's fingers tangled in his hair, and she moaned softly against his lips.

Their love was a fire burning brightly, an unbreakable bond that no amount of gossip or scrutiny could diminish. As their clothes fell to the floor, they reveled in the intimacy that was entirely their own, a celebration of their genuine love.

In the quiet of their bedroom, away from the prying eyes of the world, Carlos and Y/N proved that their love wasn't just a masterpiece of public relations. It was a passionate, fiery, and deeply genuine connection that left no room for doubt.

As their bodies entwined and their moans of pleasure filled the room, they knew that their love was their most cherished secret, a sanctuary where they could be their true selves, far away from the judgmental eyes of the world.

liked by charlesleclerc , taylorswift , and 13.657.473 others

carlossainz55 just had the best night of my life! thanks, gossipmongers, for the motivation.

tag: yourusername

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[mya-valentine]

Headcanon: Dracule Mihawk With a Witch S/O

Mihawk is naturally drawn to his S/O's mysterious abilities and the aura of magic they carry. As someone with immense strength and skill, he respects those who possess power, and his S/O’s magical abilities intrigue him in a way few things do.

Though Mihawk is a man of few words, he often watches his S/O work their magic in silence, admiring their grace and control. He’s fascinated by how effortlessly they wield their spells and charms, much like how he masters his sword.

When fighting together, Mihawk and his S/O become a force to be reckoned with. Their magic complements Mihawk’s swordsmanship perfectly, creating an elegant and deadly combination. Mihawk trusts his S/O’s powers as much as his own, and their partnership in battle is seamless.

Mihawk enjoys learning about the arcane arts from his S/O. He asks thoughtful, probing questions about the origins and mechanics of their magic. Their late-night conversations are filled with intellectual discussions about power, mastery, and the ancient forces that govern both swordsmanship and magic.

Mihawk is patient when his S/O is experimenting with new spells or potions. He watches quietly from a distance, never interrupting unless they ask for his opinion. If something goes wrong, he simply raises an eyebrow and remains unfazed, trusting in their abilities to correct it.

While Mihawk respects his S/O’s independence, he’s highly protective of them when it comes to their magic. If anyone dares to underestimate or challenge their powers, Mihawk steps in without hesitation, his presence alone enough to intimidate most.

Mihawk is skilled at locating rare and powerful items, and he occasionally surprises his S/O with ancient magical artifacts or grimoires. These gifts are his way of showing his appreciation for their craft, though he presents them with his usual composed demeanor.

Mihawk’s calm and steady presence balances out his S/O’s sometimes chaotic magical energy. When they’re overwhelmed by a difficult spell or their magic acts unpredictably, Mihawk’s unwavering support helps them regain focus and control.

Mihawk’s island, with its eerie castle and ominous atmosphere, feels perfectly suited for a witch. His S/O’s magical energy only enhances the already mystical feeling of the place, and Mihawk enjoys the way their presence makes the island feel even more alive with enchantment.

Mihawk may not always express his feelings verbally, but his actions speak volumes. He never questions his S/O’s magical pursuits, allowing them the space to practice and grow. There’s a deep mutual respect between them, and his quiet understanding makes their bond even stronger.

If his S/O enchants Mihawk’s sword, Yoru, it’s a moment of deep trust between them. He doesn’t need magic to enhance his skills, but allowing them to imbue Yoru with protective or offensive spells is a sign of the high regard in which he holds them.

Though Mihawk has a stoic exterior, his S/O often enjoys using small, harmless spells to tease him. They might make his wine float just out of reach or conjure little illusions to catch him off guard. Mihawk rarely reacts outwardly, but the smallest smirk gives away his amusement.

Mihawk and his S/O are both comfortable with silence and solitude. They often spend time together in quiet companionship, Mihawk sharpening his sword or reading while his S/O brews potions or practices their craft. It’s a peaceful existence that they both appreciate.

Mihawk shares a dry, subtle sense of humor with his S/O, and they bond over dark, magical jokes that others might not understand. Their shared wit adds a layer of intimacy to their relationship, with Mihawk appreciating the cleverness his S/O brings to every interaction.

With his S/O being a witch, Mihawk contemplates the longevity of their lives. The prospect of them potentially living longer due to their magic doesn't worry him. He is unafraid of time and fully embraces the idea of spending his life, however long, with his powerful and enchanting partner.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[seriallover]

Shatabhisha- Stuck in a loop!?⭕️

Ruled by Rahu and situated in a sign governed by Saturn, Shatabhisha Nakshatra intertwines the themes of Rahu and Saturn.

Rahu represents obsession, addiction, perfectionism, illusion, desires, and the material world. Saturn, on the other hand, symbolizes restriction, ambition, delays, and discipline. This nakshatra is intriguing to observe because Saturn is often seen as the only planet capable of controlling and restricting Rahu. Addiction is a recurring theme for those heavily influenced by Shatabhisha Nakshatra.

Rahu, symbolizing the insatiable head/mouth, constantly seeks satisfaction. People with strong Shatabhisha influence may struggle with feeling perpetually unfulfilled.

The main symbol of Shatabhisha is an empty closed circle, representing restriction, karma, and limits. ⭕️

This reminds me of a snake eating its own tail, a metaphor for self-destruction often seen in these natives. They may feel stuck in a loop, constantly desiring more than they have, feel, or can access. This symbol illustrates their urge to break free from patterns and limitations.

Shatabhisha also embodies the power to heal, represented by the 100 physicians and healers. Individuals influenced by this nakshatra often have a strong desire for self-improvement, healing, and spiritual growth. They are driven to push boundaries and explore their limits, often oscillating between extremes—addiction to unhealthy behaviors or a "perfect" lifestyle.

Lewis Hamilton is an excellent example of someone who effectively harnesses the energy of Shatabisha. His ascendant lord, Venus, is in Shatabhisha, conjunct his Mars in the 5th house. His Rahu is in Krittika of Taurus, with Venus as the dispositor. Lewis follows a plant-based diet and is very strict with his fitness regimen, as even a small weight gain can affect his racing performance.

This year, he launched a non-alcoholic Blue Agave Spirit, Almave, produced in Mexico.🥃

Krittika, associated with the deity Agni, the god of fire, governs cooking, drinks, and digestion. Agni has the power to burn/purify, reflecting his disciplined approach to diet and lifestyle.🔥

Another example, she’s Shatabhisha Moon.

Another example that comes to mind is Emily Blunt, who has her Sun in Shatabhisha, fittingly playing a role in “Edge of Tomorrow” that mirrors the themes of this nakshatra, as well.

In the film, her character, Sergeant Rita Vrataski, helps Major William Cage (Tom Cruise) break free from a time loop by repeatedly facing and overcoming challenges. Rita’s journey in the movie reflects the Shatabhisha themes of perseverance, healing and ultimately, breaking the cycle to achieve a greater purpose.

Dealing with Rahu's influence can lead to excess, a desire to experience, feel everything or nothing.

However, understanding one's restrictions and seeing the bigger picture can bring freedom. Recognizing and accepting personal limitations allows one to channel obsessive desires into sustaining something meaningful in the material world.

By acknowledging and respecting these restrictions, individuals can transform Rahu's chaotic energy into focused ambition and disciplined action, leading to significant achievements and personal growth.

[emelinstriker]

{Eternal Servants AU} Ao Lie ♡ Adoration

Art drawn by me + the AU itself is mine.

Took way longer than the previous ones cuz my brain did not wanna stick to tryna finish this until recently fhgndfghnfhgd

[TL;DR] A dragon joins the team.

♡ ~ Fluff ~ ♡

A man in a green robe groggily woke up. He raised his head slightly from his position on the floor to take in his surroundings. He was in between two rows of large wooden shelves. There was text in bold reading "Interdimensional Geographics" on either side.

Was he... in a library? But why? Did he fall asleep while reading a book?

He sat up, groaning a bit as he held the back of his neck in pain, before he glanced at one row of bookshelves in confusion. He did hear talking coming from somewhere past all the bookshelves, but he was unsure whether or not he could trust those voices. He also wasn't sure why his neck was throbbing in pain. Given the way we was lying on the floor, he brushed it off as simply pain from his previous position.

While trying to stand up, he noticed a little note on the floor. All it had written on it was: "Find Master."

Raising an eyebrow at it, the man in green picked it up, turning the piece of paper and verifying that those were the only words written on it. Weird. He couldn't remember writing that down. Actually, now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember much in general. And it all just confused him even more, making him feel a slight bit of panic at his lack of memory.

The man in green had to think about what he did manage to recollect... He had more than one name, but he could only recall being called Ao Lie. He remembered traveling with what he believed were his friends, although he could only specifically remember a monkey's face from that group... Besides that, he could only faintly remember two people talking in a language he did not understand, followed up by a crow's caw. Every other memory seemed to have been pushed aside or blurred.

And assuming he wrote that note to himself... who was this supposed 'Master' to him if he had no recollection of them? Was he their disciple? Either way, since he had no idea on what else to do, he decided to try find this supposed 'Master'. Maybe they knew why he had been knocked out in the library.

Suddenly, Ao Lie had the urge to rush towards the voices he heard earlier. It was like some strong pull when he felt some form of internal panic. He didn't know why. He clearly wasn't in any danger, after all. But it felt like someone else was. Someone important to him. He dropped the note and decided to hesitantly answer to the call, moving around the many bookshelves. However, this sudden feeling of urgency left him as quickly as it came... But why?

Upon turning at another bookshelf, he stopped.

While he did take notice of the tall lion and the man on wheels, his eyes were mostly focused on the person who had their back turned to him, with a tiny black silhouette of a blob on their shoulder.

Mink already took notice of Ao Lie in return, letting out a groan. "You can't be fucking serious."

You hummed in confusion at the curse's comment. "What's wrong, Mink?"

Then your two other champions took note of this green stranger. Nezha was quick to take on a more defensive position behind you, his fire-tipped spear at the ready. Azure on the other hand simply looked intrigued by this guy across from them. Because the first thing he noticed were his void-black eyes. The exact same ones all of your champions had...

After realizing they were all looking behind you, you turned around to see the man with the long, white hair. You didn't recognize him at all since you've never seen him in the palace before. But he did seem to recognize you. Or, well, at least your title.

He moved a bit closer to you and the others as Nezha kept his guard up. Just in case this was another Celestial Hunter pulling some illusion trick again. Once the white-haired man reached Nezha, who was pointing his fire-tipped spear at the newcomer's chest, he looked over to you, past your pink champion... and he kneeled.

"You... You must be my Master", Ao Lie stated more to himself than you, his voice sounding like he was in awe at your presence. He then lowered his head a bit in respect, which made some of his hair move from his back to his front.

Blinking in surprise, you awkwardly scratched your head. Nezha hummed, seemingly contemplating still poking Ao Lie with a bit of fire. After all, he couldn't be too sure about him being another Celestial Hunter or not. But before he could hold his spear closer to the white-haired man, you stopped him by gently tugging on his cape.

"He seems to be real. I don't think you need to check", you commented as you raised an eyebrow at him, knowing full well of his and MK's stabbing tendencies. Your pink champion reluctantly lowered his weapon and gave you a little bow, muttering out a "Yes, Master" behind his mask.

You then turned back towards your apparently new champion, who was still kneeling. "Uh... You may rise- Uh- Wait- What's your name? And how did you get here?" At your questions, the white-haired man happily stood up as he gestured with his hands... or rather sleeves, because both of his arms were fully covered by his green robe's long sleeves.

"My name is Ao Lie! And I, uh, honestly have no idea. I just... kind of woke up on the floor here a couple of minutes ago, hehe", he confessed awkwardly. You knew almost all of your champions also didn't know how they ended up in the palace, but this was the first time you encountered one just after his arrival yourself.

Azure finally decided to speak up as he examines the newcomer. "Ao Lie, if I may ask. Do you remember anything from before waking up?"

The man in green opened his mouth happily to answer him, but then he realized... Why could he barely remember anything?

You couldn't help but watch in sadness as his smile turned into a frown as he spoke. "I... Well, I remember that I'm from a family of dragons... I turned into a horse, though I can't remember why... Oh! And I was carrying a guy around as a horse while being accompanied by... I think friends?" His eyebrows furrowed as he tried  his hardest to remember his past. But much like the others, he only seemed to recall specific aspects of it.

And knowing how pointless it was for them to force out out some kind of memory, Azure sighed in disappointment. "That's enough, thank you. No need to try to force your way into any potential memories, it'll just give you a headache."

Nezha grinned beneath his mask as he leaned against his spear, holding back a chuckle. "Yeah, we've tried. Especially MK. I feel like that just made his memory even worse than it already was. He only keeps doing it because he keeps forgetting that he already tried forcing his memories back."

You gave him a confused and baffled look, to which the celestial simply shrugged in response. MK having the worst memory of them all wasn't new to you, but you didn't know about his attempts to force his memories back. Though in order to ease your worries by just a bit, Nezha added, "He's fine. It's just more of an endless cycle of that short-term memory he has to deal with. And him trying to forcefully remember things just adds to all his confusion." Your pink champion then waved his hand dismissively. It wasn't a big deal to MK after all, just a confusing point about his own lack of memory.

You grimaced a bit at him, not exactly trusting his sudden dismissal of the topic. However, you also didn't want to pry further, knowing about how well your champions could dance around concerning things happening in the palace. They did avoid talking in-depth about their brandmarks, and they did seem to hide many other secrets you were curious about. Such as blood stains on them when they hadn't been on any battle missions.

"Um.. Anyway. Ao Lie was it, right? I... Uh... I'm... assuming you're one of my champions..?" You said, hesitantly trailing off towards the end as you weren't sure how you would be able to confirm such a statement. Because void-black eyes weren't exactly an accurate way of confirmation. It merely meant they were infected.

Ao Lie tilted his head a bit in confusion. "Champion? Does that mean I have to fight in an arena?"

"I mean we don't have an arena, but-" "No, no, no- No fighting in an arena-" You quickly cut Nezha off before he could suggest anything brutal.

Mink, still boredly sitting on your shoulder as a tiny blob, decided that it'd be a good idea to torment-check the green newcomer. Just to take a jab at him and see how much he can take before breaking. Because judging by his current looks, he really did not look like he could be of any use to Mink. He snickered as he grinned at Ao Lie. "So, you're a dragon, right? How about a test of wits and strength? You know... Just to prove to our dear Master that you're actually worthy of even calling them your Master." You gave Mink a little bit of a baffled look, not knowing what he was planning. But he did weaponize your title a lot, even when you clearly disapproved.

The man in green perked up at your black champion's words. He seemed oddly excited about the idea of doing something to show off what he can do. "What do I have to do?"

However, before Mink could say anything that would end up in some catastrophe, you quickly used a finger to bonk his small ken-doll-looking form on the head. It didn't hurt him, but it did catch him off-guard. "Ah- What the- Hey-"

You glared at him, unamused. "Could you maybe like, not trick the others into doing evil or concerning deeds for like five minutes?"

The small ink demon huffed as he shoved your finger away from him. "Oh please. Your definitions of evil and concerning are so simple-mindedly black and white, it's pathetic. I would've actually suggested that he duels me in the scroll. Take it as more of a test of his strength."

It was indeed true that a duel in the scroll was more of a psychological test. If Ao Lie managed to beat the ink demon, he would most certainly be accepted by your other champions as one of their own. But perhaps it was too soon to- "Alright, I'm down! Let's do it! That sounds like fun!"

You grimaced at the dragon's eagerness to duel the ink demon curse. Azure seemed more surprised that the man in green would happily jump into battle without any knowledge or questions regarding Mink's powers. Meanwhile Nezha was rather amused at the offer. After all, if he could get a front row seat of seeing someone else having a shot at eliminating the inky pest, that'd be great.

"Okay, how about we don't have you beat up the new guy? He literally just got here", you quickly intervened as you stepped closer to the white-haired man. It was odd to you how the others had a little bit of white in their hair, except for this one. He seemed to have fully white hair. So perhaps it wasn't actually a signifier that labeled one your champion?

"Anyway, Ao Lie was it? If you don't have your memories right now, you could stay with us and we can try figure things out with the others", you offered as you held out your hand to shake his hand. The white-haired man gave you a puzzled look for a moment before reaching out with a smile, shaking your hand rather strongly. Though, his hand felt rather sharp...

"That's so nice of you! Thank you, Master!" He had barely just met you and it already seemed like calling you 'Master' came naturally to him. Which was surprising, considering that Nezha told you it took him and Azure at least a little while to get used to addressing their personally first Master as such. The others also seemed rather hesitant at first. Though, he couldn't talk for the two simians as they were the first ones to pledge their allegiance and servitude. And Mink just plainly refused to call you his Master, unless it was to sway the others.

Just to make sure the newcomer was actually unharmed upon arrival, you decided to have him visit the medical bay first. You didn't have the tools or knowledge to do a full check-up, but you asked him for permission to check if he had any of those black wounds the others had. And he did. Right on the back of his neck. He then realized that must've been why his neck had been hurting a bit since he woke up. He just thought he must've been unconscious at an uncomfortable angle for too long.

While Azure went looking for the others to tell them about the new champion, Nezha decided to stick around in case the newcomer tried anything. He knew you were safe with Mink, but he couldn't take any risks. Not when he didn't know the full capabilities of the man in green.

And as you were assessing Ao Lie's neck situation, the pink champion's sight landed on the table next to him. Something caught his attention. It was one of those zip-up bags with a familiar black substance inside. Apparently it hadn't been picked up by an Overseer yet. The Oracle must've been busy.

His gaze then turned back and locked onto the green champion, watching you hand him new clothes to try out later.

"Tell me or a servant if you need a different size or want something different in general, alright?" The celestial heard you tell the dragon, to which the man nodded happily.

However, something else that caught Nezha's attention were Ao Lie's hands. He only noticed the way they were somewhat sharp claws and practically fully black when he held onto the neatly folded clothes... His hands looked suspiciously similar to a certain crow's hands... The pink champion furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't the only one who noticed as Mink crossed his arms, eyeing the white-haired man suspiciously.

You then turned towards Nezha, "Could you show him around, please? We would still need to figure out where he's gonna sleep, so just show him where everything necessary is." While it was technically a command, you couldn't help but make it sound like a gentle request. The celestial bowed his head before leading Ao Lie away, keeping an eye on him at all times.

Sighing, you rubbed your temple. So much was happening at the same time again. You also had to make sure the others were okay since there still were some Celestial Hunters they were disposing of.

"Hmpf. Are you done collecting immortals like trading cards now?" You heard Mink ask in annoyance as he still sat on your shoulder. Rolling your eyes at him, you gently bonked him with your finger again, making him whine once more.

"I don't even know how they end up like this in the first place, Mink. For all we know, the servants could have been going through a trial before ending up here-" "They didn't. None of us did", Mink said with a slight hint of annoyance, cutting you off. You raised an eyebrow at him in response.

The ink demon looked you dead in the eye. "Be happy they don't remember the infection process. Or you would have a bunch of immortals traumatized at the feeling of their body having been altered to a point of no return." He crossed his arms before adding, "And be happy I can't feel pain. Or I wouldn't be on 'friendly terms' with either one of you."

"What are you talking about?"

He was about to add to his rant, but then stopped himself. "...Ugh, nevermind." You already knew he was hiding a lot from you, but his responses just gave you more questions than answers. However, you knew better than to try get more out of him, considering he would just end up toying with you, dangling the answers in front of you, yet still too far out of your reach.

But for now you had to deal with your new champion.

Perhaps asking Mink another time would be more appropriate.

[ Masterlist ]

[piastrixpole]

sweet thing

pairing: fernando alonso x fem!oscar piastri

genre: smut

warnings: age gap, dom/sub, housewife oscar, manipulation, rimming, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, cock warming, body worship, breeding, pregnancy kink, controversial young gf oscar x dirty old man fernando, mark webber haunts the narrative

read on ao3 instead

In theory, Fernando knows it’s wrong—he understands it as a concept, like a rule that he can intellectually grasp but that has never fully settled into his conscience or lack thereof. Yet that’s as far as his morals stretch; he has drawn the line only at knowledge, not at action. Anyone can sit on the outside and argue that what he’s doing is undeniably and thoroughly wrong. They can preach morality, dissecting every choice he’s made, but if they were in his shoes, if they had felt the pull as intensely and for as long as he has, they wouldn’t hold up as well. The temptation has been there for years, sweet and insistent like the scent of caramel lingering in the air—just close enough to make his mouth water, always out of reach. If they had been tormented by that allure, teased by the idea of indulgence yet bound by restraint, they would have cracked long before he did.

He’s always been vaguely aware of the girl. She was, after all, Mark’s protégé, and anyone close to Mark tended to draw a certain level of intrigue from him. There was something about her—a quiet determination, maybe, or the way she shadowed Mark with such focused intent—that had him keeping her in the corner of his mind, even if only distantly. She lingered in the background of his thoughts, like a half-formed puzzle he couldn’t help but consider now and then, a curiosity that felt both familiar and elusive.

Fernando was far older, seasoned by the world in ways that had stripped away any illusions he might once have held. She, on the other hand, seemed impossibly young—untouched by the shadows he carried and still cocooned in a kind of innocence he’d long since forgotten. It was part of what intrigued him, this contrast between them: her wide-eyed certainty, the way she followed Mark with such unwavering belief. Her innocence almost felt like a challenge, like a reflection of something he might have been once, if he hadn’t made the choices that had led him here. Yet, despite her youth, there was a spark in her that he couldn’t quite dismiss. She had a presence he found himself watching, curious and wary, as if it held the potential to change things he hadn’t realized could be changed.

And then, somehow, she invaded his life. It started subtly, back when he was wrestling with his own regrets at Alpine—second-guessing every choice that had brought him back into this relentless, unforgiving world. She was their reserve driver then, an eager presence on the fringes, absorbing every detail, ready to take on whatever was thrown her way. He’d promised Mark he’d look out for her, to make sure no one—neither the staff nor the higher-ups—would try to use her for their own gain, to protect her from the more ruthless side of the sport. And he had. He’d kept her out of the crossfire, watched from a distance, ensuring she stayed untouched by the industry's harshest realities.

But no one had asked him to make any promises for himself. There was no rule against him feeling the pull of her presence, no oath keeping him from becoming entangled in her orbit. And so, without quite realizing how it happened, he found himself drawn to her, feeling his own self-control slip, as if some part of him had been waiting for this collision all along.

At first, Fernando kept it tame, maintaining an air of innocence that softened his edges and put her at ease. He was careful, measured, like a spider weaving its web slowly, each thread laid so delicately that she never sensed herself being ensnared. He spoke to her with easy confidence, the older mentor guiding the up-and-comer, his gaze lingering just a second too long but always friendly enough to evade suspicion. He knew precisely how to feed her attention in small, digestible doses, inviting her trust, making her feel safe.

When they were alone in the garage, his touches grew bolder, hands drifting to places they shouldn’t, lingering for the briefest moments—just enough to spark something in her mind without giving anyone else reason to notice. His grip was firm, possessive even, subtly asserting his presence in her thoughts, a silent message that told her she was his to guide, his to influence. And before long, that message had planted itself deep, binding her without a single overt gesture or word, until she was entwined so fully in his orbit that pulling away no longer felt like an option.

Things were still unfolding far too slowly for Fernando’s taste. Despite his careful advances, she seemed maddeningly oblivious to his interest, leaving him to wonder if she was truly that naïve or simply playing an excruciatingly hard-to-get game. Frustration simmered beneath his patience, and he was beginning to doubt whether he’d miscalculated. But then, the situation shifted, a stroke of luck handed to him in the form of her contract drama.

His own move to Aston Martin had been, as usual, entirely self-serving—Fernando had rarely made a decision without a hint of selfish ambition guiding it. Yet, he’d known, somewhere in the back of his mind, that leaving his Alpine seat open would likely bring her into the fold. Mark had been working tirelessly, negotiating with McLaren, laying out a clear path for her future. Or at least, he had been. But then, things unraveled in the worst way possible. Missteps and misunderstandings left Oscar Piastri with his seat instead, and she was left without a position at all. McLaren, concerned about the controversy of hiring a female rookie with all eyes watching, backed off entirely. In the end, Alpine refused to take her back, leaving her caught in the fallout, isolated and painfully aware of how precarious her footing in the sport truly was.

She’d masked her devastation well, shielding herself behind a steely exterior to ward off criticism and public pity. But Fernando saw through it. He had spent too long observing her to miss the cracks in her armor, the subtle way her shoulders slumped or how her gaze would harden at any mention of the ordeal. He could read her now, and he knew that her heartbreak was real, lurking beneath her carefully controlled expressions.

It was that vulnerability, perhaps, that finally opened the door he’d been knocking on for so long. The disappointment and isolation she felt had worn down her defenses, making her susceptible to the comfort he offered. Fernando had no intention of wasting the opportunity, and he was all too willing to be the one she leaned on in the absence of anyone else. In her lowest moments, he became her confidant, her solace—the one person who understood. And just like that, she had stepped deeper into his web, exactly as he’d planned.

Now, she was his. She trailed him through the paddock, attentive and loyal, ready to support him through each race, her presence as constant and obedient as a shadow. Mark remained none the wiser, still believing Fernando’s interest in the young girl was nothing more than a mentor’s concern, a natural extension of the responsibility he himself had once shouldered. Fernando had downplayed his interest masterfully, mirroring Mark’s protective demeanor to deflect any suspicion. As far as Mark knew, Fernando’s watchful eye on her was just another layer of guidance, the kind of steady hand an older driver offered to someone so young and fresh to the sport.

But reality was far different. What Mark saw as mentorship was, in truth, a claim. Fernando had woven himself so tightly into her life that she barely knew where her decisions ended and his influence began. He’d become her confidant, her anchor, someone she trusted implicitly in a world that had already let her down. And it was exactly where he wanted her—close, loyal, and bound to him in ways no one else understood. He enjoyed the secrecy, the quiet knowledge that she was his alone, that beneath the facade of support was a bond infinitely more possessive and profound than anyone could guess.

Mark would probably have a heart attack if he could see her now. Unknowingly being corrupted by a man old enough to be her father. To Mark, she was still the eager young driver he’d taken under his wing, the one he’d been so careful to shield from the darker side of racing, convinced that her talent deserved nothing but purity and respect. He’d trusted Fernando to do the same, to protect her from the sport’s rougher edges and ensure she stayed on a path untainted by power games or external ambition.

But if he saw her now, standing so close to Fernando, her loyalty already shifting, her trust reshaped and twisted into something far more complicated, Mark’s world would shatter. Fernando had blurred those boundaries with practiced ease, taking on the role of mentor only to turn it into something far more personal, drawing her in with that slow, calculated charm. In Mark’s eyes, Fernando was still the veteran teammate who’d promised to look after her; in reality, he was the one leading her astray, and she was far too ensnared to even see it.

Like Fernando said, it was easy to claim the situation was morally wrong. Not when he’d finally gotten a taste of her. Now that he’d tasted what he’d been chasing, he knew there was no turning back. Right and wrong had become blurred concepts, abstract lines that faded the closer she came to him.

He could still see the way her eyes softened when she looked at him, the way she trusted him without question—a trust he knew he hadn’t earned the way she believed. But for Fernando, that trust only deepened his claim, reinforcing the thrill of having crossed every boundary they weren’t supposed to. It was too late for second thoughts, too late for restraint. Now, she was his, and nothing—certainly not something as frail as morality—was going to change that.

The fabric barely covered her upper thighs, the microskirt hugging her form in a way that was almost scandalous. Fernando couldn’t help but admire his own handiwork; investing in that tiny skirt had been a stroke of brilliance. He’d indulged her all day, sparing no expense as he treated her, rewarding her with anything her heart desired. And now, as she stood in front of the mirror, twirling slightly, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction, he saw just how perfectly it fit. One small movement, a shift of her hips or a slight bend, and it would leave nothing to the imagination.

He’d carefully, steadily eased her out of her former constraints, erasing any trace of modesty she once had. Modesty was a useless relic now, one she had no reason to cling to. Fernando had made sure of that, just as he’d ensured she understood she no longer needed to hide from him—or from anyone. She was his now, accessible to him whenever he wanted, and she understood that fully. There was no pretense left, no hesitation; she was exactly where he wanted her.

Fernando smirked in satisfaction as she twirled around to show it off at various angles. Normally skirts weren't his thing but this one was fucking hot. The pleated material sat comfortably on her hips and ended just below her pussy.With a newfound energy and confidence Oscar practically glowed. “I love it, papi ,”she exclaimed, her voice bright with delight. The words hung in the air between them, a mix of admiration and something deeper that made his pulse quicken. He could see how the skirt had transformed her, drawing out a boldness that only amplified her allure. It was a perfect reflection of what he had nurtured in her, the shift from shy naivety to unapologetic self-assurance. In that moment, surrounded by her laughter and enthusiasm, Fernando felt a surge of possessiveness; she was his creation, and he couldn’t help but relish in the satisfaction of knowing he’d awakened this side of her.

For the longest time he’d built up her confidence. Their shared time at Alpine had crippled her self esteem and she constantly felt insecure in the way she looked. Wondering why on earth Fernando Alonso, who could have anyone, had chosen her. But it was so liberating to be his. With Fernando she could turn off her brain and not subject herself to thinking. He always told her she was far too pretty to concern herself with that. He’d broken her down to her deeply concealed but authentic self unbeknownst to her.

When racing was no longer an option, he’d been right there, stepping in to fill the void. As she struggled with the loss of her dreams, he had eased her pain, quietly reinforcing the bond between them. Now, with him, there was no need to fret over what was next. All that mattered was being by his side, supporting him, just as he had been there to support her. The complexities of the past faded away; now her world revolved around him. She embraced her role wholeheartedly, finding a sense of purpose in being his confidante, his partner, a steadfast presence in his life. Being there for Fernando, creating a home they shared, acting as his perfect stay at home girlfriend felt like the fulfillment of something she hadn’t even known she’d needed.

They settle into a routine quickly. Fernando comes home from a long day at the factory and Oscar’s there concentrated over the stove wearing a slutty little apron that had been gifted to her by Fernando. It’s a tiny piece of fabric that barely covers the front of her, some of her cleavage spilling out of the sides that may or may not have been Fernando’s intention. And of course, it's backless so her sweet bubble butt is greeting him as soon as he walks in the door. His gaze follows down to the matching thigh highs she has on, hand-picked from their extensive collection paired with an adorable pair of kitten heels. Fernando found himself entranced, unable to look away as he took in the sight before him. It felt as if time had stopped; the world outside faded away, leaving just the two of them in this intimate moment. He studied how the thigh-highs clung to her skin, the way they transformed her from a young girl into someone undeniably sultry. In these moments, she wasn’t just Oscar; she was a vision, and he could feel a primal need rising within him.

“Hi honey,” she rests her hand on his shoulder to lean in, kissing his cheek gently. “How was work?”

“Long. Dinner better be ready,” Fernando demands. There’s a hard edge to his voice that makes Oscar’s knees weak with lust. It’s the kind of edge that promises bruises and sore hips come morning.

“Few more minutes.”

Fernando groans dramatically, and Oscar purses her lips against a smile. “Just while the potatoes crisp. Let me take your jacket.”

Fernando does just that, letting Oscar trail her fingertips over his shoulders in a slow, teasing manner, finally getting the chance to really admire the suit he had worn today. It's grey, with a crisp white undershirt that exposes itself more with every tug, a far cry from the usual team wear that Aston Martin has Fernando in usually.. The green tie looks good against his skin, tan and unmarked- a fact Oscar wants to change.

She pulls the jacket off and takes it to the closet by the front door, hanging it up and diligently doing up the buttons at the bottom so it wouldn’t wrinkle.

“That apron looks so good on you, mi amor ,” Fernando purrs.

“Thank you, sir,” Oscar blushes, feeling the familiar pull in her gut at his words.

“House looks good too. Thank you for cleaning up.”

“It’s my job,” she brushes off the praise as if she hadn’t been dying to hear it all day.

Fernando smiles. “I know. You’re just my cute little housewife. What else would you do all day if I’m not around to fuck you?”

Hot white liquid iron burns through her veins. Her cheeks go red, chest squeezing. “Nothing. I wouldn’t do anything.”

Fernando sighs dreamily. “House smells great too.”

As if on cue the oven beeps.

Oscar smiles and takes Fernando’s hand gently, guiding him over to the dining table and pulling out the chair for him.

Fernando slides in, sitting patiently while Oscar fixes his plate for him. She piles it high, probably more than what Fernando could realistically eat on his diet, and serves it in front of him with as much grace as she can muster.

A hand trails up the back of her thighs, leaving a gentle smack on her round cheeks. His fingertip brushes against the lace just about covering her cunt, teasing and coy. “Thank you, honey, you’re such a good girl for me.”

There it is again. Good girl .

The praise and the pet names are sending her to outer space.

If she was floating on her own, she’s completely discombobulated now. It doesn’t even feel like she has a body, mouth full of love that coats her throat so thick she could barely speak. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, cariña . Does mi linda pequeña esposa want to keep me warm while I eat?”

Oscar nods dumbly. “Yes please.”

Fernando sits back a little.

Oscar gracefully goes to her knees, careful of her apron that flattens across his thighs. She shuffles around awkwardly to settle between her husband’s.

Fernando doesn’t move to help her, just starts eating quietly above her.

Beneath the table, it’s like a little cave, only adding to her floaty headspace. It’s so safe here between Fernando’s legs, like nothing in the world could ever hurt her. She trusts him completely and knows Fernando will take care of her no matter what, even if the sky begins to fall or oceans rise, he’ll keep her safe.

She loves Fernando’s thighs. She rubs over them in the suit appreciatively just once, adoring the strength of muscle beneath her palms before she goes for his belt, undoing it carefully. The click of the metal resonates in the air as she pulls it open, along with the button on his slacks.

Oscar carefully pulls his soft cock from his pants and underwear. Her mouth is already filling with drool as she gives him a tentative lick, earning a warning grunt. She’s not there to get him off, she’s there to keep him warm, so that’s what she does, pulling the soft, thick head into her mouth, letting the heavy weight settle across her tongue.

“Fixing me dinner,” Fernando cards his fingers in the soft golden hairs in his lap. “Cleaning the house, getting on your knees for me, you’re such a buena esposa for para mi huh?”

Oscar hums in appreciation around him, sucking softly.

She could stay there forever, Fernando stroking her hair while she keeps him warm. She feels so useful like this, so loved and cherished.

Oscar lets her eyes slip shut, sucking every now and again but never enough to get her off no matter how much she aches to feel him hit the back of her throat and choke her on his dick.

Tap.

Oscar tries not to smile around the cock in her mouth. She taps Fernando’s thigh back.

She has such a good husband, always checking on her and caring for her. Her heart soars with unrefined love.

Time passes strangely like this, much as it had the entire day. It takes her a moment to register Fernando’s words sometime later. “I’m finished amor , put me up now.”

Oscar whimpers. She doesn’t want to move.

“Quit being such a cockslut and listen to me.” his voice goes sharper.

Wanting to be good for him, she pulls off with a wet pop.

She’s not ready to get up yet, she feels at home here. Her mind helpfully supplies this is your place. Cook for him, clean for him, get him off. It’s what you’re meant to do.

Oscar knows it’s a terrible, outdated belief, a gross, nasty stereotype of a wife. It’s not realistic. It’s barbaric. But being that for Fernando gets her off like nothing else.

Giving in, she tucks Fernando back into his pants and crawls out from under the table, wiping at the spit coating her lips. Eyes wide, she stares up at Fernando for a second, drinking him in.

Fernando gives her plenty of time, petting her cheek while he regathers himself enough to stagger to his feet.

��Why don’t you go start dishes.” He commands easily, giving Oscar the direction she so craves.

Oscar nods. Right, she needs to keep up with her house duties even when her husband is here.

She gathers Fernando’s plate and clears off the remnants into the trash, carrying it over to the sink.

Oscar fills it up with water, well aware of Fernando watching her closely. His gaze scorches everywhere it touches, lighting her on fire with a burning intensity.

She keeps her eyes on the dishes in the sink, not even looking up as the man approaches her.

“Dinner was so good, cariña ,” he kisses her cheek, wandering hands trailing anywhere they can reach. “I think you deserve a treat.”

Oscar gulps. “Thank you.”

Fernando slowly gets down on his knees behind her and oh, Oscar knows where this is going.

She’s spreading her legs apart before Fernando even asks, getting down on her elbows in front of the sink happily.

“What a slut. I didn’t even tell you what your treat is and you’re already acting like this?”

“Mm excited papi, I’ve been waiting all day,” she bites his lip.

Fernando reaches back up under her apron, pulling the thong down and off this time so she’s nude beneath it, helping her step out of them so she doesn’t trip. Fernando tosses them somewhere behind them and pulls the apron up once again to get access to Oscar’s tits. Instead of throwing it over as he had done previously though, he lets the fabric fall back around her front, and that is a feeling in and of itself. It’s lewd and tantalizing to feel the soft brush of his hair against her ass as he noses up her thigh, but then Fernando is grabbing handfuls of her butt, pulling her cheeks apart so he can lavish a broad swipe of his tongue before she can get used to any one sensation of the multitude she’s feeling right now.

Oscar moans, loud and unabashed. It feels so good, even with the plug that blocks her from licking the place she most wants him to the most. The burn of his beard is wonderful, she hopes her thighs will stay pink with the itchy scratches after this, wants to feel it every time she sits down and be brought back to this moment.

She gets so lost in the wet, hot tongue prodding at her rim and sucking in places just to make her squeal she forgets what she’s supposed to be doing.

Luckily Fernando is there to remind her, to tell her what to do when she can’t think for herself. “Do the dishes, baby, be a good girl.”

She nods frantically as if Fernando could see her.

Hands shaking, she grabs the plate in the sink, scrubbing over it. It doesn’t get clean nearly as well as it needs to, but she can’t manage to do a good job when Fernando’s tongue is poking at her rim, licking her most intimate area.

She’s going to explode.

“Papi, please,” she whimpers, practically speedrunning the dishes. She doesn’t care, she can’t care, it feels too good. It’s too vulgar, too lewd, the way his tongue laps around the base of the plug still in her ass, licks over her slit, and leaves trails of spit that leaves her feeling wet and needy. “I’m finished!” she announces, all but throwing the final fork. “I’m finished, please!”

Fernando pulls back, breath hot against her in the confined space. “Good job, baby. Why don’t you finish cleaning up the rest and come join me when you’re done?” he asks with one final squeeze of her ass.

Fernando stands, already walking off towards the living room again, completely unaffected while Oscar can hardly stand, panting helplessly against the sink on wobbly knees.

It’s probably killing him to not help clean up, Oscar can’t help but think. Fernando always helps clean up, especially since he’s near useless when it comes to actually cooking.

“Yes , papi,” she calls back. Even her voice trembles.

Mind blissfully blank, she makes quick work of clearing off the table and packing up the leftovers to eat later when they’re done with the scene, trying not to think about the spit slicked between her cheeks that slide with every step she takes.

Soon enough she’s drifting over to the couch where Fernando is sitting with his thighs wide apart, arms stretched over the back of the couch looking relaxed and comfortable.

He perks up when he notices Oscar approaching, sitting up a little in his spot.

“There she is, mi hermosa esposa. Come here,” he pats his thigh invitingly.

Oscar floats over to him, not hesitating to straddle his thigh and settle onto his leg.

Fernando pulls her in for a kiss, tender and sweet. Oscar clutches at the button-up shirt he wears, holding onto the fabric like a lifeline when that hand settles back into her hair, using it to tug her neck back. She can’t even cringe away at the tickle of his lips against her neck, kissing and sucking at the skin as if she didn’t already wear bruises from their activities the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that-

Fernando works at the skin until it turns pink beneath his tongue, lapping down her neck until he’s at her chest. He pushes the material of her apron up, the sleeves around her shoulders doing nothing to hold the top of it up anymore. The second her chest is exposed, Fernando is latching on to her nipples, pinching one while he kisses and sucks on the other.

Oscar can’t help but grind down against his thigh at the feeling, and the lewd sight is something even better, going straight to her cunt to watch how his husband sucks at her chest, moving on to the other nipple to give it the same treatment. They pebble under his touch, giving him something to nip at that makes Oscar gasp pathetically. She’s so sensitive there, a fact Fernando knew well with how often he exploited it.

The sound only encourages him to bite down harder, pulling the delicate nubs, twisting to make her squirm and plead for more. “ Papi , please!”

“No,” he chastises with a pinch to her ass. “You don’t ask for anything tonight, got it muñeca ? You take what I give you.”

Oscar jolts, nodding along quickly to show that she gets it, she does, she can’t think but she can understand her place, she can be good.

Fernando gives her poor boobs a break. Her nipples ache in the chilled air when he pulls back with another order. “Lay down for me, okay baby? Put your legs in my lap.”

Oscar eagerly does just that, resting her head on the armrest she had been bent over this morning.

She stretches long, porcelain legs out over Fernando’s lap, eager to know where this is going to go.

Fernando smirks, stroking over her hairless legs covered in the white sheen of the thigh highs. His chuckle is low and dark as he asks, “You’re just a pretty little fucktoy, aren’t you? You don’t even think, you just do whatever I say huh?”

The subtle degradation wedges its way beneath her skin, searing into her flesh like a brand.

“Yes papi , just for you.”

“That’s right because what am I?” Fernando asks, hand hovering over her but refusing to touch her neglected cunt so it’s dripping between her legs.

“ Papi !” Oscar whines. “You’re my esposo .”

She lays there beneath the harsh glow of the tv in the slowly darkening room, completely naked and exposed for Fernando. Her cunt- dripping down her thighs now- twitches in approval, the lovebites littering her neck and chest throbbing.

“That’s right, baby. You belong to me,” Fernando takes her in hand, slowly rubbing down her slit, drawing a cry of relief from her. “Your body belongs to me. I can do whatever I want to you huh?”

Tap.

“Yes papi , anything.” he agrees mindlessly.

Tap.

“Good. Now you’re going to lay here and let me play with you while I watch tv. I need something to do with my hands,” he says dismissively, sitting back against the couch.

Like she’s nothing but a toy. Literally.

Fernando won’t even look at her.

The first stroke of his hand makes her hips jerk up, chasing the feeling she’s long burned for. Fernando lets her get away with it once, something for which Oscar is grateful. It takes a lot of mental energy to stay still after that. She clings onto the couch, pinches the fabric of his slacks, claws at the cushions, anything to keep her from squirming around in the cruel, painfully slow touch.

Burning . She’s burning up.

Oscar’s flush grows down the length of her chest, the tight ball in his abdomen becoming a solid rock of arousal. She bites her lip to contain her needy sobs, on the verge of begging for more, endlessly more. All she can think anymore is how desperate she is to cum, to find release.

He’s doing nothing but fingering her but it feels like it goes on for hours, her cuny tightening and tightening with every languid stroke, every swipe of his thumb over her clit or rough pounding of her G-spot..

She pants and rocks up but Fernando takes his hand away when she does. At least she earns his gaze back on her, even if it’s accompanied with his ire. “No. You’re going to lay there and take it, got it?”

It’s almost more painful to not be touched right now so she nods and cries into the cushions.

She’s completely on display like this, but she imagines that’s what Fernando wants. A good wife to spread their legs for him whenever he wants for however long he wants. Fernando has all the control here, every last ounce of it. She’s never felt more safe . Taken care of. She leaves it all up to Fernando, trusting him to know what’s best for her, and if being edged well into the night is what’s best for her, she’d take it and say thank you for delicious torture.

“Thank you, papi,” she breathes out in response to the thought, trying to keep her hips still. She’s so overstimulated though it’s agonising. The muscles in her abdomen tense with the urge to fuck into his hand until she cums.

“For what?”

“Taking care of me!” Her hips jerk anyways.

“Stupid slut can’t listen,” Fernando takes ahold of her thighs, holding her down cruelly. “What happened to my good girl huh? You’re being a bad-”

“Yellow.”

Fernando freezes.

“Yellow.” She repeats, tears squeezing free from the corners of her eyes.

He removes his hands from Oscar.

The comedown is painful without the stimulation but it’s necessary.

“Are you okay?” Fernando asks, worry soaking his words.

“I’m not…” she struggles to say it. She doesn’t want to fuss or disappoint but if he says one more word like that Oscar will want to do nothing more than curl up and hide. “I’m sorry.”

“No amo r, tell me.”

“I know I was being bad but… I don’t want you to say that I’m bad. It makes me feel… bad. Not in a sexy fun kind of way tonight, not like this.”

That’s the best explanation she can give for it. It’s not the most eloquent phrasing but it’s hard to describe how being told she’s bad makes her feel. It latches onto her heart and squeezes all the blood out, it turns her skin to ice and freezes over the rational part of her brain that knows Fernando loves her. It hurts .

“Okay,” Fernando’s tone is comforting, so full of understanding. “So no punishments?”

“Umm… no. Not tonight. I’m not trying to get out of it!” she tacks on at the end.

“Hey, I know. I know what you’re trying to say. If you don’t want to hear stuff like that then I won’t say stuff like that tonight.”

Her voice comes out smaller than she meant for it to. “Just tell me I’m good?”

“I can do that,” Fernando smiles softly. “Now, what’s your colour? Do you need a break?”

“I’m good,” she finds her wrist.

Tap.

Tap.

“Why don’t I take mi dolce esposa to bed then, huh?” Fernando coos, falling back into the role with ease. He takes hold of Oscar’s clit again, playing with it lightly. “You gonna spread your legs for me? Take my cock like a good girl?”

Oscar bucks into his touch, delighting when there’s no reprimand for it. “Yes papi. ”

“Good, get up then,” he slaps a hand down on Oscar’s ass, drawing a whimper from her as she scrambles to get up.

Oscar may be slightly taller, but Fernando is strong.

He stands and scoops Oscar up bridal style in one fell swoop, surprising her as she yelps and clings to him at the sudden change.

Oscar adjusts quickly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Fernando’s beautiful eyes land on Oscar’s before he’s pulling her in for a kiss, so much softer and sweeter than the rest of the night had been.

When he pulls back, he carries them down the hall to their bedroom, flicking on the lights on his way past the threshold.

“Hands and knees, baby,” Fernando tosses her down onto the bed.

Oscar forces her body to move, pulls herself up onto her hands and knees.

Impatiently Fernando grabs hold of the plug, Oscar gasping out a whine as it’s pulled out of her and tossed to the sheets. She’s left empty and gaping as Fernando undoes his pants again, though not for long as he slips two fingers inside of her ass and then three deep into her cunt to make sure she’s stretched well enough. Once he deems it sufficient, he pulls his fingers out, Oscar quaking with anticipation.

The zipper of his pants is deafening.

Fernando doesn’t even bother taking his pants off all the way, just pushing them down around his thighs with his boxers to pull his cock free, lubing it up and sliding into her cunt so fast Oscar can hardly keep up. That same zipper digs into her ass painfully but she can’t find it in herself to care, adoring the mixture of pain alongside the bliss of finally being full of Fernando’s cock. “Fuck baby,” Fernando breathes. “You feel so good. You’re my good girl huh?”

“Yes, yes, I’m your good girl papi, I-” she can’t even finish the sentence, wind knocked out of her as Fernando starts fucking her, never giving her time to adjust. He knows she doesn’t need it, he knows a slut like his wife can take it.

Tap.

Tap.

Oscar waits to feel that shock of pleasure, for Fernando to start really fucking her, but it never comes.

He’s not even trying.

They have had sex so many times Oscar has lost count. They’ve done it in every position imaginable, in every location possible , it doesn’t matter, Fernando knows where her G-spot is, how to fuck her to make her see stars.

But as Fernando begins thrusting in and out, he doesn’t even try to aim, using her like… like a cock sleeve.

She sobs, trying to fuck herself back on his cock to hit it herself but Fernando doesn’t let her.

She opens her mouth to beg, but remembers his earlier words. She’s not allowed. She can’t beg, she can’t move, the best she can do is let herself be used, dragged back and forth, fucked but never good enough.

It’s because it’s not about you. It’s about making him feel good, your pleasure comes second.

She cries freely, overwhelmed with the feeling of it.

Fernando speeds up, thrusts becoming uneven. “I’ve got the perfect esposa huh, baby?”

Yes, yes, yes, I’m the perfect wife I’m good for you, I’m so good please-

“Shh, I’ve got you, baby, you’re so good for me,” Fernando soothes.

She didn’t even notice she was talking out loud.

Fernando cums, hips stuttering and stalling inside her. The way he fills her up is amazing, she loves it, but she needs to cum already holy shit “mm take all my cum pequena …want to give you a baby mi amor , you’d look so pretty knocked up from a dirty old man like me, the perfect mami to our kids.”

She’s held in place as her husband comes down from his high. When he’s ready to move again, Fernando pulls out, the lewd feeling of cum dribbling out of her making her sob all over again.

He turns Oscar over onto her back, tracing teasingly over her clit once again and scooping back up the cum left oozing from her opening, before fucking it roughly back in with his fingers..

“Oh god, Papi, papi, papi-” she chants and cries. She can’t last, there’s no chance, it feels too good, too much after too long.

She spills over Fernando’s hand in record time. She stops breathing, muscles seized up as she finally finds the well sought-after relief she’s needed all day. Her eyes squeeze shut, clinging onto Fernando who works her through the blinding, all-encompassing pleasure. Her vision goes white, head spinning, ears ringing, every muscle in her body locked up painfully tight with each shot of cum that drapes over Fernando’s hand.

Slowly, she remembers to breathe.

Suddenly everything is so overwhelming.

She clings onto Fernando sobbing into his shoulder. The stupid button-up shirt is still there, blocking him from the skin-on-skin contact she needs right now.

“Hey, I’m here,” strong arms wrap around her, holding her tight. Fernando’s voice is quiet and soft, familiar with the way the more intense scenes like this can overwhelm Oscar.

She knows that. She never doubts it for a second. “I love you.”

“I love you too. You okay?”

Oscar nods into his neck. “Mm floating.”

“How about we take a bath? And I can pamper my beautiful wife.”

Oscar giggles at the term. “You’d have to actually marry me first.”

Fernando stiffens.

The reaction is unusual, to say the least. Did they not just spend an entire day pretending to be husband and wife? How many times did Fernando call her his wife today, a million?

She must have said something wrong though. Did Fernando not enjoy this? Or was it the thought of marriage that made him clam up?

He’s pulling away before Oscar is ready, leaving her sitting on the bed shivering.

“I’m gonna go start the bath alright? You just sit here and look pretty,” Fernando strokes over her cheek before disappearing out the door.

The tears that beat at the corner of her eyes are unbidden but she couldn’t control them if she tried. Her body feels weak and sluggish, she needs Fernando back to hold her, to tell her it’s alright, that she did good. Why would he leave her like that? Why would he stiffen up and get all weird?

It’s as if she blinked and Fernando is back, shushing her gently and cupping his hands in her slightly smaller ones. “Hey, baby, what’s wrong?”

Oscar just shakes her head. She can’t say the words.

“Do you still want a bath?”

She nods.

Fernando helps her stand, holding her tight through the cramped hallway as they make their way to the bathroom.

The mirror is already beginning to fog up, something she’s grateful for. She doesn’t even want to know how much of a wreck she looks like right now.

She steps out of her stockings and heels and slides into the warm water, sighing in relief. The warm water replaces some of the cold that had seeped into her bones, made even better as Fernando slides into the tub behind her after hastily shucking out of his own clothes.

Things are quiet and hazy as she comes down.

Fernando respects that, only engaging her in conversation when he’s ready.

“Are you okay, Oscar?”

The use of her name brings her out of the fog just a bit. Absently she realizes she hasn’t heard it very often today, maybe once this morning? She doesn’t know.

“Yeah,” she replies.

“What got you so upset?”

What’s she supposed to say? ‘You don’t want to marry me’? No. Nu uh.

“Nothin. It was just a lot.”

Fernando wraps his arms around Oscar’s chest, squeezing. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You still seem down. Did you not enjoy something about tonight?”

Pretty eyes plead with her over her shoulder. She sighs, willing the tears that well up inside back again. Her voice is thick as she says, “You don’t want to marry me.”

“What? Oscar.”

There's her name again. That’s her. Oscar. He’s not a wife, just Oscar.

“Look at me.”

She looks up slowly. Fernando smiles sweetly, reassuring with a chaste kiss to her bitten lips.

“I would love to call you my wife for real,” Fernando grins.

“Really? Even if Mark kills you.”

“Really. Especially if Mark tries to kill me. Can we talk about it more when you can think a little better?”

At that Oscar can’t help but huff out a laugh. “Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever came so hard in my life.”

Fernando bonks his head against Oscar’s shoulder, letting him know everything will be okay.

Oscar’s hand finds his, and while he struggles with the words, he lets him know he feels his reassurance.

It wasn’t much—just a touch, a small gesture—but it was enough. He didn’t need words to convey the weight of his reassurance; he simply wanted Oscar to know he was here, unwavering.

After a pause, Oscar’s fingers slide over Fernando’s, hesitant but steady, finally resting over his hand. She glances down, struggling to find the right words, but in the silence, her grip tightens, a quiet thank you that says everything she can’t. In that unspoken exchange, surrounded by nothing but the soft hum of the world around them, Oscar lets Fernando’s presence settle her nerves, reassured by the comfort of knowing she’s not alone in this.

[zerun0]

"Where Love Flows Like Water" — Viktor x Y/N (Female)

English is not my first language. Feel free to comment on any of my mistakes and i will update the post, also I more than happy to receive suggestions, and advices on how to improve my work.

Inspired by my own personal experience. — !SFW! — Established relationship, Fluff, Flirting, Aquarium, First kiss. — Word count: — 2,5k (Full uncut version on AO3)

The streets of Piltover had a soft glow in the afternoon sun, casting warm light onto the city’s elegant architecture. The Academy loomed large behind Y/N as she descended the steps, her heart racing in her chest. She had spent the entire day thinking about this moment — her very first date with Viktor.

Viktor, the enigmatic, brilliant student, whose mind seemed to work on levels beyond most. His quiet demeanor and thoughtful nature had always intrigued her. Y/N had been unsure if he even noticed her amid his busy research and invention-filled life. But here she was, walking toward the Piltover Aquarium for an afternoon together. A gentle breeze toyed with the strands of her hair as she neared the entrance, where Viktor waited.

Dressed in his usual simple, well-worn jacket and gloves, Viktor’s warm, golden eyes lit up as he spotted her. His crutch was resting against his side, and he gave a slightly shy wave as she approached.

"Y/N," he greeted, his voice soft but tinged with nervousness. "You look... lovely today... so lovely."

A slight blush warmed her cheeks. "Thank you, Viktor. You look... thoughtful, as always."

He chuckled, his gaze lowering for a moment, the tips of his ears tinged pink. “I suppose that’s a compliment.”

Y/N giggled as entered the aquarium together, the grand, dome-shaped building humming with a gentle energy. A calm, serene atmosphere filled the space, enhanced by the soft gurgling of water and the shifting colors reflected from tanks.

— In the aquarium —

The first display they passed was a large circular tank filled with a school of shimmering, silver fish. Their scales caught the light and reflected it in an iridescent cascade, creating patterns that danced across the room’s walls.

“These are Glimmerfish,” Viktor said, his voice calm but tinged with the excitement that came when he spoke about something scientific, as he tried to start talking to Y/N to make things less awkward. “They reflect light in a way that creates optical illusions — see how the patterns change as they swim? It’s fascinating.”

Y/N leaned closer to the glass, watching the fish move in unison, creating a mesmerizing effect. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered, her breath fogging the glass slightly. “I can see why they’re called Glimmerfish.”

Viktor stepped beside her, his presence warm and comforting. There was something undeniably charming about how he talked — always quietly, as though each word mattered. He watched her out of the corner of his eye, and Y/N could feel his gaze. She smiled, turning toward him, catching him mid-look.

His eyes widened, and he quickly glanced back to the fish, fumbling for words. “Uh, yes, they… they’re quite interesting. Their patterns... ah, tend to shift based on light conditions.”

Y/N let out a small giggle, the sound soft and affectionate. “You know so much. I love how passionate you get about these things.”

Viktor cleared his throat, his cheeks flushing as he looked at her. “It’s hard not to be, when the world is so full of things to learn. But I… I’m glad you enjoy hearing about it.”

They moved on, walking side by side through the halls of the aquarium. The soft glow from the tanks cast a blue light over them, making everything feel dreamlike. As they wandered deeper into the displays, the conversation between them flowed easily, even if both of them were slightly nervous. Y/N found herself relaxing more with each passing minute, feeling more comfortable in Viktor’s presence.

As they reached the next exhibit, a wide tank filled with a variety of colorful, exotic fish, Viktor hesitated. “May I… hold your hand?” His voice was barely more than a whisper, laced with the vulnerability of someone unused to asking for such things.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the unexpected question. She blinked, looking up at him, her face warming. His hand was outstretched slightly, hovering between them, as though he was unsure if he should pull it back or continue forward.

“I...I’d like that,” she said, her voice soft and sincere.

With a tentative smile, Viktor gently took her hand in his. His grip was light, delicate, as if he were afraid of hurting her, but Y/N squeezed back reassuringly. They stood together for a moment, both looking down at their intertwined fingers, the silence around them broken only by the soft splashing of water and the distant hum of life inside the tanks.

The tank before them was teeming with vibrantly colored creatures. Fish of every shape and size darted through the water, weaving between the coral structures that had been painstakingly recreated to mimic an ocean reef. There was something playful and innocent about the way the fish moved, as if they were dancing just for the two of them.

One particularly striking fish caught Y/N’s attention. It was small and round, with long, delicate fins that billowed like silk in the water. Its body was a soft pastel pink, and it had a curious expression on its face, like it was examining them as much as they were examining it.

“That one looks like it’s judging us!” Y/N said, pointing at the fish, a light laugh escaping her.

Viktor chuckled beside her, his thumb gently brushing over the back of her hand. “I wouldn’t be surprised. Some of these species are known...well... for their intelligence.”

The fish hovered near the glass for a few moments, its wide, unblinking eyes following their every move before it darted away, disappearing into the coral. Y/N sighed contentedly, leaning slightly into Viktor’s side as they watched the rest of the tank’s inhabitants swim lazily by.

“It’s nice,” Y/N said softly after a while, her gaze still on the fish but her thoughts clearly on something else. “...Being here... with you.”

Viktor’s grip on her hand tightened just slightly, a silent acknowledgment of her words. “I feel the same,” he admitted quietly. “I… wasn’t sure if this would be something you’d enjoy. I know I’m not exactly the most… exciting person.”

Y/N turned to look at him, her expression soft and earnest. “Viktor, I like you for who you are. You don’t have to be exciting or different. I like your quietness, your thoughtfulness. This—” she gestured to the aquarium around them, “—this is perfect. Being with you is perfect.”

Viktor’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. The soft glow of the tanks, the gentle hum of water, everything faded into the background. It was just them, standing close, hands entwined, hearts beating in sync. Viktor’s face softened, a rare smile gracing his lips — one that was just for her.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, the warmth in his eyes filling her with a sense of closeness she had never experienced before. She could feel the faint tremor in Viktor's hand, the same nervousness that fluttered in her own chest, but there was something else, something tender and unspoken in the way he looked at her.

"Viktor..." she whispered, barely able to form the words as her throat tightened with a surge of emotions she couldn't quite name.

His name, on her lips, seemed to anchor him. He took a breath, slow and measured, as if the weight of the moment had finally settled around them. Viktor's fingers tightened slightly around hers, as though gathering the courage to act on the emotions swirling between them.

The area was empty, dark, lighten up only by the artificial lights from the tanks... it felt like the perfect moment.

He trailed off, his eyes dropping to her lips for the briefest of moments, then returning to her eyes, asking a silent question. The air between them crackled with tension, but not the kind that pushed them apart. It was the kind that pulled them closer, like a magnetic force drawing them together in ways neither of them had fully anticipated.

Viktor’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. The soft glow of the tanks, the gentle hum of water, everything faded into the background. It was just them, standing close, hands entwined, hearts beating in sync. Viktor’s face softened, a rare smile gracing his lips — one that was just for her.

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat, the warmth in his eyes filling her with a sense of closeness she had never experienced before. She could feel the faint tremor in Viktor's hand, the same nervousness that fluttered in her own chest, but there was something else, something tender and unspoken in the way he looked at her.

"Viktor..." she whispered, barely able to form the words as her throat tightened with a surge of emotions she couldn't quite name.

His name, on her lips, seemed to anchor him. He took a breath, slow and measured, as if the weight of the moment had finally settled around them. Viktor's fingers tightened slightly around hers, as though gathering the courage to act on the emotions swirling between them.

“I…” Viktor began, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze locked with hers. “I don’t always know how to express what I feel, but right now…”

He trailed off, his eyes dropping to her lips for the briefest of moments, then returning to her eyes, asking a silent question. The air between them crackled with tension, but not the kind that pushed them apart. It was the kind that pulled them closer, like a magnetic force drawing them together in ways neither of them had fully anticipated.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she felt Viktor lean in, the space between them growing smaller, the warmth of his presence enveloping her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a rush of excitement and nervousness overwhelming her senses. She wasn’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, they were closer than ever, his forehead resting lightly against hers. The soft scent of him, the subtle smell of his cologne, woody and floral, surrounded her.

“Is this… okay?” Viktor asked softly, his voice barely audible, his breath warm against her lips.

Y/N’s heart swelled at the care in his words, the quiet hesitation that made him so uniquely Viktor. She nodded, her lips parting slightly as she whispered, “Yes.”

That one word was all it took. Viktor closed the remaining distance between them, his lips brushing against hers in the softest, most tentative kiss. It was a gentle, fragile thing — as though he were afraid she might pull away, afraid to break the spell that had woven itself between them. But Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her free hand finding its way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her fingertips.

The kiss was sweet, unhurried, and filled with all the emotions they had both kept locked away for so long. Viktor’s lips were warm, slightly chapped from the long hours he spent working in his lab, but they moved with a tenderness that made Y/N’s heart flutter. There was something so intimate in the way he kissed her, as though he were discovering a part of himself he had never known existed until this moment.

Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor pulled back, his lips hovering just inches from hers. His breath was shallow, his chest rising and falling with the weight of what had just happened. His hand was still in hers, fingers gently intertwined, as if he were afraid to let go.

They stood there for what felt like forever, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the moment, the soft hum of the aquarium filling the space around them. It was as if the world had shifted on its axis, and all that mattered now was the connection between them, the unspoken promise that whatever had just bloomed between them was something worth nurturing.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I don’t… I don’t always know how to express these things. But I’m… happy. Happier than I’ve been in a long time.”

Y/N smiled back at him, her heart swelling with affection. “I’m happy too, Viktor.”

"Shall we continue.. our little date?" - Y/N said happily, holding his hands tightly

"YES ! " - Viktor spoke, his voice louder than he intended - "I am sorry, we should...continue" - He said nervously, his cheeks red with embarrassment.

They continued their walk through the aquarium, hand in hand, the soft light reflecting off the tanks painting their skin in hues of blue and green. Viktor pointed out more fish to her as they passed by — some tiny and darting quickly through the water, others large and slow-moving, their scales shimmering under the dim lights.

At one point, they reached a tank filled with jellyfish, their translucent bodies glowing softly in the darkened room. The jellyfish floated gracefully, their long, tendril-like appendages trailing behind them like ribbons in the water. Y/N and Viktor stood in awe, watching the way the creatures moved with such effortless grace.

“They’re so delicate,” — Y/N whispered, her eyes wide as she took in the sight.

Viktor nodded, his gaze fixed on the jellyfish. “Yes. But they’re also resilient. Some species of jellyfish can live for hundreds of years, regenerating themselves over time. They’re a fascinating example of nature’s ingenuity.”

Y/N smiled, marveling at how Viktor could see the beauty in even the smallest things. His mind worked in ways she could barely comprehend, always seeking to understand, to learn. It was one of the things she admired most about him.

They stayed there for a long while, watching the jellyfish drift lazily through the water, neither of them feeling the need to speak. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that they didn’t need to fill the air with words to enjoy each other’s company.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” Viktor said softly, his voice tinged with the uncertainty that always seemed to accompany his thoughts. “But I know that… I want you to be part of it.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at his words, a wave of warmth and affection flooding through her. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze with the same sincerity that had always drawn her to him. “I want that too, Viktor.”

— Outside —

As they left the aquarium, the evening sky above Piltover had turned shades of pink and orange, the sun setting over the horizon. They walked side by side, still holding hands, their steps slow and unhurried. The cool evening air was refreshing, a pleasant contrast to the warm glow that still lingered in Y/N’s chest.

“Thank you for today,” Y/N said softly as they reached the steps of the Academy.

Viktor smiled at her, his eyes warm and filled with a rare sense of peace. “No. Thank you, Y/N. For making it… special.”

They stood there for a moment, neither wanting to break the quiet, lingering closeness between them. Finally, Viktor lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a soft, shy kiss across her knuckles.

Y/N pulled him by the tie, and closed a passionate kiss on his soft lips. His eyes were wide as he stared surprised at what just happened, but only took him seconds to relax and reciprocate the kiss.

[onegayastronaut]

Anchored in You

I miss her so much 🥺🥺🥺Marvel bring her back!

Words: 1615

Maria had always prided herself on her ability to compartmentalize. As the Deputy Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., it was a skill that kept her grounded amid chaos. Emotions were boxed away neatly—filed under "nonessential"—and personal connections were a luxury she rarely entertained. That was until you stumbled into her life.

It started subtly. You weren’t even a field agent, just one of the research analysts stationed at headquarters. Your job was to parse through the mountains of data collected on potential threats, a task you approached with unrelenting enthusiasm. Maria had first noticed you in a briefing, your hand shooting up to clarify a point no one else had dared to challenge. She’d admired your courage then, even if she’d barely acknowledged it outwardly.

But the admiration grew. It wasn’t long before Maria found herself lingering in the analytics department longer than necessary, her sharp eyes scanning over your meticulous work. You always greeted her with a smile, never intimidated by her no-nonsense demeanor, which only intrigued her more. She told herself it was curiosity—professional interest at best.

That illusion shattered the night she found you in the break room. You were sitting cross-legged on the counter, a half-empty mug of tea in your hands as you gazed out the window. Maria had been on her way to her office, intent on wrapping up another late night, but something about the way the moonlight caught your profile made her pause.

“Burning the midnight oil?” she asked, her voice softer than usual.

You startled slightly but relaxed when you saw her. “Something like that. Sometimes it’s easier to think when the world’s quiet.”

Maria nodded, stepping further into the room. “I can relate.”

For a moment, silence stretched between you, comfortable but charged. It was you who broke it, tilting your head as you studied her.

“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be unapproachable, you’re not half as intimidating as people say.”

Maria raised an eyebrow, fighting the smile threatening to break through. “Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Absolutely.”

And that was it. A spark ignited that night, one Maria couldn’t ignore no matter how hard she tried. The two of you began crossing paths more often, sharing quiet moments that gradually grew into something neither of you could deny.

***

By the time you started officially dating, Maria had already accepted that you were different. You saw past her stoic exterior, drawing out the warmth she rarely let anyone see. You didn’t flinch at her long hours or her occasional gruffness, meeting her on equal footing with a strength of your own. She found herself craving your presence, your laughter, the way you seemed to know exactly when she needed a reprieve.

Of course, dating Maria wasn’t without its challenges. She was fiercely private, and her work came first by necessity. But you were patient, understanding in a way that made her chest tighten. You never demanded more than she could give, yet she found herself wanting to give you everything.

One night, after a particularly grueling mission, Maria showed up at your apartment unannounced. Her suit was rumpled, her face etched with exhaustion, but the moment you opened the door, her shoulders sagged in relief.

“Rough day?” you asked, stepping aside to let her in.

She didn’t answer immediately, pulling you into a tight embrace instead. You didn’t press her, simply holding her until she was ready to speak.

“I needed to see you,” she admitted finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I—” She hesitated, uncharacteristically unsure.

You pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, your hand coming up to cup her cheek. “I’m here, Maria. Always.”

Those words broke something open in her, and for the first time in a long while, Maria let herself lean on someone else.

***

The proposal wasn’t planned. Maria had never been one for grand gestures, and she doubted she ever would be. But one quiet evening, as you sat curled up together on the couch, she realized there was no one else she’d rather spend her life with. The thought hit her with such clarity that she blurted it out without thinking.

“Marry me.”

You froze, blinking at her in surprise. “What?”

Maria’s heart pounded, but she didn’t back down. “I’m serious. Marry me.”

A slow smile spread across your face, and you reached for her hand. “Is this your idea of a romantic proposal?”

“Do you want me to get down on one knee?” she asked dryly, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, I think this is perfect.”

Maria exhaled in relief, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. “So that’s a yes?”

***

Married life with Maria was a balancing act, but it was one you navigated together. She was still fiercely dedicated to her work, but she made an effort to carve out time for you. Weekend mornings became sacred, spent in lazy companionship over coffee and quiet conversation. She learned to let you in, sharing pieces of herself she’d long kept hidden.

You, in turn, became her anchor, grounding her in a way she never thought possible. You celebrated her victories, comforted her in her defeats, and loved her unconditionally. And as the years passed, Maria found herself wondering how she’d ever managed without you.

One evening, as the two of you sat on your back porch watching the sun dip below the horizon, Maria reached for your hand. She didn’t say anything, simply lacing her fingers with yours. You glanced at her, a soft smile playing on your lips.

“What?” you asked.

Maria shook her head, her expression uncharacteristically tender. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You squeezed her hand, your gaze warm and steady. “We both are.”

The world continued to turn, days bleeding into weeks, but you and Maria built a rhythm that worked for you. She’d come home late sometimes, still carrying the weight of a day spent in the shadows, but you always had a way of making her feel lighter. Some nights, you’d find her at her desk, poring over reports with a furrowed brow. Those were the nights you’d quietly slip into the room, setting a cup of tea beside her and rubbing her shoulders until she let out a soft sigh of gratitude.

One winter, during an especially quiet period at S.H.I.E.L.D., Maria surprised you with an impromptu weekend getaway. She didn’t say much as she packed an overnight bag, just told you to dress warm. The destination turned out to be a secluded cabin nestled in the woods, its surroundings blanketed in snow. For two days, the rest of the world fell away. You built snowmen and laughed until your cheeks hurt, warmed yourselves by the fire, and spent long hours talking about everything and nothing.

Maria’s favorite moment came one evening when you both stepped outside to look at the stars. The sky was impossibly clear, the constellations shining like scattered diamonds. You leaned into her side, your breath visible in the frigid air.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you murmured.

Maria wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “Not as beautiful as you.”

You laughed softly, turning to look at her. “That was so corny.”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her lips curving into a rare grin. “But it’s true.”

The years brought their share of challenges. Missions went sideways, leaving Maria bruised and battle-weary. There were nights when she’d wake up in a cold sweat, haunted by memories she couldn’t shake. But you were always there, holding her through the worst of it. You never tried to fix her—you simply loved her, and that was enough.

One particularly difficult mission ended with Maria in the med bay, nursing a broken rib and a concussion. You’d rushed to her side the moment you heard, your worry written all over your face.

“You’re supposed to be indestructible,” you teased gently, though your voice trembled slightly.

Maria reached for your hand, her grip surprisingly strong. “I’m fine,” she assured you. “I’ve been through worse.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to worry,” you shot back, your eyes glistening.

Maria’s expression softened, and she tugged you closer. “I’m sorry. I’ll try to be more careful.”

“Good,” you said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “Because I plan on keeping you around for a very long time.”

As the two of you spent more time together, your lives shifted in subtle ways. Maria took on more of a mentorship role at S.H.I.E.L.D., guiding the next generation of agents with the same tough love she’d always embodied. You continued your work in analytics, eventually rising to head your department. Together, you built a life filled with shared victories and quiet joys.

On your tenth anniversary, Maria surprised you with a small gathering of friends and colleagues. She wasn’t one for big celebrations, but she knew how much it meant to you to have those you cared about close. The evening was filled with laughter and heartfelt toasts, but the highlight came when Maria stood to speak.

“I’ve never been great with words,” she began, her gaze locking with yours. “But I want to say this: You’ve made me a better person. Every day, you remind me what it means to love and be loved. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m grateful every single day.”

Tears filled your eyes as she raised her glass. “To us,” she said simply.

And in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of love and friendship, Maria Hill knew that she’d found her greatest treasure—a life with you by her side.

[phantomyre]

An eerie connection... (Ever Crisis Spoilers under 'read more')

I don't think this is a coincidental parallel. The wording, setting, everything. This is yet another Dirge of Cerberus connection. But what's interesting is how Lucrecia is being used in Ever Crisis. Speculations below.

Lucrecia is the center of both Vincent and Sephiroth's world, but with a dual nature. Lucrecia is a representation of reality vs illusion, purity vs corruption, light vs dark. When the ff7 dev team say that Vincent and Sephiroth have a connection, I think this is what they mean-- Lucrecia is the mold that binds them. But it's not just her. It's what she represents to each of them. At the same time, both Vincent and Sephiroth are disconnected from Lucrecia. Vincent's love for Lucrecia was unrequited, yet he was still drawn to her even if she never reciprocated that same affection towards him. Similarly, Sephiroth loves his mother-- but it's not Lucrecia, it's Jenova, in the form of Lucrecia. Jenova robs that affection that should have been directed to Lucrecia herself. Should Sephiroth ever meet his real mother, I doubt he would see her as the real her because he's already latched onto an illusion. If anything, I think First Soldier is setting the stage to make Lucrecia's role more prominent in part 3, particularly with regards to Sephiroth. Hopefully we get some First Soldier story in part 3, but it really makes a point to show how far gone Sephiroth is when it comes to his illusions of his mother. Whenever Sephiroth sees Jenova, a hideous monster, this is the face he sees-- Lucrecia. The connection between Lucrecia and Jenova is becoming way more intriguing outside of Lucrecia just having Jenova cells. It seems Lucrecia represents something much more complex. When it comes to Alissa (Ever Crisis FS SPOILERS), she exudes a lot of 'Lucrecia energy'. We know very little about Lucrecia's personality outside of the flashbacks in DoC. But what we have witnessed thus far shows that Alissa and Lucrecia have the same personality. She's playful, witty, charismatic and self-abasing (mostly). Now granted, this is Jenova being manipulative. And one could argue this is just Sephiroth's perception of what his mother's personality to be. But we do have to keep in mind that Jenova uses mimicry, plus her cells are inside Lucrecia (who is still alive). So I don't think it's far fetched to say Jenova has learned Lucrecia's personality down to a T. So when we see Alissa interact with Sephiroth, her words, personality, etc., I think it's safe to say we are largely witnessing Lucrecia's character as well. It's a bit weird to think that we're learning more of Lucrecia's personality through Alissa. Whatever Square has in store for Sephiroth's backstory involving Lucrecia, it's getting hella intriguing.