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occamstfs · 3 months ago

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Green Eyes of Envy

Adam finds a necklace that promises anything his heart desires and nothing does he desire more than a body no one could deny.

Vaguely Halloweeny possession story based on a well-trodden trigger! Twink -> Jock -> Bear(ish?) IQ drain/corruption. Don't forget to vote on my Viral Transformation Story poll, only one day left! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

As soon as he sees the necklace lying on the ground Adam throws it on. So far it’s another subpar night spent going home alone from the bar, at least if he nabs a cute accessory there’ll be something gained. After throwing it on, when there’s a sudden buzzing in the back of his head that’s increasingly approximating a voice Adam chalks it up to his conscience trying to speak up about his and promptly ignores it.

Once he arrives home and takes time to stare at the medallion dangling on his thin chest however, he finds the voice may well have been something external, something supernatural. As a voice resounds in his head that is clearly not his own, “Adam is it?” Concluding he’s already fallen unconscious, hopefully indeed in his home, or that he’s had far too much to drink tonight for him to remember whatever he’s about to get into he plays along. “Whazzit to ya-” Realizing just what a goldmine position it has found itself in, the presence within the necklace prepares to strike.

From the drunken grumblings made by the young man in their short time together there is clearly insecurity to pray upon, and his new owner seems adverse to caution. The being within the necklace feels close enough to gaining a physical form, a body, it can almost taste it. It cannot slip up this close to the finish line and must act swiftly and with care, “So Adam, I take it you did not fare too well in your night on the town?”

The drunken Adam’s small hands suddenly grasp the chain and pull slightly, moaning incoherently all the while. Feeling the tug the necklace quickly speaks up once more, “Woah woah woah my dear, do be careful! If you allow me, I can help you achieve your wildest dreams!” Eyes suddenly grow deathly serious as he hears the metallic voice speak in his head, “you cuh- anythin-?”

Calculating faster than a human mind can, the voice seizes on the curiosity, banking that whatever the drunk asks will indeed be in his purview, “Anything.” The hitherto thoughtlessly lolling mouth curls into a smirk and his mind dances with the possibilities, “Uhhhh, genie ruleshh, ish it?”

The medallion somehow sighs not wanting to highlight the potential, or fact rather, that it’s going to twist the man’s wish to his own end but sensing its holder’s brain seems the type to rarely make a connection deeper than surface level it concludes it should be fine. “Sure, something like that.” The chain jostles on Adam’s thin shoulders as he shrugs, “whateva- can you jussht give me the body of a fuckin’ stud?” Perfect. Mission accomplished.

Adam’s eyes flash green as the medallion does similarly, connecting them and giving whatever surely sinister being lies within the small coin carte blanche. Speaking from a deeper foothold in Adam’s mind the voice gives the perfunctory warning that any act of magic requires, “Do be wary of course, the inner bits of yourself have a nasty habit of matching the outer changes.” Though knowing that it’s now only a matter of time before it’s in control it begins to reveal it’s less than amicable side, “though given how fast you let me in it seems your deep inner tapestry hasn’t all too much to lose.”

Treating the slight as if it were the annoying buzz of an insect flying around his head, Adam quickly ignores the voice altogether and pulls out his phone to hunt for the perfect body. Lucky for the spirit Adam was already beyond horny before the necklace even graced his neck, so it is not long before his envious eyes find a man enthralling. In no time at all Adam is halfway drooling as he stares at some influencer’s massive pecs. He’s doing some skit but Adam doesn’t hear a word he says, as he stares his desire proves enough tinder for the spirit’s work to begin on his body.

Adam’s eyes simply flash green and laughter fills his mind, just as muscle begins to fill out his chest. Having always made excuses to shy away from the gym for one reason or another Adam smirks as he gropes his growing pecs. Suddenly bursting from non-existence into the by far largest muscles on his body, eclipsing his ass and thighs in a manner that should not be possible. Nipples surge larger as a few thick curls begin to smatter themselves across the burgeoning pecs. Nails scratching into the soft muscle Adam smirks as he imagines that no matter how hard he tries from here on out he could never hide these powerful pecs.

Emerald shade clearing from his eyes the aftereffects of his proud new chest are less than apparent. Rather than any grand changes to the horny drunk’s personality, the spirit simply allows the current drunken recklessness to seep in deeper. Suddenly the type to never back away from challenges even in a sober state, Adam smirks as he imagines all the heads that will turn when he gets a chance to show off his bulky new pecs. Though despite how impressive they are, they can’t be the only brawn on his body hm? Before the spirit even has a chance to seed the desire for more changes, Adam himself hungrily returns to the hunt for his own aggrandization.

Only having just faded back to his natural eye color his eyes quickly shade a darker green than even that of the medallion as Adam stares at the arms of a gymnast that pops into his feed. He clenches his jaw and reflexively flexes his arms as his weak biceps suddenly surge with the strength of someone who has spent a lifetime working towards his own betterment. He smirks as veins bulge down his biceps as his own laughter resounds even louder than that of the spirit in his own head. Forearms and triceps suddenly hold strength that hasn’t a hope to reasonably wield.

Adam’s eyes then trail from the impressive arms towards what he always paid more attention to when the gymnast was trending, the man’s thick pits. Instantly does intense itching begin in Adam’s armpits. They burn with pleasure as a forest begins to surge outwards, growing thicker as he desires to be more than any man that pops onto his screen. The few hairs painting his chest rapidly expand in kind to compete with the dank jungles that now thrive and drip with sweat under his arms. Sitting there smirking as he tears his eyes away from his phone to delight in his new beyond hairy pits as rivers of musky sweat begin trickling down his bulging pecs and thick biceps.

Suddenly having the upper body of an Olympian, Adam’s mind grows foggy with a pride even greater than the sum of his impressive parts. Bouncing his pecs for the first time while doing a double bicep flex, Adam is filled with lust for his own form and a growing confidence that already no man could ever possibly resist him. He grunts and notices that his neck has similarly grown thicker, his voice resounding deeper as an adam’s apple bulges onto his previously smooth neck. Moaning as he takes a deep breath and enjoys his new heady musk, he feels his mind start to drift away from the pursuit of perfection and to instead just give in prematurely to hedonism as his larger hands inch towards his crotch.

Before getting the chance the voice returns and whispers like a snake, “ahh ahh ahh Adam… We are not complete yet.” Looking down at his lower body he shakes off his horny delirium and agrees, rapidly returns to the more than mindless scrolling, thankfully easily able to hold up against the whims of his still average cock. Adam again does not have to search long before his eyes land upon men he longs to be, to have, to be with. His eyes once more glow a searing Emerald, and the medallion scarcely lights up, at the sight of two specimens that alight more jealousy than anything yet.

Memories of his anxieties and self-doubt quickly vacate as confidence imbues every inch of him, staring at the thick thighs and powerful calves of the bodybuilders he feels his power and pride grow to new heights. Immediately sending tears down the ratty old skinny jeans he wore to the bar, thighs that make it immediately clear that their owner could break a watermelon between them surge into existence. Finally regaining their top spot as the largest muscles on the body they grow larger than his pecs before being similarly outmatched by his ass growing firm and flexing larger with each hungry glance at the two men.

Legs cramping outward the spirit within Adam feels his ability to control the man almost come to a head. Adam doesn’t notice as his fingers twitch and flex beyond his control nor does he care as his toes strain in the air as his feet inch larger. Why does it matter that his chest is flexing without being told, it’s hot, Adam surely meant to do that anyway. Looking down and inspecting his new form, concern slides off his mind anyway as he sees hair begin to increase across his chest, rapidly shooting down abs that he didn’t even notice forming.

He plays with the forest of hair beginning to shadow the whole of his torso as he feels similar stubble being to scratch against his chin. Tilting his head, his foggy mind struggles to wonder how he’s still changing without looking at men like the medallion instructed. Looking at his reflection in the mirror and seeing the impossibly alluring figure he has become however he decides to not care what the stupid thing said anyway. He must have gotten what he needs from it already.

Thoughtlessly he removes the necklace and tosses it away having decided he’s more than enough man. Only then does his bulge begin to grow beyond what he has always known it to be. There’s a sigh of relief and anticipation as he realizes he almost missed a chance to grow his cock with whatever that coin did to him. Face and chest burning red with blush he forces his hand into his crotch and smirks as he feels his thick fingers begin to tangle in his new bush. His free hand still dances across the bounty of chest hair and his new mustache scratches against his shoulder as he bathes in the new musk that resounds from his pits.

Mind clouded from his changes, having far too much to drink, and the cocktail of new hormones issuing forth from balls rapidly filling his briefs, Adam pulls out his larger cock and begins to go to town. Experiencing the new heights of pleasure that his dream body allows Adam loses himself to new ecstasy. His cock stretches to a size that rivals the forearm of a lesser man and his balls race to match the size his impressive body warrants. If it weren’t for his hand slowing down its thrusts it’s likely that Adam would never notice what was to happen to him next.

His face moves in unfamiliar patterns as something besides him stretches it to understand how to control it. Eyes slam shut as far as they can and then reopen, and Adam suddenly realizes that he can no longer move them of his own volition, and yet he still sees. Staring out from eyes seemingly out of his control, Adam feels his mouth smirk without instruction as a voice he has barely gotten the chance to use spills out from his thicker lips, “Well well young Adam. Excellent work thus far, think I’ll take over from here though lad.”

Adam struggles for dominance as he finds himself but a voice in his own head, watching his new fingers dance at the end of powerful arms he scarcely had time to appreciate. He feels them flex and struggles not to give in to the delight of the power and continue fighting. Feeling himself not totally lost he endeavors a hail mary and focuses all his attention to the one thing that has always been able to override his mind in the past. His balls churn and his cock bounces as even whatever clearly powerful spirit now controlling his form is unable to resist his rising lusts. The need for release that suddenly blares through every sweaty inch of his skin and the being totally not used to self-control or human weakness struggles to not give in.

The spirit grunts as it remembers its tenuous position on reality, through its own suddenly clouded mind it goes into bargaining mode, struggling to stop their body from its uncontrollable thrusting into the air, “Ohh oh fuck okay, another deal. I can’t- We can’t cum yet or grgh- Please not yet!” Adam grinds the well-trodden neural pathways of lust to a halt as he desires to hear the being out. To signal his willingness to play ball, as well as out of the hope Adam should be better at staying his hand from masturbation, it allows Adam full control once more. Adam does begin playing with his cock immediately, moreso from the ever-pressing desire to cum rather than intimidation at expelling the spirit though it works for both.

The spirit somehow clears his throat within Adam’s head, “To level, I am in here now, for good. But we can work out an arrangement, we can share. You can fuck and frot whatever, but every so often I’ll need a chance at the wheel for my own, uhm ends. Worry not, if anything it’ll only amount to more pleasure for yourself!” Adam cups his larger balls and struggles to understand the implications of this agreement. He hasn’t the capacity to care that his intellect seems to have diminished as his body grew, in fact as clearly duller words spill out of his mouth it only turns him on more, “Uuhhh, so we’ll share my body?”

Somehow rolling eyes he doesn’t have control over, the being realizes this must be a two way street and agrees, “Of course, you just let me do my thing and we’ll get along great.” Adam scratches his beard itching thicker and shrugs, “Sure dude, whatever.” At the lightest sign of agreement the spirit seizes control, too late does he realize his haste has caused him a misstep. Whether its his limited time in the corrupted mind of Adam forcing human err unto the spirit or simply from just how unprepared the spirit is to handle the overwhelming lust in Adam’s mind, rather than sharing control the two become irrevocably one in both body and mind. Whatever sinister priorities the spirit had rapidly shift to match the hedonistic needs of Adam. Rapidly fading into the bestial desire of Adam the spirit turns up its nose as it finds itself wanting to change their now shared form, “If we’re gonna share, uh bro, need a bit more space in here eh?”

With that, Adam’s eyes cross and he struggles to not burp as he feels his powerful form begin to bloat. His beard thickens as both minds become one and mass begins to pile onto his torso as abs grow into a bulky muscle gut underneath his still impressive pecs. Scratching his ass as it too grows a jungle of hair before going back to palm his cock, both minds feel sedated as they smell his thick musk and Adam can scarcely remember any priorities besides the all-important goal of seeking his own pleasure.

To this end the pair find themselves awash in exploring their-his body, for countless hours of making a mess of his bedroom, living room, and kitchen Adam finally remembers that there is more to the world than his small apartment. There are more holes to explore than the few in himself and far more to see than the steamy videos he can pull up on his phone. Wiping drool off his face and crusted cum off his torso, something at the back of Adam’s mind itches as he feels there was something greater he was supposed to do, something he was supposed to spread or some control he was supposed to enforce. Giving his pits a good sniff he smirks before opining that perhaps there is no greater goal than spreading his own glory far and wide.

Quite the easy enough task as it runs out as whatever the spirit did before fading into but another aspect of Adam’s lusty mind gave him the ability to attract anyone to his cause. Rather than whatever dire cause intended, with the two totally merged the only purpose of his inhumanly alluring self is to spread pleasure. As soon as he steps out of his front door he finds men throwing themselves at him in droves. Jocks, twinks, and bears alike could not possibly resist the titan as he walks down the street, always shadowed by a heavy wave of his aphrodisiac musk.

Adam’s eyes glance across and stare through every man whose hungry eyes cannot look away, whose shoulders fly back in submission, whose noses lead them to trial behind him. While many of them get the chance to enjoy time with the inhumanly alluring man, only a few get to experience the truly rapturous experience of being changed by Adam himself. Only a select few find themselves molded into something greater than that they are when they first submit to Adam’s will. Though even a few is enough to spread and as time goes on the number of musky men wandering around could certainly become a problem. Lucky for the world perhaps, whatever cause the medallion held is long forgotten and the changed men yearn for no higher purpose than pleasure. And with the enhancements gifted by Adam, that is precisely what they find.

#male tf #mental change #male transformation #jockification #hair growth #possession #muscle tf #dumber #bear tf #beard growth

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leclsrc · 2 years ago

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do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish.

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink.

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance.

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue.

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs.

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath.

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds.

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening.

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close. The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously.

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea.

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs.

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?”

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most.

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder.

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood.

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt.

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face.

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you.

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?”

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick.

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz one shot #f1 x reader

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chokifandom · 1 month ago

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—☆ 10. run away

prev // masterlist // next

note: this chapter contains written content! it is a bit of an angsty chapter though :( wc: 825 man honestly nun of this ain't that serious i promise but y/n is just a really anxious lil one so it feels that way 😞

“nagi!” he’s sitting next to the waterfall outside the bioscience block— you wave at him as you start speedwalking to the bench he’s on. the orange of the sunset illuminates his face, and he looks like an evening snowscape. he looks up from his phone, sleepy eyes as he greets you. “hey.”

“you didn’t have to wait for me. i know you would rather be home right now, probably,” you say with a sigh as you take the spot next to him. his tall frame still manages to tower over even as you sit. he cards one hand through his hair— nagi likes the feeling of touching his hair all the way from the root to the tip— an oddly specific quirk, but it’s something that grounds him. “i had to stay back for a bit too, so it would’ve been more of a hassle for me to go back to my place and come back here…”

it’s a… well, it’s not a complete lie, but it’s not a complete truth either. an excuse would probably be the best name for it. he did have football practice with his team, but it ended at the same time it always did— and then he texted you, asking you when you'd be done, and then he decided that he’d just wait until you were done. screw it, he just wanted to see you, even if it meant going out of his way to do so. you lift your legs onto the bench and lean against his side and chuckle. “that just sounds like ‘i really missed you and i just wanted to see you again’ to me.”

“you’re right,” nagi agrees all too quickly. your response might just have been a humorous quip, but there’s no denying it. “you can’t just say things like that! and- and be so nonchalant about it!” you crane your neck against his shoulder to get a worm’s-eye view from your awkward position. he feels his heartbeat get quicker from the sudden proximity, and it takes him a significant effort to keep a straight expression. he looks down at your face, a playful smirk gracing his features while the redness creeps into your own. “but i mean it—” he cloaks his words with more playfulness and faux innocence (but he really does mean it). he was never one to care for other people’s feelings much but now he finds himself wondering how you felt.

“you’re making it worse.” you turn your neck back down to bury your face in your hands. such banter has become a frequent between the two of you, but you still wonder if he means everything he said. well, you know nagi means whatever he says so it would be more accurate to say you were questioning if you deserved it or not.

it’s a hassle to lie, and to keep up with the lie, and you unfortunately know better than to dispute that fact— which leads you to a realisation about a certain something, so raw and pure. nagi’s certainty of his feelings was something that awed you, but now that the subject of his feelings was you? you find that the awe turns into sickening fear. twisted vines grip at your heart and suddenly you feel sick from the anxiety, a constant barrage of ‘he deserves better’ running through your mind.

“come on, we should leave.” your feet are back on the ground, but no sooner had those words left your mouth, a strong arm slithers around your waist, effectively restraining you against the body of its owner. you’re momentarily taken aback by the strength of his grip, but nagi is an athlete after all. “h-hey…” you were always the avoidant sort, and you wanted nothing more than to remove yourself from the situation at hand, the anxiety welling up in your gut and knocking the air out of your lungs. “mm, we’ll leave in a bit.”

it doesn’t take much protest and clawing at his arm from your end to persuade him; he gives up with a groan and frees you from his vice grip. “anything wrong?” nothing escapes the ever observant— he can see the way you suddenly start avoiding his eyes and fiddling with your fingers. “oh, it’s nothing, really… actually, i feel kind of sick. can we, um, put this off to another day?”

a bold-faced lie. nagi knows your tells well enough by now, and the sudden shift in your attitude bothers him— but he can’t find it in himself to press you on the matter. his expression returns to its usual neutral state, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s caught on to your lie; hell, why were you questioning it? he must have, but you decide you don’t care enough either, for now. “alright, i guess… see you tomorrow then.”

“see you tomorrow!” running away is all you’re good at. nagi starts feeling like you’re out of reach.

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crystallinestars · 8 months ago

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If They Were Your Pet Cat (Part 3)

This won the poll, so here is part 3. My HCs on what Gepard, Ratio, Dan Heng, and Sampo would be like as your pet cat.

I don't know what I'm doing anymore

Links to previous parts:

Part 1 (Genshin)

Part 2 (Aventurine, Argenti, Jing Yuan)

-------------

Gepard:

🛡️ Norwegian Forest cat

🛡️ Gepard is the most dog-like cat you have ever met. Much like a dog, he sees you off when you leave your house, and greets you when you return. He enjoys playing fetch more than chasing after a string, since it fetch gives him more of a workout. He’s also easy to train to perform tricks since he understands and obeys commands quickly. If you wanted, you could bring him to cat agility tournaments and do fairly well in the competition.

🛡️ He is incredibly loyal to you. While he’s welcoming and accepting of your loved ones and lets them pet him, he only listens to you. He doesn’t obey their commands the way he does yours. He might comply if your relative gave him an order to come here, but won’t do tricks and such for them. If you tell him to come here, roll over, play dead, etc… Gepard will comply without hesitation. He’s that trusting and loyal towards you.

🛡️ While to you Gepard appears harmless, in reality, he’s a force to be reckoned with, even for a house cat. If he sees you welcome someone into your home, he assumes the person is important to you, so he welcomes them in turn, albeit with some initial suspicion. That’s why he’s so accepting of your loved ones. However, if someone enters uninvited, especially if it’s someone he doesn’t know, Gepard won’t hesitate to growl and threaten the person to leave. His fur stands on end to make him look larger, and his teeth and claws are bared, showing that he means business. It’s usually enough to discourage anyone from trespassing. If not, then he’ll alert you with a loud yowl if you’re home, or go in for an attack. Furthermore, if someone makes you uncomfortable in your own home, Gepard senses your discomfort and is immediately at your side, ready to attack if the other person tries anything. He has no reservations about using his claws and teeth for the sake of protecting his owner.

🛡️ Due to his long and thick coat, Gepard requires regular grooming. Based on the somber expression on his cute little muzzle, you can tell he doesn’t enjoy being bathed and groomed, but he soldiers through it without struggle or complaint. As mentioned previously, he’s very loyal and trusting of you, so he understands that what you’re doing to him is not dangerous and is for his own benefit. Giving him praise about how much of a good boy he’s being, seems to help warm him up to the process.

🛡️ While he’s not a huge fan of being pet, but if you spend some time gently petting his head or brushing his fur, he will relax and accept the attention. He purrs and kneads at whatever is under him, clearly enjoying the experience. You try to give him gentle pets as a reward for waiting for you to come home and keeping watch of the house, and it works to deepen your bond with him.

🛡️ He’s vocal when with you. Gepard often communicates with you via chirps and low meows, using them as a means of calling you over for something. When you leave something cooking on the stove and forget about it, Gepard smells smoke and meows at you to come over and take care of it. If you haven’t unloaded the washing machine for a while, he calls on you to let you know its done. He just wants to help his owner stay on track.

🛡️ Once the two of you settle into a daily routine, Gepard expects you to maintain it. He’ll be unhappy if the pattern is broken. If you oversleep, Gepard is there to wake you up. He’ll meow and walk all over you until you get up and feed him. It’s great for when you sleep past you alarm since it prevents you from being late to work/school, but it’s not so fun on the weekends… Similarly, Gepard expects you to go to bed at the same time every night. He’s used to going to bed together with you, so if you stay up late, he’ll sit nearby and glare at you, tail twitching in dissatisfaction. If you don’t get his hint to abandon everything and head to bed already, then he’ll quietly meow to get your attention.

Ratio:

📘 Is a Bengal

📘 Ratio is an extremely intelligent cat, but he has a nasty attitude. He’s very prideful and stubborn, and despite your attempts to discipline and train him, he refuses to bend to your will. If anything, you’re the one bending to his. He’s not a troublemaker, but if you piss him off enough, Ratio can resort to knocking items off shelves or swatting at your face (with claws retracted, thankfully) in retaliation. If you scold him for his behaviour, he simply glares at you with his ears flattened to his head and tail flicking, as if daring you to say more. Everything about his body language screams he will swat you in the face if you say another word.

📘 If he messes up big time, such as breaking something important or accidentally nicking you with his claws, then Ratio accepts the scolding with a guilty expression. The flicking of his tail indicates he’s not happy to sit through your verbal lashing, but he’s smart enough to understand that what he did was bad for you. Despite his prideful attitude, the feline doesn’t want to cause you too much trouble, or so you like to think.

📘 You find out that Ratio is unusually intelligent for a cat soon after adopting him. He enjoys playing with cat toys that serve as a puzzle he must solve to get a treat. Ratio also observed how you open doors, and devised his own methods of opening them despite not having hands. He also likes to sit beside you on the bed or desk when you read books, in particular textbooks. As a cat, there’s no way he knows how to read, but you frequently catch him staring intently at the pages. It’s a mystery as to what is going through his mind during those moments, but it sometimes unnerves you how he seems to be studying the images. Aside from books, Ratio also enjoys watching TV, especially if it’s a documentary where he can observe various animals. He’s smart enough to know that what’s on TV is not in real life. If you bring something new home, Ratio takes time to thoroughly sniff and inspect whatever that something may be. He’s very curious and enjoys interacting with new things. That said, he also requires a lot of exercise. He’s a large and muscular cat for his breed, and requires ample space and playtime to run around and burn off excess energy.

📘 Despite being a cat, Ratio considers himself your equal, if not your superior. Back when you first got him, you had placed some cat food into a bowl on the floor for him while you sat at the table to eat. Ratio had expressed a clear dislike for this arrangement, climbing onto the table and angrily meowing at you. You expect him to eat kibble off the floor like a common cat, while you eat a freshly cooked meal at the table? Absolutely not. Know your place, human. After several consecutive sessions like that where he angrily yowled at you for constantly shooing him off the table, Ratio now eats at the table with you. He always waits to eat together with you, so if you skip on a meal or are late to eat, he’ll make his dissatisfaction with you known.

📘 On the topic of food, Ratio dislikes eating cheap cat food. He likes healthier cat food brands which usually end up being more expensive, but he especially likes it if you cook his meal yourself. Some cooked chicken, fish, or seafood make him a very happy cat. He’s a spoiled cat.

📘 Ratio dislikes loud noises, so if you have noisy guests over, he will usually hide. He developed a habit of sticking his head inside a small paper bag you had lying around, and wearing it on his head until the guests leave. You’re unsure if he’s trying to block out the noise or trying to hide, but one thing for certain is that he becomes very upset if you remove the paper bag from his head. The bag must stay.

📘 Ratio typically isn’t into being pet or cuddled, so such occasions with him are rare. He does, however, enjoy it when you scratch under his chin. He tends to close his eyes and purr when you lightly scratch under his chin. Another time he allows you to touch him freely is during baths. Ratio is probably the first cat you’ve ever met that loves baths. He seems to always be eager to hop into the tub and soak in the warm water. He lets you clean his body without complaint, seeming to enjoy the pampering. He’s patient while you dry and brush him, but he expects you to do a good job of grooming his fur. If you’re gentle enough with the brush, he might lean into it and purr in enjoyment.

Dan Heng:

🐉 Is a Dragon Li (I had to)

🐉 Dan Heng is a reserved cat. He prefers to spend time alone, away from the chatter and activity of people. You can often find him sitting by a window, pensively staring outside at the world beyond the glass. You can only wonder what he’s thinking about with such a somber expression. What kind of troubles do cats have on their minds?

🐉 If you have guests over, then Dan Heng hides. He dislikes crowds and loud noises, you’ve noticed. It’s rare for him to come out of hiding to meet guests. If he does, he tends to keep his distance and peers over the corner at whoever you have invited. Once his curiosity has been sated, he’ll leave without interacting with your guest at all.

🐉 Dan Heng is pretty antisocial, but he’s more amicable around you. While he doesn’t humor your guests when they try to play with him, when you’re the one dangling the cat toys or laser, Dan Heng engages in play with you. He also lets you get away with more than you think. He tolerates it when you play with his paws or rub his belly, even though he doesn’t actually like it. You’re also the only one he allows to pick him up.

🐉 Despite purchasing him a cat bed, Dan Heng doesn’t sleep in it. He acts a bit awkward around it, as if not knowing if it’s for him or not. He prefers to sleep on the floor, usually on a comfy rug. With some time and patience, you can coax him to sleep on your bed but know that he won’t snuggle up to you. Dan Heng will keep some distance between you and will lay at your feet. Even then, he’ll only lay on your bed if you’re settling in to sleep. During the day, he still naps on the floor.

🐉 Sometimes, you notice Dan Heng’s legs twitch and ears flatten when he sleeps, his fur standing on end as if he were terrified of something in his dreams. You’re uncertain if cats can have bad dreams, but Dan Heng’s reaction makes you think he’s having a nightmare. He seems dazed when he wakes from such episodes, and you wonder if he dreamed about something horrible from his days when he was a stray. You try to comfort him through these episodes by checking in on him and speaking gently, which seems to help calm him down. He follows you around for a bit after that, as if wanting to remain in your presence for a bit longer.

🐉 Despite how aloof Dan Heng is, you still know he cares about your well-being. If you’re having a bad day, he softens up to you. As if sensing your sadness, he comes out of hiding and remains by your side, sometimes even lying on your lap or chest. He allows you to pet and cuddle him if you need the comfort, and stays with you until you feel better. If you take medication, Dan Heng reminds you to take it on time if you forget.

🐉 Dan Heng keeps himself quite clean, and only needs an occasional bath and claw trim from you to keep him in perfect condition. He's surprisingly tolerant of baths. You thought he might struggle and run, but Dan Heng calmly handles the entire bathing process without so much as a peep. If you make fun of him for looking like a wet cat, Dan Heng will give you the most unamused look you’ve ever seen from a cat, and proceed to give you the cold shoulder for the rest of the day.

Sampo:

💣 Korat breed

💣 Cats are renowned for how quietly they walk, to the point their owners don’t hear them approach. It’s an amazing skill, yet somehow, Sampo manages to surpass the average cat in terms of stealth. While most cats still make noise when they accidentally knock something over when walking along cluttered surfaces or running around the house, Sampo doesn’t. He’s silent and careful about the way he moves, putting his feline brethren to shame. This skill of his comes at a detriment, however. You don’t hear him trail behind you when you do chores at home, and sometimes trip over him or step on his tail on accident. Sampo still hasn’t forgiven you for squashing his tail.

💣 He's a very intelligent and mischievous cat. Sure, he can do tricks in exchange for treats like a dog, but his intelligence goes far beyond that. Back when you first got him, there was a time when you were having dinner and Sampo came up to you and started to rub himself against your legs. He was very responsive when you leaned down to pet him, purring up a storm as you cooed at him. You were so engrossed with how cute and affectionate Sampo was acting, that you didn’t mind when he climbed up onto your lap for more affection. That was your mistake. While you were distracted with petting him, the furry scoundrel took the opportunity to snatch some food off your plate and made a run for it.

💣 He tried to use the same trick on you again, but it didn’t work a second time. However, he uses it fairly often on your guests. Despite your warning to not fall for his false charms, Sampo always manages to win your guests over and then unceremoniously yoinks their food from their plates when they least expect it. He has now been banned from the dining area when guests are over.

💣 Sampo has proven his cunning in other ways, too. Since the same tactic doesn’t work on you twice, the little furball devised another plan. He learned that you respond very effectively to his calls of distress, and so now when you have a meal, he goes into another room in the house and yowls in the most pitiful manner you have ever heard. His distressed meows make you abandon your food in favor of searching for your cat, concerned that something might be wrong with him. While you’re busy searching for him, Sampo slinks past you to where you were eating. By the time you come back after a fruitless search, you discover that half your food has gone missing.

💣 Sampo’s antics don’t end there. Once when you came home, you found your pantry raided and fridge open and emptied. The culprit was none other than your feline fiend of a pet—Sampo. You can’t fathom how, but he figured out how to open the fridge, among other types of doors. Of course, you gave him the scolding of a lifetime. He immediately started begging for your forgiveness by rubbing against your legs and staring at you with his big, green eyes as if begging you to not be angry at little ol’ Sampo. Despite sucking up to you, Sampo continued to steal food from the pantry, but in smaller quantities this time to not get caught. You still caught him in the act, though, and now have locks on all your cabinets and fridge to keep him out.

💣 Aside from food theft and manipulation, Sampo also has a habit of collecting various knickknacks around the house. He squirrels away anything that catches his fancy and that isn’t securely stored away where he can’t get into. He keeps his “treasures” in a small nook where he suspects you won’t find them, such as under your bed, behind the couch, or in a cluttered spot inside the closet. You only discover his secret stash when you do a deep cleaning of your home. There, in the dusty corner, are your missing hair ties, jewelry, candy wrappers, random string and other junk that you lost track of long ago. Sampo will be very upset if you confiscate these items.

💣 You can’t force Sampo to do something he doesn’t want. If you want bathe him and he hears the water running in the tub, he vanishes without a trace. If it’s time to go to the vet and he sees you get out the cat carrier, he disappears like smoke. He’s right next to you one moment, and then gone the next. No amount of “pspsps” or cat treats will coax him out of hiding. You can even turn the entire place upside down and still not find him.

#honkai star rail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr x reader #gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #ratio x reader #hsr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #dan heng x reader #sampo x reader #hsr sampo x reader #sampo koski x reader

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my-my-my · 3 months ago

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KINKTOBER DAY 6 - Somnophilia: Sosuke Aizen (Hueco Mundo) x Female Reader

Requested by anonymous

Summary: Observing people, shinigami and hollows alike, are just one of the many hobbies Aizen likes to partake in. In one of his visits to Naruki City, he decides to leave a book from his personal collection, in a used bookstore. You, a human who doesn't know any better, become fascinated by the book - never hearing or seeing anything about it before. No one knows of this book, except a stranger, Aizen, who feeds your curiosity.

TW: this is kinda angsty. Implied past somnophiliac acts (reader thinks its a dream), dubious consent, hypnotism, voyeurism, stalking.

Word count: 2491

Read on AO3 here.

In preparation of his descent into Hueco Mundo, Aizen scoured Karakura Town and the nearby Naruki City for test subjects, spiritual readings and hollow experimentation. Sometimes, it’s easier to disguise himself amongst the humans, wearing a gigai.

Aizen is fascinated by the mostly mundane tasks of human beings. They’re so incredibly fragile in his presence yet make the most out of their inadequacies. While their technology is not as advanced as Soul Society, his or Urahara Kisuke’s inventions, he’s amused by what they have made for themselves already.

Sometimes Aizen wanders through the various bookstores and libraries in the World of the Living. He observes mortals and what they decide to read. For whatever reason, today he decided to bring a book from his own collection and places it on the shelf of a used bookstore.

He watches you, with curious eyes, skimming the book. Your eyes widen from what he can see. What will you make of it? He wonders. The store owner doesn’t recognize the book at all but sells it to you for a low price.

He watches you read it in your home, on your commute and your days off. You’re in awe.

You decide to finish the book in a quiet part of the park, under a gazebo with some of your favourite flowers surrounding it. Page after page, you’re engrossed with what the book shares with you, things you haven’t heard of, concepts you had never dreamed of. You had never heard of this book before, no existence of it in the library or online copies anywhere. Yet it captivated you.

“Are you enjoying that book? It’s quite fascinating, isn’t it?” Aizen asks, as he walks into the gazebo to see you.

Today, Aizen would find you enjoying an iced coffee on the patio of a café in Naruki City. In the back of his mind, he had already begun his machinations to move you further away from Naruki City to Kyoto or somewhere else, where you wouldn’t be affected by his plans for Karakura Town and the nearby areas.

You sipped your coffee, thoroughly engrossed in a book that he had lent you. His lips twitched at seeing you enjoying something he also enjoyed, his heart quickened in your presence.

But he ignored it.

Today, Aizen donned a gigai, as he always does when he visits you. A simple white dress shirt tucked in to black slacks, the sleeves rolled up, his hair pushed back as normal. He ordered a white jasmine tea for himself, and a small pastry for you.

“Are you enjoying the book?” Aizen’s voice startled you, but you smiled at him, waving him over.

“Yes, I am, thank you so much Aizen-san! Your recommendations have been wonderful.” You beamed at him, placing a bookmark on the page as you closed the book. It wasn’t often that you bumped into your mysterious crush.

He gave you a small smile and sat across from you, taking a sip from his cup. This café is terrible he thought to himself, tasting the bitterness of the tea leaves. But you were here, and that was more than enough to finish drinking the offensive liquid.

“What brings you here today? I haven’t seen you in a while.” You asked, feeling nervous suddenly.

“No reason in particular, I was in the area and wanted some tea. I just happen to see you here today. It’s nice to see a familiar face.” Aizen said, continuing to drink his tea. He noticed your coffee was also still unfinished. “Are you not enjoying your drink?”

You laughed, then lowered your voice, “I found this place on a whim… but it’s kind of terrible don’t you agree?” To which you gave him a sheepish smile.

Aizen chuckled, nodding his head, “but I got this for you. Hopefully that’s better than our drinks.” Your eyes widened at the pastry, and you immediately thanked him for it.

You ripped a small portion off the plate and placed it immediately in your mouth. Your eyes lit up, it was surprisingly delicious. “You need to try this Aizen-san!” You immediately ripped another piece off and handed it to him.

A blush crept up your face as he ate from your hand. “It is delicious. Maybe they should open a bakery instead.” Aizen surmised, his tone calm and collected, as if your fingers weren’t near his mouth at all.

You gave a nervous laugh and immediately pulled away, “I think that’s a great idea for them.” “Ignoring them, tell me what you think of what you’ve read so far.” Aizen asked, watching your eyes glimmer in excitement.

It had been a few months now, of meeting with Aizen, whose first name you learned was Sosuke. He revealed very little of himself, but you had exchanged numbers with him. As of late, many of your meetings were more like “dates,” that ended with some kisses and heavy petting.

Yet you still didn’t know much of the man. He was a complete enigma to you. You had shared with one of your closest friends what you knew about him, but even their sleuthing skills couldn’t find anything. Was he giving you a fake name?

You doubted that, but you never really saw him around town save for when you two were hanging out. He wasn’t purposefully evasive towards you, he told you as much that he was in the area a lot (but didn’t specify where), as he had work there (but didn’t disclose what he did).

Yet even then, when you two were together, it felt like the rest of the world was gone. The two of you were in a bubble. It was strange in some cases, you thought. On days when you were having an especially hard time, something at work or something upsetting, you would find him, almost as if on accident.

And the time with him felt comforting. Your problems felt like they disappeared when you were with him, or he offered you advice and listening ear if it was too much to bear.

But still, nothing about him, nothing of existence of him. Maybe… you were hallucinating him?

That would make sense, right? Your friends never met him, and any instances of trying to have him meet them were thwarted at some point. Even when you tried to take photos, your phone’s camera would (surprisingly) malfunction.

Now you felt crazy, but the books were real, weren’t they?

You picked up the latest book he lent you. It was heavy, hard and sturdy. It felt real.

You took a photo of it and sent it to your closest friend, who responded with a question mark.

“Why are you sending me a pic of a book?” Your friend responded.

You replied with an “oh it was an accident, meant for someone at work!”

Ok, so the books were real.

Then your phone rang. Speak of the devil and he shall appear your mind thought, as Aizen’s name flashed on your screen. You hurriedly picked it up and heard his baritone voice immediately. “Are you free tonight?”

Aizen had treated you to dinner, at a remarkable restaurant you were saving up for. You savored every part of your meal, from the food, the décor and Aizen himself.

“I think…” you hesitated, wanting to choose your words carefully, “this is the first time you’ve called me for dinner, Aizen-san.”

He gave you a small smile, “it is, and unfortunately there’s a reason behind this.”

You felt your heart dropped at the shift of his tone.

“I’ll be going overseas indefinitely.” He said, “I’m not sure when I’ll be back here again.”

“Oh…” you trailed off, disappointment clear in your voice. “For how long?”

“I’m not sure yet, but it may be the last time I see you.” Aizen said, his face expressionless. He watched your face drop with sadness, while his heart felt a bit strange. But he ignored it, again. He enjoyed your company and nothing more of it would come from it. His plans were too far along now to pull you into them. It was better this way.

Although Aizen shared it was his last night, he wanted to spend the night together. It was a surreal blur to you. The two of you spent time watching the stars, discovering late night gems in Naruki City, with kisses in between, but once a yawn escaped your mouth, he escorted you home. You remember being tucked in to bed, and then waking up to find a new book on your bedside table. Aizen’s last gift to you. You thumbed the pages carefully before hugging the book to your chest.

The following morning, you sent him a text, to have it being bounced back. Calling him left you with an automated tone saying the number did not exist.

The man, Aizen Sosuke, never appeared in your life again. To your friends who knew of him, never brought him up.

At places where you two were seen together, no one batted an eye as to where your partner was. No one asked. As months went by, if it weren’t for the books lining your bookshelf, you would have wondered if he even really existed.

Lord Aizen remained unphased watching Ulquiorra share his update on Karakura Town to him and the rest of the Espada. Everything was going according to plan, plans that he thought well and hard for, plans that had contingencies running if they were (shockingly) to fail.

Ulquiorra’s voice droned out of Lord Aizen’s mind as he saw the briefest glimpse of you. Of course Ulquiorra was not privy to you. Watching you, hearing you, talking to you was only a privilege to Lord Aizen.

To which he thought, he was due for a visit to you.

Some nights you dreamt of Aizen.

Some dreams, the two of you were a seemingly normal couple, traveling the world and sight-seeing.

Other dreams he was a military captain, commanding his troops with his sword and his voice alone.

Some dreams felt real – his touch hot against your skin, his kisses deep and passionate. Your bed, his bed, some other bed – you would wake with the distant memories of moans and pleasure, as your thighs were left sticky, and your body covered in a light sheen of sweat.

Other dreams involved him in a palace far beyond, of stark white in an area devoid of light. Where sand dunes filled the landscape, with strange creatures roaming around. He commanded them, wearing robes of white, with a presence that commanding fear and utmost respect.

You never knew what to make of these dreams. Some days you loved them, to see him again, to “feel” him again. Other days you hated it, you wished you had never met him.

The dreams now, were becoming fewer and far between, and again, you weren’t sure if you were happy with that. To be haunted by him, or to forget him almost completely.

Tonight though, you were exhausted, and your bed called to you more than anything.

Once you were sound asleep, Aizen approaches. He knows you and your bed now. He knows which parts to put weight on – and which not to – to avoid waking you. It amused him some days, to hear you cry for him in your sleep, other days it made his brows furrow, his heart quickening like it did before.

Tonight he wanted you for himself. Seeing you in Ulquiorra’s surveillance update tugged at him. You called to him, both mind and body, and it bothered him. But tonight he would indulge. His reiatsu lightly fills this room, weighing on you more heavily, forcing you into a deeper slumber.

“Sosuke” you whimpered, your eyes still closed, while your brows were knitted. He kisses your forehead and watches you relax, wondering what you were dreaming of tonight.

Aizen cups your face and turns you on to your back. Your breathing is deep – your chest rises and falls to every breath you take, your breasts barely containing your nightshirt.

Aizen muses if you were made for him, as your legs spread apart. He whispers an incantation under his breath that leaves you naked and bare for him alone.

He runs his hands over your body, parts he's familiar with, places he hungers for. Deep kisses are left along your neck as he travels down your breasts, taking delicate care for each nipple.

Your eyes are still closed, but moans are freely spilling from your mouth. Aizen pushes your legs further apart, your glistening cunt in full display for him. He draws slow circles around your clit, earning a gasp and mewl from you. It amuses him how needy your pussy is for him, you’re completely drenched, and he hasn’t even put a finger in.

Aizen pushes a finger into your wet hole and relishes at how tight you are around him. Your mouth opens into a whine, “please, more Sosuke.” Although your eyes remain firmly closed.

Who was Aizen to deny you like this? Undoing a part of his robe, Aizen pumped his cock in his hand, watching you panting, and moaning for him. As if on reflex, he watches in amusement as you pinch and play with your own breasts, before your hand circles your clit, but he stops you before you can go further.

Your body was meant for him, and he would remind you of that fact.

Aizen slowly pushes his cock inside you, relishing at how your face tightens at the sudden intrusion, but slowly relaxes as you moan to the full stretch of him. Aizen brings your face to him, giving you a deep kiss as he slams his hips into you.

A part of him wants to see your eyes open for him, to watch your eyes sparkle at him, trickle with tears as he pounds you mercilessly. But not tonight. He grinds into you, forcing your legs on his shoulders as his cock is covered in your slick juices.

You chant his name, over and over again, cries for more pleasure, more of him. And of course, he would never deny you tonight. Aizen slams into your wet pussy repeatedly, as you tighten around him, before a low groan escapes Aizen, his cum filling you up as he remained inside you. He watches you in fascination as your eyes relax again, your breathing less laborious than before, slowly pulling his softening cock out of you. You let out a soft whine from the feeling, to which Aizen kisses you, as if to say he was sorry.

He undoes the incantation in your room, your shirt appearing back on your body, before fading into the darkness of Hueco Mundo once again. When morning comes, you’re left with another moment of wonder and frustration. Of sticky thighs, sore nipples and kiss swollen lips. A vision of Aizen runs through your mind, haunting you once again.

I've been in a wistful mood for Aizen as of late... and yes, more Ghost sex hahaha. Thank you for reading! This fic was set to VIQ's "Ghost".

#bleach #aizen sousuke #aizen sosuke #aizen sousuke x you #bleach smut #aizen sousuke x reader #aizen sosuke x you #aizen sosuke x reader #aizen smut #aizen x reader #aizen x you #a writes #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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kcwriter-blog · 6 months ago

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I've been thinking about how we the players know so little about Solas compared to what the writers and developers know about him and how that affects the way he is written.

I mean we know he is an ancient elf. We know he was powerful enough and skilled enough to create the Veil. We know he and Mythal were friends. He doesn't seem to have liked Andruil and Falon'Din much. Skyhold belonged to him. He removed vallislin. He tried to free slaves. He had kind of an underground railroad thing going. He seems to have had a lot of money secreted away. He painted even back in Arlathan. A lot of statues seem to have been made of him. People in the Vir Dirthara knew he created the Veil but were surprised that he would do something like that. He seems to have always had an affinity for the Fade and spirits. He enjoyed whatever version of the Game nobles in Arlathan played. He was cocky and hot blooded, always spoiling for a fight. He is capable of love and friendship.

I think that's all and it really isn't much. Everything else anyone says about him is pure speculation. It makes meta fun but its easy to get too caught up in our own ideas.

We speculate about him based on things we learn from his personal quests and what we see in Trespasser but we don't know anything for sure. Was he a slave? Was he a spirit called out of the Fade by Mythal and given a body? Did he manifest a body like Cole? Was he just a normal elf born in a small village to the north? Was he a noble and privileged or did he work his way up? Did he join the fight against the Titans? Was he a genius who theorized that the waking world and Fade could be separated? Did he use untried magic because his back was against the wall and he couldn't think of any other way to save the world? Was he a friend of the Evanuris so they trusted him enough to fall into his trap? Was he one of them?

So many questions. The writers have tried to portray him sympathetically. They want us to empathize with him. And I have to ask myself why? He is one of the antagonists. Wouldn't it be easier to portray him as not having any redeeming qualities? And yet, he is basically described as the hero who lived long enough to become the villain.

I know his detractors believe he is a genocidal, racist maniac but that doesn’t track with everything we learn about him as high approval or romanced Inquisitors. It certainly isn’t born out by his statement that he is doing his best to minimize the damage.

He truly believes what he is doing is best for the world and is willing to break it and remake it. What does he know? But more importantly, what do the writers know? Fen' Harel has existed since Origins. Devs have always planned for him to make an appearance. That means the valleslin has always been a mark of slavery even if the Dalish didn't know. The Creators have always been horrible, slave owners even if the Dalish don't remember. Which means Solas has always been the rebel fighting for what he believes is right.

Why do the writers see him not so much as the villain (although Epler uses that word constantly - he is usually the only one though) as they do a somewhat noble person who keeps making mistakes? Why is he portrayed as just a sad man who can't see past his regret and guilt. What was he like? What changed him? What did he know about the Veil before he put it up?

I get that a lot of people don't like the idea of being tied to him in Veilguard but maybe the writers did that so we have no choice but to get to know him - the good and the bad. Maybe we finally get to know Solas the way the writers and developers know him. I'm looking forward to that.

#solas #dragon age #solavellan #solasmance #fen'harel #solas dragon age #solas dread wolf #dai solas #solas meta #dragon age meta #da meta #evanuris #mythal #dragon age theory

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kakiastro · 1 year ago

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Career Astrology

Hey yall! Today we’re going to discuss all things related to your career because there’s way more to it then just X or Y placements.

1. Saturn placement/House + Capricorn placements/House + 10h

Saturn is the first placement we look at when it comes to long-term career, the career we plan on retiring from. It’s what your are interested in as a whole. the house it’s in can give you a better idea on the the career you want. Saturn also rules our head boss(s).

For example: Saturn Aries 12h. You will do well in a career that you are passionate about, where you can be a leader and entrepreneur, a career that motivates you. With it being in the 12h, you will do well in career that emphasize with people, you may also work well alone, this can indicate a spiritual, overseas or a creative type of career.

You see how I didn’t mention a specific career but how the energy can still play out in your life? That’s how you read this.

One Saturn Aries 12h native may be in the navy while another person with this placement may work as a Warden in a prison facility. Both placements rules those things.

- Capricorn is also a career sign because it’s ruled by Saturn. Capricorn placements and the house it rules can give you better clue on what might work for you.

For example: A Capricorn Sun may be in to the creative arts, owns a famous business or even politics. They may have their Sun in the 11h so working with a group of people in person or online.

-the 10h is ruled by Saturn and its the house Capricorn rules. This is the first thing people look at when it comes to careers. The 10h rules over your public image and how people view you. This is how you come across. It’s different than rising because that’s 1 on 1 first impression.

For example: An Aries 10h native may come across as bold, confident, and authoritative. Once you get to know them, they’re really sweet and actually shy due to them having a Cancer rising lol

2. Your MC

-now I know what you’re thinking, Kaki isn’t the MC the same as your 10h? The short answer is No, not always. MC is a point in the sky and depending on your time of birth, it doesn’t have to be in the 10h. I’ve had a few clients who had their MC in their 9h, 10h, 11h, I even had one that had a Mc 12h which was fascinating!

Your MC isn’t just careers, it’s the highest potential you can reach in this lifetime. MC 9h has the potential to reach high levels of knowledge, Mc 10h is career accomplishments, MC 11h with reaching large group of people and your wishes, and MC 12h is highest spiritual potential.

3. Venus placement/house + Taurus and Libra Houses + 2h and 7h

-Venus doesn’t get talked about when it comes to careers and it’s one of the most important ones to look at. Why? Well because Venus rules over our Salary and our Lifestyle. Everyone wants to make a decent salary to live a comfortable life, your Venus can help you achieve that when you learn to use it properly. Venus also rules over relationships so learning how to work with people.

-Taurus/2h rules over our money and investments . Wherever Taurus sits in your chart and the sign your 2h is in can help you reach whatever your financial goals are.

For example: A Leo 2h with a Taurus 11h can make money by being in the arts and by posting them online, being an actor, working with children at daycare etc anywhere career that involves you putting on a “performance” and being around lots of ppl can help.

-Libra/7h, how to work with people 1 on 1 and build those connections up. If you’re a business owner that has a business partner, this is really important for you know.

For example: A Libra 4h with Capricorn 7h native may do well with working with women, possibly from home or a smaller type of work setting that feels like home. Working with hardworking women, they may not like to miss work lol

4. Mercury Placement/house + Gemini and Virgo + 3h and 6h

-Mercury rules over daily routines and work. Saturn is the chosen Career but Mercury is the work we actually do in our career.

Quick example: You work in the Entertainment industry (Saturn) and your actual job is cinematographer (Mercury).

Another quick example You work in Law Enforcement (Saturn) but your actual Job is a Forensic Detective (Mercury).

Mercury rules over communication and how we talk to people.

Gemini/ 3h rules over communication and our co-workers who are on the same level as us. This is how we talk to to our coworkers and what we may talk to each other about. This also rules transportation and we get to work.

For example: Gemini 12h with Virgo 3h. This can manifest in a few ways. I have a friend who have this and she use to tell me how one of her coworkers had no boundaries (12h)and was touch feely (Gemini) and was nosy (Virgo 3h).

Another example: I had another friend who gives free taro readings to her co workers at her job during lunch break😅

-Virgo/6h rules our Job and Dailey routine. This can also show you how your job influence your health because Virgo and the 6h rules over our health. This also rules over coworkers but our managers and supervisors.

5. Extra Tips

-look at your progressed chart as well. This chart can show you what works for you right now

-aspects also hugely influence your places

-your degrees also add some influence as well

As always thank you for reading and supporting my page. It really means a lot to me! If you would like a paid reading then I’m open to help! Just check my pinned post for the details🥰

#astrology #astrology community #knowledge #love astrology #astro observations #advanced astrology #birth chart #kakiastro #career #career astrology #saturn #venus #10h #Mercury

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sunnystars2023 · 6 months ago

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Ways BNHA Boys Show their love

Group 2

Synopsis: The ways the boys of BNHA show their love and affection to you.

Characters Included: Izuku Midoriya, Shoto Todoroki, and Tenya Iida.

Group 1/Group 3

🔋👾🌀⭐️🐸⭐️🌀👾🔋👾🌀⭐️🐸⭐️🌀👾🔋

Izuku Midoriya

Midoriya is semi ok with PDA he like people to know that you two are together with out having to say it. He like feeling close to you but he won't kiss you on the lips in public.

Midoriya takes notice of the little things you do and or like. He has his own journal about you. He knows when you've reached your limits and when you need breaks. He knows everything you enjoy from movies to flowers. You guys know each other so well its almost instinctual.

Midoriya is a sweetheart but after his first year at UA he grew some tough skin. Training to be a hero already puts you on edge but Training to be a symbol is harder especially when you're on the line. He doesn't play when it comes to you.

Izuku Midoriya might be a softy at times but when it comes to you, his friends, and Civilians, he's a protecter.

Shoto Todoroki

Todoroki likes to be private so PDA is a no go for him as publicity is a bitch and he’s still Endeavors son. Not that he doesn’t wanna show you off it’s just he doesn’t want a bunch of randos having extra pictures of him much less with you. He makes an exception for hand holding on days where you both need a little extra love. Behind closed doors, thats when he becomes so clingy even just in the dorms and not in your personal rooms.

Todoroki at first isn’t to sure how to be someone’s partner as none of the girls that pursued him never got his attention. The only example he has is Natsuo but he doesn’t ever bring his girlfriend home, but he watched you quietly and would talk to you about what you wanted and what you liked and would listen about topics you grossly know too much about. As time goes on he figures it out, learns what you need and is so sweet but still a little dense.

Todoroki loves to spoil you when he has the chance. When he and Endeavor started to re-kindle their relationship Todoroki accepted a Debit card that is loaded for necessities and such. So if you even whisper of wanting something and he can get it, he’s already got it. He says quote ‘You’re so kind and deserving so why wouldn’t I get it’. Not only is he physically Rich but he also once he gets comfortable with you and the relationship is a Rich lover.

Shoto Todoroki is a learner but a Rich lover so be good to him and he’s good to you.

Tenya Iida

Iida is a strong class leader along side Momo. He is very confident and concentrated on being a good class rep. He like Bakugo HATES PDA as he sees it as A) breaking the rules and B) a breach of your intimate privacy. He will only hold hands if you just absolutely need some affection. He prefers to be touchy behind closed doors.

Iida is strict to his rules even with himself. He tries to keep everything in line. Tries as when it comes to you he will lightly bend the rules for you. If it’s late and you need him, his doors open even past curfew sometimes. Wanna cuddle and end up falling asleep in his bed, he lets you until curfew and brings you to your dorm room. He would bend any rule for you. Bend not break. He is more loyal to you than a dog is to his owner. Iida will not stand for any slander or insults towards you or about you.

Iida is hard working and driven by his peers. He won’t give up and won’t stop working towards his goals so be lucky that you became one of them. He cherishes you and thinks the world of you. He thinks of you as more then just a girlfriend. You’re his partner and Best friend. He helps you with whatever you need. No he won’t give you answers to homework but he will let you borrow his highlighted notes with tips hand written in the margins and go over the assignment without judgment. He also brings you books that he thinks you’d like and writes more notes in the margins for you varying from sweet I love yous to pointed out things that reminded him of you.

Tenya Iida is a smart lover, loyal companion, and a hard-worker. He is as good as gold so take care of him.

🔋👾🌀⭐️🐸⭐️🌀👾🔋👾🌀⭐️🐸⭐️🌀👾🔋

Masterlist <- here

Thank you sm for reading! Check out other parts for more characters! If you want more content follow my wattpad @sunnystars2023!

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #mha shoto #shoto torodoki #shoto x reader #tenya iida #tenya iida x reader #bnha boys x reader #bnha #mha boys x reader #mha x reader #mha

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mythmash · 6 months ago

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Bouncer!Sukuna AU Pt. 2

Bouncer!Sukuna x Stripper/Dancer!Reader. Warnings: MDNI 18+, bullet point fic, uncle!sukuna, bootplay, cunnilingus mention, knifeplay, blood, bloodplay, biting, period sex mention A/N: this is a collaborative work made with the amazing @pastelbunnelby, @pastelpixies & @chaoskrakenuwu Series Masterlist || Previous | Next

You start using Sukuna's charges to your own advantage when someone won't leave you alone

"Sorry, I have a boyfriend. He kills people 😊"

He gives you free rein around his apartment and you snoop around until you find his mugshot and frame it

Sukuna keeps taking it down and hiding it, so you move it when he's not looking

You decorate it for the holidays with little stickers like a santa hat, rabbit ears, a bunch of tiny ghosts

You get it printed on one those "I <3 my boyfriend" shirts where you can put the picture in the heart and wear it to bed for April Fool's Day

You think it's hilarious

Sukuna does not

Speaking of holidays, you get little sexy heels ornaments to put on your Christmas tree, and somehow one finds its way onto his keys as a reminder of you when he goes out

Not that he'd ever forget

And speaking of heels, you have a collection of dancing heels and Sukuna loves them, and when you wear only them

He sees you in so little clothes at work anyway, and he's impatient as fuck when he wants you so lingerie doesn't do much for him, but the heels?

The idea of you digging the sharp heel into the back of his thighs or his hips and leaving marks when he's pounding into you makes him go wild

You're getting dressed for a shift while he watches from the bed, and he stops you so he can pick up your foot and place it in his lap heel slightly on his crotch as he takes his time putting lotion and body glitter and kisses and whatever else on your leg before he laces up your heels and switches to the other leg

He likes it when you wear heels or boots with lots of buckles so he has to close each one and you can be there just a little longer

If it's thigh high anything, prepare to be late for your shift

If it's thigh highs that lace all the way up, you always have to lace the tops yourself because he ends up eating you out before he gets there

If it's latex or pvc thigh highs, he's touching them all over because they make your legs and thighs look so good, and he's shining them with his tongue just making his way up your thighs to eat you out again

It's kinda gross because the boots are gross, but honestly so is he and it turns you both on soooo

You come to the realization if you have somewhere to be on time you can’t wear boots, but especially not thigh highs, because you simply will be late every single time and you know he doesn’t give a fuck

In fact, he's glaring at anyone who even seems like they have a problem with your lateness which solves that pretty quick

The club owner gives up on trying to reprimand either of you for being late

If any of the other dancers comment on it, they have to be extra careful not to accidentally slip on stage or trip down the steps

Those heels are just so high, anything could happen if they aren’t careful….

But what really gets him is when you're trying to scuff your new shoes

You take his knife, twirl it around, and keep eye contact while you use it to scuff your heels

The sight of you with his knife is something he never knew he needed until it happened

He decides to introduce some minor knifeplay and lets you use his knife

You accidentally cut him and go to lick the blood from the blade, but you cut your tongue and his mouth is immediately on yours soothing the cut with his tongue and sucking the blood off

It's hot but you decide it's something you'd rather do as a rare treat

Sukuna doesn't mind

He's resourceful enough to find other way to satisfy his blood kink

You accidentally cut your finger while cooking, and he sits you on his lap, your finger in his mouth as he "cleans" the cut for you and you feel how hard he is and you have a sneaking suspicion it’s not just because you’re sitting on him based on the almost dazed look he’s getting wiping up your blood with his mouth

He's noisy about it too

Moaning and slurping and not once does he take his eyes off yours while he's doing it or when his other hand settles on your hip and starts grinding you on his lap

If you try to move your finger away, don’t

He's conflicted because he doesn't like the idea of you being hurt, but he can’t help but feel so turned on

It’s like he’s getting a part of you that he shouldn’t something so personal and forbidden and he can’t help but want more

It’s a little treat for him because it only happens if you accidentally cut yourself

Or when you're on your period which he definitely isn't tracking so he can be as insatiable as possible and keep you so thoroughly exhausted you can't do much else besides eat and sleep

…..And if you seem to cut yourself more often after that little moment he’s not going to mention it

You're just a little clumsy is all

It's not his fault you got a little distracted by him intentionally coming up behind you and kissing your neck while cutting vegetables and now you have a little cut on your finger

Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it he’ll help fix it

And again he’s perceptive, he’d never let you do any lasting damage, but if you get a little knick here and there that’s just life right?

He'd always kiss you after to comfort you. Only to kiss it and make it better...not at all to see your blood smear across your lips

The other dancers get concerned when you keep showing up with bandaids on your fingers and you explain “Oh, just learning some new cooking tricks!” while trying not to show how hot and bothered you are at the memory

Aaaand now you have to find Sukuna before your next dance because how can you concentrate on dancing when all you can think about is him smearing blood-slick spit on your skin as he licks up your fingers?

He bites your lips when he kisses you just to get a small taste of your blood and hear your little whines

When he kisses your neck, he always nips at your pulse. Not hard enough to draw blood but a bit harder than advisable.

He really wants you to feel it because he always gets the breathiest whimpers out of you and you grind against him just that much more when he does

Plus the rush of knowing how easily he could sink his teeth in and tear your throat, and how you trust him so much to know that’s probably what he’s thinking and you’re still letting him do this

And he’d constantly remind him that you should be afraid of him, you should be scared of him like everyone else is, but you aren’t because you’re just as nasty as he is and how could such a pretty little princess like you be so dirty

He’d love every second of it

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryoumen x reader #ryoumen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna #sukuna ryoumen smut #jjk sukuna #bouncer!sukuna #jjk fics

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mj0702 · 7 months ago

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“I want Keira” you whined for the umpteenth time in 10 minutes

“You told me you wanna play Uno 12 minutes ago” Tooney said confused and annoyed

“But you’re no challenge… you always lose… even Rach is a bigger challenge and she doesn’t even know the rules” you shot back

“It’s not me fault that you always shuffle the cards wrong!!” Ella exclaimed

“YOU shuffle the cards Muppet” you launched yourself at your friend

“Yeah well you have some kind of weird exorcist power so I automatically give you the good cards” Tooney huffed at the impact of your small frame

“I want Keira” you whined again trying to get your point across

“I GOT it the first 500 times… let me call her” Ella rolled her eyes fishing her phone off the bedside table

“She’s not answering… you know her room number?” Tooney asked a minute later

“308” you immediately answered already jumping up grabbing your crutches

“Wait…” Ella jumped up as well not even bothering putting on shoes as you were already out the door “… Lucy will kill me if there’s a hair out of place on you”

Both of you got down the corridor when Tooney heard it – an unmistakable moaned “Fuck”

“Uh… y/n… I think… I… let’s go play some darts eh… come on… this way” Ella said white as a wall pulling you a little trying to get you into the other direction

“I don’t wanna play darts… wanna sleep with Keira” you whined again totally oblivious to what’s happening

“Lucy does that already” Tooney mumbled under her breath before she spoke to you “… then… pool? I know you love swimming… Keira always says you’re a little Dolphin… come on… it’ll do your knee some good”

And she heard it again… a moan…

“Or hey… let’s go… Subways… my treat… whatever you wanna eat… I’ll pay” Tooney tried to get you as far away from the adult stuff that’s obviously happening in room 308

“What’s going on here? Why are you two standing in the corridor at 10PM discussing Subways” Tooney and you visibly flinched at Ellen Whites voice behind you

“Hi Aunt E…” you said carefully but your voice showing guilt

“Don’t “Hi Aunt E” me… answers… now” Ellen said crossing her arm

“I’m tired and want to sleep at Keiras but Tooney won’t let me” you pouted throwing your friend right under the bus

“For heavens sakes… I know you’re new but when the little Bronze wants her second mother you deliver her and go your merry way” Ellen rolled her eyes motioning for you to hobble on

“It’s… not that.. “ Tooney tries to explain without explaining

“Then why are we having this discussion at…” Ellen quickly checked her watch “… 10.09 at night in the middle of a corridor?”

“Keira is…” Ella tried to find the right word “… occupied”

“Occupied?” the Lioness captain looked at her confused

“Occupied” Tooney said looking Ellen straight in the eye trying to communicate non-verbal

“Oh… OH” Ellen finally caught on a dirty smirk appearing on her face “… go on… deliver your disabled package to its rightful owner”

“Please don’t make me… I’ll carry your bags for the rest of camp AND clean up after training” Ella whined pitifully

“Oh no… I wanna witness that… on second thought… BB wait!!!” Ellen called after you

“Oh thank God” Tooney sighed out relieved when she saw Ellen pulling out her phone

“Oy Jill… wanna come on 3rd floor and witness something hilarious?” Ellen spoke into the phone “… yep… we’re gonna wait”

“You… you… no… please” Ella whined

“Oh can’t let Jill miss that” Ellen smirked and right on clue Jill Scott came sprinting out of the Stairway

“I’m here… I’m here… what am I about to witness???” the older woman asked panting

“Dear Tooney here has to deliver your smooch to her second mother… who’s with her first mother.. they’re having adult time” Ellen broke it down to her teammate which made Jill burst out laughing

“Go on Rookie… own your place on the team… interrupt Lucys fun time” Jill pushed Ella forward who had a painful look on her face

“What took you so long?” you grumbled at Tooney when she finally made it over to you

“Just some… organizing stuff with the captain” Tooney mumbled back and as she was about to knock she heard a squeal which made her turn to Ellen and Jill with a horrified look “I’m not doing it”

“You don’t have to… Lucy is doing it already” Jill howled in laughter

“Okay Toons… you can do it… you won’t be the laughing stock of the team” Ella mumbled to herself before she quickly knocked three times

There was some swearing and shuffling behind the door before Lucy ripped the door open

“WHAT?!” the defender asked obviously pissed off

“She… ehrm… she… your sister…” Ella stammered her eyes trained on the floor her head hung low like a kicked puppy

“What?” Lucy asked her voice still harsh

“She ehrm… she wanted to… yeah… oh my god” Tooney started again lifting her head again spotting the bulge in the grey sweatpants which caused Ellen and Jill breaking down laughing

“Tooney” your sister snapped her fingers in front of her young teammates face “What. Is. It???”

“ShewantstosleepatKeirasandyoursanditriedtogethertosomewhereelsebutshedidn'twantto” Ella quickly rambled looking at the wall besides Lucys head while she could hear a defeated groan from inside

“Come here Bitsy” Keira called out

“Keira” you happily exclaimed crutching past your sister

“You understood what she said??” Lucy looked at her girlfriend confused

“I did…” Tooney heard Keira say and then some more shuffling “… Bitsy your knee”

“Thanks for delivering her…” your sister grumbled pinching the bridge of her nose when she saw how you flopped down next to a (very) naked Keira who was covered by a thin blanket

“No problem” Tooney says quickly turning around speed walking down the corridor past Ellen and Jill who where laying on the ground crying in laughter

“OH TOONEY!! ICE CREAM NORMALLY DOES THE TRICK!!” Lucy yelled after the young player

“Ice cream???!!” you perked up next to Keira and Lucy groaned defeated

#lucy bronze x reader #keira walsh x reader #woso image #ella toone x reader

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bitethedevil · 7 months ago

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Raphael the Cat (Character Analysis)

I’ve thought a lot about the whole cat and mouse metaphor from his Cormyrian rhyme, even when I first started playing the game and hadn’t developed my unhealthy obsession with Raphael. It is an odd thing isn’t it? Why a cat?

The mouse thing makes perfect sense for his character. He often refers to others as ‘little’ or something to that effect (such as ‘pipsqueak’). You are small and he is big. That’s always the gist of it. Of course, the ‘mouse and cat’-trope is pretty common, but why not identify with something bigger and scarier? He does it by calling himself a ‘devil’ instead of what he really is: a cambion.

We know that he doesn’t just do it with us. In the Devil’s Den at Sharess’ there is a book where someone had written about winning over a devil in a poetry contest and the devil is clearly Raphael. We know because he has circled it in red that his ‘down came the claw’ line is mentioned in it. Which means that this loser (affectionate) reuses the same old material for clients.

He’s not a lion, or a wolf, or whatever absolutely terrifying creature you can find in the D&D universe. He’s a cat. That’s what he’s chosen as his fursona, if you will. Why though? The more I think of it, it makes complete sense, and it is such an apt metaphor for his character.

“Is there anything duller than a loyal dog?”

Raphael says that line and then says ‘I much prefer a cat. Meow.’ Iconic, honestly. It also says a lot about his character. What is a dog’s role in a house? They protect their owners because of some sense of fondness or at least because they are trained to it. What does a cat do? It kills mice.

Not because of any sense of fondness or duty to its owners, but because it is nature for it to do so. It is specialized to kill mice and rats. A cat does what a cat wants, which is exactly what Raphael does.

It’s written somewhere in the Devil’s Den that he sometimes doesn’t even really need to claim someone’s soul or help them, but simply does it because he feels like it. Cats are notorious for killing even though they don’t even really need to.

Considering how ordered and hierarchical the Hells are, I really think that Raphael is a bit of a wildcard. It comes with his nature, I think. Most cambions are loners and solitary by nature. He does what he wants. It certainly takes some balls to directly hand over an opportunity to fuck over the literal Archdevil of Cania by telling us about Cazador’s ritual.

No matter how much he claims that he loves order, I think order is mostly what he personally deems as order. It’s whatever he feels like, which is the general theme with him.

Master of the House

A cambion isn’t seen as much in the Hells. Don’t get me wrong, he still seems really successful for a cambion, and he certainly is higher in the hierarchy than most of his heritage. In the Hells he really is a cat surrounded by lions and tigers. He might see himself as a lion, but which cat doesn’t? Though, he is still aware of his place in the Hells, or he would not have lived for so long.

A cat might not be the king of the jungle, but they certainly rule their tiny kingdom of the house they reside in (ask any cat owner). It’s the same with Raphael. The House of Hope is his little kingdom where he rules. It’s obvious from all the plaques you see around his house.

He has created his own little space where he is the most fierce and dangerous thing there is, and all the little mice who enter buy it. To a mouse, a cat might as well be a lion, which is why I think Raphael ‘dotes on mortals’. He likes feeling important, big, and scary, and mortals see that image of him.

The Cat

Though they are small, cats are apex predators. At the same time, they are irresistible to humans. We pet them, we take them into our homes, but compared to a dog, the attention you get from a cat is very much dependent on the cat and not the owner.

Raphael is the same. He comes and goes as he pleases. He appears and gives you attention, nuzzles up against your leg, making you feel special for even getting his attention. Remember what he said to Mol if you help her win?: ‘She won, you know. She’ll be the one who comes to me.’

He wants people to want his attention, so when he gives it to you it almost feels like a gift. He keeps talking about us knocking on his door as well. We know that he has most likely talked to Voss before we arrive to Sharess’ because Voss knows he has the hammer. Still, he seems very uninterested when Voss is actually there, practically on his knees begging for his help. Peak cat behavior.

However, we know what happens if one chooses to spite Raphael. It becomes very clear that he is not a cuddly and patient pet, and you suddenly realize that you were the mouse all along and that you never were in any control over the situation.

He was that apex predator all along, you just never quite realized just how small you were. Again, a cat is a lion to a mouse. He actually even alludes to this idea himself if you have tried hurting him: ‘Like a mosquito nibbling at a dragon. Begone.’.

He’ll tell you that you can be friends with him, pretending that you are something that could resemble equals, but it is all smoke and mirrors. Everything he does is to pretend that he is less intimidating that he is, and he even refuses the notion that he is the cat in the lullaby in the beginning. But if you happen to get too comfortable or think you can best him, he reminds you just how small you are and that’s a theme throughout all his interactions.

#bite yaps #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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darkbluekies · 1 year ago

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HEAR ME OUT.

READER WANTING TO HAND OUT CANDY TO LITTLE KIDS 😭 LIKE EACH OC IS PROBABLY GONNA SAY NO BUT READER CONVINCES THEM SOMEHOW

Halloween special<3

Warnings: the three dirty yanderes being dirty as usual

Silas:

Genuinely loves halloween, loves to scare little children for absolutely no reason at all. But he doesn’t want you to want to do the same thing — or whatever you wanted to do. He wants you to be with him only, dressed up for his eyes. He has never allowed kids to come for trick or treating, but you manage to convince him to leave out a bucket of candy this year. You sit curled up in the window in your costume, watching to see if any kids will come take from your prepared bucket. Time goes, but no one comes.

“Don’t be sad, little thing. They’ve never been allowed to come here so they probably don’t know that they can come here this year. And I think that their parents know who I am, so they don’t want to send their kids over here anyhow. I know that you were excited, but this is the reality of being a criminal. Bring the bucket inside and we can overindulge. By the way, your costume turns me on.”

Dr Kry:

Dr Kry has given you a little makeup to paint you into a vampire. You have a bucket of candy in your hand while Dr Kry brings you through the hospital to visit small children laying in their beds. He thinks that you’re adorable with kids and finds himself staring at you talking to a little boy. You pet his teddy bear and give him a chocolate bar before walking out of the room to go to the next.

“You’re really nice, and great with kids … wow. Why I’m not dressed up? I don’t like that very much, but I like to see you dressed up. That fulfills my need of costumes for this year. Next year maybe. Let’s see how much candy you have left. Do you want to keep those for yourself or give them out? Give them out? You’re so nice, Y/N. Let’s move on. You need to go back to bed soon, so better hurry. Before the air and its toxins get to you.”

King Edmund:

Halloween doesn’t exist in his timeline, but he decides to have a masquerade ball for kids and by your request, the doors standswide open for the entire kingdom. Parents of all classes came to drop of their kids in cute costumes. Edmund sits on his throne, watching over you and the fifty children in the big hall. He looks at you with a small smile, seeing how you take such good care of the little kids. While they dance, you go to get a bucket of candy. Edmund gets down from his throne and walks over to you.

“It seems like you have quite the control, my dear. I can't understand how you like these creatures. Yes, I know I've been a kid and yes I know I'll have to have a kid in the future, but still. Look at them? You're doing great though. Keep doing that and I'll have to pump a child in you sooner than planned."

Jerry:

She refuses, but gives in once she gets to hear that she can scare the kids. Doesn't want to couple match because she finds it cringe, but if you're going to match, she wants to be superior to you like owner and dog or queen and peasant, or even cop and jailcriminal.

"I'm going to scare so many fucking kids, this is going to be amazing. Don't give me that look. It's trick or treat! You give the treat and well … I do the trick. Stop being a baby, it'll be fun. We could do role-playing in these costumes, by the way. Just wait until we get back home. I'll show you what a queen does to the peasant who hasn't given crops to the castle."

Hedwig:

Of course she'll love it! She will buy too much candy and decorate the entire mansion for kids to come trick or treating. You'll be in adorable couple costumes (chosen by Hedwig of course) and have fun with the little kids. Hedwig shines every time she pretends to get scared by a little kid.

"You look really cute, Y/N. Do you like this? Imagine when we get kids, we can do this every year, create our own traditions. We can dress in family costumes and … and have really, really fun. You look really cute with kids, Y/N. But I’m starting to wonder if you like the candy more. It’s okay, we have a lot, sweetheart, just eat away.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere drabbles #yandere oc x you #yandere mafia #yandere oc x reader #yandere reactions #yandere doctor #yandere king #yandere royal #yandere female

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paiges-1vur · 7 months ago

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welcome to the party… as always enjoy loves <3 (pt. 2/4)

Friday 9:32 pm

It’s not long before the door opens up revealing a smiling girl. This must be Azzi, Rileys friend.

“Hi ry!” the girl says in a high pitched voice, “I haven’t seen you in so long we need to catch up.”

I see Riley smile and give her a quick hug before introducing me. I flash a quick nervous smile and tell her it was nice to finally meet her.

As we walk inside we meet 3 other girls. Then it hits me. Fuck. How could i be so stupid? I forgot Azzi was on the women’s basketball team. I walk in and try to suppress my anxiety as i face her 3 teammates.

Right as soon as i look to Riley for some stability, i notice her and Azzi have gone off somewhere else, probably to catch up.

The three girls are all occupied on their own, but one of them comes up to me as soon as she sees im uncomfortable.

“Hi your Ana, Rileys friend right! My names Nika and its really nice to meet you.” How could i be scared of this girl who sounded so sweet? I decided to pull myself together and try to have fun tonight.

“Yeah, im her roommate, and its really nice to meet you too!” I reply with a smile as she sips on her drink.

“And may i just say damn girl! you look so hot tonight!” Nika hypes me up and i do a little 360 giggling. As im spinning i see one of the other girls in the corner of my eye. The only girl i knew here. Paige Bueckers. “You know what lets do shots!” Nika is obviously feeling the same energy i am and i love it.

She calls the other girls over and quickly introduces me to kk who i love just as much as Nika. Paige stays quiet and Nika doesn’t say anything about her. She pours 4 shots and i say “Fuck it. Pour me 2” I hope I dont learn to regret this because being 5”1 and 120 pounds doesnt mix well with taking shots.

We all knock them back and i reach for my second one taking it down as quick as the first before making a quick face.

I look up to my right and see Paige looking down at me. Her eyes scan up and down my body as she bites her lip. I blush and look away, and in the corner of my eye i can see her smirking.

Azzi and Riley come back into the kitchen and let us know its time to head out to the bars. We all pack into Azzi’s car which has just enough room to fit us all. As soon as we pull out Azzi says “Shit. Guys is it okay if we pick up my friend real quick she just needs a ride to the bar thats all.” We all nod in understanding because we don’t mind.

As soon as her friend walks out of her building Azzi says “Okay theres not enough room so Ana since your the smallest your going to have to sit on Paiges lap. Is that okay?”

My mouth goes dry. i somehow manage a “Yeah thats fine.” As i move over to Paiges side of the car and sit on her lap. I immediately feel her staring at me. I turn my head to look at her, and her pupils are dilated and her eyes an icy blue. I feel her staring at my top again and this time i decide to be bold.

“You like what you see?” I whispered looking at her through my eyelashes and twirling my hair in my finger, biting my lip ever so slightly.

I can see her demeanor instantly change. She grins and comes down to my ear “I would like to see what you look like under it more.” I gulp and turn my head to the window trying to hide how wet that just made me.

I cant help from getting uncomfortable on Paiges lap in my mini skirt and have to keep moving my position on her lap. All of a sudden i feel two big hands on my hips. I look up at her as she licks her lips.

“Don’t start something you cant finish.” This immediately stops me from moving until the rest of the car ride, but Paiges hands linger on my hips for the rest of the ride.

————————

We all walk into the bar quickly flashing the bouncer our ids. Nika told me that tonight was going to be really fun especially because Paige knows the owner of the bar so we can do basically whatever we want.

We all sit down at a table and Im already feeling tipsy (but thats also coming from the girl who blacked out after 5 shots once..) “Who wants to get more shots!” I half scream at the girls smiling ear to ear.

They all laugh as Paige gets up and goes to the bar to order us two rounds. We are celebrating tonight. Once she got back we immediately downed the next two rounds and i decided i wanted to dance. I grabbed Nika by the hand laughing and dragged her to the dance floor.

She was surprisingly a good dancer and we danced with each other to the music that was blasting from the speakers. I started to grind on Nika as she hyped me up. I had my back faced to her as i moved up and down her body before turning around and putting my hands on her chest laughing because people had started to cheer us on.

I look over and see Paige staring at me moving on Nika, her hold so tight on her drink it could shatter at any moment. She stares me down in jealousy, and shit was it hot.

As the night went on I talked to all the girls and they were all super nice and i wanted to get to know them.

We started talking about basketball and when i asked who’s the best everyone turned to Paige. She bragged about how good she was for about 10 minutes.

She flexed and looked at me, “These don’t just come in overnight.” Everyone at the table laughed. My jaw dropped and the Paige looked over at me and winked. I mean i knew she was jacked. She had toned arms, smooth abs, and a killer back. NOT that i had ever looked that up on youtube.

I decide to distract myself from the growing need to touch Paige.

“GUYS!” I say ten volumes louder than i should have, “Guys lets lets play truth or dare right now i want to play now.” Everybody laughs and agrees as we sip our drinks.

The game is going well until its Paiges turn to ask me.

“Ana truth or dare.” She says flashing me her signature smirk. I try not to melt under her gaze. I know shes looking at my tits, but i don’t care. I want her to.

“Dare.” I say drunkenly, ready for whatever shes about to throw my way.

She laughs, “Lets do body shots.”

“W-what” I mumble, my brain suddenly slowing everything down.

“You heard me.” She gets up from the table and walks over to the bar. I look around at the other girls at the table and they all are smiling and trying to hide their laughs. Im just about to ask what the fuck i got myself into but then i hear something coming from the speakers.

“No fucking way.” I say. Azzi is trying to hide her laughing under a napkin. Pony by Ginuine starts blasting in the bar as i see Paige whisper something into the bartenders ear with a grin on her face. The girls at the table are absolutely losing it. Suddenly the bartender speaks into a microphone.

“Everyone we have a little something special for you all tonight. We have my good friend Paige and her new friend Ana are going to do body shots so lets give them all a warm welcome!”

People are whistling and cheering, eating up this little act.

“Come on up Ana!” The bartender looks over to my table and waves me over to the bar. I get up from my seat slowly walking to the bar, as Paige offers me her hand to get on top of it. I look at her with a “what the fuck.” look and she only laughs in response.

I lie down on the bar feeling very underdressed. As the music plays I decide to let go and let myself be happy. I can’t live life always worrying about the what ifs right?

I let myself feel free and the music blasting in my ears makes me anticipate whats going to happen. The bartender pours the shot and puts it down next to my head. She then pours the line of salt across my chest, which I’m sure was per Paiges request.

“Here you go hun.” The bartender hands me the lime to put in my mouth as she flashes me a wink. “Everybody lets hear it one more time for Paige!” The crowd erupts people clapping, screaming, and whistling. I see Nika holding her phone up recording this all, but to be honest, i don’t fucking care. Im too drunk to worry about the little things.

As im ready for Paige to initiate it i see her move. She climbs up on the bar and straddles my stomach, playing into this little act. Everyone is screaming clearly eating it up. i look up at her trying not to moan at just the sight of her on top of me. Fuck i need some sort of friction.

She leans down and grabs both of my wrists, and i let her take full control. She pins them above my head and smiles before scanning over my upper body one more time and whistling to the crowd.

I close my eyes before hearing Paige by my ear whisper “Open your eyes baby. I want you to see my face when i do this to you” I flutter my big brown eyes open staring at her in awe. “Good girl.” she says before returning to the act.

She leans down putting her free hand on my upper stomach as she licks the line of salt from my exposed chest. My back arches in response to her tongue and shit it feels so good. She then grabs the shot and downs it before coming down to my face and gabbing the lime from my mouth.

Still straddling me she sits up and tilts her head back with the lime in her mouth. The bar is packed full of students all screaming and cheering. The girls over at our table are still recording and cheering for Paige and I.

Im so drunk at this point that im stumbling back to the booth, and im fully leaning on Paige in the corner of the booth, sort of behind me. The girls whistle and Nika tells me how sexy that was. I giggle and lean back into Paige more, sitting in between her legs. The girls start to talk about something else, probably basketball before i feel a big cold hand sneak up my skirt on the inside of my thigh.

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#azzi fudd #kk arnold #paige buckets #paige bueckers #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige bueckers smut #paige x reader #p boogers #nika muhl #ncaa wbb #wbb x reader #wbb #cwbb

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spitdrunken · 11 months ago

Text

response to this ask: ABSOLUTELY NOT TOO MUCH!!! This ask has brought me infinite joy and I have reread it a LOT. (Also dw, I will always assume Reader is an adult through asks!! But I get why you’d wanna say that with a term such as grooming, haha) also this got REALLY LONG… HELP.

Notes: pseudocest, obsessive behaviour, codependency, unequal power dynamics, implied minor character death, infantilization… general creepiness. Perhaps this veers away from my original post a little, but I love the idea that you’re someone entirely new to Hell. You’re fresh off the boat, so to speak, entirely unfamiliar with the way things work around here— Except that everything’s fucking terrifying, and you want out! Right now. Please. You see an ad on a random TV in a store’s display, one featuring a hotel that promises ‘sinners’ (which is what you are now, apparently, even your own body now being a new and confusing factor of your existence) a possible way to ascend up to Heaven. Now new and refurbished, after the last successfully averted extermination! Whatever that means. With nowhere else to turn to, no other leads or possibilities except sleeping out on the blood-soaked streets, of course you go! Who wouldn’t? You’d be stupid not to go! …Unless this is all a big scam In which case, you can only hope that you can’t die more than once.

Maybe you arrive, and this grand, beautiful hotel, is, well… Deserted. It’s beautiful on the outside, sure, but where are any of the staff? Or the people staying there, for that matter? You’re so uncomfortable out it all, that you nearly turn tail and run back from whence you came. You would have, if where you came from wasn’t ten times worse.

You walk up to the front desk, and, before you can change your mind, ring the little bell placed on the desk. Someone appears in a flash of golden light, and you have to squint your eyes to avoid being blinded. It disappears as quickly as it came, and a man… Demon, actually, appears in its place. (You catch a quick glance of something bright yellow being quickly stuffed into his pocket, but you have no idea what it is.) His form is noticeably more humanoid than the others you’ve seen out and about. Yes, his skin is an inhuman tone, and his cheeks take apple-red to a whole new level, but he doesn’t appear monstrous. That doesn’t make him exactly inviting, however. His face is set in a neutral expression, and he openly looks you up and down, pupils narrowed into slits. You scratch at the side of your neck, only to immediately flinch. You aren’t quite used to how sharp your nails are nowadays. “Um, hello! I— Sorry to bother you, sir,” you break the silence. “I might be wrong, but is this the Hazbin Hotel…? I saw the advertisement that was put out, and I was interested. Would you happen to be the owner?”

His neutral expression fades, and a small smile takes it place, eyelids sliding half-closed. “Oh no, no— Old me isn’t the boss of this place. That would be my daughter! I’m sure you would have heard of us.” He leans on his staff, both of his hands cupped around the apple on top. His eyes roam around your expression as if searching for something. “You’re pretty new here, I’m guessing?” “…Mhm. It’s that obvious, huh?” You don’t know how he was able to tell so quickly, but you laugh in a way that can only be heard as self deprecating. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, and avert your eyes.

“It’s kind of hard to tell how much time has passed, but— Not a lot. Honestly, I have no idea what’s going on. One moment, I was alive, and the next I was here, with this weird body, surrounded by terrifying people, and I don’t know—“ Your voice cracks under the weight of the reality of your situation. An eternity in Hell. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… Yeah. It’s just been a lot.” “I see. Yes, this realm isn’t particularly kind, least of all to newcomers. I can’t imagine what you’ve seen.” He says, quieter now. You dare a glance at his face. Something in his features has softened at your words, his slit pupils and smile wider in size. When he sees you looking, he extends a hand. You take it, and he gives you multiple firm shakes, before pulling you into a quick hug that has your knees buckle a bit and crushes the air out of your lungs. For a little guy, he really is surprisingly strong. When he lets you go, he’s still got a hand holding yours, leading you to one of the couches in the lobby, and promptly plopping down, pulling you with him. “But things are already on the rise for you from here on out!” He says, all boisterous and smiles, revealing rows of sharp teeth. “You’re new here, and already hit the jackpot! Lucifer’s the name!" And you can only imagine what kind of expression flashes over your face, because he nods rapidly and winks at you. “—Yes, that one, glad that, at least, rings a bell. And staying here places you under my family’s protection." His gaze drifts over the lobby. "My daughter and her friends are out doing trust exercises somewhere right now, but I’m certain she’ll be happy to welcome once she returns. She’s a real sweetheart, let me tell you! She didn’t get that from me, I can tell you that!” He laughs, but it quickly tapers off into a sigh. You wish you could laugh along. You have to admit you’re more than just a bit frozen up, questioning all of the decisions in your life and death that lead up to this moment. Sitting on a couch in a hotel lobby with Satan himself… Maybe you could die again, after all, and you were about to experience it. You probably have committed like fifty gross breaches of etiquette already, and, and— There’s a little rubber duck sitting on your lap.

It immediately snaps you out of your stupor, with how sudden and unexpected it is. The duck is bright yellow with chubby orange cheeks, and wearing a little black top hat. You can’t help cracking up a bit, taking it into your hand. …Maybe this guy is as silly as his outfit would suggest. Was calling himself Lucifer his idea of a joke? Things might be alright after all. “Ah..." You smile. "He’s so cute!” You relax, letting your back hit the sofa you’re sitting on. “Like a little gentleman!” This is the only adorable thing you’ve seen ever since arriving in Hell, and no one should blame you for getting a bit excited. Your days have been nothing but utter misery, after all. “You think so? I mean—“ He laughs, short and sudden. “Of course you do! Just look at the little guy! Who couldn’t love him? You can keep him, I can make another one lickety-split!” “Oh! Um, thank you! Does he have a name?” You’re full-on smiling now, and turning to look at ‘Lucifer’. At a shake of his head, you hum in thought. “A fancy guy deserves a fancy name… What about Reginald?” You turn the little toy around, inspecting it from all sides. “You’ve seen nothing yet! Just give it a little squeeze, not too much.” You do as he says. Through the little hole in its beak, a white droplet emerges. “It’s glue! He used to help me with my crafting projects. But, well, he’s yours now. Off to greener pastures, as they say.” You can’t help yourself. The whole situation is really not all that funny, but you crack up, and once you start laughing, you can’t stop. Your chest hurts, and tears are burning at the corners of your eyes. You have no idea why! Everything’s been such a mess lately. After a couple of seconds, you babble out some nonsense. “I gave— I gave Reginald such a posh name! But… Y’know, he’s a working man!” You say, still cracking up in between the words. At this, it’s Lucifer who laughs, a sound loud and sudden enough to ring in your ears. Seems you hadn’t heard a real laugh out of him before after all.

In other words, Lucifer (who you end up finding out really is the Devil himself) quickly grows fond of you, and takes you under his wings. Perhaps it’s your innocence about Hell and it’s mechanisms that pulls him towards you, combined with the fact that you’re just kind of easy to fuss over. You’re none the wiser that Lucifer was all but hopeless about sinners before helping restart the hotel, and entirely unaware that your dynamic is anything but normal. In your mind, Lucifer must befriend people rather frequently! While you’re quickly taken in by Hazbin Hotel’s other friends and staff, it really is Lucifer who helps you through your adjustment period. He makes you little covers for your claws, so you can get used to having sharp appendages, and not accidentally keep clawing open furniture or your own flesh. He requests Nifty makes some food that is at least visually similar to some Earth meal. When you wake up in the morning, there’s always a little duck sitting in front of your hotel door, making you start your day with a smile. You’ve got a shelf full of them now, and love all of them. (And when you’re curled up in your bed, late at night, crying over all that you’ve lost, smothering your sobs with a pillow, there is a gentle knock on your door. Lucifer sits on the side of your bed, wearing striped pajamas in red and white, and encourages you to pour your heart out to him.

There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Everything you’re feeling, everything you’re going through— He’s heard and seen it all before. In fact, he’s sure he’s heard much, much worse. Has he ever done you wrong? No, he hasn’t. So, talk to him. He tells you, dabbing at your face with a white handkerchief decorated with apples stitched onto it. And you do.)

Lucifer looks after you. Sure, he’s not perfect. But no one is, right? Lucifer often seems to lose track of the conversation you’re having with him, distracted by the things around him and suddenly veering off into entirely different territory. In general, his memory is spotty at best, but you’re not surprised that an immortal being such as himself wouldn’t remember every single little thing you say.

He’ll hole himself up in his workshop for days at a time, only to emerge with nothing to show for it, except for a downtrodden expression. He’ll fight with Alastor (and continuously remind you to stay far away from that piece of shit), and get fussy whenever you try to leave the hotel without him glued to your side. Though his memory seems to often be unreliable, and you believe that a lot of simple conversations you have with him are simply left forgotten, there are instances you would consider insignificant that remain fresh in his mind.

“You’re doing it again,” you tell Lucifer. He’s pacing up and down the length of his room, ranting about Alastor. He blinks, and halts his movements, tapping his staff on the floor. “Doing what?” “The thing,” you emphasize, before standing up and walking towards him, dragging the top of your finger across his bottom lip. You can feel him take a quick inhale as soon as you make contact. A golden smear is left across your skin. “You’re always chewing on your bottom lip when you get upset. Doesn’t it hurt? I know it heals within, like, ten seconds, but still!” Absentmindedly, you look at his blood. It’s a weird thought to have, but it’s strangely… Beautiful. You look back up at him, and your brow furrows. “Hey… Were your red spots always that big? I think I’m seeing things.”

But things get better, and he improves. He starts to try and take little notes of the things you’ve told him, alongside the words of other people important to him, like Charlie, like a diary of sorts. The door to his workplace starts being left unlocked, and you’ll wander in, from time to time. You’ll sit on the chair in the corner of the room, reading or otherwise occupying yourself, and telling him that no, that duck or toy is not the worst thing you’ve ever seen, and doesn’t deserve to be burnt to a crisp.

You listen as he, on bad days, talks about his wife with a forlorn expression on his face. Things get better, though. He tries not to see the worst in sinners any longer, and his moods grow better. He spends more time with Charlie. All is well. You don’t realize just how entangled your existences are until you’re in too deep. That your eyes search for him every time you enter a new room, that you’ve grown comfortable with him doing the talking for you. You try to convince yourself it’s not a bad thing, but the simple truth is that you’ve lost a chunk of your independence. And when you try to go out with the other residents, it’s so easy for him to coax you back out of it.

Are you really sure you want to go? Look, I’m not trying to keep you here— I’m really not! But Hell’s a dangerous place out there, and I can assure you there’ll be things there that you really don’t want to see. …I’ve been working on a little display case for your favourite ducks, I can show you that instead.

He only grows more protective when time goes on, and you do more exercises with the rest of the hotel, bond with the other residents. At times, he tries to convince you to forgo their shared activities entirely.

(You try to forget about what you found in a drawer of his desk, one day. A note among so many other reminders that he is known to keep. But this one is wrinkled, pen pressed so hard to the paper that it’s torn in places. All of them want to go to Heaven, all of them want to leave here. Me. I get it. Because she has left, no one can be guaranteed to stay. But I won’t let the apple of my eye be taken, even if they send down an envoy and try to escort them up themselves. …But it’s hard not to remember.) When he gives you your a warning about the ‘scary outside world’ for the umpteenth time, you can’t help but roll your eyes and counter. Alright, dad. Nothing about your tone shows sincerity. You mean it as a joke or a jab, but Lucifer doesn’t laugh. Instead, he hums out a pleased little noise, a smile settling on his face.

The way he looks at you is so utterly tender, all half-lidded eyes and pupils blown wide, that it leaves you reeling. He nestles himself at your side, under the comfort of your arm, and promises to take care of you for the rest of your eternal life spent there. You have an eternity. It’s sweet, and knocks the breath out of you.

But you would’ve been able to reconcile the image of Lucifer and ‘father figure’ more easily if he, sometimes, didn’t act so contrary to such an image. He’ll call for you from behind his workdesk as you’re sitting on your usual chest, ready to show you a ventriloquist doll he’s been working on.

As you stand next to him, an arm is wrapped around your waist, and he pulls you on his lap. It’s in no way comfortable for him. He has to stick his head underneath one of your arms to see anything at all. It would be silly otherwise, but the way he pulls you flush against him, face nuzzled into your side as he audibly inhales, one clawed hand resting on your thigh… You can’t help but have it muddle your feelings towards him. He frequently kisses your hand as a greeting, and insists you let him kiss both of your cheeks before parting. You would write it off as one of his unique quirks if he did the same thing for Charlie, but he doesn’t.

Lucifer, with an eternity of time to hone his skills behind him, has picked up all kinds of crafts, including sewing. He’ll make pieces of clothing for you in his colour scheme, sew apple-themed patches on your clothing, among other things. It’s always embarrassing when he makes something. He fusses and cooes over you like you’re a child when you first wear any piece, clapping his hands and grinning. Oh, just look at you! Aren’t you the cutest little thing? It looks lovely on you!

Anyone with more than two braincells can tell something is going on between the two of you, though no one is quite sure exactly what. Perhaps Angel is rubbed the wrong way by just how overbearing Lucifer is being, and considers you to just get out there for once with the rest of them. You’re always cooped up inside the hotel! Come on, he’s been around the block more times than he count, and he knows every trick in the book. You’ll be fine as long as you stick with him. And… You have fun! Going out, dancing and drinking, accompanied by your friends, is wonderful. But maybe you drink a little bit too much, yet entirely unfamiliar with the different types of names alcoholic beverages in Hell have. How were you supposed to know you accidentally ordered one of the strongest drinks on the menu? And, in the crowd of people, you lose the rest, wandering outside without really noticing it. You’re such an obvious target, staggering on the sidewalk, giggling and mumbling to yourself, that you wouldn’t entirely blame anyone for the poor argument that ‘you were asking for it’ in a place like this. Your world is left spinning as you’re pushed against a wall, vision momentarily blacking out as your skull bashes against brick. (Somewhere in the club, Angel is looking for you, getting more frantic by the moment.)

You never get the chance to figure out exactly what the demon’s intentions are. As soon as their fingers brush over a patch Lucifer had sewn into your clothing, an apple with a little snake head popping out, they’re blasted back by golden light.

Your addled mind is still struggling to keep up when you’re wrapped in a set of soft, beautiful wings. The back of your head is cradled by gloved hands. You catch a glimpse of blood-red eyes set within a familiar face, but, soon, a cluster of feathers covers your eyes. There are horrible cracking noises, gurgling, wheezing— Though you see none of it, your imagination more than makes up for it. You press your face up against his chest, nauseous and shaking like a leaf. Lucifer takes off without a word, the flapping of his multiple sets of wings loud enough to awaken an oncoming headache. Mid-flight, when his features have returned to the ones you know him for, he peppers your face with kisses, and makes you look at him. You mumble out apologies, sniffling, drunk and shaken, but Lucifer shushes you.

What were you doing all the way out there, on your own? You’re usually such a good listener, my dove. You always listen to all of my warnings. A gloved finger traces your cheek. Someone convinced you to go out, didn’t they? That has to be it. You can tell your dad who it is. I won't be mad at you. You’ve never been afraid of Lucifer before. Now, though, you’re filled with apprehension. You frantically shake your head. Oh, then it was your own idea? The tip of one of his nails pokes your cheek. Not nearly hard enough to hurt, but the pressure is there.

…And you really do deserve to be in Hell, because prompted with this question, you take the selfish way out, and once again shake your head. More slowly, this time. See? It wasn’t that hard to be truthful, was it? I knew it wouldn’t be your fault. Now, all you have to do is tell me who it was.

That night, you spend the night in his bed, with Lucifer arguing that you’re very drunk. Which is very much. It’d be horrible for you to go ahead and choke on your vomit, or something like that! So, you should just stay with him. As you're drifting on the verge between conscious and unconscious, his lips find the skin of your throat, placing kisses up and down. Open-mouthed and warm, barely restrained.

You wake up the next morning with a splitting headache and only vague memories of the day prior. But you wake up with Lucifer’s arms wrapped around you, his face hidden in the crook of your neck, each of his breaths tickling your skin. You wake up to one of his legs slotted in between yours. You wake up to the realization that you’ve bitten off far, far more than you can chew.

#lucifer magne x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #yandere #yandere lucifer morningstar x reader #cha.lucifer #cw.dubcon #cw.pseudocest #cw.yandere #cw.alcohol #cw.infantilization

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