#but there is a very noticeable difference and I find it endearing as hell | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jyoongim · 1 year ago

Note

THE WAY U WRITE THE OLD RED DEMON MAN IS JUST SO NEKEKDKEOWB

Might I just add onto the seemingly continuous alastor requests. I'd love to see Alastor x Reader where reader is in heat and Al finds it pathetic but takes pity on them and helps anyway bc like poor thing can't even get their own instincts in control they're obviously hopeless

warnings: 18+!!!NSFW

You thought when you died you would be rid of hormones.

Periods were a pain while living, but this is was worst.

When you were alive, your periods plagued you with mood swings, random cravings, and pain.

Now that you were dead, you didn’t experience the dreadful red flood and raging mood swings; no. Now all you felt was unbelievably horny and needy.

And you hated it.

You usually carried yourself with confidence and elegance.

You usually liked to help around the hotel and were generally friendly with everyone.

You grimaced as you woke up to feel just how drenched your panties were. I really need to stock up on new underwear you thought as you tossed the ruined panties into the hamper.

You usually spent your heats alone and could hide in a hole until you felt normal again. You usually could control yourself well enough til you had enough free time to ease the tension between your legs.

Or until you found a poor sinner.

Weeeeellll that was hard when you lived in a hotel with a ton of shit to do. You really didn’t want to hear Angel’s jabs as you dragged some unfortunate soul to endear your sex rage.

You sighed, hopefully you could get through the next few days without embarrassing yourself completely.

So far so good you thought as you went about your day doing whatever activity Charlie had you do with the group.

Every touch and scent didn’t send your cunt into a tingling frenzy; yes you had to change your panties a few times but nothing crazy.

That was until you were around Alastor.

Your body practically buzzed whenever the tall red demon was in your vicinity.

You first chalked it up to that it was because you did found him attractive and simply thought it would go away.

But your cunt begged a differ.

You squirmed a bit on the couch as Alastor took a seat beside you, clenching your thighs to ease the uncomfortable throbbing.

It didn’t help that he smelled amazing.

Alastor smelled like evergreens how y’all ever smelled Christmas pine??? That shit is delicious!!!!

And you didn’t realized you had took a deep inhale of him until he turned to you

”Is everything alright my dear?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

fuck how were you going to tell him you wanted to bury your nose into his neck and just SNIFF?

“O-oh I’m f-fine…i-its just you smelled nice?” You wanted to facepalm.

He blinked at you before letting out a laugh “OOooh why thank you my dear” that shit eating grin widened, voice dropping a slight octave“I must smell very enticing if you’re sniffing at me” his eyes narrowed slightly.

A shiver ran through your body and you swear you were leaking through onto the couch. You wanted to die of embarrassment.

“I-I just never noticed before that’s all” You said shrugging, trying to ignore the fact that his very voice was affecting you.

Charlie had ended whatever the hell you were doing and you quickly made your way to your room, causing some confusion.

You were usually a social butterfly with the gang. You never not chat away with Angel as he told the wild shit he did on set.

“Has got to be that time of the month” Angel commented as you almost sprinted out the room. Charlie and Vaggie gave confused looks ”what?” He sighed “You know…” nope not a clue.

”She was a human remember? Every so often her pussy basically shreds itself to bits”

Charlie gasped “So she’s hurt? Shouldn’t we do something?” Angel laughed,shaking his head “Nah we can’t help. But she'll be fine. Just give her a few days and she'll be normal again”

Alastor was in the background listening, the smile on his face sharpened, you weren’t hurt or bleeding, but there was definitely something that could be done.

You snarled as your vibrator died and tossed it. You groaned as your clit continued to throb. You had thought four orgasms would have did the trick but nope you still had the irritating itch.

You didn’t own a dildo because it was pointless.

it wasn’t the real thing.

You wanted to cry. This was your first heat while you’ve been at the hotel and you didn’t just want to drag a stranger here.

You had more control than that.

At least that’s what you thought.

You had locked yourself in your room as you tore your room to bits. The walls were shredded, pillows and sheets drenched in slick and your poor toy was in pieces.

Panting, you curled in a corner and tugged at your hair, squeezing your eyes tight as tears began to pool in your eyes.

You hated this.

You hated how it felt like you didn’t even feel like yourself.

Hated that you couldn’t even control your own damn bodily function.

Hated how your body desperately wanted to be filled.

You would give anything to make this horrid feat of yours go away.

“I would have never thought to see you in such a state my dear”

You froze at the voice and jerked your head to the source.

Alastor.

He was standing at the entrance of your bedroom, a smirk on his face as he took in the state of your room.

”I must say, it. Is rather entertaining to see your lack of control” he said as he approached your curled form.

He crouched down, feigning a concerned look before a clawed hand seized your hair and wrenched your face til your noses were bumping against each other.

”did you think I couldn’t smell you?” He growled “You smell just like a bitch in heat”

You whimpered as his lips ghosted over yours “I-I’m sorry”

His scent was surrounding you. It was a drug. Assaulting your every nerve with each breath you took.

He smelled so good

please

”Please” you whispered as your cunt buzzed, tingling from his clos proximity and in hopes he would have mercy on you.

Alastor sucked his teeth at you. What a pitiful thing you were…

With a deep breathe, he stood and walked over to your ruined bed and sat. You watched as he sat his mic down and removed his coat. Yanking at his tie, he unbuttoned his shirt and looked over at you with narrowed eyes “Well? Do you want to continue to ruin your furnishings or do you wish to satisfy that brazen desire of yours?”

He widened his legs and your eyes honed in on how he unbuckled his pants.

Your throat tightened and you found yourself crawling over to him, no regard that you were naked.

Kneeling between his legs, your hands soothed up his thighs as your rubbed your head against his crotch.

Alastor lifted your chin for your eyes to meet his. Your eyes were blown out and you winced as his grip tightened.

”I pity you my dear, reduced to wanton whore, but don’t fret…Ill help you through your heat” a thumb ran over your pouty lip.

Your cunt clenched around nothing at his words.

You damn near drooled as he adjusted himself to pull his cock free from its restraints.

It was big, in both length and girth. It slapped against your face, causing you to hum at the weight of it.

You nuzzled it, nose gliding along his length before softly pressing kissed along it. When you came to his mushroom tip, you didn’t hesitate to suck at it. Alastor sighed as you gave the head of his cock kitten licks.

Head clouded with desire, you slowly bobbed your head along his length, taking him whole as you gagged once you reached the hilt.

You eased him out your throat and with a sickening pop, you admired as his spit-covered cock shined. You opted to jerk him off slowly as you buried your nose in his ball, inhaling his scent.

Alastor’s hand found your hair and guided you away from his cock, bringing you to climb up his body, until your smoldering heat was rubbing against his cock as he pressed kisses to your shoulder and neck. A gasp tore from your throat as he nipped at your jaw.

”On fours my dear”

Clumsily, you scrambled to follow his instruction. You must not have been to his liking because he pressed your head til your cheek was flat to the bed, back in a deep low arch, thighs pressed to your stomach and spreaded wide with your ass and cunt exposed to the air.

You would have blushed in embarrassment if you weren’t so turned on.

A hand glided down your back, causing you to shiver and then jolt as a harsh slap was planted on your ass, before it soothed over the burning cheek.

Alastor kneaded your ass before sliding his fingers down to your cunt.

Your slit was swollen and your clit, puffy with need.

You were dripping.

He dipped a finger inside you, testing how wet you were.

Soppy.

He added a second, your cunt greedily welcomed his fingers with ease, giving into resistance.

He chuckled “What a greedy cunt, sucking in my fingers like a cock”

You whined when he took his fingers out, already missing the feel of something inside you.

Alastor took his cock and rubbed it against your cunt, coating himself in your slick.

”I am going to fuck you to your little sinful heart desires and you are going to be grateful of everything I give you. You are going to take every bit of my cum until it spills from this cunt and then again and again until I have bred you so thoroughly. Do you understand slut?”

You were breathing heavily, trembling in excitement.

With a single, sharp thrust he filled your cunt, earning a soft cry from you.

”Do you understand?”he hissed through clenched teeth.

”Y-Yes A-Alastor”. you whimpered, eyes clenched shut in pleasure.

”Good girl”

He drew back and thrusted into you again

And again

He had set a slow, but rough pace. Thrusting his cock deep into the soft warmth of your cunt with each drag.

Soft moans filled the air as he buried his cock inside you.

It felt so good.

He reached depths your finger couldn’t quite reach.

And it was amazing.

”A-Ala-stor Aah! Aaah! Hah!” You pushed your hips against his, mewling loudly as he grinned his cock into you.

”Youre pathetic ” He laughed, eyes watching his cock disappeared inside you, giving you a hard thrust at his words.

”Nothing but pathetic slut who can’t control their own body”

His grip on your hips pulled you flushed against him, making you take him til his balls was nestled against your slit.

”You probably would have spreaded your legs for any poor sinner, just wanting to be fucked dumb” Your body rippled as his thrusts got harder.

Your cunt only got wetter.

He noticed as he seemed to sink even deeper into you, as if your cunt loosened to welcome him

”oh? I bet you would have liked that wouldn’t you? So out of sorts with need that you would have just anyone bred this cunt”

He growled at the squelching noises from your cunt, you shook your head in denial.

No. No you wouldn’t haven’t done something like that.

”N-no I-I wouldn’t-” You cried out as his finger ghosted over your swollen clit.

”You would have been happy to bend over and offer your cunt to anyone, as long as you had a cock fill you” Alastor continued before a cruel, deep laugh erupted from him

”But instead you sought me out. I had no intention in satisfying you, but what a gentleman would i had been if I ignored a lady in need?” You felt him lean over, hips never missing a beat as he sunk his teeth into your shoulder.

”Oooh how fortunate you are my dear”

You were suddenly flipped onto your back. Hair sprawled around you like a halo, your chest heaving as he pushed your knees to your chin.

Your lidded eyes watching as he slide his cock between your pussy lips, bumping your clit. He grabbed your wrists, using them as leverage as he thrusted back into you, the new angle making your throw your head back with a broken cry

”FuuuuuUccckk Ah Ah AH!” His hips dug into the underside of your ass as he pounded your cunt.

Alastor hadn’t lost composure the entire time he fucked you.

He watched as you fell apart, your hips wiggling to accommodate to his harsh administrations.

Your cunt took him so good. A white, creamy ring formed at his base as he scraped against that sponges nerve inside you.

You welcomed him gratefully. Letting him wrench pleasurable sounds from your pretty lips.

Pushing your raised legs apart, he lowered his weight on you as he slammed his lips on yours, swallowing your moans. Your tongues danced as he rocked into your body.

The sounds of him ruining your cunt pushed him to fulfill your primal desire.

You felt that familiar blaze of heat take over your body as Alastor fucked short rapid thrusts into you.

Every brush of his abdomen against your clit had your cunt going haywire.

You were going to cum.

Alastor was going to make you cum.

You moaned at the thought

You were gonna cum on his cock

And he was gonna breed you

Breed your soppy cunt

and you were going to let him

”please….” You whined into his mouth

Fuck the very thought had your body buzzing.

”please what?” he purred

Your head was reeling, foggy with the need to be filled.

A hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing

“What are you begging me for slut? Hmm?” His strokes were hitting harder and deeper.

”You want me to breed your cunt? You want to me to fill you up so good that all you’ll ever think is how my cum belongs inside you? What do the little slut want?”

Yes you wanted all of it.

You wanted him to fuck you so good, you wouldn’t even think of wanting another cock from his.

You wanted him to fill your cunt to the brim and then fuck it back inside.

You wanted him to breed you like the little slut you were.

To breed you til he had his fill.

Your instincts had practically took over, fuck sanity.

”Mhmm! I want it. I want you to Ah! I want you to fill me with your cum! Please please breed me Alastor” You whined, feeling your belly clench as your orgasm hung over you, promising sweet relief.

The hand around your throat, tightened causing you to gasp as he spoke into your ear, voice deep and purring

”Youre gonna make yourself cum on my cock slut”

your hand flew to your clit to flick fast circles on the bud.

Alastor’s thrusts quickened, growls pouring from his lips

”Who’s a filthy little slut?”

”M-Me”

”Whos a pathetic slut that’s gonna take my cum?”

”Me!”

”Fucking slut gonna let be breed her dumb”

A sob tore from you as your orgasm washed over you, he fucked you as you milked him, hips angled to thrusts so deep you’re sure your cunt had molded into the shape of his cock

”hah hah aaah fuuucckk fuck fuck Al-Alastor!”

You saw white as your mouth opened in a silent scream only for him to swallow the whine in your throat.

”That’s it you pathetic slut take it. Take my cum. That’s a good girl. Let me breed this sweet cunt cher” your hips raised as he sunk into you and with a deep groan, he cummed into your spasming cunt, making sure to thrust deep enough he hit your cervix as he painted your walls white.

Whether conscious or by instinct, you gave him a ditzy smile, eyes glazed over as you slowly rubbed your clit, whimpering. Holding eye contact with him, a soft pout graced your lips

“Again”

You truly were a pathetic, needy little thing.

But don’t worry pretty Doe, Alastor’s going to make sure you

satisfied and stuffed to your heart’s content

It was going to be very interesting for the next 36 hours…

@markster666 @alastorsfawn @senseichaos @alastoralltruist @dasimp777 @imgonnadielaughing-blog @thewinchestah @strawberrypimp666 @tpks @stygianoir @polytheatrix @prosciuttosblog @angelltheninth @peachedtv @yourdoorisunlocked @kiralaufeyson84

#Hazbin hotel smut #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #hazbin alastor #alastor smut #alastor x reader smut #jyoongim #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel #alastor x you #alastor x you smut #Alastor x you #alastor imagine #hazbin x reader #alastor

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deathbxnny · 6 months ago

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Hi I just wanted to say I loved the arcane adhd headcannons u wrote, the viktor one made me cry bc I want to be seen like that sooo bad. Do u think u could do some more characters? No pressure tho ur an amazing writer

Arcane characters with an S/o who has ADHD. | Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko x Gn!Reader

(Previous part)

Aww, I'm so happy to hear that you enjoyed the last part, anon! I hope this is to your liking as well!<33

Content: Fluff, ADHD, established romantic relationships, sfw

Reader has no mentioned pronouns.

((Not proofread))

》CAITLYN

She noticed from the start that you were a little different from everyone else. Not that she necessarily cared much about it. You were still you after all, and your diagnosis is just a part of you she considers endearing.

With that said, Caitlyn always listens to your needs very closely and does everything in her power to help you out with them. She'll get you anything you ask for in hopes of making life easier for you. Whether it's medical help or just something to help with your fidgeting in general, you'll have it in no time with her.

Cait can, therefore, come off as kind of overbearing or overprotective at first. She wants you to lead a smooth and successful life, so she'll always be around to make any task doable for you. Procrastination does not exist when she's there, to say the least.

Her patience is an important part of your relationship that's practically invaluable. Your fidgety and unfocused nature took a moment for her to get used to, but she never makes a big deal out of it. Instead, she simply adapts to your needs and learns to cherish them as well.

》JINX

Probably the most understanding out of everyone, albeit in the most chaotic way possible. You two are a rather troubling duo, as she herself isn't in the best position to help you out properly. Her ideas are always outlandish yet somehow still work out in the end anyways, which is rather impressive.

You're both very fidgety, but she makes up for it with her hyper awareness. Procrastination is never a thing with her, considering how focused she always is on every project she has and so it becomes somewhat of a normal thing for you to simply work in the same space together, even if it's with just music playing in the background in-between you two.

She's the last person to ever treat you any differently for your diagnosis and doesn't ever let you feel bad for it either. You accept her, and she accepts you. Anyone that tries shaming you for it is as good as dead anyway.

You two learn how to take care of each other better than anyone else ever could. Jinx may not be able to help you out like a professional doctor could, but she'll do anything to help you out no matter what forever.

》EKKO

He doesn't entirely get it at first, mainly as he was always surrounded by people who were rather unique in their own way. But as always with anything, he still does his best to learn everything he needs to about your diagnosis and how he can help you with the resources he has. Which aren't many, but his creativity truly shines at times when it comes to you.

You're not treated any differently from everyone else, and he sure as hell doesn't allow anyone to do that either. You are normal, just with more needs that he tends to carefully. So whether it's your inability to focus well or stay still for a long time, he'll find a way to make things easier. He understands your procrastination and doesn't really push you to do things unless it's very important. But he'll work with you on any projects or missions you may have.

His patience is endless for you and his kindness even more so. He understands if you feel frustrated sometimes and tries his best to soothe you when your emotions are a little harder to process. He'll let you fidget and be yourself as much as you want to, never the type to stop you. You should be yourself around him, and he appreciates how vulnerable you are with that.

Ekko loves you no matter how hard things can get with your diagnosis. He takes every challenge on with ease and never judges you for it either.

#arcane #arcane x genderneutral reader #arcane x y/n #arcane x you #arcane jinx #arcane jinx x reader #jinx #jinx x reader #arcane caitlyn x reader #arcane caitlyn #caitlyn x reader #caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman #arcane ekko #arcane ekko x reader #ekko #ekko x reader

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supernatural-bias · 2 years ago

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐬 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

↳ includes: scout, engineer, heavy, medic, sniper, and spy (i forgot demo i'm so sorry)

↳ warnings: bad translations, slight mentions of world war two and malpractice

↳ song: with a little help from my friends—joe cocker

masterlist | commissions | carrd

𝐒𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐭

• He would be so smug about it

• Puffing his chest out and everything

• His friends in the past- and even family members -have teased him for mispronouncing words or speaking too fast, and it’s made him a bit self conscious about the way he talks. But after hearing that you find it endearing, its a giant ego boost for him

• “Yeah dat’s right! Who’s awesome? I’m awesome!” Scout smiles as he flexes his arms in your face, subjecting you to what he likes to call a surprise gun show. You pretend to hate it as you shove his arm away, but chuckle all the same

• He’s already gloated before that he already knew his accent was the best. Boston is the greatest place in the world after all! But hearing it from you really just sent him over the moon

• Makes a point to talk to you a lot more now; as if he didn’t already

• “Yo! Hey did you see that kill out there? I totally messed dat Spy up! One wrong step and pow! He’s dead meat!”

• “I saw Scout. I was covering your flank while you did it, remember?”

• “Yeah yeah, but I just thought you’d like ta hear about it again.”

𝐄𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐫

• Didn’t consider himself to have an accent until you pointed him out

• Sure, he says the occasional y’all and ain’t, but not enough to qualify as a whole different way of speaking

• It wasn’t until he dropped a hammer on his foot and cursed that he understood what you’d meant

• “What in the sam hill! Sweet hell!” He’d exclaimed, startled. Once the throbbing in his leg had subsided, Engineer replayed his words in his head, making a slight o with his mouth as he realized you were probably right. To some extent at least

• He was a born and raised Texas boy, so it makes sense that the culture rubbed off

• Doesn’t understand at first that you find it nice. Maybe he thought you pointed it out just because you could? He’s a bit distracted when it comes to anything but machinery, so he misses context sometimes

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲

• Surprised that someone like you who can speak English fluently finds his mannerisms attractive

• Gets frustrated sometimes when he can’t remember certain words in English. Heavy is a very smart man, so it aggravates him when he looks illiterate in front of his team

• That’s why hearing that you like his mother tongue caught him by surprise

• “But you don’t know any Russian?” He’d rumbled out as a question. When you shook your head no, still sporting a smile, his eyebrows furrowed further

• “Nah. But I like hearing it when it comes from you. It sounds more natural. Like you’re more comfortable than normal, you know?”

• You’re technically right. When Heavy slips into Russian, often whilst talking to Sasha or simply forgetting that not everyone on the team know how to speak it, he is more comfortable in his words. They flow better, and he’s flattered that you’ve noticed

• One hundred percent offers to teach you Russian in his spare time. He finds it slightly adorable how you stumble over words in your broken translations, but always manages to softly correct you

• He’s a really good teacher

𝐌𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜

• Positively thrilled that you like his voice

• When you tell him for the first time, he goes into shock for a moment before breaking out into the biggest smile you’ve seen. Somehow its a perfect balance between excited and malicious

• “Do you hear zhat Archemedies? Mein freund here enjoys my accent!” He cooes at his bird, chuckling in a way that would make anyone’s insides squirm

• Once you look past Medic’s initially devious reaction, it’s very clear he enjoys knowing this

• If anything, the ex-doctor would have thought that you’d enjoy the more stereotypically romantic sounding languages. Spanish, Latin, etc

• German has always been considered harsh or scary sounding, and it turned a lot of people away from hiring him after the events of World War Two, which he understood. Still, Medic finds himself absolutely tickled that you are drawn to his accent

• Finds himself slipping more and more into German while doing checkups on you now. When he catches himself, he translates most of what’s he’s said back to you. But sometimes he’ll simply forget, and it leaves you wondering if he’s offered you a glass of water or the opportunity to swap your bladder out

• You sincerely hoped it was the former

𝐒𝐧𝐢𝐩𝐞𝐫

• Oh my god you killed him

• Sniper is very reserved. Living in his camper, hunting his own game for dinner instead of joining the others, literally pissing in jars, etc etc

• Being a man of few words comes part and parcel with that; which normally works out just find because Scout talks enough for ten people

• Hasn’t said much to you before. He mostly communicates in head nods or slight tilts of his coffee mug in your direction. Maybe a few ‘good mornin’s’ tossed around, but nothing more than that

• “You know, you should talk more.” You’d said to him one day while pouring a fresh pot of tea you had just boiled into your own mug. He preferred black coffee himself, but whatever floats your boat

• “You voice.” You elaborated after a sip. You must have noticed his confused look as you carried on. “It’s nice. Can’t imagine that you don’t have gals throwing themselves at you all the time because of it.”

• Suddenly very grateful he wasn’t drinking any of his brew at the time, because what you said surely would have made him choked

• He, in fact, had had a few ladies approach him in town before saying something along the same lines. Even a few fellas. But nothing made him blanch this strongly like you had

• Excuses himself as he walks out of the room suddenly, tilting his hat down to cover his face no one can see the furious red tint forming

• Sniper leaves you in the communal kitchen. Holding a steaming cup of liquid and looking very confused

𝐒𝐩𝐲

• Already knew before you told him

• To anyone else, it would have been passible as just curiosity. But Spy’s job is to know things, and it is an undeniable fact that you found his voice attractive

• Doesn’t utilize this weapon often. You are not a weak willed person swayed by just a few words, so when he needs something he pulls out all the stops

• Of course, that doesn’t stop him from being impressed when you eventually admit your little not-so-secret-secret to him. And of your own free will. He didn’t have to pry it out of you, which was a feat on its own

• Much like Heavy, he extends the offer of teaching you how to learn his language. Now that he no longer has this knowledge as a bargaining chip, he might as well seize the opportunity to teach you a proper language

• Considers using electroshock therapy to condition you faster, but nixes it pretty quick

• Again, like Heavy, he finds it cute how horrible you are at French. More amused than anything, but he can appreciate the way you practice verbs in your free time even when he isn’t leaning over your shoulder

• That you know of, that is

• Praises you often in french, letting excited phrases slip when you nail a particularly hard set of words

• “Merveilleux ! Tu t’améliores beaucoup, ma petite. Encore une fois.”

• While you don’t understand the full extent to his words, you smile and continue on, eventually realizing what he had said later in a fit of embarrassment

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wheeboo · 1 year ago

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hi (i love you) | xu minghao

SYNOPSIS. in which you take a trip through random glimpses of your growing relationship with minghao. PAIRING. xu minghao x gn!reader (ft. a mention of jihoon, and gyu and seokmin very briefly) GENRE. fluff, strangers to friends to lovers, established relationship, college au WARNINGS. hao is a year or two older than reader, drinking and reader getting drunk, kissing, terms of endearment at the end, the last scene is a lil suggestive WORD COUNT. 5.5k

notes: yes. this is literally just a compilation fic of them saying hi. ty zanna @slytherinshua for reading this over for me <3 there's like significant time skips between each section - just a lil sum to keep in mind cuz i dont wanna cause confusion or anything 😭😭😭 i find hao the hardest member to write for, so i hope i was able to characterize him well here!

i. "hi." (fallow is the colour of dryness to my mouth when your eyes met mine.)

There's no way in hell you're going to let yourself be lost on the first day of university.

It's embarrassing enough accidentally waking up past your alarm and having barely any time to freshen up as much as you would like, so right now, you couldn't afford another disaster.

Taking a deep breath, you double-check your schedule and the layout of the campus on your phone, trying to match it with the signs around you. The different buildings and hallways of the campus seem like a maze in of itself, and you can feel the slight panic course up your veins. A sea of students rush past you, seemingly confident in their strides towards their own classes. A defeated sigh leaves you.

All you had to do was find the stupid art hallway.

You clench your phone tighter, your iron grip practically burning a hole through the screen. The campus map app wasn't making any more sense now than it did a minute ago. Frustration stings painfully at your eyes, but begging the earth to swallow you whole wouldn't get you to class any faster, so you force yourself to scan the crowd. There's bound to be at least someone who knows where it is and is willing to help you.

And so, your eyes catch sight of the first figure appearing conveniently in your peripheral vision𑁋a boy, dressed in a casual fallow-coloured flannel with a backpack casually slung over one of his shoulders, earphones in his ears, and peering down at something on his phone just like you were doing minutes ago (though he seems to be having a much better time than you)𑁋which was somehow enough for your feet to bolt you towards as if it had a mind of its own.

You feel the root of your nerves creep up your legs and branch up to your neck as you approach him, realising at this point, there's no turning back now. You tap him lightly on the shoulder, bracing yourself for a possible eye roll or annoyed sigh.

His eyes widen in surprise before settling on you, and at that moment, something strikes hard at whatever rehearsed lines you had in your head. It was all gone in a simple snap, from a simple look from him𑁋soft yet sharp brown eyes framed by dark lashes peering at you with a hint of surprise, fluffy dark hair showering down his neck and forehead a little, a dainty pair of silver earrings glinting at his ears. His whole face seems to hold a warmth that somehow eases a bit of the knot in your chest, but certainly not the one in your throat.

You open your mouth, but all the words die on your tongue. The air hangs heavy with a sudden awkwardness, and you can practically feel your cheeks burning. Maybe you should just turn around and pretend this never happened.

But then, you notice the way his lips lift up just slightly, and it makes your stomach do a flip. He glances down at his phone for a second, takes off his earphones, then brings his attention back at you.

"Hi," is all he says, and maybe, just maybe, your heart stops a little bit. It's just a simple word, but the way he says it𑁋all soft, quiet, a tad bit hesitant𑁋makes the fabric of your shirt feel tight on your body.

You didn't notice you were clenching your fists until you force them to relax at your side, clearing your throat in the process.

"Hi," You manage back nervously, surprised at how breathless you sound. "Sorry, I-I don't mean to intrude. It's just... Do you happen to know where the art hallway is? I'm trying to find my photography class."

You watch the way he tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear, unveiling more of a view of his piercings. He gazes briefly behind you at the clusters of other students gradually spilling into different hallways, hushing the space where the two of you stood. Then he returns his attention back to you, his expression softening slightly.

"You're not that far off," he comments, seemingly amused. "I was just heading there myself too."

"Really? That's a relief. The campus map is awful and confusing, and I swear this place was designed on purpose for you to get lost in, you know? And being lost on the first day is just..." You quickly shut your mouth up from your rambling, letting your voice fade into an embarrassed chuckle instead.

Your gaze falls to the ground for a moment, and when you pick your head back up to look at him, you catch a glimpse of the small curve that he has at his lips, barely a hint of a smile playing there. It's a small detail, but suddenly it feels like the most important thing in the world, and it throws your train of thought completely off track. He doesn't seem bothered by your little habit of rambling (admittedly, because of nerves), thankfully. Instead, he lets out a soft laugh, the sound washing over you like a warm summer breeze.

You can't help but sheepishly grin back, feeling a certain lightness bloom within your chest that probably has nothing to do with the weight of your backpack suddenly seeming lighter as well.

"It's okay," he reassures, voice as quiet and gentle as his gaze. "Everyone gets lost here sometimes. I've been there."

He starts walking, and you hesitate for a second before falling into step beside him. There's a small part of you urging to get to know him, as if this was the only opportunity to do so, but all the words you want to say sound clumsy and loud compared to the easy peacefulness that surrounds him.

And honestly, it feels... nice.

The hallway he leads you in is perhaps more than just a simple art hallway, the intoxicating scent of oil paint and clay blend together in the air. Paintings by students and faculty of every style imaginable line the walls, some bursting with vibrant colours, others muted and contemplative. Sculptures poke out from odd corners, and bulletin boards are overflowed with announcements of upcoming exhibitions and workshops, even though the year just started.

"Welcome to the art hallway," he beckons you casually and welcomingly, as if only this portion of the campus was a separate entity than others.

You let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding in. "Thank you so much. Wow, this place is, um..." You stop yourself from continuing on, zipping your mouth shut. "I owe you. Oh, I'm Y/N, by the way. If there's anything I can𑁋"

"There's no need." He waves a hand dismissively at your offer, and for a second you feel something inside you sink, but the small hint of a smile to his face chases that feeling away just a little. "And it's Minghao... yeah. I'll see you around."

Before you can say anything more, you watch as he turns himself around and swiftly enters inside the room standing right behind him. A painting class.

(You are eight minutes late to class when a near-clear picture on the wall catches your gaze. It looks like a picture of Minghao standing next to a particularly vibrant painting of abstract art, and your heart swells just a little bit more.)

ii. "hi." (laurel is the colour of the grass that you lay on with me, gazing up at the same sky together.)

There was a time during Minghao's first year of college where a friend of his𑁋Lee Jihoon is his name𑁋called him crazy and bonkers for spending majority of his day outdoors rather than inside. Obviously, Minghao didn't exactly care, nor was it insulting in the slightest knowing Jihoon's stubbornness and tendency to stay holed up in his room buried under piles of music textbooks.

But he would be lying if he said he didn't appreciate the outdoors more than anything else, like from the way the sun kisses upon his skin, the gentle breeze that caresses his face, and the colours of nature that found him at his lowest times. Minghao thinks that's how he got into painting and art in the first place, though he didn't dwell on it too much. It all just came natural to him. He likes to think it that way𑁋that it found him instead.

The scenery of the campus is his oasis. He can do his own thing while others are walking through their own lives. He can sit outside for as long as he wants until dusk settles in and paints the sky with hues of orange and pink, or until the stars twinkle above and remind him that he's just an utter speck in the universe.

Today is no different.

Minghao finds himself sprawled out on the grass near the art building, sketchbook propped up against his bent knees, brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to capture the way the afternoon sunlight filters through the leaves of a nearby tree in his line of sight.

A low breeze runs through the air, stirring a few strands of hair across his forehead. He brushes them back absentmindedly, just as a sound cracks into the quietness.

"Hi!"

Minghao shoots his eyes up, slightly startled from the unexpected greeting. He catches sight of you slowly approaching up to him, a hesitant smile gracing your lips as you stop a few feet away.

"Hi," he replies, voice soft as he notices the way you're fiddling with something behind your back. "Vending machine did its ol' thing again?"

"Can you always read my mind?" You murmur, teasing annoyance biting at your words, but you can't contain the smile to your face either way. Maybe he can read your mind, but he's just skimming over it instead. "I can take it if you prefer to die from dehydration."

Minghao chuckles lightly. He glances down at the water bottle in your hand, then back at you, lingering for a beat longer than necessary. There's a flicker of amusement in his dark eyes, but also a hint of something𑁋maybe surprise, mischief, or perhaps a touch of shyness.

(You don't catch the way he subconsciously pushes the other water bottle he had stashed earlier deeper into his backpack.)

"Thanks." He accepts the water bottle from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours for a second, and takes a quick sip to cool his slightly parched throat.

Then he sets the water bottle down beside him, patting the grass next to him invitingly.

Without a word, you take a deep breath and lower yourself down onto the grass next to him. You catch the scent of the fresh paint lingering on his clothes and blending with the earthy aroma of the grass beneath you. The sunlight catches on the side of his face, highlighting some strands of hair flying in the breeze and the silver earrings reflecting in his ears.

There's a small groan that leaves you when you get yourself to lay fully down on the grass, using your backpack as a makeshift pillow. Minghao just peers in your direction curiously, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watches you settle in.

"You know," You sigh, letting out a contented breath as you spread your arms out a little, fixing your eyes up towards the sky. "This is actually really nice, hanging outside and all, but I am so out of shape. You pick the worst spots."

Minghao's smile widens a fraction at your words. He shifts his own gaze to the sky, observing as the clouds drift lazily overhead, fingertips kneading at the laurel-coloured grass below. The soft yet vibrant green reminds him of a new set of paints he recently bought.

"I think you'll survive lying on a patch of grass, Y/N."

"Not if I get up and there's a goddamn earthworm crawling in my ear, Hao."

"Just don't fall asleep, and you'll live."

You let out a giggle, though you wouldn't be lying if you said that the warmth hitting your body was making you feel just the tiniest bit of drowsy. "No promises there."

The silence that lingers between you and Minghao isn't uncomfortable, but it's not exactly filled with chatter either. It's a comfortable silence, with the distant sounds of other students laughing like white noise and the occasional rustle of a breeze flying past your ears.

It's always like this when you're here together, a quiet that feels more familiar than the few months you've known him. Whether it's your little study sessions at the library, or when you hang out with him after hours in his painting class, it's familiar being around him. The thought settles around you like a well-worn blanket, a comfort you didn't know you craved until you found it here.

You glance over back at Minghao, who seems to be focused back on his sketchbook. He taps his pencil against his bottom lip in concentration. There's a small smudge of charcoal on his nose that you pinpoint, just hardly noticeable, but it makes you want to reach out and brush it away with your thumb.

The bold thought makes your stomach churn.

"Lay down with me, Hao."

The words leave you before you can stop them, surprising even yourself. A blush creeps up your neck, warming your cheeks as you continue watching Minghao. He's still focused on his sketchbook, but the tapping of his pencil against his lip has ceased. He looks down at you, eyes widening slightly in surprise before softening into a gentle smile.

"Lay down?" he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"Y-Yeah," You stammer, suddenly wishing you'd phrased it differently. "I mean, if you want. The sky looks better from here, you know?"

Minghao just tilts his head to the side as if in contemplation, before closing his sketchbook and shifting his position. He tosses his backpack right next to yours, laying himself down on the grass and stretching his body in relief. The grass crinkles softly beneath him, his arm briefly brushing against yours, and you can feel the warmth radiating from his body as he settles in, peering up at the sky with you.

He's painted the sky many times, but for some reason, it feels different looking at it right now, and he isn't entirely sure why.

"What's the weirdest colour you've painted with?"

The sudden question makes Minghao sit up slightly, leaning on his elbow to face you better. The corners of his lips are pulled up in the hint of a smirk.

"Goose turd green."

His eyes detail the way your face contorts in slight disgust, before nothing but laughter tumbles out of you, and Minghao thinks he'd never get tired of hearing that sound.

iii. "hi." (vermilion is the colour that seeps through my cheeks when the alcohol beats me and i think about you.)

"Y/N𑁋jeez, how much did they drink tonight?"

"I don't even know𑁋woah, hey! Hold them steady, wait..."

"I'll take them back to their place," Minghao tells the other two boys struggling to keep you from falling over in their hold.

Mingyu and Seokmin stare at him for a second, exchanging a glance with each other before guiding you into Minghao's hold carefully. Minghao secures an arm around your waist, loosely at first, before tightening instantly because you're just about to fall out of his grip. He bids the other guys goodbye, then sets off with you towards your dorm.

"Are you alright?" he asks, even though he knows the answer already. "I told you before that you should know your limits."

You giggle, a wobbly, off-key sound. "Oh, I feel peachy, thank you so much."

Minghao just sighs, shaking his head slightly as he adjusts his hold on you, making sure you're steady on your feet.

The walk back to your dorm is painfully slow. Streetlights cast an orange glow on the sidewalk, painting long shadows that seem to dance alongside you. You lean heavily against Minghao, head hanging down to the ground, your footsteps unsteady. The world seems to tilt and sway with every giggle that escapes you.

Your vision is a bit blurry when your dorm comes into sight. Relief washes over you, and you lean even heavier into Minghao, practically melting into him by the time you reach your door and it swings open.

He steps you inside, moving you past the shoe rack by the entrance and towards your bed, and you flop down on the plush mattress with a low groan, nearly dragging down Minghao on top of you.

He catches himself just in time, a hand landing on the mattress beside you with a soft thud, and suddenly he's hovering above you, his breath catching with the sudden closeness of his body pressed up against yours. However, it just makes a laugh bubble out of your throat from deep within your chest, and with half-lidded eyes, you find yourself staring dazedly up at him.

"Wow, hiiii, you're like..." You drawl your words and tap aimlessly at his shoulder. "You're like... so pretty, you know? Have I told you that before?"

Heat creeps up Minghao's neck. He blinks down at you, eyes trailing over your face and cheeks which were stained a soft shade of vermilion from all the alcohol earlier. A small, surprised airy laugh escapes his lips.

He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. And even after pulling away from you, you continue, voice thick with inebriation.

"And your smile? Oh, don't even get me started," You slur, a goofy grin plastered on your face. "Those big, cute eyes you have? They, like, make the whole world look... sparkly."

"Y/N, you need𑁋"

"And whenev... whenever you paint," You continue, voice trailing off away. The world seems to be spinning a little slower now, the grin to your face faltering for a moment, replaced by a furrowed brow as you try to focus on the thought. "Yeah, whenever you paint... you get this... this really focused look on your face. Like the world fades away and all that's left is the canvas. It's kind of... hot."

Minghao could simply only stare at you. He knows he should probably get you settled into bed and leave, but his feet seem rooted to the floor below. His gaze flickers up and down your face, then back up to your eyes, searching for any sign of what you just said being a joke. But all he sees is a genuine, albeit slightly hazy and inebriated, fondness.

"You think so?" he finally manages to ask.

"Yeah," You mumble knowingly as if instinctive, eyelids drooping closed a little further. "Makes you look, uh... determined. Like you could𑁋like you could paint the stars out of the sky or something."

Minghao cowers his head down for a second, before looking back up at you, crossing his arms together bemusedly. "Do you want me to paint the stars for you?"

You give a dreamy nod. In your cloudy mind, the idea sounds incredibly romantic, like something out of a dream.

"I think..." You start once again. "that would really make me like you even more."

Minghao feels his lips twitch, somewhat hopeful yet also reluctant, before letting out another sigh.

"You need to go to bed." He walks back over and helps pull the covers over you. "I'll leave you some water and meds to take in the morning, okay?"

A pang of disappointment shoots through you as he pulls away, a sleepy pout crossing over your features. You watch him with heavy eyelids, the room tilting ever so slightly with each passing beat of your heart.

"Wait," You murmur, grabbing weakly at his sleeve.

Minghao turns back around. You're looking at him, eyes a little more focused now, a hint of a playful smile on your lips, and shooting him a look that means business.

"Don't forget the stars, okay, mister?"

iv. "hi." (pewter is the colour of the clouds when the earth can't hold it in much longer, and the words burst all at once.)

It hits you on a random Wednesday near the end of the month during an exam on English Romanticism that you simply can't stand this anymore.

You're avoiding Minghao, purposely attending more study sessions that your classmates offer and taking up more shifts at the small café across from campus that you applied for a while ago to make some extra bucks. You know you're avoiding him, and he probably knows it too, and it's all your fault𑁋you're letting him get away and slip through the cracks between your fingers.

Minghao's art had been selected for a prestigious exhibition out of town, and he was set to leave at the end of the month for this internship just as summer is starting, and the thought of him being gone brings a hollow ache to your chest. It's becoming unbearable each passing day, each millisecond that passes knowing you've been so stupidly immature to push him away when he's quite literally been the best thing that has happened to you.

You may never understand how Xu Minghao𑁋this sophisticated, well-mannered, and endlessly talented artist𑁋had managed to wriggle his way into your heart so effortlessly, but there he was, occupying every crevice and corner with his gentle smiles and soft laughter that seem to flip the world over. He was just this sentient, living breathing form of peace that you can’t seem to let go of.

When another boom of thunder shatters outside, you think, screw this.

Screw avoiding him. This wasn't how this story was supposed to end.

You're quick to shove your belongings back in your bag the moment your class ends. The rain has calmed down a little when you step outside, which only seems to fuel the determination within you.

With a deep breath, you pull your jacket tighter against your body, and start to spring across campus. The rain might be getting heavier with each passing minute, but you don't care. All you care about is getting to Minghao before the storm within you bursts too.

Reaching his dorm building, you're merely a shivering mess, hair damp and plastered to your forehead and clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You barely have the breath to push open the heavy doors, collapsing against them for a moment to catch your breath.

But just as you're about to push open the door, a figure blocks your way, and you peer up to see Minghao standing in front of you. There's an umbrella clutched in his hand, and a puzzled look etches across his features when he takes sight of your disheveled appearance in front of him. You could only gaze at him.

"Hi," You say breathlessly, as if you've been holding on to the singular word for dear life.

Minghao just blinks a few times, unsure if he's looking at you as if you were crazy or if he's just imagining you.

"Hi," he finally responds, voice all gentle and slightly hesitant.

You glance down at the umbrella in his hand. "Are you going somewhere?"

Minghao opens his mouth to respond, also looking down at the umbrella in his hands as if magically appeared there out of thin air, then a bashful look crosses his face.

"I forgot some supplies back in class, so I thought I'd grab them before the storm gets any worse," he explains somewhat lamely, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "But I𑁋Are you... are you okay?"

You give a loose nod, then shake your head dismissively right afterwards. Gosh, you're losing it.

Minghao clears his throat. "What are you doing out here in the rain? You're going to get sick𑁋"

"You know I-I like you, right?" The words stumble clumsily over your tongue, shattering whatever fragile tension was building up between you two. "And you probably knew that already, to be honest, because you always seem to know me better than I know myself. But the thought of you leaving just... scared me, and I panicked and pushed you away."

A lump forms in your throat. Minghao's expression is practically unreadable in front of you. There's a mix of surprise, a hint of something that could be hurt, and something else you can't exactly decipher.

You let out a dry chuckle, embarrassment crawling up your face but you try to ignore it as much as you can.

"I-I know I sound crazy right now," You say, forcing a smile that seems more like a grimace. "But I... I couldn't let you leave without knowing how I feel. So yeah. I like you. A lot. Maybe more than that. I don't know. It sort of scares me, honestly."

You wait a few moments, simply standing there in the falling rain while anticipating just anything from the boy standing in front of you as if the world had come to a pause. His silence stretches suffocatingly long, nothing but a cloud swirling in those beautiful eyes of his.

Then he looks down at the umbrella in his hand for a moment, then back at you, his gaze lingering on your soaked clothes and shivering form. And just before you can spiral into a wave of panic, Minghao steps forward close to you. Without a word, he unfurls the umbrella and holds it over your head, tilting it slightly to ensure you're fully covered from the rain.

"Let's get you out of this rain," he says finally, low and calm. "You're freezing."

"I..." You start, then stop, giving a muted nod. "Okay."

Minghao leads you back inside his dorm building and up to his room, the warmth seeping overwhelmingly into your bones. He ushers you into his space, the door swinging shut with a soft click behind you.

You've been inside Minghao's room before, but it feels different now, more intimate somehow. The air hangs heavy as you awkwardly perch yourself on the edge of his bed, careful not to let the water dripping off you land on his sheets, and you watch as he quietly makes his way to his closet and disappears behind the hanging clothes. A moment later, he emerges with a soft, oversized hoodie and a towel in hand.

"Here." He holds out the towel and hoodie towards you. "Dry yourself off and change out of those clothes."

The softness of the towel against your skin is the equivalent to luxury as you meticulously pat down your hair and face. You shoot glances at Minghao across the room, seeing him busy himself at his desk, back turned to you, a low hum escaping his lips.

You slip on the oversized hoodie, the familiar scent of Minghao washing over you and instantly relaxing your jittery nerves. The sleeves hang past your fingertips, the material engulfing you in a comforting warmth.

"Feeling a little better?" Minghao asks, turning around to face you after a few minutes. You hardly notice the way his gaze sweeps over your form, lingering on the way the hoodie basically swallows you.

A shy, self-conscious look crosses your features. "Yeah, um... Thanks."

Minghao returns the smile, though there's a hint of something else in his eyes𑁋perhaps relief or maybe even a touch of fondness. "Always."

That particular silence passes again as you both sit in his room, the only sound the soft patter of rain against the window. You fidget nervously with the sleeves of his hoodie.

Then, you let out a sigh. "Look, Hao𑁋"

"Do you want anything to drink?"

The offer zips your mouth back up, leaving your unfinished words hanging in the air. Is he... trying to brush away everything that has just happened in the last fifteen minutes? All just like that? You nearly want to scoff at the thought, but you bite at your bottom lip instead, a pang of disappointment settling in your chest.

"Honestly?" You lay your hands flat on your lap. "I'd kill for a hot chocolate right now."

Minghao just chuckles softly. "Okay," Then another long, considerable pause. "Are you working at the café later on?"

The thought of working right now makes you cringe internally. "No, thank goodness. My shift actually got swapped with someone else. Lucky break, I guess."

The corners of Minghao's mouth lift up subtly. He glances back out the window, seeing that the rain had become much lighter and cleared up significantly, revealing the sky in a palette of muted greys. His gaze returns to you, a thoughtful expression painting his features.

"Let's go then," he asserts firmly, rising up to his feet.

You raise an eyebrow at him. "What? Right now? To the café?"

"Mhm."

"But you can't𑁋we can't just𑁋"

"It's a date," Minghao affirms, cutting your words off promptly. "My treat."

His words catch you off-guard, and for a moment, you're at a loss for words. Your mouth hangs down to the ground, warmth crawling up the cheeks just like the hot chocolate you desperately crave right now. You can feel your heart pounding furiously out of your chest and whatever tension coiling in your stomach dissipating away.

"A... date?" You squeak out, voice coming out small and weak.

Minghao's lips purse together in a thin line. "Unless you have other plans𑁋"

"Oh no, no, no," You blurt out, finding yourself already breathless for no reason at all, struggling to keep the giddy grin forming on your face at bay. "A date sounds perfect, actually."

Relief floods over Minghao's features. He lets out a little giggle, the kind that always makes your insides do a little happy flip.

"Good," he responds simply. "I'm glad."

"Do I get to pay next time?" You ask teasingly as you stand up. "If there is a next time, at least."

Nothing but amusement dances in his eyes.

"We'll see about that."

v. "hi." (calamine is the colour staining your cheeks and your lips against my ear.)

Minghao's lips are on yours before you have the opportunity to breathe in the air of relief of the hotel room.

It's not hard for your body to melt into him instinctively, the kiss soft yet desperate, tender yet urgent. You find your fingers kneading at the silky material of the suit that he wore, and his hand coming to rest on your lower back. Both of your feet move in mere unison together before you feel the edge of the bed nudge the back of your knee.

When the two of you pull back for a minute to breathe, all you can do is faintly chuckle.

"You act like you haven't seen me in years," You tease, letting a hand come to toy with his tie. "Did you miss me that much?"

Minghao's gaze only flickers between your eyes, your lips, and down the outfit that seems to hug your body just perfectly, before settling back up to your face. His own face is close enough to yours that you swear you could pinpoint the flecks of stardust in his irises. He's simply staring at you with nothing but adoration, his gaze so intense like he's trying to memorise every little detail etched on your face, even if he's already done so many times. He's painted stars on your skin with his fingertips, lips, whispered words, and his heart.

And then he's kissing you again, more softly and slower this time, the weight of his body following your own as you fall back down on the bed behind.

Missing you is more than just an understatement. Being separated from you felt like this physical piece of him was missing from his chest. His art had been reaching the rightful hands of museums abroad just as he deserves, and you had gotten used to him travelling for days on end to attend exhibitions and workshops.

You jumped on the first opportunity to be able to visit him. And now, with you in his arms and your lips pressed against his, Minghao feels like he's finally whole again.

His mouth pulls away from the sweet spot to your neck, trailing a soft path back up to your lips, giving you a small kiss before pulling back to look at you. You hear the way his breath hitches in his throat, the feeling of his hand coming to interlock with yours at your side, the metal of the ring on his finger meeting your skin.

You peer up at him longingly, lovingly, a tiny smile playing at the corners of your lips.

"Hi," You whisper, a breathless laugh escaping you.

Minghao's gaze softens even further, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand as he leans back down.

"Hi, dearest," he murmurs back affectionately, adjusting himself so that his mouth is near your ear, barely grazing against the shell as he whispers, "You're beautiful."

You could only giggle as he retreats himself away slightly, but you tug him by the tie again to bring him back down. "Yeah? What else?"

There's a thoughtful look that crosses over his features, his cheeks painted an ethereal shade of calamine pink, mirroring the flush of warmth that spreads across your own face. You've always grown accustomed to Minghao's fairly quiet nature, however it doesn't take much to read over even the most imperceptible shifts in his expressions. Whenever words seem to be too shy or hesitant to come out, the stars in his eyes speak for him.

Minghao just lowers himself even more, the ghost of his lips hardly brushing back against yours.

"I love you."

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theunluckycanuck · 1 month ago

Text

renault

fernando alonso x lance stroll - wc: 3431

tags: smut/pwp, age gap, dirty talking, bottom!lance, top!fernando, renault f1 racing team, sharing clothes, pure smut

An old Renault jacket on Lance's shoulders strikes a sexual nerve in the jacket's owner, Fernando Alonso. The blue and yellow have their memories in his head, but at that moment seeing his younger lover dressed in next to nothing - the jacket & underwear - it makes Fernando only yearn for the other driver. Which leads to a tussle in the sheets and a very compliant Lance Stroll.

archive of our own link

The jacket felt nice. Strangely familiar in an unfamiliar way. They didn't make jackets like this anymore. Everything was cheaply made with things printed on - even if the team was worth millions.

It felt nice on his skin, it felt comfortable. Maybe that was because who owned the jacket, Fernando. His Renault jacket from many, many years ago. Lance faintly remembered seeing it many times on television in his youth and now to wear it in front of the full length mirror in their shared bedroom was like a dream come true.

He hugged himself in it and admired himself in the mirror. Those dark eyes gazed at his reflection. It didn't help that he was in tight dark briefs and white athletic socks pulled all the way to his calves. He looked hot. If only Fernando were here to see it, to admire him.

They had been anticipating summer break since the start of the season that was marred with two DNFs during the first two races for Fernando. So Lance was being a good boyfriend and pampering his older lover. But while Fernando was out on a bike ride, Lance got curious about what was in the man's closet.

That was where he found the jacket. It cut a little short due to their noticeable height difference, but Lance still thought that Fernando would love him in it. His skin was a bit tanned from the break in Fernando's home country and the opening part of the jacket showed off his toned body. He knew he looked hot and it made him chuckle to himself.

Even with his thoughts lingering on the other man, he was shocked when he heard his voice.

"Mi Comoran? Where did you find that?" and made Lance jump. He looked over his shoulder and saw the other man.

"Oh hey, honey." He fully turned around to show off to Fernando, "Keeping mementos?" And put his hands in the jacket pockets to open it a little further to show off more skin.

Fernando's dark eyes went wide at the sight of the other man and ran his fingers through his dark hair, "Where the hell did you find that?" He stepped forward. He looked good in the cycling clothes he wore. And that only endeared Lance further.

"back of the closet." Lance shrugged, "Does it look bad?" He approached the other man and leaned in to kiss him on the lips, "Smells like two-thousand and eight."

Fernando replied, "I think that's just the mothballs, my love." then pulled him in for another kiss. The older man got a bit handsy in the process. At first he wanted to wrap his strong arms around the waist of his lover and feel the fabric of the jacket. But decided against it and handed up palming Lance's ass under the jacket.

Lance held onto his lover and kept his eyes closed. He could feel his cock strain in the front of his briefs and chuckled when Fernando gave his ass a pinch, "Careful there, Nando." He chuckled lowly.

"Or what?"

"Don't want all that blood rushing to your cock and you get lightheaded." Lance then moaned when Fernando slapped him on the ass. He couldn't help it, he knew exactly how to make the other man tick.

"Cheeky." Fernando replied before he went in for another steamy kiss. He felt his pulse leap at the feeling of the other man up against him. He groped at his flesh some more, wanting to feel all of him. He was aroused, almost painfully so. He couldn't help it, not when Lance was before him. Dressed that way that he was.

"Fernando, honey." He chuckled lowly as he felt Fernando's lips down his neck and made him hold onto the other's shoulders tightly. His pulse picked up and his skin felt flushed. It was a heat all over that excited him, something about Fernando just burned into his brain in the best way possible.

"You look good, my love." Fernando said, his hands in the fabric of the jacket. The kisses lingered and it made Lance feel a sense of head rush as Fernando held him close. The older man knew this and continued his kisses across Lance's partially exposed collarbones, "Maybe we should have you wear to the next race." The words were warm on his tongue and it made Lance shudder, "Dress you like a grid girl, no one would knew the difference. You have the looks of one." He continued to kiss the other man's neck.

Even with their height difference, Lance was always wobbly at the knees for Fernando. He couldn't help it, there was an allure to the fellow driver that drew Lance in. No wonder he had so many lovers over the years, Lance was just happy that Fernando decided to settle down with him.

"Ah, no one wants to see me dressed like that." He chuckled, the heat stained across his cheeks. He could feel the burn.

Fernando went and kissed Lance softly on the lips, "I think everyone would. But, I think it is only right that I'm the only one who can see you like this." He knew that his lover was painfully erect, he only added fuel to Lance's lustful fire with each touch and kiss.

He was going to break Lance's brain before they even got on the bed. He pulled back and admired how the taller man looked. He chuckled lightly at the memories of that jacket, he believed it was a good luck charm. But seeing it on Lance only added to its perceived luckiness.

Fernando felt like he was clutching four leaf clovers as he gazed with heated want at the other man. He licked his lips before he reached out grabbed Lance to pull him into bed. They shared a heated kiss, Lance pulled at Fernando's bottom lip with his teeth and Fernando gripped tightly onto the other's hair. Their kisses were heavy, needy with sexual want for one another.

Lance laid out on the bed the jacket off his shoulders. He smiled lazily at his lover but his eyes went wide when Fernando flipped him over to his face was in the pillows. By instinct alone, he arched his hips and exposed his behind to the older man. Even gave is a small shake to entice Fernando. He then loudly moaned into the soft pillows when Fernando gave is a firm smack.

"Tease."

"What can I say?" Lance replied. He was on full display like a seven course meal. The kind of meal that someone would pay top dollar for. He was right in every place, he was perfect. And with the blues and yellows of the jacket across his back, he was only more alluring.

Fernando chuckled and leaned into his lover as he got his own belt off. He kissed at the spots of his neck that weren't obscured by the jacket. Excitement ran through him, a leap in his chest as he undressed. He did the same for Lance too, except the jacket.

The jacket stayed on during sex. He pushed it up slightly to get better access to his lover. He gave Lance's now bare ass another tap before the younger love instinctively spread his legs for him. His cock erect against his stomach and he was already trembling with anticipation.

This was how Fernando loved his lover. There was something about how sweet Lance laid under him. How warm he felt under Fernando's touch. The hitch in his breath, the blush Fernando knew was on the other's cheeks. He was perfect, so of course Fernando was more than willing to give everything to the other driver.

"To think you were only eight when I got this jacket. Still so young, Lancito. Still so young."

That riled something and he shifted on the bed and spread his legs a little wider, "Don't tempt me, Fernando."

Fernando kissed his teeth and made a small tsk, tsk noise, "You like that, don't you? You like knowing how much younger you are compared to me. All those years I have on you, but it's only made me a better lover." he leaned in and kissed the other's neck.

He rubbed his now bare cock up against his lover's behind. He kissed at his neck some more, feeling his pulse under his lips. Lance had a pulse like a rabbit when he was aroused. It only made Fernando yearn for him more. His sweet little bunny.

"You know my type so well." Lance chuckled.

"I know, you modelled it after me. What about that poster you had on your wall as a teen." Fernando purred as he rubbed up against him further.

Lance's cheeks grew hotter, he hold Fernando about it while very drunk in Monaco. He knew that the older man never forgot about it. How he was the subject of Lance's fantasies for years, even long after they became teammates and lovers.

The older driver simply occupied Lance's mind in a way no one else ever had or could.

Fernando gave Lance's pulse one last kiss then said, "Don't worry, I find it endearing. Many people wanted me, but only you got me in the end." Then pulled away to grab the bottle of lube from the bedside table.

Lance laid there, in his lover's slightly smaller jacket. His face pressed into the covers and the lingering scent of Fernando's body spray lingered in his head. His cock was hard and pre-cum leaked from the tip. The excitement could be felt all over, his pulse had leapt and his body craved his lover.

"My precious boy." Fernando purred, "Look at you. Perfect for me." He got lube on his fingers and coated his cock with it. He made sure that he wasn't going to harm his lover in the process.

He felt Lance tense up as lube was applied to him. Fernando didn't care if any of it ended up on the jacket. Lance's cum could somehow end up on the vintage fabric, Fernando would be honoured to have Lance's cum all over the jacket.

"Please." Lance gasped and held onto the covers under him tightly. The feeling was erotic, the anticipation that ran through him as he felt Fernando behind him, "I need you."

"Of course, that's why you're wearing my jacket. It looks good on you." Fernando said as he lined his cock up with Lance's hole. He licked his lips at the curve of his lover's back, he knew that the younger driver was already heated with want.

He could picture the blush on his lover's cheeks.

"Stop teasing me." Lance chuckled. His stomach was in knots, but he still yearned for the feeling. He licked his lips and held on tightly. To be fucked by his lover was something akin to a religious experience. He assumed that was what happened when someone fucked an older man, got to experience all the years on him.

Fernando teased Lance's hole with the tip of his cock. It was teasing and it made Lance shift under him. The older man placed one hand on the centre of Lance's back to keep him pinned, "There, there, my love." He cooed, "Behave now."

Lance swallowed, he already felt the rush of excitement through him. He swore under his breath as he was pushed further into the covers. The jacket hiked up further to expose more of his toned backside. What a treat he was.

"I remember wearing this jacket. I remember the season. And you, Lance, were so young. I bet you were watching every race with stars in your eyes." Fernando easily played with Lance, he knew his words were hot in the other man's head. It was endearing.

Lance groaned, "Come on, old man. Give it to me already."

Fernando swatted at Lance's ass and the other man bucked. Fernando kept him pinned and kissed his teeth once more, "Hate to spend tonight teaching you about patience, Lance." He kissed at the man's shoulders, "Especially when you gave me such a good treat today. But I will do what I have to. I won't have a brat in my bed."

Lance swallowed, the feeling deepen in his gut. It felt hot and he let out a small moan when Fernando pressed on him harder. He said in a heated voice, "I'll be good."

Fernando chuckled, "That's what I like to hear." Then slowly inched himself into the other man. He placed his hands on either side of his younger lover and got in all the way to the base. He heard Lance swear under his breath as he relaxed.

Lance could be insatiable at times, but that was fine for Fernando. It kept him young, made him feel properly virile. That he could fuck such a beautiful lover into a near-coma almost nightly.

"Look at you, Lance." He purred, "My sweet love." He kissed at the back of the other's neck while he thrusted gently. He felt Lance tense up and his movements only continued. He felt like heaven wrapped around his cock.

Beautiful on the track and off.

"Been a rough start for us, but that doesn't matter. We'll win them all next time." He picked up momentum and the thrusts grew more powerful. He wanted to properly fuck his lover, make Lance forget every little thing in his head.

Only think about Fernando, the home they shared and the jacket on his back. That was completely enraptured by Fernando in every way possible, owned to a certain extent. It was evident by the blue and yellow across his back.

"You think so?" Lance asked between heavy breaths.

"Even if we don't." Fernando replied, "I'll still take you to bed every night and I'll make you feel like a champion when I make you finish over and over again." His words were like cotton in Lance's head and it made the younger man sink further into pleasure.

"You don't have -"

"Shh." Fernando said, "Don't make me gag you. I know you can be a good boy for me. Take me so well. I don't need to shut you up, not when I love your sweet moans so much. You look good in what is owned by me, because I own you. Mind, body and soul." Fernando's beard rubbed up against exposed skin near Lance's neck and the younger man moaned a little louder.

It was quite the sight, the two drivers for Aston Martin going at it. Lance wore Fernando's old jacket, just like he wore his bites across his neck. Maybe it did rise a bit of possessiveness in Fernando. The knowledge that Lance was his. All his.

There was no one after him, even after Fernando retired. He'd still yearn for Lance in a deep, carnal way. The two of them forever intertwined. Eventually they'd both retire and the two could live happy lives together - hopefully in Spain.

Fernando's movements continued and Lance's noises only grew in sound. They both needed each other, both wanted each other. It was the kind of heated lust that drove both them to tumble in the sheets after every race. Didn't matter the outcome, all that mattered was they'd have a place to feel up one another and have sex.

If Lance was insatiable, then Fernando was famished.

He felt up Lance's chest and torso while he continued to fuck his. His hands grazed across the other's flushed skin. He could feel Lance's hammering heartbeat. He felt like heavy and tasted divine. The type of lover others would kill for.

"Look at you. I don't even need to see your face and I know exactly how you look right now. So perfect for me."

Lance moaned a little louder, Fernando's word reverberated in his head. He swallowed back the intense feeling ans croaked out to his lover, "please, Nando. fuck." And Fernando rewarded him with heavy thrusts, fucking him till there was nothing left in his head. Zero thoughts to rattle around in there, only the immense pleasure to course through his blood.

To warm him to his very core.

"You sound so lovely under me, Lance. You know no idea what you do to me. How you make me feel, the way you are spread out under me. So beautiful. Take me as well as you take to driving." He praised and Lance shuddered.

Lance replied, his voice dripped with lust, "Then I must be taking you pretty poorly-" Then his face was shoved into the covers once more. He moaned and arched his back slightly at the feeling of Fernando simply roughing him up.

It felt good, so good. The pleasure dripped in his core as he let Fernando take him anyway he pleased. It was the kind of love affair that would make anyone in their right mind blush. The sight of the two of them going at it, he sweat down Fernando's back and at Lance's temple.

The two of them rutting against one another in intense desire. Fernando loved how he looked in that jacket, the was the fabric was bunched up to give Fernando better access to his lover's body.

He leaned in once more and kissed at the younger man's neck. Lance moaned under his touch and the older man said to him, "Look at you, spread out like a prize all for me. I bet you love the idea that you get to wear this. Probably saw it on the television all those years ago. Now you're letting me fuck you, kiss you, worship you."

His words made Lance go dumb, there was no poetic language for it. It buzzed in his brain like a nest of hornets and made his blood grow hotter with the need for sexual release. He loved Fernando, more than just a racing icon. But as a man who he could love.

Lance turned his head a little and Fernando sloppily made out with him. The bed rocked against the wall and the younger driver knew he couldn't last much longer. He groaned into Fernando's mouth and the other man held his dark hair to keep their lips together.

Then like an elastic band that was pulled to tightly something snapped in Lance and the pleasure hit its peak. He groaned into the kiss before he came all over himself. Streaks of white cum up to his chest, staining the zipper of the Renault jacket. Not that he cared in that moment, the pleasure was too intense.

Fernando pulled away and pushed the jacket further up Lance's back, and held the younger man further down onto the bed. He kissed at Lance's toned back as he quickened his pace to get his own release.

"Good boy." The older driver said, "So good for me. Always have been." The only response he got was heated moan from a sexed out Lance Stroll. He chuckled lightly against his lover's skin, "Perfect for me." He said. His pace started to lose its heated focus and with a few more heavy thrusts, he finished inside of Lance.

He fucked Lance through his climax only stopping when he was completely spent. Both men ended up next to each other in bed. Fernando grabbed tissues from the nightstand and carefully wiped clean a very exhausted Lance.

The Canadian driver was on his back and could feel his cum cooling on his stomach. He felt flustered, cheeks perfectly pink. He laid there in the jacket with his eyes half closed. He whined when Fernando kissed his soon cleaned stomach, it excited him. "I think you broke my brain, Fernando." His voice softer.

"I don't need you to think when I'm fucking you." Fernando responded.

Lance chuckled lightly, "Perverted old man."

Fernando threatened to bite Lance's chest before he said, "You insatiable thing."

Lance's eyes opened a little wider, "Maybe we should see how messy we can get this jacket tonight… I'm assuming we can get it washed after."

Fernando took Lance by the jaw and looked into his eyes, "Doesn't matter. I'd rather your cum stain it forever."

Lance chuckled lightly as he pulled himself closer to his lover. He draped a leg over his hip and looked at him as he said, "And you say I'm insatiable." Before he went in for another kiss.

They should have checked the washing label for that old jacket, or they might be searching up, how to get cum out of a vintage racing jacket very soon. ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ

#canuck types #fernando alonso #lance stroll #strollonso #aston martin f1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 #fa14 #f1 rpf #ls18 #1418 #1814

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bananarrlele · 5 months ago

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tags: gore, dark romance, power dynamics, psychological horror, vampire, horror, obsession, gothic, supernatural, non-canon elements, erotic, blood play, seduction, smut (explicit sexual content), dub-con, female reader, dominant male, size difference, oral sex (fem! receiving), lots of terms of endearment, rough sex, biting, creampie, brief aftercare, literature mentions (goethe's poem 'heidenröslein'), title translates to "little, thorned rose" or even "sleeping beauty", in german. everything written in bold is otherworld language.

plot: "after a violent earthquake shakes the underworld, you rush to mr. silvair’s lab for help. but everything feels wrong — he’s no longer the cold, distant figure you know. transformed into a vampire, silvair pulls you into a surreal dream where your unrequited love finally finds its answer."

Knabe sprach: 'Ich breche dich, Röslein auf der Heiden.'

The boy said: I will break you, little rose on the heath.

The depths trembled like a heart in agony, and the ground opened like a hungry mouth, swallowing everything in its path with an intensity you had never deemed possible. It was as if a slumbering giant was writhing in its sleep, as the walls shook and the floor shattered, as if hell itself was opening beneath your very feet. Losing your balance, you could do little but emit a gasping murmur of exasperation, followed by a piercing cry of pain as your head collided with a rock, and your vision darkened as if an ebony veil was cast over your eyes.

When you were finally able to open your eyes again, you groaned painfully upon touching your head and feeling a warm, sticky liquid gushing from the deep cut, but a fleeting, perishable sense of relief filled your chest as you noticed that the sound of the rumble had subsided.

With your eyes wavering and blurred by agony, you hesitantly extended your hands before you, only to see them smeared with blood as red as cracked rubies. A silent scream escaped your lips. It was a nasty gash, the reddened flesh spasming, and the quick pulse of hot blood eagerly pouring out. The sight of the blood transported you to a dark, unknown place, where physical pain mingled with the anguish of the soul. But a persistent force within you, perhaps fear, perhaps intuition, kept you moving toward an uncertain destination.

Or perhaps, not so uncertain and unknown after all. The throbbing wound in your head was a map, and the pain a compass, guiding you through a tortuous but familiar path: the small room of the doctor. The space occupied by Mr. Silvair wasn't far, but the darkness caused by the stupor threatening to close your eyes was like a sea of ink, hungry and eager to suffocate and end you. Your body protested, stiffened in an aged armor of pride, keeping your legs nearly rigid, but you knew you needed help. And the Doctor had always been there, like a precious clock never moved from its place, a faithful shadow, the only constant in a world of perpetual changes. His words were law, and his judgment, always reliable.

Upon reaching the door, you pushed it with a trembling hand, entering with a firmness already frayed. Your body, already exhausted and weakened, finally succumbed. The merciless darkness took over once more, and you fainted, falling into a deep, involuntary sleep.

Consciousness returned slowly, like a mist dissipating in an eternal twilight. Your eyes opened, unsteady, as if being pulled from a deep, viscous sleep. Your eyelids twitched gently against the velvety gloom that enveloped the room. A canopy bed cradled you, soft as a cloud, with columns carved from an exotic and distinct wood. The heavy, opaque crimson velvet curtains filtered the faint, almost nonexistent light seeping through the cracks in the windows.

The air was dense, laden with a sweet, almost cloying perfume reminiscent of wilted roses and incense. A slight tremor ran through your body, and you stretched, feeling your sore muscles. As you sat up in the bed, your eyes adjusted to the dimness and began to distinguish the room's details.

The walls, covered in rich scarlet fabric, were adorned with a profusion of paintings. Portraits of men and women, all with impassive expressions and penetrating gazes, dominated the walls. They were figures of authority — kings, queens, generals — who seemed to observe you with curiosity. Among the portraits were also still lifes, with lush fruits and wilted flowers, and dark landscapes, with abandoned castles and twisted trees.

Beside the bed, a black marble fireplace held embers that lazily glowed, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Above the fireplace, a Venetian mirror reflected a distorted image of the room, doubling the sense of opulence and decadence.

A solid mahogany desk, filled with old books and yellowed parchments, occupied a corner of the room. A raven's feather rested on a silver inkwell, inviting you to record your thoughts.

As you stood, your bare feet touched a Persian rug, soft and thick, cushioning your steps. The high, vaulted ceiling was decorated with frescoes depicting mythological scenes, filled with dark gods and fantastic creatures.

With a tilt of your head, your eyes fell upon the silhouette of a man of imposing stature, unmoving on his own feet before the fireplace, with the flames dancing and illuminating the profile of his pale, almost translucent face. A shiver ran down your spine with the realization. Mr. Silvair was there, more sumptuous than ever. But not the Silvair you knew, dressed in his usual bloodstained, worn lab coats. No. This was a transformed Silvair, almost unrecognizable.

His long, silver, misty hair fell loosely over his shoulders like liquid mercury, framing his ivory face with a slight smile. His eyes, if they still existed in their sockets, covered by bandages stained in crimson, contrasted with his attire, so different from anything you had ever seen. The one who once presented himself in sober, functional garments now wore an extravagant and dark ensemble. A silver velvet coat, embroidered with delicate arabesques in a deep burgundy hue, draped over his broad shoulders. The piece, though luxurious, bore a certain carelessness, with undone buttons revealing layers of fine, lace-trimmed shirts. Tight leather pants, shimmering like silver, clung to his legs, contrasting with heavy, high-heeled boots, more suited for a battlefield than an opulent hall.

The gothic, antiquated, and aristocratic look was a shock, but there was something familiar about the figure. The same aura of mystery and power that once defined him was now amplified by his new attire. It was as if, by shedding his physician’s garb, Silvair had revealed a part of himself that had always been hidden — a dark, enigmatic facet that coexisted with his scientific nature.

A sigh escapes his lips as he unsettlingly notices your gaze and steps closer to the bed.

— Finally. You're awake.

You furrowed your brow as you noticed him communicating perfectly in your human tongue, not resorting to the one of the underworld. Your bewilderment deepened when you detected a hint of an accent in his voice, rough and archaic.

You blinked, disoriented by the sudden shift in his tone. The man who had once appeared as a cold, detached doctor now revealed an unexpected, almost tender side. The strangeness of it lingered, but it soon gave way to an intensifying curiosity that tugged at you.

— You know my language? — You murmured, your voice hoarse with the remnants of sleep.

— Naturally, — He answered, his tone dripping with a quiet superiority. — I speak all your tongues.

Your eyes widened in disbelief.

— All of them?

He gave a slight, almost theatrical tilt of his head, his movement elegant and assured.

— Yes, all of them. French, German, Spanish... Even the most obscure dialects.

A shiver crept down your spine. How could he know so much?

Before you could form another question, he continued, his voice a little lower, almost intimate now.

— Do you remember Goethe? A poet of some renown in your world. Heidenröslein, my dear…

You shook your head slightly, intrigued.

— "Röslein auf der Heiden..." A delicate little rose, growing in a wild place. A thing of beauty, surrounded by chaos. Just like you.

His voice had taken on a new quality, smooth and sensual, each word weighted with meaning. He took a slow step forward, deliberate in his movement, and with it, the distance between you shrank. It wasn’t just a physical approach — it was as if he were pulling you toward him in ways you couldn’t quite explain, closing in on you, emotionally as much as physically.

— But I don’t wish to pluck you just yet, like the boy in the poem. No. I want to tend to you. I’ve kept you safe, you see...

His words lingered in the air, hanging heavy with an almost unsettling promise. His gaze, once clinical and detached, now held something deeper — something possessive, something darkly protective. The room, once oppressive and filled with an eerie void, now felt thick with an intimacy that you couldn’t escape. The air around you seemed to hum with a dangerous allure.

You took a shallow breath, entranced. For a fleeting moment, the world outside his presence disappeared. All the uncertainty, the strangeness, the tension, everything faded into irrelevance. The man standing before you, no longer the cold, calculating doctor, had transformed into something else entirely. Not in appearance alone, but in the very essence of the atmosphere he commanded. A weight hung in the air, drawing you in, an undeniable pull that made everything else seem insignificant, distant.

Your skin prickled. His comment, his proximity, everything was so intense. You tried to compose yourself, but his voice was hypnotizing.

— How do you know so much?

— I have plenty of time to read, my lovely. And language, it is like a labyrinth. Once you find the thread of Ariadne, all the paths reveal themselves.

He extended a cold and elegant hand, gently caressing your face to trace the outline of the wound on your forehead, before stepping back slightly, his expression becoming more distant. It was if he were withdrawing into his thoughts for a moment.

— But let us return to the present, shall we? I am most pleased that you have awakened. You were in a profound, consuming slumber, one that could not be easily disturbed.

His attention shifted, and he gestured towards the opulent attire that lay upon the chaise longue beside the bed. His voice took on a more formal, commanding tone.

— Ah. As for your attire, I have taken the liberty of selecting something fitting for the occasion.

The garments were nothing short of extravagant. The gown, composed of rich crimson velvet, shimmered under the dim light. Its delicate embroidery of silver threads formed intricate patterns across the fabric, while the lace at the collar and cuffs added a touch of elegance. A corset of dark satin cinched tightly at the waist, lending an air of refinement. The voluminous skirt cascaded in soft folds, adorned with dark pearls that sparkled faintly. Beside the gown, a pair of knee-high boots crafted from supple black leather stood, their heels elegantly designed.

He moved closer once more, his voice taking on an even deeper resonance.

— The banquet will commence shortly, my dear. It would be most unfortunate for you to keep the others waiting.

His covered eyes possibly locked with yours, the weight of his words leaving little room for dissent. His presence, once again, enveloped you entirely, as if the evening, and the role you were to play within it, had already been carefully predetermined.

You nodded timidly, your eyes trailing over your worn clothes. The rough cotton scratched at your skin, a constant reminder of your simple life. Mr. Silvair had left silently, leaving you alone with a whirlwind of emotions.

With a sigh, you approached the ancient mirror, its golden frame chipped and faded with age. The reflection that stared back at you was pale and tired. You disentangled yourself from your old clothes, feeling a mixture of relief and sorrow. The silk gown, however, was a revelation. The vibrant red seemed almost incandescent, contrasting sharply with your skin. The soft texture slid over you, caressing you like a warm breeze. The golden embroidery glittered in the candlelight, casting an almost hypnotic glow. As you donned the dress, you felt yourself transform, as though you were a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

You paused for a moment, studying your reflection in the mirror, seeing a stranger before you, yet somehow, it was you. The gown seemed to mold perfectly to your form, highlighting your features in a way you had never experienced. There was a sense of power in the transformation, but also a haunting vulnerability, as though you were about to step into a world from which there was no return.

A deep breath escaped your lips, as you attempted to calm the storm of nerves within you. The gown seemed to murmur as you moved, its fabric flowing over your skin like the whisper of something unfamiliar, something unsettling. You stole one last glance at your reflection, noting the stranger staring back at you, before turning toward the door. Your footsteps were swallowed by the thick carpet as you made your way forward. The banquet called, and with it, the grand spectacle Mr. Silvair had promised, waiting to unfold before you.

The banquet hall was shrouded in a pulsating gloom, its walls draped with ancient, tattered tapestries depicting scenes of vice and decadence. The clinking of golden goblets against plates and the muffled murmurs of distorted conversations echoed through the vast space. As you stepped further inside, the mingling scents of roasted human flesh and fresh blood intertwined with the heavy aroma of incense, creating a sensation both repulsive and fascinating.

The table stretched endlessly, covered by dark cloths stained with blood and other viscous fluids that glimmered in the candlelight along its length. The golden cutlery, polished yet tarnished, gleamed ominously in the flickering light, as if eager to delve into the human flesh displayed upon the table. The meat was raw and grotesque, human flesh skinned and scattered across the surface, some pieces nearly unrecognizable, as if the victims had been torn apart in a frenzied, animalistic rage.

The air was thick with the oppressive weight of ritualistic depravity, and each step you took, hidden, resonated with the echo of past horrors embedded in the very stones of the hall. Shadows danced mockingly on the walls, and the grotesque feast laid out before you seemed to pulsate with a life of its own, a grim testament to the dark desires of those who gathered there.

Monsters draped in black, flowing veils sat around the table, their bony, misshapen hands grasping pieces of flesh with their utensils, sharp teeth gleaming as they chewed with sadistic pleasure. The men and women at the table were pallid figures, their skin ghostly white or tinged with shades of blue and purple, their eyes hollow yet ravenous, surveying everything around them. Some had eyes as red as blood, as if they had already feasted but still hungered for more.

At the far end of the table, a grotesque spectacle: a severed head, its eyes alert and full of devilish mischief, rested as a macabre trophy, draped in strands of auburn hair. Its expression was frozen in a roguish grin, yet those around it, including Mr. Silvair, seemed utterly unfazed. The lifeless body of Mr. Chopped, its parts scattered along the table, appeared as nothing more than a grisly decoration, an addition to the feast that all knew was not merely of flesh and blood, but of twisted power and perverse pleasure.

The scene was one of decadent horror, a nightmarish tableau where the boundaries between life and death, pleasure and pain, were blurred into a single, horrifying reality. The monsters reveled in their feast, their laughter a chilling symphony that resonated through the hall, mingling with the crackling of the fire and the murmur of ancient, unspeakable rites. The banquet was not just a meal, but a ritual, an affirmation of their dominion over the grotesque and the macabre, a celebration of their insatiable appetites and unholy desires.

They dined with their golden utensils, the forks and knives glinting as they sliced through pieces of human flesh with precise, almost surgical accuracy, as if they were handling something as ordinary as a regular meal. The decaying flesh was brought to their lips with a monstrous slowness, their sharp teeth biting and tearing as if they were predators in their purest essence. Blood flowed freely, staining the edges of the plates and the tablecloths with a deep, crimson hue.

As they ate, strange toasts were made, crystal goblets raised and filled with thick, dark human blood. The hoarse, rough tone of one of the monsters cutted through the room.

— To those who dare to cross the boundaries between life and death! A toast to the darkness! — He said, his voice deep and almost reverberating.

The others echoed his toast, their voices blending into a chilling chorus. Mr. Silvair, at the head of the table, nodded with a small, enigmatic smile. His presence commanded attention, and even in this macabre setting, he exuded a sense of control and authority.

Suddenly, the gaze of the guests shifted, drawn to the far end of the table where the decapitated head sat atop a silver platter, lightly dusted with blood. It was unmistakably Mr. Chopped Head, as previously stated, his body gone, yet his head remained, almost absurdly bubbly and elated in its stillness. Beside it, a hand was carelessly splayed across the table, grotesquely stitched back together with crude thread, as though hastily reattached to the lifeless flesh.

A woman in a black veil raised her goblet, her voice dripping with soft sarcasm as she addressed the head, her eyes flickering with dark amusement.

— And a tribute to our dear Mr. Chopped, who, even without his body, continues to grace us with his joyous spirit. — She said, her lips curling into a mockery of a smile. She lifted her chalice of blood high, offering a morbid salute to the decapitated head. — May his absence inspire us.

You watched from the shadows, a strange sense of detachment gripping you as the grotesque scene unfolded before you. Your presence went nearly unnoticed, blending into the darkness, like a silent observer in a nightmare too absurd to feel real.

Then, in an instant, the room fell deathly quiet. Ravenous eyes locked onto you, as if devouring you with their gaze. A low growl rumbled from a few of the monsters, followed by murmurs — a mix of repulsion and primal desire. Hands rose from the table, the pointed fingers of creatures lightly grazing the silverware, poised to strike. The air grew thick with tension, as if it might snap at any moment.

But before any move could be made, a silky yet powerful voice interrupted the impending chaos.

— Quiet. — Mr. Silvair's voice sliced through the silence with a hypnotic smoothness, yet it carried a force that silenced them immediately. He rose from the table, his slender and elegant figure standing out against the shadows. — She is my guest. Mind your manners.

Mr. Silvair made a graceful gesture with his hand, inviting you to come closer.

— A night of celebration and pleasure becomes even more intriguing with a special guest. — He said with a soft smile that seemed to hide something deeper, darker. His voice was a seductive whisper that somehow eased the tension in the room. — Please, my dear, come in and enjoy the evening with us. Are the delights of this night to your liking?

As he spoke, the monsters at the table quieted down, their predatory gazes now softened, as if somehow controlled by the host's power. Some of the darker figures at the table, covered in veils with deformed faces, still watched you with subtle hunger, but it seemed Mr. Silvair's presence had temporarily calmed their more primal instincts.

A woman in the back, with skin white as wax and eyes like red blades, raised a goblet of blood, making an exaggerated gesture of greeting.

— A human, at this banquet of monsters... — She muttered, laughing lightly, her sharp teeth reflecting the candlelight. — How delicious and dangerous she must be.

Mr. Silvair turned to her, the smile never leaving his lips, but his eyes gleaming with something deeper.

— She is not just a human. — He approached you again, his steps silent. — She is a new kind of delicacy, my dear.

The monsters at the table clapped subtly, with the excitement of those about to taste an exotic dish.

The vampire leaned close to you, his mouth almost touching your ear, the weight of his presence completely absorbing your attention. The heat of his body contrasted with the coldness of his skin, and you could smell his fragrance — something between incense and hot metal.

— You are safe, my dear. Do not let the terror of this place consume you. — His voice was soft, almost like a promise, and you realized how he seemed to be attuned to your thoughts, as if he controlled the very space around you.

He then kissed your hand, a cold gesture, but one that brought a sense of calm, as if the chaos around you could be controlled by his presence. When he lifted his face, his features glowed with a deep hue, the candlelight reflecting in them with an intensity that made him seem more than just a man, more than just a vampire — but an entity that understood the balance between life and death, pleasure and terror.

— I will take care of you, in every sense, my sweet human. — Silvair’s smile was soft, but full of second intentions. He somehow still gave you the impression of being the greatest predator in the room, and at the same time, the one offering you the strangest of refuges.

The banquet continued, but now, with every bite, every smile, every laugh, you felt as though you were being slowly and inevitably woven into the web he had created around you.

The laughter and hushed murmurs gave way to an unsettling silence, broken only by the sound of knives and forks sinking into flesh. With each sip, the blood goblets were raised, staining the guests' throats a deep crimson. But there was more in that room than just monsters and their carnal indulgences.

As the night deepened, a new kind of spectacle began. At the far end of the table, near the large silver candelabra, the acrobats started to move. However, they were no ordinary acrobats. Their figures, skeletal and disjointed, seemed more like entities than human beings, their bodies twisted into impossible shapes. Their arms and legs, thin as broken branches, bent and contorted, as if defying the laws of physics, while they danced among the monsters, leaping from one side to the other with a disturbing agility.

The most unsettling part, however, were the sounds that followed their movements. Every contortion of their bodies emitted a sharp crack, like bones breaking, but none of them appeared to feel pain. Their skin, a mix of soaked flesh and exposed muscles, slid as if bereft of any trace of normalcy, each movement resulting in an explosion of macabre beauty. They were like ghosts of acrobats, created solely to entertain while the banquet continued.

In one of their leaps, one of the acrobats landed with a soft sound beside Mr. Silvair, his bones breaking grotesquely as he bent into position. The vampire, without averting his gaze from you, raised a goblet and offered it to the acrobat, who, without a word, took it with a visibly dislocated hand and raised it to his lips. The dark liquid was slowly poured into his mouth, his neck arching with the movement, before he passed the goblet to another of his kind.

Silvair watched them with a contained smile, and as he leaned slightly, his deep voice reached your ears, almost a whisper.

— Are they not marvelous? — He uttered subtly, without much emphasis. — Before, they were like you. But the true transformation comes when you know the limits of flesh and pain. Like a doctor who understands the deepest aspects of human nature, I perfected them. Now, they dance in decadence.

A chill ran down your spine. The way he said it, the lightness and at the same time the veiled threat in his words, made your stomach churn. But you didn’t have time to react, for Silvair’s hidden eyes were on you once again, as though he knew exactly what you were feeling, even without showing any expression.

You tried to pull away, moving slightly back in your seat, feeling strange, exposed. But before you could say anything, he extended his hand with a firm yet gentle gesture that made you stop. He took your hand, his cold skin against yours, and brought it closer to him, not with brute force, but with an undeniable persuasion.

— Don’t be afraid, my dear. I’ll take care of you as I always have. Do not fret, my delicate heart. — His voice was now softer, almost seductive, like a mist enveloping your thoughts.

But before you could react, a low scream cut through the air, and your eyes were drawn to the center of the table. The woman with red eyes, who had made the toast earlier, was being touched by one of the bone-ridden acrobats. He approached her with monstrous grace, his skeletal hands taking hers with a slow and inevitable gesture. Their movement was hypnotic, like a dark dance atop the table, almost ghostly in its lightness.

The acrobat drew her towards him, his bones groaning as he bent low, his face close to hers. But instead of a mere kiss, his teeth sank into her neck, the bite deep and unrelenting, causing blood to spurt in a vivid jet, partially staining the acrobat’s face. The crimson liquid poured forth, bright and grotesque, as the monsters at the table raised their goblets, eyes locked on the flowing blood.

The woman, with a sigh that mixed both pleasure and pain, made no cry. Her expression, one of twisted ecstasy, swept through the room, infecting it with a dark fervor. The acrobat continued, his feeding violent yet graceful, and the room thrummed with satisfied murmurs as the creatures, monstrous and depraved, reveled in the spectacle.

At that moment, a figure arose — a creature with skin as cold and blue as the sky on a frozen day. His eyes, like spheres of ice, gleamed with an unnatural light, and its voice sliced through the tension like a sharp winter wind.

— A lattermost toast, then. — He announced, his gaze never leaving you, a sinister smile twisting its lips. — To our new guest. May she become one of us. May her flesh also transform, and may she share with us the eternal banquet.

The blood still poured from the pale-skinned woman, but now all eyes were on you. The room seemed colder, and the monster’s invitation wasn’t a proposal, but a veiled threat, with a supernatural weight that made your breath catch. Silvair’s fixed gaze was there, a contrast to the scene of violence, but with the same intensity. He didn’t seem concerned, but rather expectant.

You felt a chill crawl down your spine as the room waited for your response.

[...]

— No.

The tension in the room was still alive, pulsing in the air, but when your feet finally moved, you felt a sudden wave of panic. The banquet was not a safe place. There was no rest among those creatures, among those monsters disguised as elegant hosts. You didn’t know if it was fear or the desire to escape, but something inside you screamed for freedom.

The door to the hall opened with a creak, and as you took your first step into the mansion’s corridors, you noticed something unsettling. The hallways seemed to shift before your eyes. The walls distorted, the floor molded itself as if it had a life of its own, and the paths that had once been clear turned labyrinthine. The portraits on the walls watched you with vivid, threatening eyes, their smiles becoming even more grotesque. The tension was in every corner.

You moved forward with quickened breath, almost feeling the claws of the monsters drawing closer, their unmistakable putrid scent in the air. The murmurs and laughter of your pursuers echoed through the hallways, but before they could reach you, a hiss of command cut through the air, coming from somewhere deep and distant. Silvair’s soft voice, like a snake hissing, made the monsters retreat, pulling back with visible fear. He had given the order, and none of them would dare disobey.

Without thinking, you ran even faster, until a gallery of mirrors appeared before your eyes.

The mirrors were old, with intricate golden frames, but the reflection was not yours. As you passed in front of each one, your image distorted, stretching, deforming, as if the mirrors were toying with your perception. A ghostly figure, a reflection that was not yours, began to follow you, making your steps tremble.

You moved forward, but the mirrors seemed to conspire with the shadows, amplifying your insecurities, making you doubt your own direction. The air felt heavier, as if charged with some sickly magic, and you felt like you were being watched with every move. The murmur of a distant laugh echoed through the mirrors, and you hurried to reach the end of the gallery, where a pair of double doors opened before you, revealing a room.

You entered the room, the air cold and thick. You didn’t know where you were, but a sense of discomfort enveloped you immediately. The room was opulent, decorated with dark tapestries and velvet black furniture. The furniture was classic, with details in aged gold. Your gaze quickly passed over the immense canopy bed, and the heavy curtains, when something, something you couldn’t quite place, made you turn and look at the large wall on the other side. There, an ancient grandfather clock stood, its hands moving with disturbing precision.

Before you could understand what was happening, a figure materialized behind the clock. Mr. Silvair.

He didn’t need words. His crooked smile, his imposing posture, the aura of power emanating from him — everything made your body freeze for a moment, as if he were a predator and you, his prey.

— You will not escape, my dear. I know well the desires that stir within you, the silent yearnings you dare not speak aloud. I understand the depths of your needs, as if they were my own, and I assure you, there is no sanctuary beyond these walls. — Silvair's words were laced with subtle yet dangerous promises, resonating in your body in ways you couldn’t comprehend. He drew you closer, his dominant presence enveloping you, as if trapping you in a deadly embrace. — Don’t be afraid, you are exactly where you need to be.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps came from the balcony. A desperate impulse surged through you. You moved toward the window, your fingers trembling as you struggled to open the door leading to the porch. If you could just reach it — perhaps you'd have a chance to escape.

But before you could act, he was behind you, a shadow that seemed to grow as you tried to resist. His hand gripped your shoulder, the pressure light but inescapable.

— Don't be foolish. — He whispered, his voice now a seductive murmur, his lips almost brushing your skin. — You think you can escape from me with mere flights? You belong to this place as much as I do. And we belong to each other.

Time seemed to cease, the echoes of the banquet and the distorted whispers fading into nothingness as the tension between you became the only reality. Your body, though reluctant, responded to him, as though drawn by an unseen force. Each movement of his left your breath heavier, your heart racing, as if the very air around you were aflame.

Silvair withdrew slightly, his gaze fixed on yours, a blend of dark pleasure and eternal patience painted upon his face. He examined your eyes with an almost predatory focus, as though seeking something hidden within, a vulnerability, perhaps, or a capitulation. His fingers remained lightly upon your skin, as though making a vow unspoken, a quiet promise of what was to come.

— Do you understand me, my love? — His voice drifted like a velvet night, smooth but carrying a dark command. — You feel it, do you not? You know what I am, what we are.

His hand traveled to your neck, fingers grazing your skin with the lightest touch, almost tender, yet laden with ownership. His fingers drew invisible patterns along your skin, lingering where the warmth of your pulse beat strongest. What he did was not mere physical touch, but a deeper tether, a silent binding, as if he were slowly remaking something deep within you, something that once felt unyielding.

— There is no flight from me, sweet prey. — He whispered, his voice a silken rasp, rich with finality. — No matter where your feet wander, no matter how far you flee... I will find you. Within you, beside you, until the very last breath escapes your lips.

The heat of his presence was palpable, the charge in the air almost unbearable, but still, something within you resisted. Your mind struggled to hold onto who you were, to remember the reason to run, but his touch, his murmurs, they clouded your senses, intoxicated you. Each word he spoke was a spell, weaving its tendrils around your soul, and with every breath, the pull grew stronger, making it harder to recall why you had ever fought.

He leaned in again, his lips barely brushing the edge of your mouth, his breath mingling with yours in a quiet, forbidden symphony. His kiss was light, like the softest whisper of the grave, but imbued with the dark promise of something far more perilous. Something you did not know whether you feared, or whether you were already doomed to crave.

— There is no turning back now, my beloved. No more choices to be made. — He murmured, as though delivering a final decree. — It is your fate, as it is mine.

His hands, once gentle, now roamed with more intent, one sliding to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he could not get enough of you. His lips moved once again, brushing more fiercely against yours with a slow, deliberate heat, each touch coaxing a soft moan from your throat. There was no room for hesitation, no space for escape. His kiss was all-encompassing, exploring, claiming you with a possessive need that made your heart race and your pulse quicken.

His tongue teased at the edge of your lips, coaxing you to open, to let him in, and as you did, he slid deeper, his kiss turning urgent, hungry. The sensation of him in your mouth was intoxicating, a mix of sweetness and something darker, more primal. You could feel the heat between you intensifying, a slow burn that ignited every nerve in your body.

His hands drifted lower, tracing the curve of your back, pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. His body pressed against yours, the rhythm of your breaths syncing, his every movement a tantalizing promise of more.

His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and neck, each kiss a spark, each touch a fire that consumed you. You could feel his breath on your skin, hot and uneven, as his hands moved to the hem of your clothing, lifting it slowly, teasingly, as if savoring every moment.

— You are so exquisitely beautiful, my fragile rose. Your lips, they taste like a forbidden indulgence. — His voice lowered, thick with longing. — You make me dizzy with desire, aching to consume you entirely, to lose myself in the depths of you.

— Your kisses leave me yearning for more. Would you indulge me with another fragment of yourself, my beloved? — He inquired, his voice soft but laden with a deep desire, as his hands rested delicately on your chest, fingers lightly brushing the contour of your bust.

— Let me tend to you. — He whispered, and the gentleness of his words, like a spell, seemed to envelop every fiber of your being. With a smooth, almost ethereal movement, you, like a puppet in the hands of fate, walked, your steps inaudible like a shadow, toward his bed. Your fall was gentle, like a petal in the wind, as you settled onto the mattress, your senses lost in the vortex of that palpable tension.

The atmosphere seemed to pulse with the rhythm of your breathing, each movement of yours a silent dance, where desire and fear intertwined in a choreography you could not, or perhaps did not want to, interrupt.

— Good, small thing. Do you trust me? — He asked softly, his words barely a whisper as they hovered on his lips. You could only nod, a delicate movement of your head, before he continued, his voice like a velvet caress. — Let us remove these garments, shall we? Here, allow me to assist you, my dear.

His hands, cold yet gentle, moved with unsettling precision as he undid the fabric of your clothing, each touch lingering just long enough to send a shiver down your spine. His fingers traced the curve of your body with an almost reverent slowness, as though savoring every moment, every inch of your exposed skin. The clothes fell away like a shroud, discarded and forgotten, leaving you bare before him in the dim light, a silent offering to the darkness that surrounded you.

— Don't tremble. I am here for you. — He commanded, his body hovering above yours. His lips found yours once more, kissing you deeply, passionately, as his hands explored every inch of you. When his mouth trailed down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin, you arched into him, your nails digging into his back. You could feel his clothed hardness pressingly gently against your bare center, as he moved above you and momentarily buried his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling your scent with an ecstatic expression.

He devoured your skin with hungry kisses, his teeth nipping at your tender flesh. His fingers traced a feverish path along your spine, igniting a trail of desire. Your breasts, swollen and taut, were his focus, his lips and tongue working their magic, coaxing sweet cries from your throat. A moan escaped your lips as he deepened the kiss once again, his tongue exploring every secret corner of your mouth.

His kisses trailed downward, a fiery descent, consuming your body until they reached your core. You writhed, your impatience a fleeting spark that ignited a slow burn within him. With a gentle but firm hand, he stilled you.

— Be still, little one. I will have my pleasure, and I intend to savor every moment of it.

His free hand slid between your legs, finding you slick and ready, and he groaned again, a primal sound that only heightened your need. Without warning, he lowered himself, reaching the apex of your thighs. You were so fucking needy, and he, so fucking mean. Sensing your desperation, he paused, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. A cruel smile twisted his lips as he reveled in your growing impatience. Another whimper escaped your lips, and he purred.

— Very well, my dear. I do enjoy hearing you whine. You've ruined my dinner, you know... but I cannot deny myself this indulgence for much longer, my dark rose.

He didn’t make you wait anymore. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you open as he leaned in. The first lick was slow, deliberate, his tongue dragging over your slick folds. A moan escaped your lips, your head falling back as pleasure shot through you.

— Sweet. Intoxicating, sweet nectar. My dear, this is as intoxicating as the blood that courses through your veins, the blood that I feel thickening, driving me wild. Simply delicious. — He mumbled, grinning like a madman against your weeping cunt.

It was a pathetic spectacle, really, the way you crumbled so easily, so utterly consumed by hedonism with the barest of temptations. Yet, it was intoxicating, this display of your surrender.

— How exquisitely sensitive you are for me, my love. — He murmured, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as his fingers invaded you. Your head lolled back, a silent moan escaping your lips as his fingers hit your most vulnerable spots with practiced ease.

His tongue explored the depths of your being, while his long, icy fingers plunged within, their rhythm slow and deliberate, savoring every intense sensation. You cried out, your hands entwined in his silver hair, holding him captive as he consumed you. His tongue circled your core, teasing and tormenting, until you writhed beneath him, desperate for release.

His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh, a low growl rumbling in his chest. As your cries echoed through the chamber, he paused, his clothed gaze intense, drinking in your every reaction. Then, with a predatory grace, he resumed his assault, his movements intensifying, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

— Look at you. Completely at my mercy, fucking yourself on me with such abandon. You want it all, don't you? My hands and mouth, simultaneously. You're insatiable. What a greedy little lady. — He breathed, watching you subtly grind against his mouth and fingers, with a pouty expression. — Poor soul. You're so close. Just let go.

— Silvair... I'm...

— Hush. Come for me, my dearest.

His words unleashed a torrent of ecstasy within you, a primal scream escaping your lips as you climaxed. Your body arched, limbs trembling, your nails digging into the sheets. He held you close, his own breath ragged, as the tremors subsided, leaving you weak and utterly surrendered.

He rose from between your legs, his lips stained with your essence. He kissed you passionately, sighing in satisfaction.

— Simply exquisite. You taste better than anything I've ever had. — He mouthed, running his tongue over his lips. His fingers traced the contours of your face, your jawline, your cheekbones. The intimacy of the moment made you feel vulnerable, and you nestled closer, feeling a deep connection.

He pulled you closer, deepening a kiss. His fingers roamed your back, searching for a specific spot. When he found it, he pressed harder, making you arch your back. Your breaths mingled, a frantic rhythm that made you dizzy.

— You're so delicious. Your taste has me leaking. — He whispered, gently caressing himself through his clothes. — Pardon my bluntness, little lady, but I need to fuck you so badly.

His fingers lace with yours, guiding your hands to the button of his pants. The warm skin and the texture of the fabric beneath your fingertips excite you even more. You help him shed his clothes, revealing a muscular and desirable body. The atmosphere is electric, and anticipation builds with every passing second.

A thrill of excitement and a flutter of nerves coursed through you. Your eyes widened as you watched his massive member sway freely, an overwhelming urge to touch him, to explore every inch of his body, consuming you completely.

— Let me return the favor. Please... — Your voice resonated across the silence of the room, more whiny than you have actually intended. Your hands tentatively extended to grab his shaft, your eyes posessed with lust and your lips twitching, desperate to please him.

Before you could act, though, he captured your wrist, his head shaking slightly.

— That won't be needed, my darling. If you want to truly satisfy me, simply surrender. Let me show you.

With one swift motion, he swept you from the bed, lifting you onto his desk, scattering papers and books without a second thought. The cold wood pressed against your back, but all you could focus on was him, his consuming presence dominating your senses.

— Spread for me. — He commanded, his voice low, dripping with dominance.

You obeyed without hesitation, your legs falling open instinctively. Your body was still humming from the aftershocks of your climax, but the hunger in him told you this was far from over. He stepped closer, his hand trailing up your inner thigh, teasing just enough to make you shiver.

— Do you know how much I’ve wanted this? — He purred, his thumb brushing over your slick folds, wet and aching for him. — How much I’ve wanted to claim you completely?

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your mind was fogged with desire, your body betraying you as you arched into his touch, silently begging for more. He smirked, a slow, wicked curl of his lips that sent a jolt of anticipation through you. Then, without warning, he pulled you to the edge of the desk, his cock pressing against your entrance, cold and heavy.

— Look at me. — He ordered, his voice firm but laced with something softer, almost tender. — This is what you've been fantasizing about, my sweet.

You gazed at him with desirous eyes, and in that moment, you felt utterly exposed and vulnerable. But there was no fear, only a raw, desperate need. Slowly, deliberately, he pushed into you, inch by agonizing inch. You gasped, nails digging into the edge of the desk as he stretched you.

He paused once he was fully sheathed, his breath ragged against my ear.

— You feel heavenly. — He mouthed, whispered, his voice trembling with restraint. — Like you were made for me. So impossibly tight.

You whimpered, hips instinctively rocking against him, urging him to move. But he held still, savoring the moment, the connection. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck.

— So sweet. So perfect.

Then, with a low growl, he began to move, pulling out slowly before thrusting back in with a force that knocked the air from your lungs. Each stroke was deliberate, deep, hitting spots inside you that made your vision blur. You clung to him, legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper.

You sobbed under him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he set a relentless pace, his hips slamming into yours with a primal rhythm that left you breathless.

He remained silent, his senses consumed by the primal dance of your bodies. The sounds of your skin against his, the rhythmic groans escaping your lips, filled the room with a raw, animalistic energy. His breaths came in ragged gasps, mirroring the frantic rhythm of his movements, each thrust pushing you closer to the precipice while he deliberately held back, savoring your growing desperation.

One of his hands moved between you, his thumb finding your clit with a predatory precision. You arched beneath him, a raw cry escaping your lips as he applied the perfect pressure, circling in time with his relentless thrusts.

— Silvair, please. It's too much for me...

Silvair tilted his head, his covered eyes seemingly fixed on yours. Beyond your whining, there was much more to capture his attention. The skin of your neck, flushed and damp, pulsed beneath his fingers. With every movement, you writhed more, pleading for a brief respite. Yet the vampire only quickened his pace, his breathing growing heavier, mirroring your own.

With a guttural groan, he moved closer to your neck, his teeth grazing your soft skin. His eyes narrowed in an intense gaze, a silent promise of what was to come. In a swift and precise motion, he sank his teeth into your skin, feeling the flesh give way under the pressure. A wild moan escaped his lips as he deepened the bite, marking you with his brand.

The initial pain was sharp, like a needle piercing your skin, but it quickly gave way to a strange, intoxicating pleasure. You could feel his fangs sliding deeper, the sensation both alien and exhilarating. Blood welled up around the punctures, warm and thick, and he began to suck with a fervor that bordered on desperation.

His grip tightened on you, his hands like iron bands holding you in place. Each pull of his mouth sent waves of heat and weakness through your body, your senses overwhelmed by the duality of agony and ecstasy. His tongue lapped at the wound, the rough texture adding a new layer to the sensation as he drank deeply, savoring every drop of your essence.

The room seemed to fade around you, the edges blurring as your vision tunneled to the sight of his silver head bent over your neck. You could hear the wet, obscene sounds of him feeding, the soft slurps and groans filling the air like a twisted symphony. Your pulse pounded in your ears, each beat pushing more blood into his eager mouth.

— Magnificent. This is ambrosia, my dear. You have the taste and allure of an outlaw, a queen, a harlot, a goddess. — He moaned, his voice thick with desire. — Bloody hell! I dare say that you taste of life itself, my darling.

Warm blood trickled down his chin, mingling with his saliva. You arched, the pain morphing into an intense, addictive pleasure. The sensation of being possessed, of having his mark. The feeling was almost too much to bear, a relentless onslaught of pleasure and pain that left you gasping and trembling in his arms. His hands roamed over your body, fingers digging into your flesh, each touch sending shivers of sensation through your already overloaded nerves.

As he fed, you could feel a strange connection forming, a bond of blood and darkness that tied you to him in ways you couldn't fully comprehend.

— I drink your blood, and I would eat your skin if I could. But you're too beautiful to waste. — He uttered with his sardonic voice, while resuming his thrusts, each one deeper, more painful. With each penetration, a guttural moan escaped his lips, echoing through the damp walls of his chambers. His fangs gleamed with a sick intensity as he watched you writhe beneath him.

The wound on your neck throbbed, a constant reminder of his mark, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the lingering pleasure that coursed through you. Silvair held you close, his touch gentle now, as if he was cradling something precious, in a sickening contradiction.

— I yearn to see your face, your delicate features, twisted in ecstasy once again for me. Come, my rosebud. Come for me. — He tried to sound tender, his voice a low growl against your ear as his cock continued to pound your poor cunt. You felt as if your body were no longer your own, sore and filled with lust, before jolting at the imperious voice of Silvair. — Come on, you little minx! Come for me! — The control slipping from his grasp was evident in the way his hands tightened on your face, his knuckles white against your skin. Each thrust was a hammer blow, driving you deeper, faster, until you couldn't bear it anymore.

As a thread silently snapping, you were engulfed by a wave of ecstasy, a primal scream escaping your lips as your body surrendered completely once more. He followed moments later, a roar of triumph echoing through the room as he spilled himself deep within you with a low hiss.

— By the underworld, you're too beautiful to be real. — Silvair murmured, his voice soft and full of admiration as his fingers traced the line of your jaw. — You felt so good, my precious.

He reached for you with a possessive sense of care, a mix of lust and something deeper. With careful movements, Silvair began to clean you, his hand firm but gentle. He used a damp cloth to wipe away the sweat, the traces of blood, and the other fluids from your skin, each touch a silent promise of care and protection.

— I always knew you were special. — He said, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet of the night. — Now, you are mine in every way. And I will cherish you as the rare jewel that you are.

He wrapped you in his arms, pulling you closer, the proximity of your bodies bringing a sense of security you had never known. Silvair kissed your forehead with unexpected tenderness, his cold lips contrasting with the warmth of your skin.

— Rest now, my love. — He mouthed, his voice like a balm to your exhausted senses. — I am here. I will always be here.

He continued to care for you, each gesture meticulous and full of devotion. His fingers gently combed through your hair, and he whispered words of comfort and affection, as if lulling you into a peaceful sleep. Feeling the weight of your weariness, you closed your eyes, surrendering to Silvair's care, knowing that despite the darkness that surrounded him, there was a strange and profound love in his touch.

As you began to drift off to sleep, his last words echoed softly in your ears.

— You are my eternity, my treasure. Nothing will ever separate us ever. — The soft tickling of his silver hair against your cheek roused you slightly, but you did not stir. Your breath was slow and even, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. He smiled to himself. In this moment, you were his, and he was yours.

Ah. Wild rose, my black rose. Finally, I have plucked you.

You wake up abruptly, your eyes snapping open and locking onto the stained ceiling of Mr. Silvair's underworld laboratory. Chains sway ominously from above, the frigid air pressing against your skin like an unrelenting force. You frown, pushing yourself upright, only to realize you're on his inspection table. Your hand slides over your face as fragmented memories flash before you like feverish dreams — the bizarre notion of Mr. Silvair being a vampire, your unreturned passion, and the sense of suffocating helplessness.

The metallic clinking of chains echoes faintly as you shift.

— Where is he? — You murmur, your voice cracking in the cold silence.

Moments later, a lean figure emerges from the shadows, his presence unsettlingly silent. Mr. Silvair’s lifeless, bandaged gaze fix on you as he approaches with measured steps, a syringe glinting ominously in his bony hand. His clinical gaze sweeps over you, dissecting every detail with unnerving precision.

— You awake. — He states, his monotone voice devoid of inflection. — Big head wound. Bleed. Me treat. Medicine give.

His abrupt, fragmented words make your chest tighten.

— Me medicine need don't. — You stammer, shrinking back slightly. — Me good. Really.

He tilts his head, studying you like an anomaly he can’t yet classify.

— You hurt. Pain slow heal. My job ensure you recover. Medicine now.

You flinch at his commanding tone, instinctively pulling your legs closer to your body.

— No, Silvair. I said I’m fine!

For the first time, his brows twitch — an almost imperceptible reaction. He steps forward, syringe poised.

— Humans lie. Body does not. Me prevent worse outcome.

— Why are you so... — Your words falter as he looms closer. His detached demeanor burns like frostbite. — So clinical about this? Can’t you just... talk to me like a person? Not a science experiment?

Silvair pauses, seemingly processing your outburst. His head tilts once more as if precisely calculating the significance of your plea. — Talk unnecessary. Healing priority. You live, that all matter.

You sigh, passing your hands through your hair.

— No, you don't understand. I've.. Ive had a dream, alright? Me dream.

Mr. Silvair pauses for a moment, his head tilting slightly, like a curious bird.

— Dream? Me not know dream. We not dream do. You must rest.

You furrow your brow, feeling the weight of his words, but something inside you pushes you to continue.

— You blood sucker creature were, in dream. Hostile, but fascinating. And I... I was... — Your voice falters, hesitating to reveal more.

He seems more intrigued now, though his expression remains calm.

— Interesting. Human imagine strange. But you speak strange when weak. Me care for you. Me reverse pain.

Before you could protest, he leans over you, his eyes scanning the fresh wounds on your head. His proximity is unsettling, but somehow comforting. He offers a soft smile, something rare and unsettling.

— Human curious make me. — He murmurs, his words sounding like a mix of observation and fascination.

You shiver, not from fear, but from the intensity of his gaze.

— You don’t understand. — You mutter, trying to look away. — In dream, you want me, but you know not how to show. Like now.

He blinks slowly, pondering your words as though trying to decipher a complex code.

— Me not know want. But me try. For you. Me learn.

Your breath falters for a moment. He is always so cold, so indifferent, but now he seems vulnerable, in a peculiar way.

— Do you really think you can learn to feel something like that?

He tilts his head again, as if considering.

— Feeling is strange science. Me study. You teach?

The question catches you off guard. Could you really teach a being like him the meaning of feeling?

man, if there were doubts before about god’s existence, then all of them have been cleared for me, because i finally managed to finish this text, once again, massive. i can’t measure my words, unfortunately. but i’ve had this idea in my head for about two or three days. initially, this story was supposed to be written with mr. crawling in a gothic setting, but i felt i couldn’t do justice to the vampiric atmosphere with him — not this time. i needed someone more detached, yet complex. and mr. crawling would be too sweet for this, in my view. maybe i’m a bit biased, too. writing for silvair is so much fun, and he’s underrated. it’s a shame, because i think he’d make a great vampire.

i hope you forgive any possible mistakes. this time, i had some issues with my laptop and had to switch to my phone in the middle of writing. please overlook any weird formatting or grammatical details. as always, this text may be revisited for adjustments.

in fact, i've written this whole ass text with only one hand, because...

now, about the smut. usually don’t feel entirely comfortable writing smut, but i think the situation and the whole vampiric act would eventually lead to something like that. i hope it's at least decent.

anyway, have a lovely day or night, and take care! xoxo! ♡

#homicipher #mr silvair x you #mr silvair x reader #mr silver hair #mr silver x reader #mr silver x you #vampire #smut #homicipher smut #this weird doc is mine

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innerempire · 4 months ago

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{Father-in-law Tony that thinks Peter is so much more deserving of a better husband than his own son)

Tony doesn’t know how his son managed to bag a goddamn gem like Peter Parker. Hell, he loves his son, but Tony was always of the thought that his son lacked…ambitions. He wasn’t keen in inheriting the company and learning the ropes of business and while that disappointed Tony, he had come to terms with it (after some thoughts of possibly disowning his son and leaving nothing for him in the will).

And it’s only normal that Tony doesn’t understand what Peter sees in Harry. But they were clearly in love and Harry seemed to be faring better with Peter in his life. For Tony, he bonds instantly with Peter over their mutual interest in tech. There’s clearly some awe and worship there, but Tony brushes it off because he is the Tony Stark afterall.

But he also can’t deny he enjoys it.

The more he gets to know Peter, the more he starts to think: I want him for myself. He doesn’t know exactly when he starts imagining the younger male as his partner, realizing that he’s growing mildly irritated each time Harry is around Peter. Or when he starts taking mental notes of Peter’s likes and dislikes, occasionally bringing him out for lunch and/or dinner under the guise of “bonding” with his son’s partner.

“You know, I’ve been here with Harry so many times, but he never remembers that I love the smoked duck pasta here. “

“Well, I hope you’re alright with me going ahead to order for you.”

“…thanks for remembering, Mr.Stark.”

And Tony remembers.

Remembers that Peter loves his coffee with a specific brand of oat milk. That he has a preference for sweet-salty snacks and white wine over red, or how he’s slightly allergic to shrimps. He notices how Peter tends to overshare when he’s nervous, the way the boy gnaws on the skin of his thumb when he’s deep in thought, sees all the quirks that he finds so goddamn endearing.

When Harry shows Tony the ring he had picked out to propose to Peter, he flat out says to Harry: “Peter’s not going to like that. It’s too much.”

Harry laughs it off, “Come on, dad, you don’t know him like I do.”

Two months after Harry proposes to Peter, Tony smugly realizes that Peter’s wearing a different ring altogether. The jealousy grows and so does his unwarranted resentment towards his own son. Now, Tony has never once though that he’s a good man, but he stoops to an all time low when he offers Peter a position in R&D for entirely selfish reasons.

Peter’s fucking thrilled, but he also goes on a spiel about how he doesn’t to be treated any differently - honestly, Tony thinks the kid worries too much, but it’s what makes Peter so very…him.

As time goes by, Tony can’t lie to himself any longer : he truly does want Peter for himself.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark

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sleepingdeath-light · 3 months ago

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female s/o with tattoos hcs ; reapers

requested by ; anonymous (22/03/23)

fandom(s) ; black butler

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | reapers | antagonists

character(s) ; grelle sutcliffe, ronald knox, undertaker, william t. spears

outline ; “Heyy!

Bit of an odd one, but can I request how the Kuroshitsuji reapers (including Undertaker) would react to being introduced to a a heavily tattooed woman? As I know Victorian England was an extremely different time, especially when it came to general appearance!”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

grelle sutcliffe

first of all, grelle thinks your tattoos are hot as hell and the second she notices them she’s all but begging you (in her typical dramatic fashion) to show her each and every one

wants to know the stories behind each illustration, or if there isn’t one then just the thought process that led to you getting each picture inked permanently on your skin — and she’s a very active listener, asking questions, nodding her head, following where you’re pointing with her eyes, and so on, so you never have to worry about maybe boring her with your explanations because it’s very obvious that she’s invested in what you’re saying

oscillates between eagerly begging you to get a matching tattoo with her and fretting about whether or not she’d actually suit one — she’s very particular about her appearance after all and for as breathtakingly attractive as she finds you with your tattoos, she just isn’t quite sure whether they would look good on her

… but at the same time she just really loves the idea of having a matching permanent brand that shows everyone that the two of you belong with and to each other

oh the duality of woman

ronald knox

initially caught quite off guard because, naturally, you’re the first person he’s met that’s basically covered with tattoos — likes he’s seen and reaped people with one or two in the past, but you’re a whole other story and he thinks you look so fucking cool because of it

like grelle, he wants to know everything about your tattoos and he’s just as active of a listener — getting visibly invested in each of your stories, wincing sympathetically when you recall how much some of your more difficult pieces hurt, interjecting with questions here and there in a way that would be annoying if he wasn’t so earnest about wanting to learn, and even offering to help you plan out the style and placement of your next tattoo

really wants one of his own — something small but that just screams him — but because of the whole being dead thing, and because of how strict the dress code is for reapers, he unfortunately can’t get any tattoos… doesn’t stop him from discussing his plans with you though

(you will absolutely catch him staring at your tattoos and tracing them with the tip of his finger when you’re in bed together or when you’ve just come out of the shower… he just thinks they look nice, that’s all…)

undertaker

undertaker is actually pretty neutral about your tattoos — after all, it’s not like he lives the most traditional life either so who is he to comment on the choices you’ve made — but also isn’t afraid to let you know which of the pieces is his personal favourite

if you have any animals tattooed on you then he’s going to give them names… and yes they will be intentionally stupid as hell, even if the pictures themselves are intended to appear less cute and more intimidating or freaky — and he’s got a good memory so even years down the line he will still be calling them all the same names he gave them when you met

wouldn’t show it outwardly, but would be so very touched if you asked him to help you design your next tattoo — especially if it’s going to be in a very visible place. the idea of you wanting to basically be branded by something of his is just incredibly sweet to him and only endears you to him more

to calm himself down after a particularly rough nightmare, he’ll lay on his side and trace the inked patterns on your skin while watching you breathe — assuring himself that you’re still there, you’re still alive, and that you’re still his. and he can easily spend hours at a time tracing each and every one of your tattoos… it’s just so soothing!

william t. spears

extremely shocked by your appearance because of just how uncommon it is for him to see anyone with any number of tattoos in his line of work — hell he can’t even recall off the top of his head the last soul he reaped that had just one, let alone the number that you have — but that initial surprise is about all the reaction you’re going to get out of william

wouldn’t ask about any of them unless one particular illustration really caught his interest — such as a plant he happens to be very familiar with — but he will quietly listen to you if you want someone to rant to about your latest piece or the intricate details of the other tattoos you have… not really an active listener to the same extent as ronald or grelle but he will chime in where appropriate with an ‘interesting’ or ‘really’ or ‘what made you go for that, exactly?’

is quick to shut down anyone who tries to be rude to you because of your visible tattoos, doing so in his typical straight-forward fashion which never fails to leave the other person feeling mortified and ashamed to the point where all they can do is apologise to you both and leave

if you get any new tattoos during your relationship you can guarantee that william will be very intense about your recovery and following all of the advice given to you by your tattoo artist — like there is zero chance of you being allowed to slack off or getting away with scratching at any itches near the new piece until it is 100% healed

#sleepingdeath #female reader #fluff #fluff hcs #black butler fluff #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji fluff #william t spears x reader #william t spears fluff #ronald knox x reader #ronald knox fluff #undertaker x reader #undertaker fluff #grelle sutcliffe x reader #grelle sutcliffe fluff

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voidwizardwholikestheshadows · 1 year ago

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hii!! saw you wanted some requests😚 so i was wondering if you could do:

the jjk boys (anyone but megumi and yuuta must be there) reaction to you being jealous or vice versa?..! ☺️

love your work btw!!!!

Omg thank you anon so much I’m glad you like my works, I enjoy writing them! I hope you can enjoy what I’ve come up with!

Warning: None

Includes; Gojo, Geto, Toji, Megumi, Yuuta, Sukuna, and Inumaki

•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=•=

Gojo: It seems pretty reasonable to get jealous when your boyfriend is the Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer in the world. Everyone wants a piece of him and you feel like you have to fight people off tooth and nail just so you two can have a good time together. Even non sorcerers seem to like him, it’s infuriating. The day you finally snapped was when the waitress at your local cafe that you both loved starting flirting with him, while that you could handle, she left her number in a napkin when giving you both the bill. Satoru could see the rage in your eyes and while he found it hot as hell, he wasn’t exactly going to say that to your face at this very moment in time. He patiently calmed you down and told you that he had eyes for no other but you. You both decided you weren’t going to go back to that cafe. However, on your way home, Satoru commented on how hot it was for you to get that mad and you had to smack him over the head. He may have complained about it but he totally deserved it.

Geto: Geto wouldn’t say he was as popular as Satoru by any means even when they were teenagers. However, most people fell for Suguru first and then fell even harder for Satoru. Suguru didn’t exactly mind this fact but it was a bit annoying knowing how many flings his best friend had. This all changed when he grew up and was able to find the person he considered to be the love of his life, the only person he would ever need as he so lovingly reminded you. However, your boyfriend was quite an attractive one so you could understand how many women would be interested and you typically didn't mind but what pissed you off was when they openly flirted with him when you were right there. Suguru would never tell you this but he loved when you got jealous. He found it flattering and endearing that you cared so much you would threaten to fight someone over him. He has had to drag you away from people many a time but he still loved it.

Toji: Toji was a woman’s man and that was something you knew and something he told you when you first started dating. Of course he cut off flings and all other women when he met and started dating you because he felt you were different from the rest. You were somebody he would want to be with. However, it was hard for him to completely change his behavior and you always gently corrected him when you felt like he was flirting with other women. He never truly noticed because that was his natural way of interacting with women but he always tried his best because of you. It was a change of pace when women flirted with Toji first when you were right there and you were ready to throw down and Toji could see it in your eyes and while he wanted to watch that happen, he didn't want you to get in any sort of trouble, so he told the lady to fuck off and that you were the only person wanted. Even though he told her off and she left he could still see the fire in your eyes and how upset you were. He commented on how it was hot that you were going to try and fight her which just embarrassed you even more.

Megumi: Megumi is not quite yet used to the relationship life. He was never one to go after women or try to get a date or anything of the like. He was very content with being on his own and doing his own thing. Of course, it all changed when he met you and now he wanted to spend his time with you. He truly loved and cared about you so when some girl came and tried to flirt with him in the dressing room of a mall while you were changing in one of the rooms, he wasn't quite sure what to do so he tried the “I have a partner” route but for some reason she wouldn't take no for an answer and was very persistent. So he did the next best thing and texted you. You had already finished putting back on your normal clothes and picked out the ones you liked so when you got that text, you were pissed, to say the least. You came out of the room and had a fake friendly smile on your face as you grabbed Megumi’s arm and pulled him into a deep kiss that he obviously wasn't prepared for. The girl just awkwardly stood there until you pulled back and smiled at her yet again informing her that you were indeed his girlfriend and that she needed to leave. Megumi was quite embarrassed and wasn't entirely sure what to do but he was glad you stepped in.

Yuuta: Yuuta is also not quite used to having a partner. He’s used to being on his own or with Rika. Speaking of Rika, she is quite jealous but after being calmed down by Yuuta, she learned to accept you and now she even likes you. However, you can’t help but get jealous from how much Yuuta talks about her like she’s his everything. You should be his everything, you should be the main one he’s focusing on. You feel that it’s kind of petty but you can’t help it. You want to tell him about it but you don’t quite know how without sounding like you are super needy and clingy. You don’t want him to think of you like that. However, this time, you were fed up and snapped at him. Telling him how Rika isn’t the most important person in the world and that he should focus more on you. Looking back you were super ashamed of how you phrased everything but you seemed to get your point across. He found it cute how much you cared for him and wanted his attention, he wasn’t offended or anything like that in the slightest.

Sukuna: Sukuna definitely didn’t think he would ever find himself in a solid relationship. He’s used to flings and one night stands where people threw themselves at his feet to have a night with him. After having met you, something seemed to change within him. He learned how to care, even if it was in his own ways. Sukuna is possessive, that was something you knew from before you both started dating. Given that he was possessive, you knew that he got jealous easily and as a matter of fact, so did you. He could typically take care of himself when it came to things like this but there are some times where he let you chew whoever the person is out. He finds it very amusing. He also finds it kinda hot how possessive you are over him and vice versa. He would definitely bluntly tell you that fact to make you feel ever that slightest bit more uncomfortable. He always loved you in his own way and loves to see you get jealous.

Inumaki: Inumaki has always had a more difficult time when it came to relationships. Most people didn't want to stick around long enough to actually learn what he was trying to say whenever he spoke to them. He hasn't had many relationships however and he definitely doesn't want anymore after meeting you. He is a gamer so he enjoys playing games with you, especially Valorant. He does get pretty worked up at times over his games so you might have to calm him down before he says something he doesn't mean. However, the one time you actually got jealous was when he was spending a lot of time playing with this girl he met through a Valorant lobby and wasn't spending as much time with you as you felt he should have. You didn't want to seem petty or anything so you didn't comment on it right away and you completely trusted him so you knew you didn't have anything to worry about. You did reach your breaking point when you were going to have a gaming night with him yet he attempted to invite his “friend” to join the lobby and you just gently explained how you didn't quite like the idea of that and just wanted to hang out with him. That's the first time he'd ever seen you jealous and he appreciated how much you seemed to care for him so he tried his best to spend more time with you.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #sukuna x reader #megumi x reader #yuuta x reader #jjk

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bellewintersroe · 2 years ago

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Fernando Alonso x YoungerCeleb! OC Smut.

Lila Mae is a 24 year old actress and model who’s also becoming notorious as a huge F1 fan on Tik Tok. When she gets the opportunity to interview certain drivers on the paddock, an older Fernando Alonso is smitten and the two find themselves fucking in the Aston Martin garages.

warnings: smut, age gap, flirting, oral, very fast burn, sex, anal play, you name it. Lila and Fernando get down and dirty in an intense first meeting.

Fernando stripped off his overalls within the first 2 minutes of the interview with the younger, beautiful woman. Lila, her name was, Fernando recognised her from occasionally watching the races, he’d seen her on TV. Despite being almost 20 years his senior he found himself sweating over her presence. Lila’s eyes fell down to his black fireproofs, the man flashing her a smirk in response. There was not a singular hint of subtleness between the pair, the flirting was hard core and Lila was stunned by how quickly she became attracted to Alonso, a man she’d watched and idolised for years.

“It is getting warm in here- anyway congratulations on the podium today, I’m excited to see you next week.” Her head tilted to the side, smiling sweetly as Alonso’s lips spread, watching back to her pushing her glasses further up on the bridge of her nose.

“The interview is over?” His brows furrowed slightly, Lila felt her lower stomach flutter. “Well that’s all we have time for today.”

“But you will be back next week, for Spain?”

“No, no. They just brought me out for Monaco.” She giggled, eyes roaming over his front once again. Fernando wasn’t hard, at least she thought he wasn’t, but Lila could she the bulge that poked through his fireproofs. It turned her on, she’d be lying if she she said she wasn’t horny.

The thought made her cheeks burn red, kinda like how they were when she first saw him. Except this time was different, she was longing for a man she’d met five minutes prior. Fernando’s eyes were glistening back into hers, he’d reached out, resting on the railing behind the pair. Lila subconsciously sunk a little closer to him.

“You should come back, no?” He glanced around. “She does better than half of them out there.” He nudged slightly at her upper arm, she purses her lips and glanced at his hand before back up to his eyes- and lips.

“I’m in Paris next week.” She shrugged, “no, you are in Spain.” He half teased. Lila felt as though she’d fold any minute. I’m wherever the hell you want me to be- she thought to herself.

Lila smiled and a hum escaped her closed mouth, Fernando gulped at the sound, imagining what other noises she would make. He felt the twitch of his dick in his pants and he shamefully shook the thoughts away. This was a 24 year old woman, too young for him. But she was beautiful, asking him all the right things, her voice was smooth and she was eyeing him up in all the right ways. “Maybe I will have to make a detour.” She spike causing him to chuckle once again. And she was funny. Fernando was charmed instantaneously. When the camera’s were off them, just how he liked it, he continued his conversation with her.

“Do you have anymore interviews today?”

“No, you’re my last one.” Her arm rested on the same railing he did, hand grazing ever so slightly against the bare of her arm.

“I can show you around, the garages are empty at this time. If you would like, of course?” He stammered a little on the end, other than that he felt like it was all going smoothly. Fernando hated to admit it but he could feel the warmth of his cheeks beginning to glow. Lila noticed it and found it endearing.

“Yeah, I’d like that.” She stepped a little closer, Nando gave her a slight pat on the back, fingers lingering on her exposed back. Only then did he get a true sight of her dress, her figure was beautiful, one of a goddess. He had to bite his lip to prevent his jaw dropping.

“I’ve never been in one before.” Lila sighed gently, walking closely besides the driver. Her shoulder brushed against his arm, gazing up to him. Now the two of them were alone, she so desperately wanted to make a move.

“I have- obviously.” He dumbly spoke, causing her to laugh at how he face palmed after. “That was stupid.” He pointed out, blushing harder at the fact she was giggling away.

“Just a little bit.” She playfully knocked into him the two of them sharing eye contact. His eyes fell down, scanning her in a way that evokes his hunger perfectly. His eyes were lidded and pupils were blown, Lila scanned over him with the exact same expression, feeling her pussy begin to ache with an insatiable need for Fernando.

She didn’t move away, neither did he, they both walked side by side, their steps unconsciously growing faster towards the so called empty garages. Fernando prayed to every god above that it was empty, and it paid off. It was completely deserted, the smaller rooms too were completely isolated.

“Oh, the doors are locked.” He pointed out, closing the only open door behind them. “Why?” She faced him, slipping off her glasses. Getting a real sight of her eyes and unobstructed face, Alonso thought he would faint- in a good way. Obviously.

“You look beautiful.” He commented, the compliment falling off his lips. He couldn’t deny the slight nervous sensation that followed. Lila thought her breath caught in her throat.

“Thank you. I’m just- a bit blind without them.” She shrugged, placing them absent mined, down onto one side.

“Oh.” He laughed, glancing down to his shoes. “But… they’re locked because everybody is celebrating.”

“Isnt that where you should be?” She giggled, stepping closer, head tilting up to him.

“I would rather be showing you around.”

“How nice.” She giggled, voice cracking, before glancing around the vast room. Two cars stood in the middle, she’d never been so up close to one before. “Oh my god.”

“You can go closer.” He nodded, following behind as she stepped in front of the car. “It’s smaller than what I thought.” She laughed, glancing up to him. Stepping back slightly, her shoulder touched his chest and she felt butterflies emerge again.

“Do you think?” He muttered, voice lower, she tilted her head to the side, exposing the bare skin on her neck further. Fernando wanted so badly to kiss her, but he worried she’d become weirded out. Instead, he reached out slightly, fingers grazing against the outside of her upper thigh. Lila let out an audible breath, turning to face him a little over her shoulder. Her finger tips grazed over the top of his hand, flattening his palm against her dress. On instinct, Fernando stepped closer, she borderline pulled him against her body, feeling her curves in all the right places.

Her hand guided his, resting on her lower stomach before sliding up to her breasts, his fingers squeezed against the flesh and he felt his dick stand to attention, pushed up against her upper bum. With that, she turned around quickly, attaching their lips, hands grabbing at one another and pulling each other closer, tighter, desperately. She pushed her hips up into his, desiring the idea of the older man being so hard for her.

His hands squeezed at her ass, material of her dress pinching between his fingers, almost revealing her. Fernando felt the slide of her hand against the back of his neck, their breathing becoming heavier as they stumbled slightly. He almost lost complete control of himself, overwhelmed by the intensity of the situation before he pulled back.

“Not in here. There are cameras.” Instead, he took her hands, pulling her into a small changing room, locking the door behind the two of them.

She stood, lost for breath as he strode towards her again, cradling her face within his and kissing her deeply once more. It was so exciting, the pure passion and hunger between basically two strangers. Lila’s grip loosened off his fireproofs before falling down to his crotch in which the fabric had become painfully tight.

Her hand wrapping around his throbbing cock almost made him finish there and then. Fernando thought that would’ve been highly embarrassing and he knew better, especially at 42 years old. In return, he began pulling at her dress, fingers roughly finding her clothed pussy in which he began rubbing seductively.

It wasn’t long before their pants began filling the room. Lila felt her head spinning as their tongues move against one another’s, teeth occasionally clashing when he’d move forwards, attempting to pull her dress over her head. “Wait.” She giggled slipping the material off her shoulder. “Oh.” Alonso smiled, gently brushing it down off her. Her bare breasts were revealed, pierced nipples driving him crazy as he physically moaned, moving forwards, dipping her back romantically and kissing over her chest.

Lila loved when men paid attention to the sensitive of her breasts. Fernando was perfect at it. His lips and tongue sucked and brushed over her nipples and her moans began filling the room, one hand resting on the back of his head, knocking his cap off, the other pressing against the stone wall. “Oh god.” She began sighing, Fernando thought her moans were sinful and was only pushed to fully free her of her dress, simultaneously rubbing at her pussy once again.

When her hand found his, she guided him under her panties, Fernando felt himself moan in sync with her at the wetness which pooled there, yanking them off with this other hand whilst she stepped out. There she was, a fucking Angel, completely stripped naked in front of him. He wanted to spend all the time in the world with her there and then, but they were both so desperate.

His fingers worked to find her clit, pleasuring her, her head feeling heavy as she rested her forehead against his, breathing heavily as he rubbed her through her folds. “Fernando.” She moaned out his name, when his middle finger slipped inside of her. He kissed her again, although he made it difficult because of the moans he was causing to escape from her lips.

Lila felt so wet, so tight yet so ready for him. Fernando felt himself becoming weak in the knees, so desperate to fall before her and watch her pleasure grow as he used his mouth. He followed what his body told him to do and hooked a leg over his shoulder, kissing the side of her pussy before directly over her slit.

Lila thought she might go crazy, so pulled his shirt off from over his shoulders, before he properly attached his mouth to her aching core. Fernando was a fucking demon at eating pussy, he pleasured her so well that she was lightheaded from panting so hard. He’d pushed her against the wall, not so rough, but it was enough to make her grind against his mouth for more.

Mixing a finger into the mix, Lila thought she was going crazy, biting down on her thumb in order to not moan so loud. Fernando watched her, enchanted by her beautiful face, contorted with pleasure. He wanted more, he needed more. His cock throbbed so desperately in his pants that he had to reach down and squeeze himself for some sort of relief.

“Fernando.” Her voice cracked as she writhed against the wall, fingers tangled in his hair, he pulled himself up swiftly, wiping his mouth before pressing his lips to hers once again. “Please.” She whispered, pushing at his pants. When she felt the flesh of his large cock in her hands she didn’t hesitate to stand on her tip toes, lifting a leg up over his waist to slide inside of her. Lila was too short, so Fernando lifted her, their kiss becoming deeper as he slipped so easily inside of her.

The stretch of her pussy was something both of them moaned at, their finger tips digging into one another as he grasped at her ass, ducking slowly into her, careful not to hurt the petite girl. She was so young, so pretty and gorgeous, he thought he might’ve lost his mind for doing this with a stranger, but who could blame him when she looked as good as she did.

He fucked into her with all the passion he had, their love making was intense and desperate, their needs and desires playing out in an animalistic session.

“God, you feel so good.” She tugged at his hair. In return he spanked at the flesh of her ass, finger tips brushing closer against her hole that Alonso so desperately wanted to fill. She whimpered at the spank, so he did it again, grunting at the way she writhed on his cock, hips gyrating in time with his thrusts.

His finger tips, again, probed near her hole, the area wet from her arousal, he noticed when he touched her there her moans and pleads became more intense, so slowly, so slowly, he pushed a finger in, causing her to feel so full with Fernando.

“Oh my god.” She moaned, bouncing harder as he pushed his finger in, mesmerised by her as she gripped onto his shoulder with one arm, the other circulating over her clit.

“Mierda.” He cursed, feeling her pussy tighten around his cock. She had no idea what his Spanish meant, but it was fucking sexy. She leant back, watching back to his pleasured face as she bounced against him, his finger still filling her asshole, something that drove her over the edge.

“I’m gonna cum.” She warned with a choke. Fernando felt so proud as her orgasm began to unfold right in front of him. “Cum. Yes, cum for me.” He hushed, her muscles tensing as she climbed to reach her orgasm, his thrusts becoming even harder, borderline animalistic as he fucked her up to, and through her high.

Lila came crashing down in the most overwhelming orgasm that had her crying out. Fernando felt he was close to following, but when he placed a hand on his chest, sensitive from her orgasm, he slowed down, milking her through her orgasm. Her body trembled, her voice broke with each throb of her pussy, she felt like she’d been sent to oblivion and back, so he soothed her with a deep kiss.

“So good.” He hushed, cock twitching. She regained her senses and hummed against his lips, feeling him pull his finger and cock out and ease her down onto the the ground. Lila felt a little wobbly but fell to her knees. “You don’t ha-” Alonso went to protest, but she’d already taken him in her mouth.

The bobbing of her head drove him crazy, he was seething, hissing with pleasure, and when he felt it, he was embarrassed of how quick it happened. He tapped on her head as a warning and she simply replaced her lips with her hand and began jerking him off, onto the floor below with a slight moan.

Fernando’s vision went white before he screwed his eyes back, head falling back in undeniable pleasure, a warm sensation rushing through his cock and abdomen as he squirted his seed out onto the floor below. It was something to worry about cleaning up later. He let out the hottest groan followed by pants as he gasped for his breath back, his fingers loosening in the grip he didn’t realise he had on her hair before she stood up, the two of them sharing one of the hottest kisses Fernando could imagine.

“I was supposed to interview Max… but I got carried away with you.” She giggled, Alonso smiled and began, enjoying the way she was hanging her arms over his shoulder.

“I’ll be around in Silverstone… maybe I will see you then.” Quicker than she appeared, Lila vanished again and Fernando was left with the humbling task of cleaning up after himself. It didn’t take long, but he felt a little disappointed she’d left. His mind was still foggy from the love making, his high still bubbled through him but yet when he scanned the garage for her she was gone. The only thing which was left was her glasses, resting neatly to one side. Alonso was careful to place them inside his pocket. At least he had a reason to sought her out once more.

#fernando alonso x oc #fernando alonso #fernando alonso smut #alonso x oc #Alonso x oc smut #Alonso smut #F1 x oc #f1 smut #alonso x reader #Alonso x reader smut

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mediumgayitalian · 1 year ago

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———

“Okay,” Will says, when they’re comfortably on the road. This early in the morning, Highway 17 is practically empty; nothing but sunny skies and clear air rushing through the open roof. The emptiness may also be attributed to the fact that it is a random Tuesday. “Pick a number between one and nine.”

“Uh, five.”

“Good choice, good choice.”

He opens the center console, digging around Nico’s – well, and his, at this point – collection of CDs to find the right one. He makes a little noise of triumph when he finds it, blowing on the back and wiping it on his shirt before sliding it into the port.

“One half-assed polish isn’t gonna fix those scratches, Solace,” he teases.

“If you weren’t such an emo fuck, Playlist Five wouldn’t be so scratched.”

Nico laughs, conceding this round. Will looks inordinately pleased, nose scrunching along with his tiny smile even as Linkin Park starts blasting through the speakers, which he hates.

“Three songs ‘til Britney,” he grouches as Nico starts hollering along to Points of Authority. Nico shakes his head, still grinning – as if he didn’t make these playlists. If he is truly so miserable, he wouldn’t have put the song on at all.

(Nico knows, in the very back of his mind, that Will actually and truly cannot stand Linkin Park. To him, it’s not music at all. He has never been able to get into it, as much as he swears that his love for music goes beyond genre. If Linkin Park is on this playlist, and they’re on more than one of the playlists Will has made specifically for their shared car rides, it’s because he cares about Nico more than he hates the band. Nico shoves this knowledge deep into the dustiest corners of his mind, because that’s more than he can afford to think about.)

The next couple hours pass by comfortably. There isn’t much to remark on the side of the road except the odd fruit stand, or farm advertising eggs and honey, so onward Nico drives. He keeps an eye on the odometer, but mostly trusts Will’s calculations. If he says they won’t need gas ‘til Anthony, wherever the hell that is, Nico believes him.

“Highway changes to the 98 through here,” Will says, nodding to the tiny sign that boasts nothing except Ft. Meade CITY LIMITS, right next to the giant banner half the size of the church it's attached to that reads, REPENT OR BURN.

Ah, Florida. Please one day change.

“Do I need to exit?”

“Nope, the road just changes to a different number.”

He eases off the gas as they approach the tiny town, watching carefully for state troopers. And, like, children, probably. So far he’s passed twelve gun ranges and one school, but whatever. He can have priorities, even if this garbage state doesn’t.

“Hm. 98 is a better number.”

“Absolutely not,” Will tells him, aghast. “17 is a prime number!”

“Ninety-eight is more fun to say. Also, prime numbers suck.”

“You take that back –”

Nico slides up his sunglasses, shaking his head fondly. Nerdiest nerd to ever nerd. He would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so endeared.

He presses back on the accelerator as they exit the town, turning up the music as Will’s rant ends. He shucks off his shoes – Feet off my goddamn dash, Solace – and curls up into his seat, burying himself in a book. Nico glances away from the road to try and read the title, but quickly gives up since the font is bright fucking purple, for some reason, and in some horrible looping shape that he knows will give him a migraine. All graphic designers should be in prison.

“Hey, there’s apparently a gator reserve forty-five minutes ahead.” Nico squints again at the book. Barely, he can make out “roadside” and “weird”. “‘Weird American Roadside Attractions’,” Will reads aloud, noticing Nico looking. “Such as a very nice and highly rated gator reserve –”

“No.”

“Road trip, Nico. Adventure.”

“I’m super happy to adventure away from living fucking dinosaurs, Solace.”

“Aw, come on, they’re kinda cute –”

“Two thousand pounds per square inch of jaw strength! You are the one who told me that!”

“You don’t think you could take one in a fight?”

Nico stares at his best friend incredulously. He’s got a thoughtful little frown on his face, looking at the sky as he contemplates. Nico notices, vaguely, that the shade of his irises is the exact same color.

“No, I do not. Obviously.” He pauses. “You think you could take a fuckin’ gator?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“See, that’s crazy, because fifteen seconds ago I genuinely believed you were an intelligent person.”

“Do not lie to me and tell me you don’t have a list of animals you know you could take in a fight,” Will says, instead of rising to the bait. He waits, meeting Nico’s glare, eyebrows raised.

“An ostrich,” Nico admits, begrudgingly. “I feel like – one good punch to the throat –”

Will smiles smugly at him. “That’s what I thought.” He turns back to his book, fiddling with the corner of a page. “Also, ostriches are more closely related to dinosaurs than alligators. So. Check and mate, motherfucker.”

They pull into Anthony at around eleven, at pretty much exactly a quarter tank – just like Will predicted. He looks inordinately pleased about it, so Nico shoots off a quick prayer to the karma gods.

He trips on his way out of the Jeep. Nico smirks and thanks the karma gods.

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” he says, unaware of Nico’s hand in his humbling. Nico waves him off, attention turned to the gas pump.

Annoyingly, as he pulls out his card and handles the pump, he remembers Will’s scrunched nose and pursed lips as he’d explained, when they were 16, how gas station pumps were frequently more germy than their toilets, and cleaned approximately one hundred percent less. Suddenly, his hand begins to feel grimey.

Twelve bags of chips, a gas station slushie, and a pair of clean hands later, Will is still nowhere to be found. Nico frowns, craning his neck to look around the tiny parking lot as if he somehow missed Will’s neon orange shirt the first time he looked. Still not catching sight of him, he walks hesitantly back to the Jeep, tucking his snacks away and biting his lip, contemplating. Will is both very fast and very easily distracted, but he has enough sense not to go too far in a random town five hours from home. If he sticks by the car and waits, Will’ll be back soon.

But, on the other hand, waiting is torture.

Easy decision, really.

He locks the door, hopes that no one will show up with a pair of wire cutters and a flathead screw driver, and sets off. The first thing he notices, and he adds it to his mental list of things to loudly complain about when Will is locked in the car with him, is that it is fucking sweltering. In the hours approaching the afternoon, the day has gone to pleasantly warm to so hot the air is actually thick with it, and he doesn’t have wind ripping through the open windows to cool him down. Plus, he’s wearing jeans, and for the first, and hopefully only, time in his life, he envies his friend’s cargo shorts.

The second thing he notices is that Anthony, Florida, is empty as shit. (All the love in his heart to the people who call it home, but also, move.) He’s hesitant to stray too far from the gas station, in case Will comes back and finds him gone, but there are no hills or anything. He can see quite far down the road. The only thing he sees is a possum starting a fight with a poor random guy – which, actually, is kind of fun to watch.

Perhaps he has judged Anthony too harshly.

“Nico!” shouts a voice, startling him. He whips around and finds Will, standing in the goddamn center of the road, the dumbass, waving like a lunatic.

“There is no possible way I was going to miss you,” Nico informs him when he’s close enough. “You are approximately the height of the Washington monument. I could not miss you if I tried.”

“I wasn’t waving to get your attention, I was waving to shoo away the eagles coming to take your tiny ass back to the nest.”

Nico kicks him in the shin. Will, well used to his violence, dodges, grinning, except in the act of hopping away from Nico’s dangerously hardy boots, he somehow wraps his foot around his own ankle and goes sprawling.

Nico smirks. “Who’s the short one now.”

Faster than he can even follow, Will’s hand darts out, wrapping around his ankle, and tugs, yanking him yelping on the asphalt next to him.

“Foul!”

“All’s fair in love and war, Neeks.”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up, Nico screams at the alarm bells blaring in his brain, he doesn’t mean it like that and you know it oh shit he’s looking this way quick look normal look normal –

“I can do war if that’s what you want, Solace,” he manages, honestly quite proud of himself for managing speech with approximately fourteen percent of his brain still functioning. Hot damn.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway.” He crawls to his feet, offering Nico a hand. He takes it, dutifully fighting the urge to pull Will down again, just to be an asshole. He’s cool like that, and most definitely being normal about the scrape of Will’s callused fingers against the inside of his forearm. “I found maybe the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and I need you to come look at it immediately.”

“Sick,” Nico says, immediately intrigued. Will is a dork and a dweeb and a nerd and Nico is one thousand percent cooler than him, but Will is also funny. He trusts that much.

Also, it's fucking Anthony, Florida. Will could be dragging Nico to find a living breathing grey alien chain smoking an entire pack in one go and he would remain somehow unsurprised.

He follows will down the road, passing the gas station again. (His car, thankfully, remains in one piece and beautifully not-robbed.) They dark across an empty intersection, walking across a yellowed lawn as they approach a run-down, patchy, one-storey bungalow with a rusted sign that reads: The Iron Works.

“Behold,” says Will gleefully, “the Abstract Iron Centaur.”

And behold, Nico does.

Gaping, he observes the structure standing proudly under the sign. Striding proudly, rather, its front legs bent to simulate movement, its human arms poised as if ready to strike. It wears a medieval knight’s helmet, and holds a rusted axe. The entire structure is a little taller than Will, and made of, presumably, iron, rusted into a light roan red.

“Abstract Iron Centaur,” Nico repeats, after several minutes of silence.

Will still looks delighted. “It was in my book. I had no idea what to expect and also I didn’t believe it was real. Isn’t it the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s…something.”

“We gotta take a picture, Neeks. I never want to forget this thing.”

Nico allows himself to be pulled, still somewhat bewildered. It’s not even the oddest thing he’s ever seen, it’s just – he has many questions, like, for example, why? And maybe, huh? And perhaps again, for emphasis, why? And if he could have another moment in time, for the bilingual among them, perché?

“Okay, squish in, this camera is older than your elderly ass and doesn’t have a timer.”

The familiar jab breaks him out of his stupor. “Seven months older than you, fucker.”

“Geriatric.”

Without warning, Will crowds them under the Abstract Iron Centaur’s lifted arm, and then presses his widely grinning cheek right flush to Nico’s, raising his beat-up camera to the air.

Nico’s brain goes static.

“Say cheese!”

“Hnngh,” says Nico, as the camera blinds him.

Luckily for his continuously worsening blood pressure, Will pulls away the second he hears the click, shaking the ejected negative to help it develop, and Nico has a second to remind his lungs that they have a function, actually, get your shit together, I am not dying in fucking Anthony, Florida.

“You look like a loser!” Will says, delighted. “Look!”

Blinking at the photo shoved one sixteenth of an inch from his eyeballs, Nico indeed looks. The Abstract Iron Centaur looks more foreboding on camera, somehow, but Nico barely notices it – instead, he finds his gaze drawn to the beam so wide it forces Will’s eyes shut, and the dazed, dopey look on his own face; eyes wide, mouth dropped, slightly, and posture undeniably leaning into Will’s magnetism. Humming to himself, Will slips his wallet out of (one of) the (many) pocket(s) of his shorts, tucking the photo inside it. Nico melts into a puddle of goo on the dead grass. His mortal soul escapes his body, descending rapidly. His atoms return to star dust. Et cetera.

Fighting Will for the photo now is useless. He unfortunately has a mean right hook and is just as liable to punch himself in the nose, rendering them both incapable and stranded. Nico wills the humiliation evident in his cheeks to fuck off back where it came from and vows to tear the photo to shreds and toss the pieces like rice in a wedding out the window at eighty miles an hour.

“Oh, shit, we gotta go if we want to reach Georgia in good time.”

“Right,” says Nico, voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. “Let’s go.”

He absolutely does not haul ass to his car. He walks at a normal pace, for normal reasons, thoughts in a normal place.

“Back on the 75,” Will instructs as they peel out, sliding sunglasses on his nose. “We gotta scoot around town a bit to get to the entrance, but it won’t take long.”

“D’you know this place?” Nico asks, even though he doubts it. As far as he knows, Will was outside of Sarasota one time: in the move from Austin. He supposes his mother might have had a show up here, or something, and unusually, let him tag along, but he doubts it.

“Nah, just memorized the map.”

Nico hides a smile. “Oh, of course.”

It’s all too easy to tease Will, but there was a reason he was valedictorian. There’s a reason for his many shining scholarship offers, his endless well of ridiculous facts pulled from nowhere. He is, genuinely, the smartest person Nico has ever met.

Even if he genuinely believes he can fight an alligator and win.

“Two hours ‘til we cross state lines,” Will says brightly, shouting slightly over the wind as they merge onto the highway. “And then on to infinity!”

“Onto infinity,” Nico agrees, matching his smile.

Already, he’s proved Nico wrong. They’re farther now than Will has been since he was seven, and there’s nothing in his expression that suggests he wants to slow down.

Privately, and quietly, Nico lets himself start to hope.

———

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