#Countryside Citrus

[rusticcottage]

[mothmiso]

Portugal 02 2024 (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) by Angela Diana

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[pucksandpower]

Pequeña

Happy Nation: A Series of Standalone Fics

Fernando Alonso x Webber!Reader

Summary: a brutal breakup leads you right into the arms of one of your father's oldest friends (or in which being sooooo normal about Fernando Alonso runs in the Webber family)

Warnings: 18+ content, age gap, taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable state, breeding, and pregnancy

You sit hunched on your bed, knees pulled up to your chest as tears stream down your face. Your mobile vibrates again and you swipe away another message from your now ex-boyfriend without reading it. How could he do this to you? You thought what you had was real.

Your thoughts drift to home, to your family thousands of miles away in Australia. You long for your dad’s comforting embrace and your mum’s reassuring words. But they’re so far away. You feel painfully alone in this strange English city where you’ve come to attend university.

Before you can stop yourself, you’re dialing a familiar number. It rings three times before a warm voice picks up. “Hola pequeña! What’s wrong?”

“N-Nando ...” You sniffle, trying and failing to keep your voice from cracking. “He … he cheated on me.”

There’s a pause before Fernando responds, his Spanish lilt taking on a protective edge. “That little hijo de puta. I’ll kill him myself.”

You let out a watery laugh. “No, don’t do that. I … I just miss home. Miss my family.”

“Say no more, pequeña. You’re coming to stay with me for a bit, yeah? Can’t have you all alone like this.”

You hesitate, wiping at your tears. “Are you sure? I don’t want to impose ...”

“Impose?” Fernando laughs. “My favorite girl? Never. I’m sending a car to get you right now.”

“No, no, I can drive myself-”

“You’ll do no such thing in this state,” he chides. “Driver’s on his way. Go pack a bag.”

You open your mouth to protest again but think better of it. Fernando can be extremely stubborn when he wants to be. “Okay, okay. Thank you, Nando. Really.”

“De nada, pequeña. I’ve got the guest room all ready for you. We’ll get through this together, yeah?”

His soothing Spanish accent is already making you feel infinitely better. You know Fernando has been close with your family for years, has watched you grow up into the young woman you are today. He’s always treated you like his own daughter.

“I’m looking forward to it,” you say, meaning it. Spending time with Fernando is guaranteed to lift your spirits. “Your place in Silverstone, right?”

“That’s the one. Get packing and don’t worry about a thing. I’ll see you very soon.”

You hang up and immediately start throwing clothes and essentials into an overnight bag with a renewed sense of hope. Fernando always knows just what to do to make you feel better.

Two hours later, you’re being ushered into the backseat of a sleek black sedan by a courteous driver in a pressed suit. He takes your bag and stows it in the trunk before sliding behind the wheel.

“Miss Webber? I’ll be taking you to Mr. Alonso’s residence now.”

You nod, suddenly exhausted from all the crying. The driver seems to sense your melancholy because he doesn’t try to make small talk.

The English countryside whips by in a blur of green fields and quaint villages. Before you know it, the sedan is pulling up to an impressive brick estate surrounded by beautifully manicured gardens.

The driver lets you out and leads you up to the front door, which swings open before you can knock. Fernando stands there in a soft white sweater and dark-washed jeans, arms open wide.

“Pequeña!” His eyes crinkle at the corners as he pulls you into a fierce hug. “Welcome, welcome.”

You breathe in his comforting scent of sandalwood and citrus as he rubs soothing circles on your back. “I’m glad you came,” he murmurs.

He ushers you inside and you can’t help but gape at the tasteful, modern interior decor. It’s bright and airy, with huge windows offering views of the impeccable gardens beyond.

“This place is incredible, Nando,” you say, trailing behind him as he leads you through the spacious living room towards what appears to be the kitchen.

“You like?” He grins over his shoulder. “I had it remodeled not too long ago. Here, have a seat.” He pulls out a barstool at the huge kitchen island.

You take a seat, settling your elbows on the cool granite surface as Fernando busies himself at the stove. “So,” he says without turning around. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. Don’t leave out a single detalle.”

You sigh, resting your chin in your hands as Fernando starts pulling ingredients from the fridge. “Well, it started a few weeks ago. ..”

You recount all the little things that, in hindsight, were red flags: the constant emailing and texting, the unusually long nights “studying” at the library, the bizarre excuses. Fernando listens intently, occasionally tossing in a sympathetic “maldito idiota” or an indignant shake of his head.

Finally, you get to the part where you finally confronted your now ex about his shady behavior … only to have him confess that he’d been cheating on you for months with some underclassman sociology major.

By the time you’ve finished, your voice is thick from holding back a fresh wave of tears. Fernando sets down the knife he was using to chop vegetables and comes around the island to pull you into another hug.

“Oh, pequeña,” he murmurs into your hair. “Lo siento mucho. You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me?”

You just nod, not trusting yourself to speak. Fernando rubs your back again before pulling away, hands on your shoulders so he can look you square in the eyes.

“Listen. That boy?” A feisty glint enters his warm hazel eyes. “He’s a fool, a complete and total imbecile for hurting someone as incredible as you. You’re so brave, so strong, so full of life ...” He tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “And any man should consider himself the luckiest in the world to have you in his life, you understand?”

You manage a watery smile and nod again. Leave it to Fernando to know exactly what to say to begin mending your broken heart.

“Good.” He straightens up, clapping his hands together decisively. “Now dry those tears, pequeña. I’m making my famous seafood paella for dinner tonight and I’ll need my best assistant chef!”

You let out a surprised laugh, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “You know I’m a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Nonsense!” Fernando waves a dismissive hand as he returns to the cutting board. “Everyone can learn with a little guidance from Chef Nano, no?”

The next couple of hours pass in a blur of cheerful chopping, stirring, and laughing as Fernando walks you through the steps, nudging you gently whenever you veer off course. It’s impossible to stay weighed down by your sadness when he’s cracking jokes in that irreverent way of his and peppering you with silly kitchen nicknames.

By the time you’ve portioned out the fragrant saffron rice studded with shrimp, mussels, and clams into bowls, you’re doubled over in a fit of giggles from Fernando’s dramatic retelling of his past Formula 1 antics.

“... And then this crazy Australian madman comes barreling into the pit and just starts laying into me!” He throws his hands up, eyes dancing with mirth. “If Charlie hadn’t stepped in, I think your old man really might’ve killed me that day!”

You shake your head, still laughing as you take your first bite of the paella. It’s absolute perfection, the flavors melding together in an incredible symphony on your tongue. “My dad really went after you?”

“Oh yeah,” Fernando chuckles, digging into his own bowl. “We were like two crazed animals back then whenever we were on the track together. Couldn’t stand each other.”

There’s a lull as you both focus on eating for a few minutes. When you’re pleasantly full and satiated, you sit back with a contented sigh.

“Nando, that was hands down the best paella I’ve ever had.”

“You flatter me too much.” He waves a hand, but you can tell he’s pleased. “Just wait until tomorrow, when Chef Nano teaches you how to make the perfect tortilla Española, eh?”

The idea of getting to spend more time with Nando and being cooked for brings a genuine, untroubled smile to your face for the first time in days. This is just what you needed to start healing from your recent heartbreak.

***

As you help Fernando clear the dishes, a comfortable silence settles between you. He pours you both generous glasses of his favorite Spanish rioja and you retire to the plush living room sofas.

Fernando settles into the overstuffed armchair across from you, stretching out his lean legs as he takes a sip of wine. “So, pequeña ...” He fixes you with that warm, piercing gaze. “What is it you really want? In a man, I mean.”

You pause, considering his question as you swirl the ruby liquid in your glass. “I … I’m not sure I know anymore, to be honest. I thought I had it all figured out with ...” You trail off, unable to even say your ex’s name without a pang of hurt lancing through you.

Fernando reaches over to pat your knee comfortingly. ��Hey, no more tears, okay? That pendejo is in the past. I’m asking what your ideal partner would be like going forward. What do you want, need, deserve from a man?”

You take a fortifying sip of the bold, peppery wine before responding. “I think … more than anything, I just want to feel cherished. Valued. Like I’m the most important person in his world.”

Fernando’s expression softens. “Oh, pequeña. You have such a big, beautiful heart. Of course that’s what you want — to be adored and treated like the incredible woman you are.”

You duck your head, warmth blooming in your cheeks at his praise. “I don’t know, Nando. Maybe I’m just being naive or asking for too much ...”

“Claro que no!” He leans forward, pinning you with an intense look. “You’re allowed to want those things, pequeña. You’re allowed to be selfish when it comes to your heart and what you need to be truly, deeply happy.”

His words resonate somewhere deep within you and you find yourself nodding slowly. “You’re right. I am allowed to want someone who makes me their whole world and never takes me for granted, aren’t I?”

“Exactamente.” Fernando reaches over to grasp your hands, his calloused fingers engulfing yours. “And let me tell you — any man who doesn’t give you that is un verdadero idiota. You deserve to be cherished, worshipped, put up on a pedestal every single day.”

His dark eyes burn with conviction, lips pressed into a serious line. You find yourself unable to look away, mesmerized by the sheer intensity of his words and manner.

“You deserve everything, pequeña,” he continues in a low, gravelly tone. “A man who makes you his whole priority, who loves you with every fiber of his being. Someone who will lay the world at your feet.”

Fernando reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheekbone reverently. The calloused pad of it sends a shiver racing down your spine.

“Someone who looks at you and can scarcely breathe for how lucky, how blessed they are to have you in their life ...”

His face is so close to yours now, his warm breath caressing your lips. You’re completely transfixed, body thrumming with barely restrained tension and … anticipation?

Fernando’s next words are barely more than a hoarse rumble. “I will cherish you, pequeña. Always. Allow me to show you how a real man adores the woman he loves.”

And then his mouth is on yours, hot and insistent and tasting of wine and desire. You gasp into the kiss, frozen for a split second before melting against him, kissing him back with equal fervor. Your hands slide up to tangle in the soft strands at the nape of his neck as he angles his head, deepening the heated exchange.

Fernando groans low in his throat, the vibrations shooting straight to your core. His large, nimble hands come up to frame your face, holding you in place as he takes his time thoroughly exploring your mouth, nibbling at your lips, stroking his talented tongue against yours in a way that has you whimpering into him.

He pulls away slightly and you chase his lips with a soft keen of protest. Fernando chuckles darkly, nosing along your jaw.

“Patience, pequeña,” he rumbles against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “As sweet as that gorgeous mouth is, there are so many other parts of you I’ve been longing to taste ...”

A full-body shudder wracks you at his words, at the sheer need and promise lacing his tone. Part of you is stunned by how quickly the atmosphere between you has shifted, how easily you fell into his passionate embrace.

But a much larger part — the part that has admired and idolized this man since you were knee-high — is utterly intoxicated. Delirious with the knowledge that the love you’ve secretly harbored for Fernando for years is, impossibly, reciprocated.

His mouth is trailing hot, openmouthed kisses along the column of your throat and you tilt your head back with a wanton moan, reveling in the rasp of his day-old stubble against your sensitized skin.

“N-Nando ...” You try to put a protesting note in your voice, but it comes out a pleading whine instead. “Are you sure about this? I’m … I’m just a kid to you.”

He rears back to pin you with a look so full of naked want it makes you squirm. “You stopped being a kid a long time ago, pequeña,” he growls. “I’ve been watching you grow into this gorgeous, fiery woman and it’s taken everything in me not to take you into my arms like this until now.”

His hands roam down to palm your waist, fingers flexing possessively against the dip of your sides. You’re breathless, dizzy, wondering if you’ve stumbled into some incredible, wildly realistic dream.

Because surely this — with your longtime crush, the older man you’ve harbored forbidden fantasies about pulling you flush against his strong frame and lavishing kisses up the side of your neck — cannot be real. Can it?

“It’s real, pequeña. So, so real,” Fernando croons, as if reading your mind. He frames your face again, searing you with another passionate kiss that steals your breath and chases away any remaining doubts. “Feel how real it is,” he murmurs, guiding your hands down to the firm evidence of his arousal straining against the soft denim.

You whimper into his mouth, tentatively palming the thick bulge. Fernando hisses in a sharp breath through his teeth and breaks the kiss to press his forehead to yours. His eyes are tightly shut, long lashes fanning across sunkissed skin.

“F-fuck, pequeña,” he chokes out in a ragged voice. “Been dreaming of those little hands on me for years.”

Something inside you shifts at his confession, like a dam of long repressed want and need cracking open. You suddenly feel bolder, empowered by the effect you’re having on this man — this god among men who you’ve put on a pedestal for so long.

Maintaining heated eye contact, you slowly drag your hand up the length of his erection in one firm stroke that has Fernando’s hips jerking up as he curses vehemently in Spanish.

“Like this?” You rasp, a blatant challenge in your tone as you repeat the motion.

Fernando’s eyes flash hungrily and then he’s surging forward again, capturing your lips in another punishing kiss that leaves you lightheaded and alight with lust.

“Just like that, mi amor,” he growls when he releases your mouth with a final nip at your lower lip. “Now it’s my turn to cherish you ...”

With that, he loops an arm behind your knees and rises in one smooth, powerful motion, hoisting you up into a secure bridal carry. You yelp in surprise, hands flying up to cling to his broad shoulders.

“Nando! What are you, mmph-”

Your protest is cut off by his mouth slanting over yours in another heated kiss. Fernando maneuvers you easily as he starts carrying you towards the staircase, hiking your dainty linen dress up around your thighs.

“I’m making good on my promise, pequeña,” he murmurs hotly against your swollen lips. “Bedroom. Now. Going to lay you out and cherish every sweet inch of that gorgeous body, just like you deserve.”

Unbidden, a soft whine slips from your throat at his heated words. You tighten your grip on his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there as a fresh wave of arousal floods through you, hot and insistent.

Fernando chuckles darkly, adjusting his grip on you as he starts up the stairs. “That’s it, let me hear how much you want this too.”

You open your mouth to respond but only a needy whine escapes as Fernando hitches you higher in his arms, the movement causing delicious friction against your core.

“I want, ngh-” Your words dissolve into another needy noise as Fernando nips at the juncture of your neck and shoulder in reprimand.

“Use your words, pequeña,” he rumbles against your tingling skin. “Tell me what you want.”

You don’t have a chance to reply before he’s kicking open a door and striding into what must be the bedroom, depositing you gently onto the plush center of an enormous bed. Fernando looms over you, chest heaving as he rakes his heated gaze over your prone form in a way that makes you shudder.

“Nando, I … I want you,” you finally manage, fighting past your shyness to meet his burning stare. “Want you to cherish me, cherish every part of me, like you promised.”

Fernando’s eyes darken further at your words and he slowly, purposefully begins lifting his sweater, never looking away from you.

“Good girl,” he praises in that deep, gruff tone that has your thighs pressing together instinctively. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

He shrugs off the soft knit, revealing a toned, hair-dusted chest and abdominal muscles carved from years of intense athletic training. You can’t help but drink in the display of his powerful body as he reaches for the buckle of his belt.

Fernando doesn’t miss your frank appraisal, a cocky smirk tugging at his full lips. “Like what you see, pequeña?”

You bite your lip and give a small, shameless nod. His grin widens and with a few deft flicks of his wrist, Fernando’s belt is undone and sliding free of its loops. You watch, rapt, as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxer briefs in one smooth motion.

“Then no more teasing,” he promises in a low, heated rasp. “Tonight you’ll have as much of me as you can handle.”

With that, Fernando pushes his trousers and underwear down over his hips in one go, springing free in all his thick, flushed glory. Your eyes widen and you suck in a sharp breath at the sheer size of him, mouth going dry with naked want.

Fernando steps forward until he’s standing at the edge of the mattress, gloriously nude and incredibly aroused. He crouches down, bringing himself eye-level with your flushed face as he reaches out to gently take your hands in his calloused grip.

“Are you sure, pequeña?” He searches your gaze intently. “Because once I claim you, mark you as mine in every way … there’s no going back. I won’t ever let you go.”

His raw confession hangs in the heated air between you. You meet Fernando’s fiery gaze without faltering, threading your fingers through his in silent acceptance. His eyes blaze and then he’s surging up over you, capturing your mouth in another searing, all-consuming kiss as he slowly, reverently hikes your dress up and divests you of your last remaining garments.

You wind your arms around his thick neck, holding him close as Fernando settles between your splayed thighs with a low, guttural groan. He rears back just enough to pin you with another scorching look, stealing your breath.

“You’re mine now, pequeña,” he vows roughly, guiding his thick length to your slick entrance. “And I’m going to spend all night cherishing this sweet body, just like you deserve ...”

Fernando braces himself above you with one powerful forearm, using his free hand to grip your thigh and hitch your leg higher around his lean hips. You keen softly as the new angle allows him to sink even deeper, filling you up so deliciously.

He drops his forehead to yours, dark eyes locked on your parted lips as he starts rocking into you with slow, measured strokes. Each deliberate grind of his pelvis against yours has you whimpering, nails raking down the flexing planes of his back.

“That’s it, pequeña,” Fernando croons, punctuating his words with a sharp roll of his hips that has you crying out. “Let me hear how good I’m making you feel.”

You try to muffle your sounds against his broad shoulder, but Fernando isn’t having it. He slides the hand not braced on the mattress up to cup the back of your neck, tilting your head so your mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.

“No, no … I want to hear every gorgeous, needy little noise,” he rumbles, lips brushing yours with each scorching word. “Want to hear you begging for more of my cock, stretching you so perfectly ...”

A desperate whine slips free at his filthy words, your walls fluttering around his rigid length in defiant response. Fernando rewards you by capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his talented tongue teasing against yours as he picks up the pace of his thrusts.

You moan brokenly into his mouth, legs locking around his narrow waist as Fernando sets a rhythm of steady, pounding strokes. Each slick glide has you building higher and higher, pleasure bordering on overwhelming. It’s so much after so much time without, yet somehow not enough.

You tear your lips from his with a ragged gasp, throwing your head back against the pillows. “M-More, Nando! Please … ah!”

Fernando grunts in approval at your needy plea, hips snapping forward to bury himself deeper. “As you wish, pequeña ...”

He sits up further on his knees, using the new leverage to drive into you with increased force and intensity. The lewd noises of your joining fill the air — skin slapping against skin, your cries of pleasure mingling with Fernando’s low groans of exertion.

Part of you feels like you should be embarrassed by the wanton sounds spilling from your lips. But a much bigger part is just reveling in the indescribable feeling of being taken apart so thoroughly by this incredible man’s skilled body.

Fernando hooks an arm under one of your knees, nearly bending you in half as he leans down to mouth hot, openmouthed kisses from your collarbone up the slender column of your throat. You keen wildly, fingers spasming against the rippling muscles of his back.

“Do you want it harder, pequeña?” He growls the filthy words against the racing pulse point under your jaw. “Want Papi to fuck you just like the needy little girl you are?”

A choked whimper is all you can manage in response, rendered incoherent by his merciless onslaught against that sensitive cluster of nerves deep inside you.

Fernando’s lips curl into a satisfied smirk against the side of your neck and then he’s driving into you with renewed vigor, hips pistoning in short, brutally powerful snaps that quickly have you keening. Your nails leave stinging welts in their wake as they drag down Fernando’s glistening shoulders and back, but he doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

“That’s it, taking me so well,” he grits out through clenched teeth, each word punctuated by a nasty grind of his hips that has you crying out. “Such a good girl for Papi, con esas caderas tan estrechas ...”

His dirty Spanish murmurs nearly do you in, shooting white-hot sparks of pleasure-pain arcing across your nerve endings. You swear your vision nearly whites out entirely when his calloused fingers find your swollen bud, stroking firmly in tight, rapid circles that have you keening.

That familiar, coiling tension is rapidly becoming too much to bear. You can feel your orgasm fast approaching, building and building with each punishing thrust into your greedy little hole and stroke against that hypersensitive bundle of nerves.

“Nando, Nando,” you pant, clutching desperately at his flexing biceps as your thighs begin to tremble uncontrollably. “I’m gonna, ah, fuck, I can’t-”

Fernando’s response is a series of harsh Spanish curses that would make a sailor blush. His mouth crashes against yours in a searing, messy kiss, swallowing your cries as he fucks you right through your release.

Wave after relentless wave of excruciating ecstasy crashes over you. You tremble and wail into Fernando’s mouth, pulled taut as a bowstring as he milks every last exquisite pulse from you with those sharp, unforgiving snaps of his hips.

Just when you think the pleasure searing along every nerve ending will break you into pieces, Fernando’s rhythm falters. He rears back, baring his teeth in a feral snarl that sends a fresh shock of desire arrowing straight to your core.

“Going to fill you up now, pequeña,” he grits out in a gravelly tone laced with strain. “Make you nice and, ah mierda, messy with Papi’s cum ...”

The sheer filth of his words, combined with his furious tempo draws animalistic whimpers from deep in your chest. You lock your ankles at the small of his back, taking him deeper as he starts to lose control.

“Please, Nando!” You beg shamelessly, reaching up to dig your fingers into the straining chords of muscle in his back and shoulders. “Please cum inside me, wanna be yours, wanna-”

Fernando cuts off your fervent cries with a harsh growl and then he’s slamming home one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he spills molten heat deep in your convulsing channel with a stream of strained Spanish curses.

You shudder and cry out at the incredible sensation of being filled so completely, holding him flush to you while he pulses and throbs. Fernando captures your lips in another searing kiss, fucking his tongue into your mouth in time with the shallow rolls of his hips as he spends himself.

Just when you think the incredible intensity of his release will never end, the shrill trill of a ringtone shatters the sweaty, panting silence of the bedroom.

Fernando goes rigid above you, finally breaking the fevered kiss with a curse that shoots straight to your over-sensitized core.

“Fucking hell, now?”

His tone is one of pure annoyance as his darkly tousled head whips towards the nightstand where his mobile is ringing incessantly. One large hand flexes against the sheets beside your head, ready to simply ignore the call.

Until, that is, he sees the caller ID and his entire demeanor shifts from one of irritation to something more sheepish. He immediately sits up on his haunches, the movement tugging at your overstuffed, abused entrance in the most delicious way and drawing a helpless whimper from you.

Fernando fixes you with a heated look, plush lower lip caught between his teeth as he drinks in your disheveled, satisfied state sprawled wantonly across his rumpled sheets. Only then does he make a sudden, aborted movement to grab the still-ringing phone, gaze flickering down to where you’re obscenely joined.

“Don’t you dare pull out,” you pant in warning, clenching down hard around him as he shifts to reach for the mobile. Fernando groans explosively at the vice-like grip, arm falling back to brace himself against the mattress.

“Insatiable,” he accuses with a dark chuckle. He somehow manages to snag the still-trilling phone without dislodging himself and you shamelessly squeeze down even tighter in petty retaliation. Fernando tosses you a smoldering glare that makes heat lick along your nerve endings before he finally answers.

“Hola?” His deep voice is rougher than usual, gravelly from the thoroughly ravished state you’ve put him in.

“Fernando! Mate, it’s me.” Your father’s crisp Aussie tone immediately filters through the speaker and you inadvertently clench down again in panic.

Fernando’s lips peel back in a mild wince before smoothing back into that trademark smug grin of his. He drops his free hand to splay possessively over your lower abdomen, thumb rubbing idle circles into the soft, oversensitized skin there as he regards you with dark, hooded eyes.

“Mark!” He greets your father with forced nonchalance, even as the pads of his calloused fingers dip dangerously close to where you’re still intimately joined. “What can I do for you?”

There’s a pregnant pause during which you can practically picture the slight frown creasing your dad’s brow at Fernando’s strange tone. “Er, sorry to bother you, Nando. I was just ringing to see if my daughter made it to you alright?”

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide as Fernando’s lips quirk up in a devilish smirk. Instead of answering right away, he drags the tip of one finger agonizingly slowly through your damp curls in a wordless warning.

Biting your lip to stifle a moan, you obediently stop clenching your internal muscles, allowing Fernando to sink that few extra incredible inches back inside you with a roll of his hips. His eyes burn with smug satisfaction when you keen softly at the feeling of being so deliciously full.

“She arrived safe and sound,” Fernando finally replies, voice gone low and rough in a way that has your thighs trying to clench instinctively. He holds you open by digging the heel of his palm against your mound, lips twitching when you whimper. “I’m taking very … very good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”

Another pause from your father’s end, this one even longer. You can picture the perplexed furrow in his brow deepening as he tries to figure out the strange undercurrent in Fernando’s tone.

“Right … well, good then. I just wanted to check in and make sure she got there okay after that whole mess with her asshole of an ex.”

You shudder at the memory, hips shifting restlessly against Fernando’s calloused palm in a plea for friction, pressure, anything. He simply watches you squirm with darkly glittering eyes, lazily rubbing his thumb in soothing little circles just below your navel.

“Trust me,” Fernando finally rumbles, voice gone low and graveled in a way that sends a shiver of desire arcing down your spine. “Your little girl is being very well looked after, in every way.”

Your cheeks burn hot at the blatant innuendo lacing his words. Fernando’s smirk widens, like he enjoys seeing you so flustered, before he continues in a tone of exaggerated innocence. “She’s been … quite the handful, really, but I don’t mind.”

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shoot him a betrayed look, clenching reflexively around the thick length still sheathed snugly inside you. Fernando arches one artfully sculpted brow as if in challenge, using his free hand to firmly grip one of your thighs and wrench your legs obscenely further apart in clear retaliation.

You muffle a whimper into the sheets as the new position allows him to grind deeper, that delicious friction quickly unraveling your will to stay quiet. You can already feel the coil of need building rapidly once more with each shallow roll of Fernando’s hips.

“What was that?” Your dad’s mildly bewildered voice suddenly crackles over the line, jarring you back to the reality of the situation.

Cheeks burning with a mixture of arousal and mortification, you blindly grasp for one of the pillows to muffle the series of pitiful noises now spilling past your lips as Fernando ups the intensity of his thrusts.

He leans in closer until the two of you are practically nose-to-nose, teeth sinking into that plush lower lip when you instinctively tighten around him like a velvet vise. Fernando’s eyes roll back briefly before fixing back on you, dark and fathomless as the depths of the Mediterranean.

“Nothing to worry about over here,” he pants through gritted teeth, one hand leaving its bruising grip on your thigh to curl around the back of your neck and pull you into a searing, filthy kiss designed to swallow any incriminating sounds. “Like I said. Just … taking very good care of your little girl.”

There’s one final confused little hum from your father before the line clicks off with a hollow beep. Fernando instantly drops the phone and slants his mouth hungrily over yours once more, all thoughts of the call instantly forgotten as he resumes fucking up into you with renewed vigor.

“My little girl, aren’t you pequeña?” He grates against your lips, punctuating each word with a scorching grind of his hips that has sparks bursting behind your eyelids. “Going to be a good girl and cum all over Papi’s cock again, sí?”

You can only nod wildly in agreement, nails raking down his broad back as that incredible tension inside you winds tighter and tighter. Fernando swallows your cries with his wicked, talented mouth, until finally you go rigid in his arms, back arched as your release rockets through you like a shockwave.

This time Fernando doesn’t even attempt to stifle your hoarse, animalistic keening, merely rearing back to watch in fascination as your complexion colors and your eyes roll back. He growls your name like a prayer, hips snapping erratically as he uses your convulsive flutters to chase his own high. Fernando’s chiseled features contort in pleasure, teeth sinking into his own lip hard enough to draw blood when you bear down with the vise-like strength of your release.

“F-Fuck … gonna … gonna fill you up again,” he grits out, thick cock jerking deep inside your molten depths. “Make you … gonna ah … make you mine forever this time, pequeña ...”

The gravelly promise in his tone somehow penetrates the sweaty, lust-hazed cocoon surrounding you. Your eyes fly open just in time to witness Fernando’s own clenched shut, jaw dropped in a growl as he buries himself to the hilt with one final, bruising grind of his pelvis.

You cry out at the incredible sensation of his release flooding your already stuffed channel with scorching ropes of thick seed. Fernando lets out a shuddering moan of pure gratification, hips working in short, shallow thrusts to pump every last pulse of his sticky essence into your greedy little womb.

When the last tremor of his climax has wrung through him, he drops bonelessly on top of you in a sweaty, panting tangle of sated limbs. You whimper quietly at the delicious feeling of his weight pinning you to the mattress, his softening length still lodged snugly inside as the two of you bask in the afterglow.

Fernando nuzzles into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, pressing lazy, opened-mouthed kisses to your slick, overheated skin. His talented fingers trace abstract patterns up and down your sides, touch reverent as his gravelly voice rumbles against you.

“Going to get you nice and full, pequeña. Fill you up again and again until my baby takes ...”

A violent shudder wracks through you at the filthy promise in his words. Fernando chuckles darkly, gathering you closer against his sweat-slicked chest as his hand drifts down to cup your lower abdomen with tender possessiveness.

“That’s it, let it sink in,” he croons, fingertips rubbing in gentle circles. “My seed taking root deep inside this sweet little womb, putting a baby in your belly ...”

He punctuates the words with a firm press of his palm that has you gasping, walls fluttering greedily around the thick shaft still impaling you. Fernando makes a noise of deep approval low in his throat.

“Going to keep you just like this,” he vows in a tone that brooks no argument, hot and heavy against the sensitive shell of your ear. “Barefoot and pregnant in my bed, that gorgeous body swollen and glowing with my hijo ...”

You whimper at the image his words conjure up — your belly rounded and stretched taut with Fernando’s child, heavy breasts leaking as you cradle his son or daughter. Fernando husks out a laugh at your reaction, nosing along the line of your jaw until you meet his heated gaze.

“You like that idea, don’t you pequeña?” His eyes glitter with a mixture of desire and predatory satisfaction. “Being tied to me forever, in the most permanent way possible?”

You can only nod dumbly, suddenly rendered mute by the depths of your own yearning. Of course you want that — to carry this incredible man’s legacy inside you for all the world to see. To belong to him, completely.

Fernando rumbles his approval against your swollen lips, cupping the back of your head to angle your mouth for a tender, lingering kiss. When he finally breaks away, you try to chase his mouth with a breathless whimper of protest.

“Shh, patience, pequeña,” he murmurs indulgently, thumb stroking over your slick lower lip. His eyes are dancing with dark promise. “You’ll have plenty of time to take your fill of me in the coming months while I breed you over ...”

He kisses the words into the hollow of your throat, teeth grazing the rapid flutter of your pulse point.

“... and over ...” Fernando rolls you onto your back in one smoothly powerful motion, settling his weight over you as he lips trail a blazing path down your abdomen.

“... and over again.” His tongue dips briefly into your navel before he nuzzles lower, nose nudging through your damp curls until his warm breath ghosts over your overstimulated sex. You suck in a ragged gasp, thighs trembling with anticipation as Fernando glances up at you from under those ridiculously long lashes.

“Until it finally takes,” he finishes with a wicked grin before ducking down to swipe one firm lick through your folds. You nearly black out from the electric shock of pleasure-pain, broken cries echoing through the bedroom as Fernando sets to work thoroughly mapping every intimate inch of you with that devilishly skilled mouth and tongue.

True to his filthy promise, Fernando keeps you until the first rosy hints of dawn are just beginning to lighten the horizon outside, thoroughly ravishing your helpless body over and over again until you’re boneless and incoherent with satiation.

It’s only when the first few birds have begun to chirp their morning songs that he finally relents, blanketing you with his solid weight one last time. Fernando’s lips are kiss-swollen as they trail up the line of your throat to find yours in one more long, thorough kiss that leaves you totally plundered.

“Sleep now, pequeña,” he rumbles against your parted mouth, gathering you close as his hand drifts down to splay possessively over the slight tautness of your lower abdomen. “Let my release take nice and deep inside you ...”

You slip into unconsciousness to the sensation of Fernando’s calloused fingertips rubbing soothing circles over your skin and the imprinted promise of his low, sleep-roughened vows.

“I’m going to put a baby in you, pequeña. Going to breed you so full of my children until you’re round and glowing with them … that’s a promise.”

***

Six Months Later

Fernando can’t keep the swell of pride and possessiveness from blooming in his chest as he guides you through the paddock with a supportive hand on the small of your back. His dark gaze keeps flickering down to admire the swell of your belly peeking out beneath the flowing summer dress you’ve chosen for today.

He feels like a conquering king surveying his latest prize as you waddle adorably at his side, the golden sunlight caressing your features and lending a rosy flush to your glowing complexion. Fernando has never seen a more beautiful, ethereal sight than you in this moment — rounded with his child, your body transformed by the life blossoming within.

His hand subconsciously moves to cup the subtle curve of your belly as you pause to allow a team member to pass. Fernando feels a fresh surge of scorching desire and smug satisfaction race through his veins when you instinctively cover his hand with yours, cradling his palm against the taut swell.

“Easy there, pequeña,” he rumbles with a wolfish grin, leaning in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. “We’re in public, remember? Wouldn’t want to give these pendejos an eyeful of how insaciable my little girl has become since getting knocked up ...”

A delightful shiver visibly ripples through you at his words, those gorgeous eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments before fixed back on him blown wide and dark with rekindled want. Fernando lets out a low chuckle of approval, arm winding around your waist to pull you flush against his side.

Just then, a familiar figure comes striding around the corner, brows low and thunderous as they zero in on the embrace Fernando has you locked in. Mark Webber falters mid-step as he takes in the rather obvious changes to your body, chin dropping in a comical picture of dumbstruck shock.

Fernando can’t resist angling the two of you forward just enough to emphasize the prominent curve of your belly straining against the flowy fabric of your summer dress. He watches your father’s expression morph from surprise, to confusion, then slowly … realization as the pieces begin to click into place.

Within seconds, Mark’s eyes have narrowed to slits of rage, mouth curling back in a snarl of anger as he picks up his pace and stalks towards the pair of you. Fernando’s own smug expression slips, features settling into a hard mask as he angles his body slightly in front of yours on instinct.

“You motherfucking piece of shit-” Your father snarls, face taking on an alarming reddish hue as he rears back and swings at Fernando.

Fernando manages to sidestep the worst of the blow at the last second, feeling only a glancing impact against his left cheekbone before Mark closes in again with balled fists raised. Behind him, you let out a strangled cry of dismay, reaching out helplessly to grasp at the back of his shirt.

“Dad, no! Fernando, please-”

But Fernando is already sinking into a fighting stance, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed. He blocks another wild swing from Mark with ease, allowing the Australian’s momentum to carry him past so Fernando can land a swift, open-handed punch against the side of his head.

The sharp retaliatory crack has Mark stumbling sideways, snarling like an enraged animal. For one brief, wildly intense moment, the two former rivals simply square off — sizing one another up like they’ve done a hundred times before on various circuits when they were both still competing.

From anyone else, Fernando might have been able to laugh off this overreaction, shrug it aside as the misguided anger of a hotblooded father learning his young daughter is now expecting. But this is Mark Webber — a man who has proven himself as fiery and formidable an opponent as they come.

Fernando won’t admit it aloud, but a tiny thrill of excitement races through him at the prospect of a proper throwdown with his old nemesis turned friend. He throws you a quick glance over his shoulder, assessing if he needs to move you further away before the situation escalates.

You surprise him by shaking your head adamantly, those beautiful eyes blazing with protective fury of your own as you plant yourself squarely in between the two men.

“Fernando, don’t hurt him,” you plead, gaze flickering between him and the bristling Aussie now clambering back to his feet. “He’s just-”

“Being a bloody psychopathic bastard,” Mark spits, wiping a hand across his rapidly swelling lip. His hateful glare lands accusingly on the prominent swell of your middle. “Fucking hell , Nando. She’s just a kid-”

Fernando feels his own temper ratcheting up several notches at the venom and dismissal lacing the other man’s tone. He takes an aggressive step forward, forcing you back behind the shield of his powerful frame.

“Don’t talk about her like she isn’t here to defend herself,” Fernando growls, unconcerned that they’re rapidly drawing an audience from the swarm of crew personnel surrounding them.

He arches a challenging brow at your father’s scathing glower. “What’s wrong? Upset that while you were off galivanting around the globe, I was putting a baby in your daughter’s belly?”

Mark lets out an outraged roar, lurching forward to throw another wild haymaker that Fernando easily ducks under. You cry out in distress, hands coming up to grip at Fernando’s biceps from behind as you try to bodily pull him away from the furious Australian’s reach.

“Both of you, stop!” Your shrill voice cuts through the tense alleyway, causing both men to pause for a split-second and glance towards you. “Nando, don’t provoke him! And you-” You aim an accusatory finger at your seething father. “Lay one more hand on Fernando and I swear to god-”

Whatever heated threat you were preparing goes unvoiced as a sudden aura of pain visibly ripples across your features, brow furrowing and lips parting on a pained gasp. Your hands instinctively fly down to cradle your belly, entire body locking up with tension.

Fernando’s heart leaps into his throat as he recognizes the clear signs of distress from months spent doting upon your every subtle twinge and discomfort. Immediately, his previous temper fades into a dull, distant roar easily overshadowed by the all-consuming need to ensure your well-being.

“Pequeña?” He’s at your side in an instant, gripping your upper arms to steady you as a light sheen of perspiration blooms on your brow. “Breathe through it, mi amor … just breathe, okay?”

“I-I’m fine,” you manage in a tight voice. “Just a twinge. The excitement is probably too mu-ahh!”

You gasp again, nails digging punishingly into Fernando’s forearms as your knees threaten to buckle. All hints of masculine posturing flee his mind as Fernando smoothly sweeps you up into a secure bridal carry, heedless of the soft whimpers of discomfort now trickling past your parted lips.

He locks eyes with a stunned Mark over your bent crown, gaze impassive and steady. “You heard her. The excitement is too much. We’re leaving.”

Without waiting for a response, Fernando swivels on his heel and marches back the way you’d originally come with you cradled protectively against his chest. He keeps his strides measured and unhurried, but still manages to put a fair amount of distance between the pair of you and your father’s petulant anger in a matter of moments.

Once you’ve rounded a quiet corner alcove, Fernando gently lowers you to a relatively secluded stack of equipment crates, bracing your lower back and guiding you into a seated position.

“Wait here,” he murmurs against your hairline, dropping a fleeting kiss to the rapidly dampening strands stuck to your brow. Fernando’s fingers ghost down to cradle your belly once more, silently assessing for any areas of increased tension. “I’ll be back in just a moment with some water and a physio, alright?”

You nod weakly, squirming to rest back against the cool metal behind you as another pained grimace flits across your features. Fernando feels his heart clench at the wretched, lost expression clouding your eyes.

Cupping your cheek, he tilts your chin up until you meet his heated gaze. “Don’t look so afraid, pequeña. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.”

Fernando leans in until his nose brushes against yours, allowing the familiar closeness and the scent of his cedar and bergamot cologne to soothe you. “Our little one is just reminding us who’s boss, that’s all. But Papi’s here … I’ll take care of both of you, sí?”

You manage a weak smile at that, some of the tension bleeding from your delicate features as you nod against his palm. Fernando presses one more lingering kiss to your brow before reluctantly pulling away.

“I’ll be right back, mi vida. Just breathe deeply for me in the meantime.”

With one final reassuring caress to your belly, Fernando turns on his heel and strides back out into the bustling paddock area. His jaw is set in a tense line, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he mentally catalogs which team staff he needs to track down.

Rounding a corner, Fernando very nearly barrels straight into the rigid form of your father standing there with arms crossed, clearly waiting to waylay him. The Aussie’s expression is thunderous, eyes blazing with hurt and undisguised fury.

“So that’s it then?” Mark bites out in a tone of barely restrained aggression. “You’ve gone and knocked up my little girl. My own daughter, Nando ...”

Fernando holds up a dismissive hand, in no mood to allow your father’s misplaced anger to provoke another confrontation — not when you’re so clearly in distress. “Don’t start with me again.” His tone is low, brooking no argument. “Your daughter is safe and being well looked after, that’s all that matters right now.”

With that, he moves to sidestep around Mark, only to find his path blocked by the other man’s broad chest as he steps directly into Fernando’s space. The former World Champion narrows his eyes warningly, feeling his temper ratcheting back up in the face of such insolence.

“Look, you arrogant Spanish prick,” Mark growls, lips peeling back in a menacing sneer. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but-”

Fernando abruptly cuts him off with a harsh bark of humorless laughter, dark eyes glittering dangerously. “A game?” He shakes his head slowly, expression one of vaguely disbelieving contempt. “You really think that’s all this is to me? Getting one up on you by deflowering your little girl and leaving her pregnant, alone, and disgraced?”

The other man flinches almost imperceptibly at the crass words, clearly thrown by Fernando’s frank disdain. The Spaniard presses on relentlessly. “Any man who would treat a situation like this so flippantly doesn’t deserve to consider themselves a real man at all — let alone a father.”

Mark’s face has turned an alarming shade of puce, whether from shame or sheer unchecked rage Fernando neither knows nor cares. He simply crowds further into the Australian’s space, heedless of how their chests nearly brush with each harsh exhalation.

“Make no mistake, I love that woman and the child she carries more than life itself,” Fernando states with conviction, cadence low and gravelly. “If you’re asking whether I intend to be there for them both as a partner, as a father … my answer is simple.”

He pauses just long enough to allow the weight of his next words to truly sink in.

“For as long as your daughter and my children will have me, you couldn’t pry me away from their sides with a fucking crowbar.”

Fernando holds your father’s seething gaze for one final beat, satisfaction lancing through him at seeing the other man seemingly robbed of his righteous anger. With a curt nod, he finally moves to brush past the speechless Australian without another word —intent on fetching the physio like he had originally set out to do.

Because in the end, Mark Webber’s approval means less than nothing to Fernando. All that matters is rushing back to your side and ensuring your safety and comfort. You and the new life blossoming within you are his entire world now.

As if to reaffirm the point, you suddenly appear around the corner, one hand braced protectively under the swell of your abdomen.

“Nando,” you breathe in a tremulous voice, blindly reaching for him. “The little one misses you ...”

Fernando instantly abandons all thoughts of confronting Mark, or retrieving a physio, or anything else as he rushes to gather you up in his arms once more. He cradles you tenderly to his chest as your fingers twist almost convulsively in the fabric of his Hugo Boss shirt, dark eyes wide and pleading.

Fernando glances down at you cradled protectively in his arms, heart clenching at the distressed furrow of your brow and shallow, panting breaths.

Readjusting his grip, he dips his head to murmur a string of soothing Spanish endearments against your sweat-dampened hairline as he carries you through the winding labyrinth of the paddock. His strides are measured but purposeful, not rushing — he needs to get you somewhere quiet and comfortable to recover from the ordeal.

Finally, Fernando spots a secluded alcove tucked away behind a cluster of tires. He quickly guides you over and gently lowers you onto an emptied workbench, cocooning you against his broad chest.

“There, there, pequeña,” he croons, lips brushing your brow. “Just breathe nice and deep for Papi, just like we practiced ...”

You nod weakly, fingers reflexively flexing against the solid planes of Fernando’s abdomen as you struggle to pull in deep gulps of air. He deftly tugs the neckline of your summer dress aside to expose more of your flushed skin, using the hem to dab away the perspiration beading on your chest and throat.

“That’s it, mi vida,” he praises in that dark, soothing timbre. “Just like that, easy does it ...”

Slowly, the tension bleeds from your features as the worst of the discomfort subsides. Fernando doesn’t dare loosen his supportive embrace, nor does he tear his increasingly heated gaze away from your parted lips as each measured exhale puffs across his skin.

“Better now?” He murmurs, thumb tracing the delicate arch of your cheekbone reverently. A rosy blush stains your complexion when you nod meekly, lashes fanning across those glorious cheekbones.

“Good girl,” Fernando rumbles, helpless not to drink in the gorgeous picture you make — cheeks flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with lingering stardust. He grips your jaw in a firm caress, tilting your chin up until your gazes lock.

“Because I must admit,” he husks softly, gaze darkening to molten whiskey. “Seeing you like this, with my child safe inside you … has me feeling quite possessive, pequeña.”

You shudder visibly at his words, tongue darting out to wet those plump lips in a blatant show of want. Fernando doesn’t miss the subtle gesture, allowing his gaze to dip briefly to track the slick path your tongue carves before fixing back on your rapidly dilating pupils.

“Would you like that, hmm?” He lowers his voice to a sensual rumble, skimming his thumb across your lower lip in a wordless command for access. “Having Papi show you just how adored, how cherished you and our little one inside you truly are?”

A whimper catches in the back of your throat as you readily accept the gentle press of Fernando’s calloused digit between your parted lips. Your eyes flutter shut on a trembling exhale as he slowly begins to glide the thick pad of his thumb across that heavenly softness, careful not to scrape the sensitive skin with his nail.

“That’s it, pequeña,” he growls, a tad hoarse as desire visibly burns behind those long lashes. “Suckle for me, let me take care of you both nice and proper ...”

Fernando rocks forward ever so slightly, allowing the swollen curve of your belly to brush against his solid abs with each tiny shuddering breath you drag in through your nose. He keeps up the lazy, hypnotic strokes of his thumb until you’re completely transfixed — hips shifting restlessly against his thighs and soft, muffled mewls escaping past the seal of your swollen lips.

“Such a good girl,” he murmurs, voice pitched low enough to rasp straight through you and ignite every raw nerve ending. “So sweet and responsive for Papi … going to reward that gorgeous little mouth in just a moment, I promise.”

You whine wantonly around his thumb in response, eyes fluttering back open to reveal pupils blown wide with naked yearning. Fernando chuckles indulgently, thumb tracing the delicate bow of your lower lip one final time before retreating fully.

“So eager,” he tuts without any real admonishment. Leaning in close, he angles his head to brush kiss-swollen lips against the outer shell of your ear. “Don’t fret, pequeña. I’ll take such good care of both of you right here, right now ...”

Fernando drops a lingering series of kisses along the line of your jaw, letting his lush mouth trail lower and lower with each heated murmur.

“Will remind you exactly who you belong to … who made you … who put this child in your belly ...”

His final words are an exhale ghosting out across your thundering pulse. Fernando immediately latches on with his teeth, nipping and sucking a series of stinging, possessive marks into your sensitized flesh that has you arching against him with a strangled cry of pure bliss.

Out here, cloaked in the shadow of the paddock where anyone could stumble across the two of you — your father included — and discover just how thoroughly Fernando has claimed you. The taboo thrill of it all is utterly intoxicating.

As your trembling fingers find purchase in his clothes, dragging him nearer with insistence, Fernando feels that familiar molten lick of possessive pride unfurl deep in his core. You are his now, fully and completely — mind, body, and soon … family.

Just the way it was always meant to be.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Some Perfumery Vocabulary

Absolute - An extraction from a concrete using alcohol. The essential oil of scented flowers and other aromatic plant parts in its purest and most concentrated form. It is extremely expensive. A few important oils used in an absolute form are: geranium, lavender, lily, and rose.

Accord - A combination of a number of different scents which blend together to produce a new fragrance.

Agrestic - "Of the countryside"; odours of heather, forest depths, and the meadow.

Aldehydes - Aromatic chemicals isolated for the first time in the 19th century, but that also occur naturally. Certain aldehydes provide an increased diffusiveness, sparkle, and lift to perfumes, most famously in Chanel No. 5.

Almondy - Bittersweet, soft, and nutty scent.

Amber - An accord in perfumery that is supposed to recall the qualities of ambergris. It is often constructed with labdanum, Tolu balsam, or Peru balsam. Often an accord in Oriental perfumes.

Ambergris - A highly prized perfume ingredient consisting of the oxidized excretion from a sperm whale. It is rarely used in its natural form in perfumery because of its rarity, exorbitant cost, and concerns about sourcing ambergris from live whales rather than from shore-found ambergris. It’s said to have an earthy, sweet, tobacco, and pleasantly animalic scent. It primarily works to bring out other notes in perfumery rather than to impart a particular scent on its own.

Ambrein - The primary scented molecule in ambergris, isolated and used in perfumery. It’s warm, sweet, vanillic, and ambery, with facets of spice and tobacco.

Animalic - Describes fragrances with animal ingredients in natural or synthetic form, including civet, castoreum, musk, or ambergris. The voluptuous, erotic, and sometimes disturbing quality of animalic perfumes can register in an olfactory way, as something “dirty” or animal-smelling, or as a feeling, a mood, or a quality. Sometimes, it can be both.

Aromatic - Having a strong or distinctive smell.

B—E

Balance - A combination of different fragrance notes so adjusted in proportion to one another that none of the individual notes is more prominent than any of the others.

Balsamic - The resin from the bark of trees and shrubs (Peru, Tolu, styrax) that have a rich vanilla scent. Balsamic is a term used to describe perfumes with the soft, ambery aspects these resins impart.

Benzoin - A sweet, balsamic resin used in incense and as a base note in perfume for its vanillic scent and fixative properties. Also known as styrax because it comes from the bark of the styrax tree.

Bergamot - The essential oil from the peel of the nonedible Citrus aurantium fruit that looks like a small orange. Its sweetish, mellow lemony scent is a crucial top note in perfumery.

Calone - A synthetic “marine” note that is supposed to evoke the freshness of the ocean. It has a slight watermelon facet.

Camphoraceous - Describes a fresh, clean, medical fragrance.

Caramel - Sweet, rich, creamy, buttery scent.

Cardamom - An intensely aromatic, sweet spice from the ginger family, in the form of a pod filled with seeds.

Carnation - A smoky, sweet, and clove-like scent, the latter facet due to Eugenol, the primary component of clove.

Cassis - (or black currant bud) A sharp, fruity, almost cat-urine-like scented perfume note.

Cistus - (or Labdanum) A resin from the rockrose bush, traditionally gathered from goats’ beards as they fed on the plant. Labdanum is said to be the note closest to the scent of ambergris. Creamy, soft, vanillic.

Citrus - Fresh, light fragrance characteristic of citrus fruits, but also imitated synthetically.

Civet - In classical perfumery, the cream harvested from the anal gland of the mongoose-like civet animal, often described as cat like. Fecal-smelling when undiluted, civet “rounds” out other notes when used judiciously. Famous as an overdosed note in Guerlain’s Jicky (1889), it is considered one of the first abstract modern scents. Civet is primarily in synthetic form now.

Clove - An aromatic spice similar to cinnamon, but less sweet. Its primary component is Eugenol.

Coniferous - The fragrance note of pine, spruce, juniper and similar such trees, often used in men's fragrances.

Diffusive - A perfume whose fragrance quickly becomes apparent in the air surrounding the wearer.

Dry - The aromatic effect of perfume ingredients such as woods and mosses in contrast to sweet and warm fragrances.

Earthy - The subtle fragrance impression of earth or earth-mould which is found in certain essential oils such as vetiver and patchouli.

Equine - Notes of hay and leather.

F—M

Floral - The general fragrance of flowers.

Fruity - Citrus, berries, tropical, and other non-citrus fruit scents.

Fungal - Molds, yeast, and mushroom scents.

Green - General fragrance of grasses and green plant parts.

Harmony - A pleasing combination of fragrance notes.

Hayfield notes - Usually based on coumarin, which have an odour of new-mown hay.

Heavy - Denotes a fragrance in which the least volatile ingredients, such as mossy or animalic ones, are dominant, giving a very strong effect. Such fragrances are mostly used in chypre and oriental-type perfumes.

Herbaceous - The characteristic general fragrance of herbs and herbal medicines. Sage, rosemary and lavender are examples.

Honey - Used as an ingredient in early Arab perfumes and appears in later European ones (e.g., Honey Water). In modern perfumery a substance providing the sweet aromatic effect of honey and known as Honey (or Miel) is manufactured synthetically.

Indolic - The disquieting, ripe, animalic, and almost excremental facet of scents.

Leather - A perfume accord and category of perfume constructed from various notes, including birch tar, styrax, castoreum, and a variety of synthetic notes.

Light - Delicate, clean, and fresh-laundry scent.

Marine - Iodized scent.

Mellow - Soothing and calming scent.

Metallic - A fragrance reminiscent of metal, providing a clean, cool effect. Metallic notes are used in perfumes to assist in promoting an effect, not as main fragrances.

Minty - A fragrance reminiscent of mint, e.g., peppermint or spearmint. Such fragances are usually used to provide a special, fresh effect in a top note.

Mossy - The general odour of oils obtained from mosses and lichens.

Musk - Produced by the musk deer and excreted by the male during mating season. Musk deer were killed almost to extinction for their valuable musk glands, which were dried, and whose musk “seeds” were removed and steeped in alcohol to create tinctures for perfume. The scent of real musk is warm, with depth and a dark animalic aroma. Many synthetics now can mimic musk scent, but one of the most superior musk synthetics, nitro-musks, which were in Chanel No. 5 and countless other vintages, has been banned due to toxicity concerns. Musk can also be substituted with plant ingredients including ambrette seed and angelica.

Musty - Damp, earthy, or stale odor.

N—W

Narcotic - Exceptionally strong and heavy fragrances obtained from some flowers (e.g. jasmine and tuberose) and animalic ingredients, which need to be used with careful discretion in a perfume.

Ozonic - A perfume accord that attempts to create the smell of fresh air after a thunderstorm.

Peppery - Odour of pepper.

Powdery - Soft and clean scent.

Rich - Fragrances that have numerous layers, notes, and accords in all stages (top, mid, base), creating a multifaceted feel.

Rounded - The overall smoothness and fullness of a fragrance.

Sharp - A strong scent.

Smoky - The slight smell of smoke created in a perfume by certain oils such as Birch Tar Oil. It is used in men's fragrances to provide a leathery effect.

Spicy - Describes in general the distinctive fragrance of essential oils which have been obtained from spices.

Sweet - A sweet and rather sugar-like fragrance such as vanilla.

Tobacco - Fragrances resembling cured tobaccos, which are particularly popular in masculine toiletries.

Wintergreen - Has a very powerful and fresh, medicinal odour.

Woody - Fragrances reminiscent of wood. These fragrances are provided by wood oils, such as cedar, by essential oils from other plants having a wood-like aroma, such as patchouli, and by synthetics.

Sources: Perfume: The Art and Craft of Fragrance by Karen Gilbert ⚜ The Perfume Handbook by Nigel Groom ⚜ Scent & Subversion by Barbara Herman ⚜ Scent: A Natural History of Fragrance by Elise Vernon Pearlstine ⚜ Introduction to Perfumery by Tony Curtis & David G. Williams ⚜ The Big Book of Perfume

More: Word Lists ⚜ References ⚜ Describing Scent ⚜ Fragrance Notes & Levels

[iris-qt]

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🫧 ʙɢ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ: ᴄʟɪᴄᴋ!

🫧 ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

🫧 ᴀ/ɴ: ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰɪᴄ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏɴ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴏɴᴇ. ɪ ᴀᴅᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɢᴜʏꜱ’ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛꜱ ꜱᴏ ᴅᴏɴ’ᴛ ʙᴇ ᴀꜰʀᴀɪᴅ ᴛᴏ ʟᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴏɴᴇ!

🫧 ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ᴜɴᴡɪɴᴅɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱᴛʀᴇꜱꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɢᴏʀɢᴇᴏᴜꜱ ᴠᴀᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪɴ ɪᴛᴀʟʏ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇɴ’ᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ’ᴅ ʀᴜɴ ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀɴᴇ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴇxɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ: ᴛʜᴇᴏᴅᴏʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛᴛ

Azure blue skies and endless summer breeze tails you through the rolling green countryside of San Gimignano, Italy. This was true, pure bliss. A flow of relaxation that you haven’t felt since…Merlin knows when. The stress of endless exams and finals, everlasting prefect duties, and bickering with your horrid nemesis really left a mark; as represented by your unrelenting dark circles and deep forehead lines.

But at least all of that was giving way to the Italian atmosphere and it left behind a happy girl that would donate a kidney to spend her entire summer here. Unfortunately you were only visiting for a week before school began once more; your final year. This brought a sense of dread to your heart as you would miss the enchanting castle. Your second home.

You pushed that aside as you zoomed through the countryside of this ravishing country on your cute little teal Vespa. Truth be told you’d never driven a muggle vehicle before, but there’s always a first time for everything.

And so your lack of experience with muggle vehicles was the cause of you not being aware that gas has to be filled. You thought the meter getting closer to 0 represented the dissipation of your happy mood as you were, per usual, plaguing yourself with paranoid and pessimistic thoughts. The sudden shuddering of the Vespa made you lose balance and you began veering off track, you and your precious vehicle zooming down a hill with the sheer force of gravity. You screamed for dear life, and, at last, landed in a shallow pond with an enormous splash.

You bobbed up, gasping for air, and scrambled out of the lake quite ungracefully, summer outfit ruined and soaking wet. And suddenly, you heard a scarily familiar, devilish chuckle that just so happened to find your tragic predicament amusing: your mood as drenched as your clothes.

As you slowly glanced up trembling, not knowing if your shaking was from the water, shock, pure rage, or all three, you made direct eye contact with a certain boy musing at your tragedy. His eyes were overflowing with humor as he was leaning against a tree, his tanned legs crossed over each other. He seemed to be reading a book which he put down as he had found something better worth his attention. He gracefully stands up, a complete contrast from how you scrambled out of the pond, much to your annoyance.

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, angioletto mio?” He smirks.

“Nott,” you scoffed. “Small world…or cruel fate,” you stand there, dripping wet, arms spread out like a martyr.

Of course you knew the insufferable Theodore Nott was Italian and often visited family here, but you didn’t think you’d be subjected to his presence in such a big country, especially in the less populated countryside. It was truly just cruel fate that brought this spawn of satan before your eyes.

“I didn’t know you were that desperate to see me,” Theodore cocks his head to the side, quite enjoying this arrangement. “Risking your life on a muggle vehicle zooming to my town.”

You roll your eyes, and if you were in a cartoon universe, trust that there would be steam coming out of your ears.

“Trust me Nott. I had no intention to run into a walking headache on my vacation.”

The insufferable git kept smiling, moving closer now, standing right in front of you so you could smell the usual dizzying scent of sandalwood and pine. Summer edition Theo had a hint of citrus mingled in with his intoxicatingly annoying scent.

“I already got you soaking wet, now you just have to get naked,” he laughed with the most disgustingly smug look on his face that you almost slapped off.

“Are you done?” You glared at him, ready to storm off and free yourself from the torment of his presence.

He shrugged, looking you over.

“Need help drying off?”

“I need help out of this conversation.”

“Oh stop, y/n, you can do better than that,” he grinned

You sigh very well aware you had no other option. You hold out your arms and shut your eyes waiting for his casting of the Hot Air Charm. Since you had resolved to live the simple muggle life for this vacation, your wand was locked in a vault at your hotel room.

Theo laughs, “Are you waiting for a kiss, principessa?”

You open your eyes, confused. “No, I’m waiting for you to dry me off like you said, idiot.”

He laughs again shrugging and says, “I don’t carry my wand around my domain, there’s no need.”

“Then, pray do tell me, Nott, what was your plan in helping me?”

He gives you the most shit-eating grin and grabs your hand, scaring you a bit, then begins pulling you up another grassy, verdant hill: one that isn’t hiding a body of water behind it. You have the urge to resist, but just give in. The drop from your adrenaline-rush you’d been maintaining for the past 3 days had collapsed, causing you to come down with an attitude of resolve. He dragged you up the hill, your wet sandals making squelching sounds, each one demeaning you more and more. You hated this shift in power where the perfect git was overshadowing you. You hated it. You hated him. I think.

“So why were you in the countryside? Other than wanting to see me so badly, of course.” He looks behind him and shoots his watercolor poison into your soul as he makes that unblinking eye contact. Another thing on the meter-long list of things you despise about him.

“I was in a self-deprecating mood and decided to ruin my record streak of relaxation by finding you,” you deadpanned as you rolled your eyes for extra affect.

“Y/N relaxing? You must be lying.”

He chuckled a bit as you two stopped at the top of the vast hill, looking down to a meadow of wildflowers. They glowed like colorful jewels in the blinding, comforting summer sun.

“What’re you gonna do, push me off?” You smirked, half wishing he’d do so. Maybe this was all a nightmare. A beautiful, lush, tinged with the familiar scent of Theo nightmare.

What you didn’t expect, however, was him saying:

“Precisely.”

And with a surprisingly gentle tug, he pulled you down on the top of the hill, pushed you back in a laying position before you could protest, and quite literally pushed you down the hill. You screamed as you, for the second time that day, gave all free will up to gravity, rolling down the hill at a crazy speed. You knew Nott was your unproclaimed but painfully obvious nemesis but you never thought he’d attempt murder. You finally stopped and lay there, sprawled on your back, heaving from the rush. It was kind of…fun?

Theo rolled down right next to you, laughing, as he sat upright. There was grass in his curly, brunette hair that you couldn’t help but reach out to pluck. He looked away quite shyly. Did your eyes deceive you, or did he just blush? You must have heat stroke. Good thing you had your wet clothes to keep you cool: they were significantly drier now.

You stand up and Theo starts laughing in a way you’ve never heard him laugh before. It was almost…endearing?

You put your hands on your hips teasingly and ask, “What? Do I have something on my face?”

He chuckles affectionately. “Mio angioletto, you have something…everywhere.” He bursts into laughter again. “Beware grass woman rising from the Italian hills,” he gasps through his fits of laughter.

You couldn’t help but smile so wide; his happiness was almost as contagious as his teasing.

You look down and realize the grass was sticking all over your outfit, covering you in verdant greeness. There was an itching sensation bubbling to your skin, but you ignored it. You couldn’t help but join in with his laughter as you could imagine you looked like green Chewbacca.

“Is this your sick way of tar and feathering me, Nott?”

He recovers from his laughter and stands up with you, peeling a wet blade of grass from your cheek.

“Alas, you have uncovered my motives,” he teases, grinning.

“Well, your actual motives didn’t work. I’m still sopping wet.” You wringe out the side of your shirt for dramatic affect as it produces a downpour of water.

“There’s more to my motives, mio angioletto. If at first you don’t succeed, try try again.” He grasps your hand again with a beautiful look on his glowing face and pulls you up to do it all over again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

Until the sun is caressing the distant hills, getting ready for its nightly departure. The sky is painted shades of teal and purple; still bright but just so. The breeze is still gentle, and so is Theo’s hold on your hand, as he guides you back to his tree by the wretched pond.

Don’t ask yourself what you and him were at the moment. Don’t ask yourself how years of rivalry and pranks. Of stress related to the both of your never-relenting efforts to beat the other. Don’t ask how that all faded away, as you sat in the setting sun.

Unfortunately, it isn’t in your nature to just ignore logic. And Theo knew it. So he distanced himself from you in light of the passing moment of rolling down flower dotted hills, letting go of your hand. It was as if an igniting flame in your heart had been stifled. He sat across from you by the tree. A silence falling between you two.

The slight itching you had felt earlier had been slowly increasing, and as the fun fell away, it began grabbing your attention. The feeling was in your throat now…something wasn’t right. And that’s when you remembered something that Theo’s warm presence had melted away from your mind. As if your brain had tricked itself to forget about this important fact to permit you and Theo’s fun. You were allergic to wildflowers. If exposed to them for a long time? Horribly allergic.

You started coughing and then choking, pointing to your neck to alert Theo to the problem. His eyes widened as he realized what was happening…he had noticed your uncharacteristically red skin, but he had dismissed it by thinking it was the sun’s doing. How could he overlook this?

Your choking grew louder as you fell onto the grass, Theo scrambled around crazily not knowing what to do in his initial panic.

But then he remembered

He pulled out his wand and cast a healing spell which would diminish every affect of an allergic reaction. You started being able to breathe again and your throat cleared, along with your skin returning to its original color and texture. You were gasping in shock, slightly embarrassed that you had been in such pathetic situations in front of Theodore twice today. You were both holding each others’ arms and breathing deeply. You recovered slightly, attempting to lighten the tense mood.

“Well, if your true motive was to kill me, Nott, I’d say you almost succeeded.” You let out a weak, unconvincing laugh.

“I..I am so sorry, y/n, I genuinely didn’t know..” he looked crestfallen. More shaken than you in fact. Wait a minute…

“Hold on,” you raised an eyebrow, your shock of almost dying completely gone and replaced with a new shock. “I thought you said you didn’t have your wand?”

Theo’s eyes widened sheepishly and he grinned, looking as guilty as ever.

“Ok listen before you throw a fit-“

“I don’t throw fits, I diplomatically argue.”

“Before you throw a tantrum, let me explain.” Theo runs his fingers through his hair looking nervous, and, for the first time, failing to make eye contact.

“I just…I knew you’d leave if I just dried you off. You only stayed because you needed help and, well…” he sighs.

“Well?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking about you all summer, y/n. I lay awake all night and I day dream all day. I swear I even saw you in the stars..” he gives a nervous, strained laugh.

“You never leave my thoughts, but I was sure it was just because I had to prove myself. To beat you. But you didn’t even leave my brain after school ended. You haunt me every day. When I saw you I thought I was hallucinating, like, genuinely.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking the most vulnerable he’s ever looked.

You look at him, eyes blazing with emotions you had denied yourself. Emotions that fought to be seen but you always pushed them back. You couldn’t fight back anymore. What were you even fighting against? God, you had some serious issues.

“And so you lied to make me stay?”

Theo nodded, looking to the side, up at the darkening sky.

“Maybe it was the universe that brought me here, because what are the fucking odds?”

You both laughed at that, eyes shining despite the escaping light around you.

“Theo, in my last 3 days I’ve been in your beautiful home country, I’ve visited so many places. The Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Uffizi Galleries. So many amazing places, and I’ve experienced the most inspiring ordeals. But today was, by far, my favorite day.”

Theo regains his composure after hearing that, playfully judging her with his shoulder .

“Because of me, hm?”

You roll your eyes, looking away.

“Say it, principessa..” he prompted, gently holding your face and focusing it towards him.

You dramatically sigh and admit, “Yes, Theodore Nott. Because of you.”

He smiled the most breathtaking smile. If only you could capture a picture of it, but unfortunately your camera went down with the Vespa. You lay your head on his shoulder and squeeze your eyes shut, so that his bright smile could be engraved into your mind. Definitely a core memory.

After many moments of comfortable silence, Theo perks up.

“Oh! By the way, dolcezza, I realized I said the pickup line wrong when you struggled out of the swamp.”

You rolled your eyes at his impertinence and said, “First of all, it’s a pond, Theo. And second of all I did NOT struggle. I emerged like Aphrodite in a shell.”

“Ok my little swamp monster,” he annoyingly nuzzled his nose into your hair as you fought to hold back a giggle.

“Okok let me say the line.”

“Go ahead, Theo.”

“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

You cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Because you have the face of un angelo.”

He grinned his shit-eating grin as you pretended to retch at the line. Jumping up with the fireflies around you, you tagged Theo, reigniting that competitive streak you both so closely shared. You both laughed like maniacs as you raced up the hill again, fireflies dancing around you in a waltz.

[keravnous]

wanna go where the girls are young and dumb? ; christoph waltz x fem!reader (smut, 18+)

being c. waltz's sugarbaby - the playlist

Your mother dragged you along to southern France for the summertime. Thus, you are forced to spend your spring break with your stepdad.

warnings: stepdad!christoph, lowkey sugardaddy!christoph, age gap (the reader is in her early 20s, christoph is in his 50s), finally putting my native language to good use, daddy kink, light choking, power play, riding/reverse cowgirl, fingering, pet names, name calling, unprotected sex, slight cumplay and breeding, multiple orgasms, viagra (unrealistic effects), controlling/possessive!christoph, bratty!reader, christoph's a little dark in this so heed the warning, he really just wants to wreck you he's been waiting long enough

translations: Liebes - love; Na, sieh mal einer an wer uns heute noch mit ihrer Anwesenheit beehrt - Well, someone's seen fit to grace us with their presence; Oh, das machen wir aber nicht - Oh, we won't do that, won't we

word count: 11,4k

choosing a gif for this was really just playing what's my favourite waltz era

the title is from the song young & dumb by cigarettes after sex

thank you v for not giving up on me <3

"Na, sieh mal einer an, wer uns heute noch mit ihrer Anwesenheit beehrt. Where have you been?", your stepdad's voice is hard enough to cut steel and you freeze dead in your tracks, white heels dangling from your hand. Well, fuck - so much for sneaking back in quietly.

The huge wooden doors to the living room are opened - and you can see Christoph sitting on the sofa facing the lobby, in the shadows of the room, dimly lit by candles. Your feet are pressing against the polished marble, warm skin on cool stone. It's still hot outside, only a small breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees and rolling in through the opened windows, toying gently with the hem of your nearly see-through, white linen dress.

This place could easily be heaven on earth - the old, 18th century countryside bastide with its lush citrus and olive trees, near a cliff at the water and a sleepy, small town nearby - weren't it for the devil himself.

Your vision zeroes in on him - your mother's boyfriend and soon to be husband - and you try your best to glare into the dim abyss of the barely lit living room.

"Why do you care?", you spit, ready to storm upstairs. You just want some peaceful silence, not whatever the fuck he's on about.

And, like he can sense what you are about to do, like he sees the way your calf-muscles twitch, he says softly: "Don't you dare moving an inch, Liebes." His velvety voice drips with acid honey; a threat in candy-wrappers. A frost descends with his voice, making you shiver.

"I am not -"

"Where have you been?", Christoph asks again, voice menacingly calm. He sounds like he knows.

Like he knows, that you have been out to get laid.

You had met a pretty, young man and shared a few flirtatious looks with him at the farmer's market just yesterday. Your French was sufficient to get the necessities across and thus, he was quick to grasp that you wanted to fuck. Sneaking out of the house around 10 you rode your bike to his place, only to find out that what he had to offer in looks - long, dark, and curly hair and eyes like the ocean - he lacked in experience. He had been clumsy and after he tried to finger you for what seemed to be an eternity of aimless thrusting and unpassionate rubbing, you had told him to fuck off and drove back home. You just want to go upstairs, get yourself off, shower and go to sleep.

But you can't just say that, can you? And thus, you blink, unnerved, hissing: "You are not my fucking father."

You wish you could see his face, see his reaction, but it is hidden by flickering shadows. You decide that tonight's not the night to be the pawn in one of his strange games. Thus, you suck in a deep breath, before eventually sighing: "I am going upstairs. Good night."

"Ah ah ah", he scolds and you can see him taking a drag of his cigarette, the tip of it gleaming before he is exhaling smoke that curls into the air, the thick mist illuminated by the flickering glow of the candles, "Is that a way to speak to the man who keeps you in college?"

"I am not having this conversation right now."

"But I will", he raises his eyebrows and you feel glued to the spot, helpless.

Something prevents you from just leaving. You do not know what it is, but you recall a few encounters in which he had a similar effect on you - where he intimidated you into submission. Another shiver crawls up your spine at the thought.

"Step inside here for a moment, please", and as you don't move, his voice turns cold - like you are in real fucking trouble, "I won't be asking you again."

Making a great show out of your reluctant-ness, you groan, rolling your eyes, before you unwillingly drop your shoes onto the marble. Entering the living room, you sigh audibly, throwing your head back a little in exasperation, coming to a halt only a few steps into the room.

Christoph seems bored by your behaviour, deliberately stomps his cigarette out in the antique ashtray before crossing his arms. He's wearing linen, too - in a fruitless attempt to combat the heat - the first few buttons of his shirt opened. You can see the greying chest hair peeking through from where you are standing, dusted on his skin like silver threads.

You are annoyed - annoyed by the pretty young Frenchman who turned out to be an absolute disastrous disappointment, annoyed by being stuck here in the middle of nowhere, annoyed by the heat, annoyed by Christoph looking at you the way he does, annoyed by the way his strict gaze has your stomach tingling.

Annoyed by how pretty he looks in the golden candle light.

The thought hits you like a chair to the head and you sway a little, hands gripping the edges of the armchair in front of you. You swallow, trying to fight the thought. The light toys with his features, has his eyes gleaming and the grey hair on his temples looking like fluid silver.

You can feel his gaze roaming your body, burning and heavy, as his eyes wander up and down - taking in both, your curves, and your underwear visible through the white linen.

"Come closer."

You do not want to. You want to hide behind the chair, safe from the confusing mind games he likes to play.

But you don't. Instead, like a puppet on his strings, you take two steps forward and into the room, standing there uselessly. Disarmed, your only weapon left is your tongue.

"What the fuck do you want?", it comes out rude, brash. Christoph chuckles, unimpressed. For a second, you two just stare each other - a silent battle of authority and obstreperousness.

"Closer", is all he says, with the steadiness of a victory.

"I don't have time for this", your voice breaks, irritated and a little unsteady around the edges. Christoph looks at you, unfazed but something small changes. It's in his eyes, something that grows stern and unrelenting. If your little display of brattiness a few minutes earlier was a joke to him, your behaviour now was an insult.

And thus, a little intimidated by him, you comply, carefully taking a few steps forward until only a couple long strides part the two of you.

It does not seem to satisfy him.

"Closer."

You furrow your brows and close the gap, mere inches between your and his knee. He looks up at you, eyes cold.

"That's it. Sit", you blink dumbly as Christoph pats his thigh, his tone light in an odd, uncanny contrast to the way he looks at you.

Alright, no. Absolutely not.

You aren't sure if he's joking. It must be a sick joke. Maybe he finds it funny: his adult stepdaughter sitting on his lap. You do not move.

You are certain, he will break any second - for Christ's sake, he's an actor - he's just joking. He will break. His lips will curl up any second now --

Looking at his serious face, stern gaze boring deep deep into your soul, you grow certain that he is indeed serious. Very serious.

You gulp. "I am not doing this. This is so fucking inappropriate."

"And I am not discussing this. Sit."

God knows, Christoph isn't - never was - very patient. And you can feel it, too; he oozes with it, the way his gaze grows cold as ice and you nearly stumble over your own feet as your body gives in. He is fucking intimidating, especially when the façade of the European gentleman crumbles, drops, like it does right now - leaves you wondering, what he is capable of. And you do not want to find out. Thus, your brain barely has enough time to fight it or to reason with you, you step closer and sink down on his lap. You legs dangle over his left knee while you avoid his gaze.

Let's get this fucking over with then.

"There you go, that wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"N-no", you shake your head, feeling the heat of his body radiating through both of your linen clothes. It should feel odd, and maybe it does just a little, sitting on your fucking stepfather's lap like this, but -- it also doesn't feel that bad. It is strangely comforting, with his rich, warm scent now wrapping you in. You have always liked his perfume - a subtle wooden scent, of vetiver and a subtle splash of mint. Sublime, sophisticated.

One of his slender, large hands wraps around your hips, holds you in place, the other gently takes your hand, fingers brushing over yours.

"I -- where's my mother?", you hold onto it like a lifeline.

"Asleep." And there it goes - the lifeline slips out of your hands and you drown in the dark, deep sea that is his presence, all light out of reach as you sink deeper, nothing else remaining but him. Still, you can't help but notice that his voice sounds cold, distant, and you wonder why.

You recall something your mother had told you just days before the flight to southern France. Her voice echoes in your skull as you remember sitting in her spacious living room, picking out a few dresses for her to wear on vacation. "He's not even touching me anymore, honey, I don't know -" - "Ew, Mom! I don't wanna know, my god!"

You wonder, if their little paradise is already crumbling, turning ugly around the edges, and a part of you wishes for it to be true. You want him gone. But there's also a small voice in the back of your head that panics at the thought. You like your life like this - you can't deny the fact that he keeps you afloat financially, that whatever you want or need - you don't even have to ask for it, he just buys it. Like it's nothing. It's comfortable and easy and you would most likely miss it.

No - you are certain you would. Life's never been that easy for you.

It's fucked up, really. You still remember meeting him, and in the beginning, you got along just fine. Blimey, even.

Getting to know him started off well. Your mother had met him at the theatre while he had been working there and despite her being shy around him, he quickly convinced her to Just try it. The first time you had met Christoph in person was at a dinner at your mother's place during Christmas break and he had been so charming, so soft and well-spoken that he had made you feel right at ease, even though you were sitting across someone so familiar with the limelight and the high society of Hollywood.

It had been nice. You found out that he was recently divorced, with children around your age. You told him about college and your future goals. It had been homely and down to earth, just nice.

And thus, you didn't think much of it as last year's spring break rolled around, returning to your childhood and now their part time-shared Los Angeles home, as he was knocking on the door of your old teenage bedroom. "It's just a little something I got you - a special gift for my new stepdaughter, perhaps? The sale's lady said it would be - quite fitting - for a young woman your age." And Christoph had been so so charming that you didn't think much of it, as you unwrapped the large box.

Inside had been a set of lingerie, made of fine, white lace with frills. The soft fabric had felt and looked expensive and you had gasped - the set so pretty that for a short while, you had forgotten how inappropriate it was for him to gift you such things.

As you finally, after returning to your dorm and showing the gift to your roommate ("Girl, that's just creepy."), came to realize just how wrong it was, a sleek beige box awaited you on your bed one night in the dorm as you returned from your classes. Inside had been a Chanel dress, all pale-pink, flowers and bows ("Shit, that one's kind of pretty").

Christoph had kept sending you gifts: jewellery, dresses, lingerie. You dutifully called every single time and thanked him and he usually only chuckled, stating that it was nothing. You know you should have told your mother. It felt off and you knew that it was, too.

But you just didn't.

Unbeknownst to you, he was testing the waters. Every time you'd see him from then on, he would put you through agonizingly long inquiries about what you did on campus, who you were seeing. He would make it painfully obvious that he was checking your credit card billings and whenever there was something out of the ordinary, he would bring it up casually in the following conversation.

You remember going out with some guy from your lecture, meeting at a place you had never been at before. The date had gone horrible and to not lead him on, you had paid for yourself - even though he insisted otherwise. Christoph had enjoyed seeing you squirm, bathed in your shame and uneasiness, as he asked you if the drinks were as horrible as he believed them to be.

That's when the tables kind of turned. You figured that he was just a rich and controlling asshole that had barged into your life, had belittled you and had ruined your fucking peace. Maybe he was an award-winning actor but to you, that didn't matter.

You were fucking glad, that he kept the relationship to you mother out of the public eye. You didn't even want to imagine the media attention. You didn't even want to imagine what he had to say about you - "My stepdaughter? Oh, she's just whoring about, that unthankful little girl, don't you worry about her."

His mellow voice rips you out of your memory. "So, what are we doing about you breaking my rules tonight?"

You nearly burst out a laugh - you are in your twenties; you are allowed to do whatever the fuck you want. His made up, bullshit rules do not apply to you - quite frankly, up until now, they did not even fucking exist to you. He never told you there were any in the first place.

Not that you would have cared, anyways.

"You have no authority over me", you say, but doesn't come out half as cool as you wanted it to. Christoph's lips curls into a smile, gaze wandering over your face. His fingers brush over yours and then he leans in, voice low:

"We both know, that is not what this is about."

Something in your stomach tingles and you want to rip it out with both hands. "What-", you whisper, seriously confused.

"I have seen what little - well, shall we call them movies, darling? - you watch when you're alone", he purrs and then smiles, all dimples and small lines around his eyes, flashes his white teeth at you. A shiver runs down your spine.

You blink dumbly. What? Jesus Christ, please no - oh no. Oh shit.

Mortification burns high on your cheeks; your skin grows warm and red with it. You immediately know what he's talking about and his invasion of your privacy has your head swimming.

"You checked my fucking browser history?", you blurt out.

"Checked", he huffs, seemingly amused, "If you leave your phone laying around unlocked--" Christoph shrugs, gestures helplessly as if he's trying to justify eating ownerless chocolates.

You can feel your gut sinking. "Y-you--", you can't help but wonder how much he's seen, what exactly he's seen. You can't help your mind from wandering there - wandering to what he thought, if he liked what he saw. Stop it, fucking stop it.

"I--?", Christoph smiles smugly, raising an eyebrow.

You wonder if he saw the countless videos of older men fucking younger women, making them beg and cry, teaching them manners. You remember one porn you have watched plenty of times - the one of a greying man tossing a young woman around, ripping her underwear apart, slapping her face and tits and railing her until she was crying, gripping her hair and spitting in her face.

You remember how deep you had plunged your fingers into your tight cunt, squeezing around them at the thought of an eloquent and handsome older man railing you until you couldn't walk, having his way with you for his pleasure, and his alone. Every single time you watched that one porn you came hard, harder than the time before, draining your sheets with your squirt until it ran down your legs. As fucked up as it is, just the memory of it has your pussy aching right in this moment, wetness pooling between your legs.

Shame crawls up your spine at the thought that he knows - that he has seen the frequency of it popping up in your browsing history. Maybe he had even clicked on it, watched it a little, indulged in your secret little fantasy. The thought has your cheeks burning red with humiliation, but there's also something else, something primal clawing at your insides, making your lower stomach tingle.

"This is none of your business", your voice is small and quiet, your eyes avoiding his drilling gaze.

"Oh, but what if it is?", Christoph's eyes gleam mischievously.

"Excuse me?", you blurt out, heart racing in your chest.

"Mh well", he weighs his head from one side to the other a little, as if he's carefully considering a thought, "You know, if you wanted what you saw in those little movies you could've just asked me?"

He says it so nonchalantly, as if he's talking about buying some milk. You blink, completely speechless.

"Do you want to know why? Why you could've just asked me?", and you nod, head swimming a little, "Because I do not want some dirt-poor, hicktown-boy touching what is mine."

Your breath hitches, and he shrugs. "There's no need for you to compensate your fantasies elsewhere any longer, Liebes, hm?", his voice is soft, dark and deep, like soft silk wrapping you in, "I can give you exactly what you crave."

It feels like your brain has just blown a fuse, blinking at him dumbly. His lips tilt up, one of his hands brushing over your knee. "You just have to say it, darling. Just say the word", and you feel like drowning in the grey sky of his eyes, loins tingling, "I can make you feel good, better than the young men can."

You swallow, excitement bubbling up in your stomach, hitching your breath. It's not like you haven't thought about it, about him - the memory buried deep, deep in the darkest corner of your brain.

You should say no. This is not okay, it will hurt your mother. It's not right. It is inappropriate, at best.

But you are also so fucking horny still, your whole body aching for a touch and the way he looks at you - your fucking stepdad who's a full-blown, silvery 30 years older than you - has tingles spreading through your limbs, fire spreading in your loins. Fuck it.

"Y-yes", you whisper instead of doing the right thing - the spirit willing but the flesh weak -,"Yes, please."

And then, he leans in.

Christoph's kiss is soft and firm, and goosebumps roll over your skin at the thought that it doesn't feel foreign or odd, like if it isn't the first time, he kissed you. It feels a lot like coming home, returning to a familiar touch - it's the way he grabs your waist, mostly, like he just knows how to touch you.

His hand brushes over the small of your back, tips gently stroking your warm skin through your dress, before snaking around your waist and pulling you closer - just as his tongue brushes over your lower lip. The other crawls up your leg, grabs the flesh of your thigh, gropes you and feels you up.

You part your lips obediently, letting Christoph's tongue slip past, brushing over yours. He tastes like cigarettes and liquor and you inhale deeply through your nose - his scent wafting around you, rich, and deep, and sophisticated.

One of your hands comes up, cups his cheek, and pulls him closer. You have never been kissed like this before, never with so much verve, so much lust. He kisses like only a man his age does, like he has tasted a hundred women, but decided you tasted best.

The hand on your leg sneaks higher, and you spread your legs needily, allowing it to slip past and between your thighs. Christoph wastes no time, his index-finger pressing against your pussy, gently rubbing it along your panty-clad folds. You are wet already; the fabric damp and you can feel your loins going up in flames as he rubs you through the thin lace.

Christoph eventually breaks the kiss, has you panting against his mouth, his lips curl up in a smug smile. His fingers dance of your cunt, gently circling your clit through your lace string. "Those boys never treat you right, do they?", he is right, he always is, has you gasping quietly, rocking your hips against his digits, "Only I get to touch you, from now on. Do you understand?"

And you nod, mind already a little hazy, nothing more important than the pulling in your stomach and the wetness between your legs. "Yes", you sigh, leaning into his touch.

"Yes --? You will address me properly", his other hand grabs your chin, "That's certainly not hard to do, now, is it?"

You swallow, your cheeks turning red once more as he digs deep into your fantasies. "Yes, Daddy", you say quietly, the word heavy on your tongue, fresh arousal flooding your cunt.

Christoph hums, visibly satisfied, thumb caressing your jaw and a soft gaze wandering over your face, takes you in, before it grows cold again, as he pulls his hands away.

"Let Daddy see what's his, then", and you follow his stern command.

Hooking your legs over his thighs you practically present yourself to him, the soft velvet cushions pressing against your calves as your back sinks against his chest - the soft material of your dress pooling between your spread legs. Christoph's hands roam over your body - from your hips up up up, brush over your stomach and then cup your tits through your flowy linen dress. His grip is firm and he squeezes them a little, making them spill out of your bra.

You gasp, looking down at his hands and watching the way they fondle your tits, pulling the hem of your dress down and hooks the fabric underneath your breasts. Being so lewdly exposed to him, reduced to being a pretty object to admire and to fondle with, has your head swimming, sparks shooting down your thighs.

"I'll show you off, hm, my pretty little girl? What do you think?", he whispers, one of his slender, large hands cupping your left tit and twisting your nipple between his fingers, "Taking you with me everywhere, let everyone see just how beautiful you are." You gasp, nodding frantically at the thought of being his pretty and expensive little arm-candy - all dolled up and looking pretty for him on the red carpet, adorned in shining jewellery and flowing dresses.

"Let's take this off, shall we?", Christoph tugs at the linen dress and helps you out of it, tosses it to the ground carelessly. You can feel his gaze roaming over your body as he looks over your shoulder, feel heat creeping up your cheeks as you suddenly realize that you wearing one of the lingerie sets, he had gifted you a couple of weeks ago.

A low growl leaves his throat, has the hairs on your arms standing up. "Have you been wearing this for him?", he sing-songs catatonically, his index finger hooks underneath the strap of your string, lets it snap back against your skin.

You have, but it makes you feel stupid now. Childish. Like you have done something laughable. Shame bubbles in your stomach and you feel the urgent need to explain yourself to him: "Y-yes, but--"

"Sh, be quiet", Christoph says softly, his hands casually making quick work of your bra, unclasping it, pulling the strings down your arms, and tossing it into the darkness of the room, "It's fine. You didn't know any better, did you, Liebes?"

"N-no, I didn't", you squeal, the cool air brushing over your hardened nipples, making you shiver while his hands run down your body.

"And do you think, it's fair that he gets to see you all dolled-up like this? In something I have bought you?"

Your teeth catch your lower lip as you shake your head. "Right", his thumb brushes over the strap of your lace string, "And why is that?"

You swallow. You know what Christoph wants to hear and you might just be very willing to give it to him. "Because I belong to you", you say quietly, your stomach fluttering after the words left your mouth.

"That's right", his thumb toys with the lace trimming of the string, "You always have, haven't you?"

You blink. "Huh?"

"Don't be stupid, now."

"I -- I don't-", and he tsks at your aimless stuttering.

"My pretty little airhead", Christoph coos, "Why do you think I bagged your mother?", and suddenly - it clicks. Like a heavy lock falling shut.

You remember the first day of rehearsal at the theatre. It had been his first day there and you had driven your mother, who was responsible for the stage designs, to work since she still had a broken thumb from working on the furniture and was pumped up on painkillers. Saying your goodbyes, you had been seeing him standing a few feet away, smiling at the two of you. You had paid it no mind - especially later, since he ended up going out with your mother. But he hadn't been smiling over the situation, he had been smiling at you. You. Not your mom.

The realization hits you like a freight train, leaves you breathless. "I always get what I want."

"Oh", you make dumbly, mouth agape a little, while his fingers dance over your panty-clad pussy.

"You are just a dumb little baby, aren't you?", for a split second his hand leaves you, only to come down rather hard, as he gives your cunt a firm slap, "I think, I might have to fuck some sense into you."

You squeal, a sharp gasp escaping your lips but you can't help it, as you feel fresh wetness pooling between your legs, rocking your hips against the palm of his hand. "Yeah, I thought so", he sounds rather pleased, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, "Nothing more on your dumb little brain than getting off, hm?"

"Y-yes", you croak, flinching as he strikes your aching cunt another time, moaning sweetly, "Daddy - fuck - p-please!"

"I know just how you feel", his other hand grabs your tit roughly, gropes you, pinching your nipple, "You made Daddy jack off to you so often, princess. Can't wait to see if you're really that tight."

And with that, he unceremoniously pulls your string to the side and you sigh, as your plush and hot skin gets exposed to the cool air.

One of his fingers immediately brushes over your slick folds, and you can hear him hum, a low sound that ignites your lust, has you gasping softly.

"Mh, so wet already, aren't you?", you are, you can hear it. You can hear your juices squelching as his finger runs up and down your cunt, circling your hole and giving your clit the slightest bit of stimulation. Your whole body tingles with it, and you look down, watch him exploring your wet pussy. And maybe, just maybe, you have thought about this, too - with your vibrator pressed snugly against your clit and fingers plunged deep in your cunt - maybe, the thought of him had been flashing through your mind, made you cum at least once.

Christoph's lips brush over your neck, goosebumps spreading over your skin, his free hand wrapping around one of yours. "C'mere, let me show you how wet you are for your Daddy, princess."

And you moan quietly, as he guides your hand between your legs, runs your fingers through your folds. You are incredibly wet, wetter than you have ever been and you gasp at the sensation as his hand guides your fingers through your slick. It's thick and watery and warm and your mouth falls agape at just how much there is of it. It drips down your cojoined fingers, that glide along your folds easily, runs over the palm of Christoph's hand and over his wrist.

"I have never seen a cunt wetter than yours", he whispers and you mewl, gaze dropping down between your legs, watching him guiding your fingers over your pussy. The grip on your fingers is firm and his movements come to a halt, as your digits brush right over your clit. Your breath audibly hatches and you mewl, the slightest bit of stimulation already having you begging for more.

Christoph grins against your warm skin, teeth brushing over the soft flesh. He knows that you had had sex before - he has seen the messages you sent to your roommate about the boys from class, about the one with the pretty blonde hair - but he can't help but notice how you turn into puddy in his hands, like you have never been touched before. Like a fucking virgin. It makes his blood boil, dick straining against his trousers, wanting to see you come apart under the touch of his hands. He wants to see you go insane on his cock, until there is nothing else left but him - all your flings from college washed from your mind - a clean slate for him to claim, ruin.

"Are you always that needy? I don't even want to think about how poorly he must've touched you", Christoph mumbles against your neck, tongue darting out, licking a wet stripe over your warm skin before moving his fingers along with yours, rubbing slow and wide circles over your clit, "I bet it was downright pathetic."

Your hips buck and you gasp, eyelids fluttering. "Oh god, yes", you breathe, feeling your own wetness beneath your fingertips, and the lust sparking in your loins like a wildfire, "Yes, it was."

The way Christoph touches you is just so so different from what you experienced earlier - his slender fingers move yours skilfully, rubbing your clit like he just knows how you like it, like he's done it a hundred times before. You sink back against him, and he gently removes your hand from your cunt, places it onto your thigh instead - lips brushing and sucking on the back of your neck. "Let me show you how good I can make you feel, darling", he hums, "Let me show you how a real man can make you feel."

And with that, he unceremoniously pulls the lace of your string apart, riiips it cleanly in two, lets the fabric fall to the floor, before spreading your legs further. His fingers dance over your cunt, gliding through your slick, before two of them dive back in on your clit. Rubbing wide, slow circles he has you gasping within seconds, watching his digits working you with your mouth agape - your hole clenches around nothing, hips bucking.

"Does that feel good, princess?", he sounds so so smug, like he knows that it does. You can feel your loins catching fire, slowly rolling your hips against his fingers.

"Y-yes, fuck yes", you huff, moaning quietly.

Christoph's finger delves deeper and circles your hole, has it fluttering under his touch, before he carefully pushes it in. You gasp, and he chuckles, feels the way your walls clench around him.

"You're so tight, princess", he pushes his finger in completely, curls it a little and you moan as it brushes over the spot that usually has you seeing stars - before he starts to move it slowly, agonizingly even, rubs your walls and feels you squeezing him.

Christoph can't wait to fuck you, to get his dick wet, feels himself growing even harder in his slacks at the thought. He has been thinking about it for so long, that touching you makes him a little dizzy, and it needs a whole lot of willpower not to throw you off his lap and push you into the cushions, ass up, pounding into you until you're a drooling, crying mess.

He really wants - needs - to take it slow, get a taste of every single second, make it last as long as he possibly can. He will make you beg for it, drunk with it; drunk with the way he is going to fuck you until you see stars, until there is nothing left on your mind but him and his dick pounding into you, his hands on your body. He had already made you dependant on him financially, and now, finally, he will own your body and its countless pleasures, too.

Christoph smiles to himself, all crinkled crow's feet, and white teeth, as you roll your hips against his finger, desperately adding some more friction. He loves giving it to you: pulls his finger out of you, only to push two back in, stretching your hole out a little. You are so fucking tight around his digits; he can feel the ring of muscles clutching and straining against his fingers. "No one's ever fucked you real good, Liebes, I can tell."

He shoves his fingers deeply into your cunt, gives you a short moment to assess to the feeling, before moving them slowly, fucking your slick in and out of you. First, your hips tremble and then you squirt, moaning deeply, wetness splashing against the palm of Christoph's hand. Gasping, you watch his other hand crawling between your legs, his index-finger slowly circling your clit.

Pleasure shoots through your body and you moan, goosebumps spreading over your body, your heartbeat rattling with lust. "Fuck", you gasp, head lolling back onto his shoulder.

With his lips ghosting over your strained neck, Christoph gently speeds up, harvests the desperate whines and gasps falling from your lips as he pushes his fingers in and out of you.

You feel like you do not even have to tell him what you want, what you like - it is like he hasn't only dug deep into your browser history, but also your brain - like he just knows which switch to flip, how to touch you and how to rile you up with a deadly precision. It also feels oddly familiar - his touch, his smell, your body pressing against his with lust and a thin layer of sweat - like he has known your body for years, like he had fingered and touched you a hundred times before.

And thus, you do not even have to vocalize it, that you need more, need it harder - he just knows, reads you like an opened book or a fucking road sign. Christoph starts to fuck you quickly, his fingers pushing your cream in and out of you, pussy gushing around his digits. Your hand flies to his wrist, clutches it tightly, as you moan and sigh, desperate of any sort of leverage.

The way he fingers you feels so fucking good and you wish it would never end, but you can already feel your muscles clenching and then his other hand starts to rub your clit hard, two slender fingers circling it quickly and you gasp, mewl.

"D-daddy", you shriek, walls clutching around his fingers rapidly as you feel your orgasm approaching quicker than any time before, "I-- I'm gonna-"

"Go ahead", he sounds amused, and the humiliation that floods you at his tone has your orgasm rolling over you, coming loose around his fingers on his command.

Shudders roll over your body as you cum, pathetic whimpers leaving your mouth while Christoph fucks you through your climax, fingers circling your clit and making you squirt against his digits. You are slowly coming back down to earth, a soft smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, before you moan, throwing your head back while you rock down on his long fingers, riding out your orgasm. Your juices squelch around his fingers as he rubs them along your walls, your squirt wet the sofa's cushions beneath. You can feel your slick running down your legs, and you gasp.

"There you go", Christoph coos, lips brushing over your exposed shoulder, his other hand still on your throat, thumb brushing over your jaw, "Doesn't that just feel wonderful, angel?"

You nod, a breathless Yes, Daddy escaping your lips - and you are just so turned on, fire in your loins and fresh wetness pooling between your legs, that you can't help it. You continue to roll your hips onto his fingers despite the last remains of your orgasm still rolling over you, gently and slowly rocking down, meeting the equally gentle thrusts of his fingers. Your cunt squelches as you squirt against the palm of his hand.

Christoph whistles lowly, pulls his fingers out of you - leaving you a whimpering mess - takes a good, long look at them in the dim, golden candle light. They glisten with your juices and he considers shoving them into your mouth for a moment, but the way you roll your hips onto him with your ass rubbing over his bulge, is fucking distracting, has him stalling.

"Oh fuck", you gasp, your head falling back on his shoulder, "Oh god, please, 'stoph, please please -"

"Oho", he chuckles smugly, "Still needy, little girl?"

You are. Your cunt aches, like you haven't just cum and made a mess out of the sofa beneath, but you feel so so empty. You need more. You need -

"N-need your cock, please! Daddy, please--", you roll your hips on his crotch, feeling his hard dick pressing against the soft linen, hot and heavy. He feels big against your wet and aching cunt, leaving stains on his expensive slacks, and you can't fucking wait to feel it inside of you.

Christoph grabs your hips hard, stalling your movement and pressing your slick pussy against his bulge. You can feel his hard cock twitching while you stain and wet the fabric and you moan, needily, while his tongue and lips graze over your shoulder, lapping at the soft skin.

And then, he suddenly buries his teeth in your shoulder - gentle but still hard enough to leave a mark - makes you gasp and sob, before he is licking over the bruised and red skin. Christoph's lips move up up up, over your neck, sucking and kissing. His tongue dances over the shell of your ear, his voice nothing but a deep rumble: "I can't wait to fuck you, darling. Been thinking about it a lot, I just can't get enough of you."

Your breath hitches, and you look over your shoulder, your gaze meeting his unrelenting one. "Please", you say quietly, his grey eyes boring into you, "Do it."

And then Christoph leans in, locks his lips with yours once more, licking into your mouth, while one of his hands wanders down, opens the fly of his pants. He is getting impatient now and you are, too, one of your hands joining his and pulling the hem of his boxers down. He is panting into your mouth, against your lips and your hand wraps around his cock, all hot and hard, gives it a few experimental strokes.

You wonder if he will fuck you like he kisses you; like he is going to swallow you whole, like he is never going to let you go again, with the way his nose digs into your cheek and his hands hold you close while his tongue explores your mouth in between open-mouthed kisses full of panting and groaning, leaving your lips plump and plush. You want him to fuck you like that - until there is nothing left but him.

His dick is bigger than you thought, long and just the right girth and you have trouble closing your hand around it fully. The way you stroke him, despite the angle being a little clumsy with your body in the way, has Christoph groaning into your mouth, licking your tongue, and gripping your waist, his other hand dipping back between your legs.

Your pussy is soaked, and he spreads your slick over the hot, plush skin - so responsive from your previous orgasm, that you gasp and moan against his lips, and he catches your lower lip, gently bites, and nibbles at it. Your hand massages his dick, your thumb occasionally flicking over its tip, smearing the drops of precum pooling beneath your digits. Eventually, Christoph is parting from you, cheeks blushed a little and pupils blown wide, swats your hands away. His voice is deep and dark, nothing but a low and soft whisper, that has the hairs on your body standing up as he addresses you again: "You fucking slut."

And that, that has you moaning. You never thought you'd hear such things from him, but the way his eyes grow dark and his voice rumbles in his chest you are certain, that something primal has kicked in his inner doors and makes itself comfortable. "First, you dress up like a whore for a hicktown-boy and now, all I have to do is to give you a cock and you're gone so quickly you won't even let go of it, eh?"

"It's jus'so big, Daddy, feels so good", you slur, already a little gone, trying to get your hands onto him once more. He tuts at you, shakes his head a little. "You'll get it back, sunshine, don't you worry."

Christoph grabs his dick with one hand - the other arm wraps around your frame and adjusts you in his lap, your naked, shivering body resting against his expensive linen - and presses it against your seeping hot cunt. The feeling alone makes your loins tingle, has you spreading your legs further.

You gasp, needy for him to finally fuck you, finally shove his cock into you. "Please, Daddy--", you whine, rolling your hips against his dick, wetting it with your juices.

"Been teasing me for so long", he sounds unnerved while thinking about it, his cock twitches against your hot cunt, "Did that get you off?"

"N-no", you mewl honestly, because you didn't, you did not know what you were doing to him. You feel guilty, wanting to make it right - to finally be good for him.

"Bet it did", he hums, not listening to you, "I will have to teach you some manners, one day."

Shivers tingle on your arms, run down your body and you nod, the promise of a punishment lingering in the air, your hole clenching around nothing at the mere thought of it. You need him - now. Need him to stuff your cunt, fuck you until you are a drooling mess, not a single thought remaining. "Daddy, please, just-"

"You know, I have kids your age", Christoph is slowly rubbing his cock along your cunt, the tip of it nudging against your clit, making you shiver and whimper. The complete and utter filth that leaves his mouth has you squirming on his lap, his tone - smug and calculating - makes him sound nearly proud that he's bagging someone as young and pretty like you. You can feel some fresh wetness spreading between your folds, warm and sticky, as he rubs his precum through them, eventually presses the thick tip against your waiting hole.

Christoph knows that you usually only let someone fuck you with a condom on, he has seen your contraception laying around in your room but he will make sure that tonight's a little different - he'll claim you, pump you full of his cum and make you remember the way it will mingle with your own juices.

Expecting you to protest as he finally pushes in without one on, he is genuinely surprised as you don't; instead, your hole flutters open, invites him in deeply, accompanied by the sweetest, softest, high-pitched moan he may have ever heard. The second your hot walls close around his dick, squeezing him tightly with your hole stretching around his thick cock, his face comes loose.

You can hear Christoph exhale deeply, a pleased and satisfied sound, his eyes falling shut and face growing soft as he relishes in the feeling of your throbbing, wet cunt. His dick isn't only bigger than you thought, it fucking feels like it, too. The thick head presses snugly against your cervix, while your hole stretches around its base, walls pressed against it, feeling his cock throb.

"Ah, that's it", he sighs quietly, hands gently rubbing your hips.

"'S good?", you slur, already a little out of it but wanting to be good for him, good for your Daddy.

"Better than I have ever dared to dream, darling", one of his hands brushes over your thigh, caresses the warm skin.

You sigh with the praise, hole clenching around the thick base of his cock while it stretches you out. "Y'feel so good, Daddy", you mumble, looking down to where his dick vanishes inside of you, has your cunt spread on it.

"That's my polite little girl", Christoph's hand brushes over your stomach, up up up and cups your right tit, gives it a firm squeeze.

"Why don't you start moving, sunshine? Make sure it will keep feeling good for me, hm?", he suggests, silky voice dripping with honey, and he lets go of a ragged breath as you do. Rolling your hips experimentally once, feeling his cock moving inside of you, and you quiver. It gently prods against your cervix with every moment, making you mewl and gasp.

Starting off slowly, you raise your hips and then move them back down carefully, feeling Christoph's cock stretching you out, rubbing along your walls. His hands brush over your thighs, your waist. "There you go, darling", he croons, lips brushing over your shoulders, "Keep going, make me feel good."

And you really want to - thus, you grow braver, lifting your hips and sinking back down quicker, rolling them on his cock. He groans, throaty and deep, hands digging into your thighs. You start to ride his dick, fucking yourself back onto him quickly, hands darting out to his knees, desperate for any sort of leverage as you lift your hips and sink back down.

Moaning, you throw your head back as your body sacks forward a little, back arched and Christoph gives your exposed ass a firm slap, before his hand snakes around your body, closes in around your throat. "Upright, girl", he scolds, has you gasping and straightening back up immediately. The hand does not vanish, instead, it adds pressure to your delicate neck, pressing your windpipe shut. Your hips stutter and your eyes widen, right before pleasure shoots through your body, hot waves of lust making you squirt against his cock. Your thighs clench, knees darting together. "Keep them open for me, baby girl", he huffs, his free hand darting between your thighs, grabbing your left and forcefully spreading your legs in the process.

Christoph's hand lets go of your throat, now laying gently against your soft skin instead and thus, keeping your upright on his lap, back arched. "Oh", you gasp, so fucking turned on, you might combust on the spot, "Oh, fuck -- Daddy!"

The hand on your thigh gropes you lightly, thumb brushing over your skin gently. You move up and down on his cock, cunt throbbing and walls squeezing him occasionally, while the tip of his dick prods against your cervix. The way Christoph's cock splits you open, rubs along your walls is delicious, has you gasping and whining.

"Mhm, don't you just look pretty, bouncing on your Daddy's cock like that?", the hand around your throat clutches once more and you moan, high pitched and whiny, hips bucking.

The lack of oxygen has your walls clenching around his dick as you rock down on it, hands desperately grabbing the linen of his slacks. The stretch in your back is deliciously painful, the hand on your throat adding to it.

Feeling your orgasm approaching slowly, you speed up a little more, the sounds of your slick skin hitting his cock filling your room, mingling with his groans and your whines. "There you go, sunshine", Christoph's praise is sweet and soft as you speed up a little more, rolling your hips up and down up and down, hands clutching the linen of his slacks, while you fuck yourself back onto his dick. You can feel your heart pounding in your throat, you can taste your arousal on the tip of your tongue, hear your blood singing with it.

With your cunt squeezing him, practically milking his cock as you rock down it, Christoph can't help but wanting more. The hand on your thigh sneaks between your legs, and he feels you shivering in his lap as his index-finger brushes against your clit. Your gasps are sweet and turn into dirty, wanton moans quickly as he starts to circle your clit with it and Jesus fucking Christ - he wishes he could hear it every day, when he wakes up, when he goes to bed, wishes he could just do nothing all day, only play with you, and make you cum over and over and over again. The way you roll your hips and fuck yourself onto his dick becomes more erratic, desperate and a little clumsy and his lips curl up - he just knows you're close.

"That's a good girl", Christoph coos, voice rough and deep, "Cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cum for me."

Adding pressure to your windpipe once more, he presses the hand around your throat down hard. Your hips buck wildly at the sudden lack of oxygen, lust shooting through your veins, while his finger rubs over your clit fast, in rhythm with the thrusts of your hips. You can feel your walls clenching heavily around his dick and then you cum, your orgasm hitting you with such force, that all you can do is gasp loudly. Any sound and thought is wiped from your body as your cunt squeezes his cock, pussy clenching and legs trembling, hips stuttering as you squirt and squirt, your cream gushing against his dick.

Christoph continues to fuck you through it, moaning quietly while you milk his cock, one arm wrapping around your waist and keeping you in place, the other slooowly letting go of your throat. You suck in desperate breaths, your senses slowly returning and you moan, high-pitched and sweetly, as you feel his dick pulsating inside of you.

"Yeah, just like that, sunshine", he groans, while he fucks you through your orgasm, cock twitching inside of you and shooting hot ropes of cum into your hole, painting your walls white, "Such a good girl, taking it all."

Humming with his praise, you spread your legs wide over his lap, letting his dick in a little deeper, welcoming his cum home. His free hand roams your inner thigh, gropes you gently, while he huffs and groans into your ear - the low sound making you shiver. You relish in the feeling of his warm body beneath you, feeling pumped full by his cum and his hands all over you, while your body grows a little sore, your pussy becoming plush and plump.

His dick is still buried inside of you, hard and hot and heavy. You feel so so full, with his cock preventing his cum from leaking out, only a few drops run out of your hole lazily, drip down his balls and onto the sofa. His cock doesn't seem to go noticeably flaccid, having you gasp and moan with the sensation, relishing in the feeling of him filling you up to the brim. You want to ask why he's still hard, but the question becomes obsolete as your gaze flickers to the coffee table. There's a blister of pills there, one cavity empty. The pills are blue.

Christoph's thumb rubs along your chin, catches on your lower lip. "Surprised, angel?", and you nod, only a dumb Uh-huh leaving your throat and he snickers at the sound, pushes his thumb into your mouth. Immediately, like you are fucking programmed to, you start sucking on it, pussy clenching around his hardening cock.

"Oh, my pretty baby, fucked your brains out already? And I am not even done yet", he sounds genuinely amused while his other hand brushes over your inner thigh and your skin and the nerves below are so so responsive to his touch, has you squirming in his lap and on his cock, mewling. It makes him groan, a low sound, vibrating deep in his throat.

"I have been waiting so long for this", he husks, "I didn't want for it to end too quickly, hm?"

You can feel him growing back to full size inside of you, within mere minutes. It feels nice, nice being so full and you are so far gone in that thickly sweet daze that you don't even think once, as you roll your hips lazily - once, twice - while his hands roam over your body, your lower belly, your waist, groping your tits.

Christoph touches you with a righteousness, like you belong to him, like he owns you. Like there's no one else but you.

But you know that's not true. You know that upstairs your mother is fast asleep, and that on her nightstand lays an expensive engagement ring with a huge-ass diamond. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind, you'd care and you'd wonder if this is a one-time thing.

As if he can read your thoughts, he says: "Don't you worry your pretty little head, princess. I won't marry her anymore - it's only you darling, always been."

And you sigh, his sweet talk wrapping you in as he pushes his hips upwards once, buries himself deep into your cunt, hits your cervix. You look over your shoulder, and your gazes meet.

One of his hands comes up, rests on your cheek while he starts to fuck you slowly, softly pants with the way his dick slips in and out of you. "Oh, my sweet baby", Christoph coos while you are hissing quietly as his cock brushes over your overstimulated walls, spreads your tight and aching hole, your hand clutching his wrist.

"Daddy, i-it's too much", you mewl and he pouts at you playfully, shakes his head.

"No, it isn't, is it? You can take it", his thumb caresses your cheek, gives you a sweet peck on the lips, "Be a good girl and take it. You can give me one more."

But you physically can't, and neither does your pussy, walls tightening around him, pushing against his hard dick. "Oh, das machen wir aber nicht, hm?", Christoph scolds, his other hand diving back between your spread legs, two fingers gently circling your clit. You hum, body immediately relaxing, and within a few moments the dull pain of him assaulting your used hole vanishes in thin air, sharp gasps escaping your parted lips, your juices running down your cunt.

"There we are. I knew you could take it", his grin is nothing but devilish, peppers your cheek with soft kisses, "I'm so proud of you, sunshine, hm? Taking it so much better than your mom. I knew you'd be the one."

Stretching your already used cunt further, he nestles back in fully, sighs deeply. "Like you were made for me, angel."

"Yes", you sigh sweetly, because you sure feel like it. Gently, careful even, Christoph continues to circle your clit, pinching and rubbing it. Your body slowly, slowly sinks away from you, growing light and all that is left is the feeling of his hands touching you, his cock buried deep inside of you. Every nerve-ending tingles with it, your brain only focussed on him and the way he feels, the way he smells, the way he sounds. The only thing left is him.

Your body goes limp, arms dangling at your sides as Christoph grabs your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh, and thrusts you onto his cock - once, twice. Deep thrusts, that make your blood sing.

"O-oh, oh Daddy", you gasp, eyes rolling back. Your body practically goes up in hot, burning flames of lust, sparks tingling in your thighs and your chest and you want him to run his hands all over you and feel you up, but you also don't want him to stop manhandling you like he does - all his pent up energy coming lose, practically giving you taste of how long and cruel his wait had been. If you weren't so fucked out of your mind, everything a little hazy already, you would touch yourself, but you just can't - all you can do is spread your legs wider, mouth agape while you pant and moan, relishing in the delicious feeling of his dick fucking you into oblivion.

Your jaw goes slack with it, head lolling back onto his shoulder as he uses you, hammers you down on his dick like a fleshlight. Christoph's grip on your waist and hips is hard enough to leave bruises and tomorrow morning you will be able to see them, an angry red, count the ways he marked you as his.

The thought of you being nothing more to Christoph than his pretty little cocksleeve - young and attractive - that he can take anywhere and fuck whenever he pleases, makes your head swim. You think about him dragging you along to some award-show, showing you off on the carpet and then bending you over the sink in one of the bathrooms because another actor looked at you for a second too long, fucking you until you can't really walk anymore - only to later sit in the award ceremony and feeling his cum leaking out of you. You think of him taking you out for dinner to a fancy restaurant - maybe even with some of his Hollywood-friends - playing with your pussy at the dinner table, whispering sweet nothings in your ear - just because he can, because who would even dare to stop him? You think about visiting him on set, waiting for him in his hotel room - adorned in the jewellery he has gifted you, nothing on but a revealing set of lingerie - waiting for him to take his stress out on you.

It makes you fucking wet, squirt gushing from your cunt, that runs down your folds and that he pumps back into your wanton hole. "Jesus, fuck", you whine, starting to roll your hips with the way he thrusts you down on his dick, feeling him deep deep inside of your pussy, thick head brushing over and hitting your cervix. Hearing him moan with it nearly makes you lose your mind.

You cry out - overstimulated, but so so horny - with his cum squelching out of you with every single thrust, mingling with your juices and dripping, squirting onto the sofa. There are pleas falling from your lips as you yell out with lust and Christoph's quick to clasp one hand around your mouth, your cries and deep moans muffled by the palm of his hand. Your eyelids flutter as you fuck yourself back against his thrusts, his cock hitting your cervix and pain and lust ignite your body, making you want to curl up and just take take take what he gives you.

You feel like you are on fire, your whole body responding to his touch and his thrusts, every single nerve in your body on high alert, as you feel your orgasm coming closer.

Looking down, you can see how he is still thrusting your body down on his dick and you watch, panting. Seeing just how he is using you, like you are nothing but a delicate toy --

It's what tips you over.

A high-pitched scream escapes your mouth as you cum, muffled by his hand pressing against your mouth - before he pulls away, allows you to suck in a few deep breaths through your opened mouth.

Your body practically convulses on his cock, shakes rattling your frame as your third orgasm rolls over you, creaming and squirting against his dick, making a pretty mess of his linen slacks and the sofa beneath. You have left quite a few nasty stains tonight, and your cheeks will turn red in a few days, when your mother spots them and Christoph lies to her face.

Your cunt squeezes his dick and you can feel it twitch heavily inside of you, once, twice, and then he cums too, shoots hot ropes of cum inside of your pussy once more. You feel so fucking full, like you are about to burst, as you roll your hips against his, cunt gushing around his cock.

"Oh fuck", you moan sweetly, sacking back against him. You can hear him pant, one hand on your waist coming lose and resting gently on your stomach, rubbing loose circles over your warm skin.

"What a good girl, huh", he whispers, coarse and exhausted. His words barely reach you through the thick cloud, everything turns white and a soft numbness embraces you, makes you feel featherlight, like you are flying. Christoph's arms wrap you in gently, pulling your naked form close to his, the soft linen crinkling and pressing against your naked back.

You stay like this for a while, with his large and soft hands caressing your skin - rubbing your stomach and gently stroking your thigh - until your breath becomes deeper again, your limbs start to feel heavier, more connected to your body once more. "Oh God", you sigh, feeling his cock still plugging your hole up. It grows flaccid slowly, a few drops of his cum already leaking out of you.

Christoph's lips dance along your shoulder, your neck, kissing and pressing down onto the warm skin. His hands grip your hips tightly. "Ready?", and he sounds so so playful, like he is really enjoying this - taking some depraved satisfaction from it - and you can't help but nod, readying for him to pull out.

He lifts your hips, watches how his dick slips out of your hole easily, hears you hiss with it, and then it trickles down. Thick drops, streaks of white cum flush from your used cunt, and he's quick to swipe his fingers along your folds - spreads your pussy and his cum, collects it with his fingers.

They enter your vision and without thinking, like you're still far gone - despite the fact that you aren't - he shoves them between your obediently opened, waiting lips. You close them around his fingers, while the remains of his cum drip out of you still, and start to clean them up, sucking on them, tongue swirling around his digits.

"That's a good girl", his praise has your blood singing, and you whine in protest as Christoph pulls his fingers from your mouth, "So, tell me - where do you go the next time you want a good fuck?"

"To you, Daddy", you say softly, earning you a warm chuckle and a pat on the thigh.

***

Your legs are still wobbly as you make your way downstairs in the morning and out onto the terrace. Your mother and Christoph are sitting in the sun, a light breeze rolling around the terrace, making the seam of the table cloth sway gently.

Your mother is silently eating her breakfast while Christoph rustles with his French newspaper. He appears to be interested in the Feuilleton but you notice how his gaze flickers to you as soon as you're approaching the table, remains glued to your figure, small lines forming around his eyes.

"Oh, honey!", your mother gets up, happy that you are awake, and gives you a featherlight kiss on the cheek, "Oh god, you look horrible, darling! Did you sleep unwell?"

Christoph snorts, but your mother ignores it - holds you at arm length, iron grip around your arms as she assesses your timid frame.

"Yeah, 's just the heat", you mutter, freeing yourself from her death grip and sit down, flinching a little. You're so fucking sore, legs still heavy and hole aching, pussy begging for another touch through the slight pain. Christoph deliberately puts down the newspaper, a smug smile toying at the corners of his lips. It grows rather surprised than complacent as he takes you in fully.

You are wearing one of the dresses he had bought you. You also draped a silk scarf around your shoulders, hiding the viciously glowing bitemark he gave you. His face is expressionless as he looks at you, his cold stare boring into you. For a moment you think, he might rat you out - tell your mother that you snuck out last night.

But he doesn't. Instead, he wordlessly pours you a glass of freshly pressed orange juice, hands it over to you. Your fingers brush over his, goosebumps spreading over your skin at the thought that just a couple of hours, they had been in you, fucking you to hell and back.

You can still feel them inside of you, growing wet at the thought, squirming a little in your chair. If it weren't for your mom sitting right next to you, you'd get up and beg him to fuck you. Your pussy aches at the imagery that your brain conjures up; tits bouncing, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the expensive dress pooling around your waist, glasses on the table clinking with each thrust.

Your mother - oblivious to what is happening in front of her - brabbles on about her plans for the day, while Christoph's gaze is chained to yours.

It feels like his eyes are undressing you, a shadow dances over his greyish eyes, turning them into a darkened sky. Your hand grips the glass tightly, thighs rubbing together. You really wish you could just --

"Careful", he says quietly, pointing at your hand clutching your glass so hard your knuckles start to turn white, and you let go of it, like you just burned yourself. The glass nearly topples over on the white table cloth, the juice trickles down the insides of it lazily, silent testimony to an accident prevented. He's right - it might've burst.

Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy. You want to get up and thank him properly, unzip his pants and --

"Don't you think, that'd be nice, honey?", your mother chimes, still busy with her avocado, and pulls you out of your daydream - you on your knees with Christoph rubbing his cock and balls across your face and making you look like a cheap whore, before he slips it between your plush, waiting lips with their red lipstick smudged - you barely manage not to moan aloud, quickly turning your head her way.

"Huh?", you blink dumbly.

"Honey", she scoffs, "I said - Do you wanna go to the beach today?"

You rather wouldn't. Especially not with your mother around, gushing about the man who fucked you senseless last night. You would rather spend the day with him alone.

Thus, your gaze flickers back to Christoph quicker than you can think about it, quicker than you can stop yourself from doing it. He gives you the slightest nod, that goes completely unnoticed by your mother and rearranges his reading glasses.

Thank you for thinking for me, Daddy.

"Sure, why not?", you can hear yourself say. Christoph rustles with his newspaper and somewhere, in the trees, a bird chimes.

[hrizantemy]

if you were to redesign the courts how do you think you would do it and what would they look like??

Ooh, I absolutely love this question! If I were to redesign the courts of Prythian in a way that feels grounded in both the mythology of the world and real-world influences, I’d approach it with a focus on culture, environment, and historical context for each court, drawing inspiration from different real-life regions and aesthetics.

1. Night Court:

• Theme: Mysticism, Balance, and Resilience

• Inspiration: The Night Court would draw inspiration from both Mediterranean and Middle Eastern architecture, focusing on sleek stone buildings with intricate, high ceilings, sweeping archways, and rooms bathed in rich jewel tones, blacks, purples, and silvers. The style would echo both the Byzantine Empire and Ottoman Architecture, with some influences from ancient temples.

• Landscape: Think of a landscape that is both dark and breathtaking—rocky cliffs, deep caves, and forests with bioluminescent plants. This court would have a mysterious, alluring vibe, with the contrast of darkness providing peace and quiet but also immense power.

• Important Features:

• The Moonstone Temple (inspired by real-world moon worship sites) at the center of the court, a place of deep reverence and power.

• Rhysand’s palace would be a towering, opulent structure carved from dark stone with murals depicting stars and celestial symbols.

• The Summer Court would be linked to the Night Court by a sweeping, mysterious river, glowing with soft bioluminescence.

2. Summer Court:

• Theme: Freedom, Celebration, and Abundance

• Inspiration: The Summer Court would have a more Tropical Mediterranean feel, with influences from Santorini, Greece, and the French Riviera—think wide open beaches, sun-drenched villas, vibrant colors, and terrace gardens bursting with flowers.

• Landscape: Sweeping fields of golden flowers, vast vineyards, and citrus groves. There would be the constant sound of waves crashing against the shore, but the air would always be warm and inviting, with gentle breezes. The mountains would be soft but still imposing on the horizon.

• Important Features:

• High, pastel-colored stone buildings, with large windows that look out over the ocean, allowing constant sunlight to flood the space.

• Pavilion (inspired by ancient Greek open-air spaces for art and dialogue) would be a tranquil meeting place, complete with open terraces overlooking the sun-kissed sea.

• A fortress that is both protective and relaxed, with luxurious gardens and open spaces for relaxation and battle strategy.

3. Spring Court:

• Theme: Rebirth, Growth, and Nature

• Inspiration: This would be inspired by Japanese Zen Gardens mixed with French countryside and Victorian gardens. The focus would be on a peaceful connection with nature and rebirth, where every season is celebrated. The Court would be filled with soft and calming architecture with light-colored stone, delicate wooden details, and a lot of nature surrounding it. Think of flowing rivers, abundant floral life, and large greenhouses.

• Landscape: Vast fields of tulips, lavender, and cherry blossoms, with clean, bright lines and soft, calming views. Greenhouses and orchards would create the perfect blend of natural beauty and structure.

• Important Features:

• The Garden of Renewal (an iconic space inspired by Japanese gardens), where flora from all over the realm grows in harmony, a place where High Lords and Ladies would seek peace.

• Tamlin’s palace would be a lovely, sprawling structure with flowing water features, a large courtyard of blooming flowers, and marble paths.

• A Herb and Medicinal Garden with expansive greenhouses would help maintain the Court’s healing traditions and connection with nature.

4. Autumn Court:

• Theme: Strength, Resilience, and Honor

• Inspiration: This Court would pull from Scottish Highlands architecture and Norse traditions, emphasizing the raw beauty of the land and the sturdy strength of its people. Massive stone fortresses, wood-paneled interiors, and rugged natural landscapes would reflect its warriors’ rugged personalities. Think of heavy stone walls, dark woods, and ornate tapestries that reflect their storied history.

• Landscape: The land would be filled with dense forests, crisp air, and vibrant autumn colors—reds, oranges, yellows, and browns. The environment would include high mountain ranges, wild rivers, and waterfalls. The Autumn Court would be the most self-sufficient, living off the land and embracing the strength of the harvest season.

• Important Features:

• The Great Hall of Autumn (modeled after Viking longhouses) would be the heart of the court, complete with massive wooden beams and a roaring hearth.

• The Wildlands outside the city would host fierce animal hunts, reminding the people of the strength of their ancestors.

• The surrounding forest would be deep and mysterious, with secret hunting paths and sacred spots known only to the oldest of their bloodline.

5. Winter Court:

• Theme: Mystery, Justice, and Reflection

• Inspiration: The Winter Court would take inspiration from Icelandic and Norwegian aesthetics, featuring towering, snow-capped mountain ranges, glaciers, and fjords. I would focus on clean, sleek designs—heavy stone fortresses that feel eternal against the backdrop of freezing winds.

• Landscape: Snowy peaks, thick pine forests, and icy rivers would dominate this court. Everything would be cold, but beautiful, with crystalline formations and glimmering ice. The people of this court would be hardy and self-sufficient, embracing the harsh winter months.

• Important Features:

• The Palace of Ice would be a castle made entirely of ice and snow—frosted walls, a glittering reflection of winter’s beauty.

• The Frozen Court would be a meeting place carved into the glaciers, only accessible through hidden ice tunnels. It would be the seat of winter politics and secret meetings.

• The Emberforge—a central furnace powered by volcanic magma, keeping the Court warm amidst the freezing landscape. This forge could be used for their weapons, armor, and crafting.

6. Dawn Court:

• Theme: Hope, Renewal, and Artistry

• Inspiration: The Dawn Court would combine the elegance of French Baroque architecture with the tranquility of Spanish courtyards. This Court would be built with symmetry, art, and morning light in mind. The buildings would be open, airy, and welcoming, painted in shades of gold, white, and pale pink.

• Landscape: The Court would have wide, sweeping plains, rolling hills with vineyards, and fields of sunflowers and lavender. The sun would rise early and set late here, bathing the land in soft, golden light.

• Important Features:

• The Dawn Palace would be a luxurious space filled with sculptures, gardens, and frescoes that reflect the Court’s artistic influence and love for beauty.

• The Reflecting Pools would symbolize rebirth and hope. These pools would line the grand halls and provide both a sense of serenity and beauty.

• Sunset Gardens would be an open space for gatherings, often used for artistic performances, where musicians and painters come together to create under the soft glow of the setting sun.

Every Court has its own atmosphere and aesthetic that influences how they operate, who they are as a people, and their relationship with the land around them.

[mistydeyes]

perfumes i think the 141 boys enjoy

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summary: Scent is one of the most powerful senses, so what kind of fragrance do the 141 boys + Alejandro like on their significant other?

pairing: 141 x Reader

warnings: none

a/n - i also work for a perfume company so I've had a couple of ideas about what scents the boys like :)

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price - loves expensive, smokey scents on anyone. imagine the scents of a fresh cigar-that's what price wants in a fragrance. notes like pepper, leather, tobacco, cedar wood, and iris will make him crumble.

masculine

oud wood - tom ford notes: oud wood, sandalwood, chinese pepper

osmanthe kodoshan - maison crivelli notes: leather, tobacco, sichuan pepper, apricot, peach

functional fragrance - the nue co. notes: cardamom, iris, palo santo, cilantro

unisex

hinoki fantôme - boy smells notes: tobacco leaves, oak moss, and smoked leather

jazz club - maison marigela notes: pink pepper, rum, tobacco

lumière d’iris - veronique gabai notes: rose, iris, cedarwood, amber

feminine

baccarat rouge 540 - maison francis kurkdjia notes: jasmine, ambergris, saffron, cedar wood

cuir béluga - guerlain notes: leather, powder, vanilla

platinum 22 - floris london notes: rose, violet leaf, blackcurrant, oat, black tea

soap - woodsy, floral scents are soap's surprising pick. it brings back memories of the scottish countryside, adventuring in the woods and smelling the fresh flowers his mam had. notice notes of herbs (sage, rosemary, mint), lavender, and violet.

masculine

sauvage - dior notes: pepper, amberwood, bergamot, powder

h24 - hermès notes: clary sage, narcissus, rosewood

new york wall street - bond no.9 notes: sea kale, cucumber, lavender, ambergris, vetiver

unisex

voodoo chile - dries van noten notes: rosemary, patchouli, hemp

libre - yves saint laurent notes: lavender, musk

dirty grass - heretic notes: black pepper, lemon, hemp, violet

feminine

melancholy thistle - jo malone london notes: thistle, english ivy, cool wood

portrait of a lady - frédéric malle notes: frankincense, black currant, raspberry, patchouli

la tulipe - byredo notes: tulips, cyclamen, fressia, rhubarb

gaz - FLORAL CITRUS will make this man fall in love with you. it reminds him of a warm summer day sitting in the grass and smelling flowers. look for summery fragrances with notes of citrus, lemon, sage, and fresh herbs.

masculine

bleu de chanel - chanel notes: citrus, labdanum, sandalwood, cedar

polo black - ralph lauren notes: iced mango, lemon, tangerine, sandalwood, sage, patchouli

l'homme - yves saint laurent notes: bergamot, ginger, cedar wood, vetiver

unisex

cactus garden - louis vuitton notes: maté, bergamot, lemongrass

velvet cypress - dolce & gabbana notes: pine, lemon zest, bergamot, clary sage

eau de campagne - sisley notes: grass, citrus, herbs, jasmine, lily of the valley

feminine

brazilian crush cheirosa 62 - sol de janeiro notes: pistachio, almond, sandalwood, heliotrope, jasmine

her blossom - burberry notes: mandarin, plum blossom, sandalwood

flora gorgeous jasmine - gucci notes: mandarin, jasmine, magnolia, sandalwood

ghost - likes a light, musky scent! he loves when a scent adds to a person's natural smell (he hates sugary, gourmand scents). ingredients like musk, ambrox, pepper, sandalwood catch his eye as he pictures fresh sheets and a rainfall in a forest.

masculine

geranium pour monsieur - frédéric malle notes: mint, aniseed, sandalwood, geranium, frankincense

atlantis - blu atlas notes: orris, oak moss, violet, musk, ambrette seed

gentleman - givenchy notes: pear, lavender, patchouli

unisex

glossier you - glossier notes: pink pepper, iris, ambrette seeds, ambrox

not a perfume - juliette has a gun notes: ambergris

santal 33 - le labo notes: violet cardamom, cedar wood, iris, ambrox

feminine

missing person - phlur notes: musk, bergamot, jasmine, neroli, sandalwood

golden nectar - nest notes: florals, orchid, amber, musk

apollonia - xerjoff notes: white floral, orris butter, white musk

extra! alejandro - if ghost likes it simple and light, then alejandro is the exact opposite. he loves when he can smell someone's fragrance across the room. focus on bold fragrances with spicy notes of nutmeg, myrrh, and rum that is mixed with the gourmand of vanilla, almond, and tonka bean.

masculine

the last day of summer - gucci notes: cedarwood, cypress, nutmeg, patchouli, vetiver

bibliothèque - byredo notes: peach, peony, violet, leather, patchouli, vanilla

london myrrh & tonka - jo malone notes: almond, vanilla, myrrh, lavender, honey

unisex

tobacco vanille - tom ford notes: tonka bean, vanilla. cacao

dark rum - malin + goetz notes: anise, plum, leather, rum, patchouli, amber

tao dao - diptyque notes: sandalwood, cedar, cypress, myrte

feminine

lost cherry - tom ford notes: black cherry, tonka bean, almond

brazil aroma - costa notes: white jungle flora, orange oil, pink pepper, bourbon, vetiver, patchouli

babylon - penhaligon's notes: saffron, nutmeg, coriander, cedar wood, vanilla, cypriol

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[acrossthewavesoftime]

Sometimes, life surprises one with the most incredible of councidences.

It's been a rather busy week and yesterday, not deterred by such reasonable ideas as maybe just taking some rest for once, I took a multi-hour journey to a very small town to collect a gorgeous late 19th century epergne (table centrepiece) I'd fallen in love with on a second hand/small ads app.

Cursing myself for the adventurous undertaking multiple times on crowded trains and difficult to find countryside busses, I was rewarded not only with a beautiful new treasure, but part of its provenance as well. A provenance that leads to a descendant of the Bentinck family.

Long story short, my epergne was owned by a descendant of Hans Willem Bentinck, 1st Earl of Portland.

It's such a surprising, and also amusing find. I am now able to decorate my space with an item that once belonged to a grandchild (prefixed by a few great-s) of the man who got seasick crossing the North Sea on the way to the Glorious Revolution as the right-hand-man of a reasonably-sized prince associated with citrus fruit.

[outofangband]

Alqualondë and the surrounding countryside board!

Alqualondë is one of my favorite locations in Valinor to do world building for. My vision of it is a Mediterranean like climate surrounded by citrus groves, orchards and strange meers and springs. The city itself is very open with lots of arches, tiled walls and mosaics, and growing things. I felt bad because I couldn’t find a lot of good pictures that represented my vision of the harbor and boats which is sad because they’re so important to Telerin culture but if I find better photography I can always make another board!

I have more world building posts in my Teleri tag!

x x x x x x x x x

[matildhba]

A Little Life: Fragrances

I saw someone (@bookwormthrowaway - hope you don't mind the mention) commenting on the scene related to that parfume scene, so I thought I'd make a post about it.

Disclaimer: I'm by no means an expert,they are just scents that somehow remind me of certain scenes and characters from the book. Also this is just my opinion. If you think differently, let me know.

I'll start with Jude, describing scents that I associate with him, giving recommendations for men, then for women. I'll repeat the process with Willem.

Mention of Fragrance in the Book

[ Willem would always bring him something from wherever he’d been working, and when he came back from The Odyssey, it was with two bottles of cologne that he’d had made at a famous perfumer’s atelier in Florence. Willem explained how he’d had to describe [Jude] to the nose—what colors he liked, what tastes, what parts of the world—and that the perfumer had created this fragrance for him.

He had smelled it: it was green and slightly peppery, with a raw, aching finish. “Vetiver,” Willem had said. “Try it on,” and he had, dabbing it onto his hand because he didn’t let Willem see his wrists back then.

Willem had sniffed at him. “I like it,” he said, “it smells nice on you,” and they were both suddenly shy with each other.

“Thanks, Willem,” he’d said. “I love it.”

Willem had a scent made for himself as well. His had been sandalwood-based, and [Jude] soon grew to associate the wood with him: whenever he smelled it—especially when he was far away: in India on business; in Japan; in Thailand—he would always think of Willem and would feel less alone. As the years passed, they both continued to order these scents from the Florence perfumer. ]

For Jude, these words would describe his fragrance:

Green and peppery perfume

Raw and aching finish scent

Unisex vetiver cologne

Woody and spicy fragrance

Earthy and green perfume

Vetiver-based scent

Men's Fragrances :

Grey Vetiver / Tom Ford

Top notes: Citrus (grapefruit, bergamot)

Heart notes: Vetiver, Spices (nutmeg kind of, pepper)

Base notes: Woods, Amber

Grey Vetiver by Tom Ford has a fresh, citrusy opening, followed by the distinctive earthy and woody scent of vetiver. As it lingers, the fragrance develops into a warm base with notes of woods and amber, creating a well-balanced and timeless aroma.

This perfume makes me think of Jude spending hours on end in his office, never missing a day of work, solving cases, defending in the courtroom, saving those big ass pharmaceutical companies.

Vetiver/Guerlain

Top notes: Citrus (lemon, bergamot), Spice

Heart notes: Vetiver, Woody

Base notes: Tobacco, Leather

Vetiver by Guerlain has a fresh, citrusy opening with notes of lemon and bergamot, followed by a prominent earthy and woody vetiver scent.

It makes me think of cleanliness, and somehow of the apartment on Green Street, also of that scene after Jude is beaten by Caleb, and Harold comes and cleans up the apartment. He mentioned that the apartment is very clean, full of cleaning products, and the whole place gives the impression that it is inhabited by someone with an organized and enviable life, with carefree parties and without regrets or insecurities. This fragrance makes me think of someone who lives there.

3. Terre d'Hermès

Top notes: Orange, Grapefruit

Heart notes: Flint, Pepper, Pelargonium

Base notes: Cedar, Vetiver, Benzoin

Terre d'Hermès features initial citrusy notes of orange and grapefruit, followed by a heart of flint, pepper, and pelargonium, and settles into a base of cedar, vetiver, and benzoin.

This fragrance reminds me of being in the woods, of the house Malcolm was building for Jude and Willem, and their visits there—walks in the countryside, a peaceful enough life. Perhaps even a bit of the early years on Lispenard Street, although it smells a bit too rich for that.

Women's Fragrances;

We are still with fragrances inspired by Jude here.

Jo Malone London's Earl Grey & Cucumber:

Top notes: Bergamot, Black Tea

Heart notes: Cucumber

Base notes: Musk

Jo Malone London's Earl Grey & Cucumber is a refreshing and aromatic fragrance with bright and citrusy notes of bergamot and black tea. The crisp heart of cucumber is complemented by the base notes of musk, creating a clean and elegant scent.

This fragrance reminds me of Harold and Julia's house in Truro and the vacations spent there, the walks on the beach, and swimming in the pool, the scent of the grass after a fresh rain.

Diptyque Vetyverio:

Top notes: Mandarin, Grapefruit, Lemon

Heart notes: Geranium Bourbon, Nutmeg, Clove

Base notes: Vetiver, Woody Notes.

Vetyverio by Diptyque is a vibrant and sophisticated fragrance with citrusy top notes of mandarin, grapefruit, and lemon. The heart features geranium bourbon, nutmeg, and clove, adding warmth and spice. The base, characterized by vetiver and woody notes, completes the composition with an earthy and refined essence.

The description makes it a bit dirty, but I consider that the feminine version of Jude would best fit with this. It brings to mind an intelligent, reserved person who takes long morning walks, that specific morning air – chilly and fresh, while still maintaining that vetiver base described by Willem.

Miller Harris Vetiver Insolent:

Top notes: Bergamot, Black Pepper, Elemi

Heart notes: Iris, Lavender, Amber

Base notes: Vetiver, Tonka Bean, Moss

Vetiver Insolent by Miller Harris is a distinctive fragrance with lively top notes of bergamot, black pepper, and elemi. The heart reveals a blend of iris, lavender, and amber, while the base notes of vetiver, tonka bean, and moss create a sophisticated and slightly rebellious character. The overall composition is fresh, offering a modern take on vetiver.

I associate this with a busy life, visits to the office (strangely, yes, it reminds me of the specific smell of the hospital, but it's more due to a personal connection than anything else), hurried afternoons, the onset of spring, and the freshness of the air.

For Willem, these words would describe his fragrance:

Warm wood fragrance

Amber wood scent

Oriental wood perfume

Sandalwood fragrance.

Men's Fragrance :

Tom Ford Santal Blush:

Top notes: Indian spices, Cumin, Cinnamon

Heart notes: Australian sandalwood, Benzoin, Virginia cedar

Base notes: Amber, Vanilla, Woody notes

Santal Blush by Tom Ford is a warm and spicy fragrance with a blend of Indian spices, cumin, and cinnamon. The heart features the richness of Australian sandalwood, benzoin, and Virginia cedar. The base notes of amber, vanilla, and woody elements create a sensual and luxurious trail, making Santal Blush sophisticated and alluring.

It makes me think of autumn, Willem's favorite season – leaves falling, the scent from cafés lingering in the air, the coffee Willem stopped to drink, and the fresh aroma from it. The pastries made by Jude late at night while Willem stands beside him, the feeling you have when you finally get home, staying in bed for another 5 minutes in the morning.

Santal 33 by Le Labo :

Top notes: Cardamom, Iris

Heart notes: Ambrox, Violet, Sandalwood

Base notes: Cedarwood, Leather, Musk

Santal 33 by Le Labo is a distinctive and unisex fragrance with intriguing top notes of cardamom and iris. The heart introduces ambrox, violet, and sandalwood, creating a woody and floral accord. The base notes of cedarwood, leather, and musk contribute to the overall warmth and sophistication, making Santal 33 a modern and memorable olfactory experience.

If 'Santal Blush' by Tom Ford mentioned above smelled like home and comfort, this one certainly does not. It takes me with thoughts of leaving home for extended periods, to the first scent Jude would smell after Willem finally came back. To film promotions, airports, interviews - in general, to that hectic, famous, and rushed life that Willem had.

Diptyque Tam Dao:

Top notes: Rosewood, Cypress, Myrtle

Heart notes: Spices, Woods, Patchouli

Base notes: Sandalwood, Cedar, Vanilla

Tam Dao by Diptyque opens with a blend of rosewood, cypress, and myrtle, offering a fresh and aromatic introduction. The heart notes introduce a combination of spices, various woods, and patchouli, adding warmth and complexity. The base notes of sandalwood, cedar, and vanilla create a creamy and comforting finish, contributing to the overall sophisticated and serene aura of Tam Dao. The scent is often celebrated for its smooth, balanced, and unisex appeal.

This one takes me in between the two fragrances mentioned above, not quite at home but not entirely in the professional life either. It makes me think of the visits that Jude and Willem had in France, India, Rome - especially Rome. And I believe this perfume would also fit well with Jude, always reminding me of those bits towards the end, where Harold and Julia are with Jude in Rome, how Harold seeks Jude in every person, in every corner.

Women's Fragrances;

Creed Original Santal

Top notes: Orange Tree Absolute, Jamaican Ginger, Sicilian Lemon

Heart notes: Lavender, Peppermint, Rosemary, Pinkberries

Base notes: Mysore Sandalwood, Virginia Cedar, Vanilla, Siam Benzoin, Ambergris

Creed Original Santal is a luxurious fragrance with a citrusy and spicy opening featuring orange tree absolute, Jamaican ginger, and Sicilian lemon. The heart unfolds with a blend of lavender, peppermint, rosemary, and pinkberries. The base, characterized by Mysore sandalwood, Virginia cedar, vanilla, Siam benzoin, and ambergris, creates a warm and inviting essence, offering a rich and opulent olfactory experience.

Honest, although the scent takes me all around the character of Willem and what it represents (but in the feminine version, of course), this is not my favorite fragrance. I don't even know how to explain why; I've only smelled it a few times because my sister wears it, but it felt suffocating to me. Let me know if any of you have ever tried it.

2. Herba Fresca Aqua Allegoria Guerlain

Top notes: Green Tea, Lemon, Mint, Petitgrain

Heart notes: Green Notes, Lily of the Valley

Base notes: Green Musk

Aqua Allegoria Herba Fresca by Guerlain opens with a refreshing blend of green tea, lemon, mint, and petitgrain, creating a crisp and invigorating start. The heart notes introduce green elements and the delicate floral note of lily of the valley, contributing to the fragrance's natural and airy quality. The base notes of green musk provide a subtle and clean finish, enhancing the overall freshness of Herba Fresca. This fragrance is often celebrated for its light and uplifting character, making it a suitable choice for warm weather or those who appreciate green and citrusy scents.

I associate this type of perfume with those good girls, the "girls girl" type, which you surely know. Those kind and beautiful girls who are ready to go the extra mile for others – it also reminds me of Willem, of course. I don't know if this is more of a subconscious association, but I had a high school classmate who wore only this scent throughout all 4 years, and I loved her for it.

3. Burberry Her Blossom

Top notes: Mandarin, Pink Peppercorn, Plum

Heart notes: Cherry Blossom, Peony, Violet

Base notes: Musk, Sandalwood

Burberry Her Blossom opens with a vibrant combination of mandarin, pink peppercorn, and plum, creating a fruity and energetic introduction. The heart notes feature the delicate and floral accord of cherry blossom, peony, and violet, contributing to the fragrance's feminine and romantic character. Musk and sandalwood in the base provide a soft and comforting finish, rounding out the overall composition. Her Blossom is often described as a youthful and charming scent, suitable for those who enjoy sweet and floral fragrances.

Something more feminine, but still capturing the woody undertone that Jude associated with Willem. The only issue I noticed is that it doesn't last long. I sprayed three pumps on my wrist as a sample, and in 3 hours, the scent was very faint, almost nonexistent. I don't know if it's just my skin or if it's a general issue. I left it on because it smells fantastic and gives me the vibe of the character.

Affordable Fragrances

Not everyone can afford Tom Ford and Jo Malone every day, so here are some budget-friendly alternatives. While I believe in investing in a good perfume that lasts longer, I understand the appeal of more affordable options for frequent use.

I haven't tried all of these myself, but I've read the descriptions and reviews from others, so I hope you find in them what came to my mind when I smelled and thought of them.

Men's Affordable Options

Davidoff Cool Water:

Notes: Sea Water, Mint, Green Notes, Lavender, Coriander, Rosemary

Description: A refreshing blend opening with sea water, mint, and green notes, followed by a floral heart of geranium and jasmine. The warm base of cedarwood, musk, and tobacco creates a timeless and versatile fragrance, often associated with a clean, oceanic scent.

Lomani Pour Homme:

Notes: Bergamot, Lavender, Lemon, Rosemary

Description: Citrusy and herbal, Lomani Pour Homme opens with bergamot and rosemary, featuring a heart of geranium and clary sage. The base of oakmoss, cedarwood, musk, and amber gives it a classic and masculine character, suitable for various occasions.

Women's Affordable Options

Bodycology Pure White Gardenia Fragrance Mist:

Notes: Citrus Accord, Gardenia, Jasmine, Lily of the Valley, Musk

Description: A bright and citrusy mist with a floral heart of gardenia, jasmine, and lily of the valley. Musk in the base adds a soft finish, creating an overall feminine and refreshing essence.

Bodycology Pure White Gardenia Fragrance Mist:

Notes: Citrus Accord, Gardenia, Jasmine, Lily of the Valley, Musk

Description: Opens with a bright citrus accord, revealing a floral bouquet of gardenia, jasmine, and lily of the valley. Musk in the base enhances the overall femininity, designed for light and refreshing everyday use.

Green Tea by Elizabeth Arden

Notes: Caraway, Fruity Rhubarb, Lemon, Orange Zest, Bergamot, Cool Minty Peppermint, Green Tea, Sweet Jasmine, Spicy Carnation, Fresh Fennel, Musk, Oakmoss, Amber

Description: A vibrant blend of citrus and fruity notes, featuring green tea, minty peppermint, floral jasmine, and spicy carnation. The base of musk, oakmoss, and amber provides a comforting finish, making it a popular choice for clean and energizing scents.

--------------------END-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The method Willem used to create a specific perfume for Jude is a real one (even though it's as expensive as hell), describing the person to the perfumer, detailing their personality, favorite colors, the parts of the world they're connected to, and their tastes. I want you to know that this is also how I've been searching for fragrance recommendations.

Also, that was my favorite moment in the book because my dad, who practically has a job creating custom perfumes, made one for my mom before proposing to her. I don't know, but this idea has always sounded to me like the ultimate gesture of love for your partner. Ugh Can you belive Im still not over this book ? Me neither..

Let me know if I made any mistakes in the names of the perfumes, images, or descriptions, and tell me if you have any other questions. I hope you found this helpful!

[mintixtheweirdo]

ok so, headcanons time! + OC info (polyship vers.)

I think Lacey loves doing skincare for Jake and Josh (my oc yeah) and makeup (she's really good at it i swear)

Also Lacey is good at fashion and can choose the slayest outfits for her boyfriends (if they would ash her for it ehe)

Jake suffered from insomnia for about six months due to stress, but when Josh bring himself to his life, Jake became more chill and slept well. Lacey known nothing about Jake's ASD and she was wondering about his weird behavior and high sensitivity to loud noises, but she is trying her best comforting him anytime.

Also, my thoughts about Lacey in general: i think she has a traumas about being in relationships with men (being stalked, SA-ed by her uncle, my poor girl T-T), but after she met my dorks, she feel better and it's her safest and fluffiest romantic relationships in her life (as same as for Jake and Josh) Finally, some info about Josh (bro you should write that earlier dawg):

He is a trans male, 21 y.o. and he's a romanian-russian mixed, has a vitiligo + A LOT of moles. Josh is a christian (not a fanatic one, dw) and used to go to church a lot when he was a child. He is a little overweight, despite his fairly good physical fitness. Also, he loves citrus fruits, but when he overeats, he gets a rash (possibly due to allergies). Josh is so malewife material and a cheerish and comforting person in general Josh was living in a countryside with his father and stepmother and he moved to the city when he was in high school. You'll ask me "Mintix, and how he connected to Papa's Canibalia then?" I say, that he went to work, where this restaurant is located (let's say in Tastywille, but the place's name would be changed i think) and when he arrived here, he decided to get a job as "server" or "deliveryman"

I really nervous about sharing my thoughts on the Internet tbh...

[fatehbaz]

[A] luscious Owari Satsuma citrus tree, whose species was originally imported from Japan, currently experiencing the ravaging effects of an aphid infestation. [...] Where did they come from? [...] And a question that nineteenth- and twentieth-century individuals may have added is, who is to blame? Jeannie N. Shinozuka’s monograph, Biotic Borders: Transpacific Plant and Insect Migration and the Rise of Anti-Asian Racism in America, 1890-1950 [...] [examines] such human and nonhuman interconnections [...] [and] meditates on such questions in the historical setting of the American empire, including its transpacific borderland.

Toward the end of the nineteenth and through the twentieth century, the already present anti-Asian racism in the United States was infused with a conservationist attitude of sustainable yield and efficient use of the vast but vanishing natural resources of North America.

---

Unsurprisingly, these racial anxieties appeared just as the American empire expanded well beyond the continent’s borders. The economic threat of chestnut blight or citrus scale played into a native invasive binary that conveniently placed blame for the species’ decline, along with pest and disease introductions, on poor and immigrant groups, while excluding and erasing a longer colonial history of importations of destructive plants and animals by colonial and antebellum planters. These fears were founded not just in the economics of decline, based on a fear of the threat posed to cash crops often grown on increasingly large-scale farms, but also in jealousy surrounding agricultural innovations [...] of certain immigrant farmers [...] in a society plagued with racial anxieties of a so-called yellow peril. Paradoxically, wealthy American citizens interested in beautifying landscapes often held an orientalist fascination with a fetishized and consumable version of a Japanese countryside in the form of tea gardens. [...]

---

The work also discusses the role of newly ordained technocratic officials in giving supposed scientific validity to attitudes toward plant, animal, and human invaders from the Orient.

Plant biologists such as [D.F.] and entomologists [...] were on the forefront of crusades to prevent economically damaging insects and plant diseases from entering the borders of the United States and “degrading” the native stock. Many of these individuals, like [D.F.], were closely associated with some of the leading eugenicist organizations, for example, the American Breeder’s Association, within the United States. Their efforts at plant quarantine culminated in Plant Quarantine Number 37, or PQN 37, a law intended to prevent diseases and infection from foreign animal and plant bodies. This law set a precedent for similar policies regulating humans perceived as alien, including the Immigrant Act of 1924, which limited immigrants from southern and eastern Europe, while completely excluding individuals from Asia. Similarly, officials, [...] [entomologists] included among them, seized and destroyed the property of Japanese immigrants [...].

---

Shinozuka’s work is [...] a contribution to environmental history and Asian studies, [and] it is also a fresh conversation on borderlands and the role that [...] migrant groups, played in such porous places as the US Mexico border and Hawaii, the Pacific gateway to the US empire. Both domains offered opportunities to immigrants and scientists alike [...]. [I]mmigrant labor provided muscle power to corporate-owned American sugar plantations in Hawaii while also experiencing accusations of importing such damaging insects as the termite or Oriental beetle. What Shinozuka makes clear is that while these insects may have originated in southeast Asia, their spread was enabled by the context of American colonialism and empire. The trifold factors of urbanization, industrialization, and monocrop agriculture, all promoted in the interest of American business and marketed as a modernization effort in supposedly backward places like Hawaii, created the perfect circumstances for insects to swarm and disease to spread.

---

All text above by: Jacob Gautreaux. "Review of Shinozuka, Jeannie N., Biotic Borders: Transpacific Plant and Insect Migration and the Rise of Anti-Asian Racism in America, 1890-1950". H-Environment, H-Net Review. August 2024. At: h-net dot org slash reviews/showrev.php?id=60450. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticism purposes.]

[seekers-who-are-lovers]

He is the voice I hear

Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial with the prompt #FFF283 calling, calling home. (So appreciate this, thank you!) Based on the last scenes off the 13th episode from the “Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master,” paving the way for the Golden Raven arc, using Yukiya’s POV.

—

Fandom: Yatagarasu: The Raven Does Not Choose Its Master

Characters: Yukiya and Wakamiya (a.k.a Nazukihiko, The Prince, The Crown Prince)

Word count: 687

—

“The master's sleepy face, the thrown gold coins, the tough daily work, the calm face giving unreasonable orders, the sweet red bean mochi we shared in the castle town, the rain sheltering with knees hugged together, the carefree smiles. Smiles. Smiles.”

—Yukiya, “The Remembrance of a Crow,” by Chisato Abe

“THAT fool!” Yukiya sighed as he munched the candied kumquat. And definitely the last one that he would savour in his mouth because no way he would serve that stupid Wakamiya ever again.

After mounting the horse, the prince tossed him the one and only kumquat for the last time. The citrus fruit became a symbol of his reward, a job well accomplished. Yukiya’s year of serving the aristocrat was up after he decided not to prolong it anymore unless… Wakamiya changed his mind.

The prince was fond of making candied kumquats. He realised early on that cooking was not only a necessity to survive both in the Outside World and Yamauchi where finding poison on his food became a major concern, but also a hobby that he cherished.

Yukiya’s mind, however, was in turmoil since he admitted to the prince that he had no qualms serving him forever if he only gave up that ambition of aiming for the highest role in the land, as the emperor.

“What an idiot! Ugh! His folly would only let himself be killed!! To think I offered myself and he did not even acknowledge it!” Yukiya cursed himself. Did it sound like he almost confess his love for him? His stomach turned a bit, butterflies swirling as if.

“Why is he keen on eyeing the throne when they all want is his older brother, Lord Natsuka? Can he not understand that they do not want him? How can he not see that?!”

He would love to pull his hair out of frustration if only his hands were not full holding the bridle. Chuo, or the central, was already behind him, and yet he could still feel Wakamiya’s eyes were on him, singeing with his intense golden eyes the back of his cyan blue kariginu.

“We will see each other again, Yukiya. That is my true Golden Raven instinct is telling me.” The prince’s parting words. “You know very well that I need you here.”

No!

The truth was after Wakamiya’s several assassination attempts and Yukiya witnessing how power hungry the Miyagarasu (court ravens) in the imperial court were, the more he despised being there. He only wanted to see Wakamiya alive and safe. Was he wrong?

All this talk of having nothing left if he did not have the aspiration of claiming the throne as a true Golden Raven, what was that all about?

It hurt him seeing him suffer to be honest. Wakamiya was earnest in his belief eradicating the vassal-oriented philosophy of his father and reducing the influence of the powerful families in the imperial court, and yet, he was in the middle of it.

“Damn the Prince… I am going to miss him,” Yukiya kicked himself. “Ahhhhh, brain, stop it!”

Suddenly, now he could see his hometown. Taruhi Village. The green fields, the endless mountains, the rolling hills, the quiet countryside. They were calling him.

It was all behind him now. No more court duties. No more impossible demands from that beautiful young prince. No more of his pretty elongated eyes with long eyelashes scrutinising him. No more of the enigmatic smiles when he caught him looking at him. No more taking care of that feminine face that he used to wash, the silky black hair that he enjoyed brushing and freeing from the tangles. No more of these silly things and all.

From now on, he would forget the prince and his palace, and the annex that he used to share with him and Sumio-san.

From now on he would forget the prince’s last words, stifled the remnants of his feelings toward him and go back to where he should be long before meeting him.

He crossed his fingers and prayed for the mountain god for strength to overcome it all.

~fin~

[merinsedai]

Rooftops of London snippet 2

for @dreamlingbingo

Snippet 2/5 for my WIP: The Rooftops of London :)

Square/Prompt: B5: Parallel Dimension

Title: The Rooftops of London

Rating: T

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: Second Chance, Mary Poppins AU, yes you read that correctly, Dream is Mary Poppins, Hob is Bert, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus is Good with Kids, popping in and out of paintings, teaparties on the ceiling, Developing Relationships, potential flying of kites, Will Roderick Burgess be redeemed? Is it possible? Who knows, read on and find out, fat pigeons

Summary: In 2025, Dream awaits Death as the Kindly Ones ravage the Dreaming.

In 1910, two young boys send out an advertisement for their perfect nanny.

or, the tale of Dream attempting to Mary Poppins his way out of his 20th century nightmare

Read the first chapter on AO3 here

And snippet 1 here

A scene from Chapter 4(??), and it's time for a little bit of popping through paintings

When the Vortex of swirling sand clears, Hob- and the boys too- can only stare in amazement. Gone are the grey and gloomy streets of London and in their place: rolling hills of green, bright blue skies with cotton-fluff clouds. They stand in the shade of a wide trunked and clearly very venerable olive tree, her branches laden with little black fruits, and in the distance a majestic river sparkles in the sunlight as it wends lazily through the countryside. It is the Italy of Hob’s memory, complete with that particular scent of sun-warmed citrus and neroli, and the sound of the wind sighing through the cypresses. Overcome, he laughs loudly, bringing his hands to his mouth like a prayer, and turns to Morpheus. 

“We are not in Tuscany,” he says, an edge of giddy madness to his voice. “Tell me we are not in actual Tuscany.” Out of the corner of his eye he can see little Alex leaping through the grass, clouds of brightly coloured butterflies bursting up at his every jump, shrieking with delight. Randall, though not so animated as his exuberant little brother, looks similarly entranced, gazing in drop-mouthed wonder as he stands at Morpheus’s side.

“We are not in Tuscany,” Morpheus confirms calmly, seeming not at all bothered by the boy racing and roaring around. Hob had thought (if he had thought about it at all) that Morpheus would not be the type to abide the disturbance of high-spirited children so easily.  

“Then where…? Gods, I always knew you were a little bit magic,” he says, eyes scanning the incredible scene before him again. He remembers this view so clearly, standing here with Guiliana and her little Andrea, helping them collect the olive harvest before enjoying the fruits of their labours in the Italian sunset. Andrea had liked to splash in the river to cool off…. The river which definitely did not have a humpbacked bridge over it in reality.  “Hang on, I drew that bridge!” he whips back round to Morpheus who he swears is looking back at him with amusement in those cool blue eyes. “We can’t be in my picture?”

“Your picture, or your mind, or even another realm entirely.” Morpheus replies serenely. “Who is to say?” he looks down then at Alex, who has returned to his side and is tugging his sleeve.

“I saw a butterfly as big as my head!” he declares. “As big as your head! Bigger!  And it had FANGS.”

“Butterflies don’t have fangs,” says Randall automatically, ever the elder sibling intent on correcting the younger. “They have a proboscis.”

“Pro-bo-siss FANGS” Alex insists and tugs Morpheus’s sleeve once more. Hob feels a tiny flare of… something… that this little boy is allowed to be so familiar with his mysterious stranger when Hob had managed to send the man into a towering rage for daring to even suggest they might be friends.  He tries to imagine what Morpheus would have done if Hob had had the nerve to actually lay a hand upon him. 

“Morpheus! Did you see it? The fangs were dripping BLOOD. It was a vampire butterfly!”

“It was not.” insists Randall, “And they don’t have fangs!” 

Morpheus squeezes Randall’s shoulder in acknowledgement and smiles down at Alex. God, a proper smile Hob thinks, not the tiny upturns of his lips that Hob held treasured in his memory, but the genuine article,  rounding his cheeks and crinkling his eyes. It looks a little unpractised on Morpheus’s face, but it is genuine nonetheless, gentle and kind.

“I am sure they were the most spectacular fangs, and positively dripping in blood.” he assures Alex gravely. “Now. Have you forgotten the fair? It is just over the brow of that hill.” He nods in the direction of the river and smiles benignly as Alex gasps in remembered delight and immediately tears off down the hillside towards the bridge over the river.

Randall looks torn. “Alex, wait!” he cries, hovering on his toes, glancing between his brother and Morpheus. He clearly wants to follow his sibling, but equally clearly is fearful of running away from adults. Randall wants to be seen as grown up and responsible, Hob thinks, certainly he does not want to be seen getting excited about something as ‘childish’ as a fair. How bloody sad for the lad, to have had the joy of fun knocked out of him already.

“Well, Randall?” Morpheus says with a raised eyebrow when the boy looks to him for instruction. “Are you not going to go after him?”

That seems to be all the impetus Randall needs. Released from his obligation to behave like a staid and stuffy adult, Randall gives Morpheus a brief, excited grin before he is dashing off after Alex, hollering at his brother to wait up.