#carrying on the legacy. warms the heart

[anneapocalypse]

Deeply moved to learn that RvB fans still a) love Volleyball, and b) have no idea what a lieutenant is.

[pucksandpower]

Legends Never Die

Carlos Sainz x Senna!Reader

Summary: sometimes the hole in your heart left behind by the passing of your father becomes almost too much to bear, but Carlos and his family never fail to ease the ache

Brazilian Grand Prix, 2023

The roar of the crowd is deafening as you step out onto the podium at Interlagos after winning your home race — the Brazilian Grand Prix — for McLaren.

You wave to the sea of fans, trying to keep your emotions in check. But it’s impossible. Everywhere you look there are reminders of your father.

Fans wave Brazilian flags emblazoned with his iconic yellow and green helmet. Others wear t-shirts bearing his name and race number. Signs reading “Senna Forever” make your chest tighten.

He’s everywhere … except where you need him most. In your memories.

You were just a baby when he died in that fateful accident at Imola in 1994. You only know the sound of his voice through crackling video footage, his infectious smile from yellowing photographs. But you don’t actually remember him. Your own father, the man whose immense legacy you carry on your shoulders each time you slide into the cockpit of a Formula 1 car.

By the time the national anthem plays and the champagne corks pop, you can barely see through the tears welling in your eyes. You blink them back rapidly, hoping the cameras don’t pick up on your emotional state. As soon as the ceremony ends, you practically run off the podium, heading straight for the sanctuary of your driver’s room.

You barely make it through the door before the sobs start wracking your body. You sink down onto the couch, drawing your knees up and burying your face in your hands as the tears flow freely.

How can you feel so alone when surrounded by so many who loved him?

A soft knock at the door cuts through your cries. You know immediately who it is without having to ask.

“Come in,” you manage to choke out, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks.

The door opens and there’s Carlos, looking concerned but unsurprised to find you in this state. Of course he knows. By now, he can likely sense when these waves of emotion are about to crash over you.

Carlos crosses the room and settles onto the couch, gathering you into his arms. You immediately curl against his chest, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. One of his hands comes up to soothingly stroke your hair as the other rubs circles across your back.

“Let it out, mi amor,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I’m here.”

The gentleness in his voice is your undoing. You let out a gasping sob, tears soaking through the material of his firesuit as you finally allow yourself to unravel completely in his embrace.

“I-I don’t remember him,” you hiccup between harsh breaths. “I w-won my home race and all I could see out there were ghosts. He was everywhere b-but in my own mind!”

“Shh, I know,” Carlos soothes, rubbing your back. “I know it hurts, mi vida. But he’s here.” He places his palm over your heart. “Your dad lives in here, just like you live in his.”

You lift your head, seeking out his warm brown eyes through your tear-blurred vision. “How can you be so sure? I don’t have a single first-hand memory of him. I know Ayrton Senna the legend, but not my own father.”

A small, sad smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’s lips. “Because that’s how it is for all of us who didn’t get the chance to really know him.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear trailing down your cheek. “We keep him alive in our hearts through the way he inspired us, the lives he touched without ever realizing it. And for you ...” His expression turns amazed, eyes shining with an emotion you can’t quite place. “For you, he’s here.” He runs his hands over the sides of your body, splaying his fingers wide. “A part of him lives on, in you and through you each time you drive. You embody everything he represented behind the wheel — passion, adrenaline, an unquenchable desire to be the best. That’s your father’s legacy beating within you.”

You stare at him, trying to make sense of the jumbled tempest of feelings swirling inside you. Part of you wants to protest, to insist your longing for a tangible connection to your father can’t be satisfied by philosophical musing.

And yet … Carlos’ words reverberate within you, striking a chord. You think of the split-second decision making, the fearless way you attack corners, your refusal to ever give any less than your full effort.

Those are all traits you’ve been told time and time again you inherited from Ayrton. And maybe Carlos is right — maybe that is how you’ll know him best in this life.

Slowly, you reach up to cradle Carlos’ face in your palms, searching his caring gaze. “How did I get so lucky?” You whisper, a few rogue tears spilling over. “To have someone who understands me, understands this hole in my life, and loves me enough to fill it as best he can?”

The look of utter adoration on Carlos’ face steals your breath. Gently, he leans in to capture your lips in the softest, sweetest of kisses. The tenderness, the depth of emotion in that one simple gesture is enough to make your knees go weak.

When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours. “I’m the lucky one, mi amor,” he murmurs, the words ghosting across your lips. “To be loved by you ...” He shakes his head slowly in seeming awe of you. “You make me feel blessed every day just by letting me share in your existence.”

You let out a watery laugh, rolling your eyes but unable to fight the giddy smile blooming across your face. Trust Carlos to somehow make you feel like the luckiest, most special person in the world after you’ve just spent who knows how long crying on his shoulder.

“You big sap,” you tease, booping him on the nose. You search his expression, your chest filling with warmth at the laughter lines crinkling around his eyes. “I love you, you know that right?”

The words hang there, heavy and significant. You realize you’ve never actually said them before, not with such simple yet loaded sincerity.

From the look of surprise and unbridled joy that overtakes Carlos’ features, he realizes it too. His hands come up to cradle your face, fingers threading through your hair as he holds you tenderly.

“Mi alma ...” he breathes out reverently. “Te amo, mi vida. I love you with all my heart.”

The depth of emotion in his voice, the Spanish words of love and adoration tumbling from his lips, it’s all too much. You surge forward, claiming his mouth in a searing kiss as the last of your tears, these born of happiness and love rather than sorrow, streak down your cheeks.

Carlos kisses you back with an intensity that leaves you lightheaded. His fingers tighten almost possessively in your hair as the kiss deepens, growing more heated and passionate. You’re vaguely aware of him shifting until you’re nearly in his lap, bodies aligned and thrumming with a very different kind of electricity than you’re used to on the track.

Eventually, the need for air becomes too insistent to ignore. You break apart, both of you panting heavily. Carlos’ lips are red and swollen, his pupils blown wide. He looks like a man thoroughly ravished.

You can’t help the impish grin. “So I take it you feel the same way?”

His laugh is low and gravelly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “Oh mi amor ...” he rumbles, nuzzling his nose against yours. “You have no idea.”

You bite your lip, about to suggest taking this celebration elsewhere more private. But a new thought suddenly occurs, giving you pause. Slowly, almost shyly, you meet his heated gaze.

“Carlos … do you really think he would be proud of me?” The uncertainty in your voice is painfully obvious. “My father, I mean. You think he’s ...” You swallow hard. “You think he’s watching over me and approving of the person I’ve become?”

The seriousness of your question douses some of the blazing desire in Carlos’ eyes. But it’s quickly replaced by a look of such fierce conviction, such affection for you, it makes your breath catch.

“Cariño,” he begins, voice thick with emotion as he tucks an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “Your father was the embodiment of passion and integrity in the pursuit of greatness. On the track, he gave everything. He put his heart and soul into being the best driver, the best competitor he could be. And that’s exactly what I see when I watch you race.”

Carlos leans in, resting his forehead against yours as his fingers tenderly trace the line of your jaw. “You drive with the same fire, the same refusal to let anything less than your full ability shine through. And off the track?” He lets out a soft huff of laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, let’s just say the determination, the sheer force of will I see in you would make any parent proud.”

You bite your lip, struggling against the swell of emotion building in your chest at his words. “Really? You don’t think he’d be … disappointed? That I’m not living up to his legacy or-”

“Hey.” Carlos cuts you off firmly, holding your gaze. “Your father didn’t just leave a legacy of winning championships or setting records, mi amor. He left a legacy of spirit. Of personality. Of being a loving, passionate human being who inspired millions.” His thumb strokes along your cheekbone as his eyes shine with complete sincerity. “And let me tell you — in that way? You are so perfectly your father’s daughter it’s unreal.”

The tears that have been threatening finally spill over, but this time they are born of relief, of love and reassurance. You manage a watery smile, curling your hand around the back of Carlos’ neck to pull him close until your foreheads touch.

“Thank you,” you whisper fervently. “For understanding. For loving me through the shadows and the ghosts. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

His arms tighten around you, holding you flush against his body in an embrace filled with devotion. “Well, you’ll never have to find out,” he murmurs lowly, lips brushing tantalizingly against the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

A delighted shiver runs through you at his tone, at the deliciously possessive edge to his promise. Shifting in his lap, you capture his lips in a searing kiss filled with all the love, the passion, the longing you’ve been holding at bay.

Carlos responds with equal fervor, one hand burying in your hair while the other maps searing paths across your back, your sides, pulling you ever closer until there’s no space between your bodies. The room seems to simultaneously tilt and burn away until there is only the two of you, tangled together in a heated spiral of want and need.

At some point, you become vaguely aware of Carlos rising to his feet, your legs winding instinctively around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. Your back presses against the nearest wall and you moan softly into his mouth at the delicious friction. His hands are everywhere, stoking the fire burning through your veins with every scorching caress.

Finally, and reluctantly, you pull your lips from his with a gasp. “Carlos … if we don’t get out of here soon, I can’t be held responsible for what might happen.”

He grins wolfishly at you, pupils blown wide with desire. “Is that a promise, mi amor?” His voice is low, gravelly, and sends sparks of pure hunger fluttering through your stomach.

Holding his heated gaze, you slowly drag your nails down the back of his neck in a deliberate tease, relishing the way his eyes darken even further. “Take me home, Carlos,” you purr, leaning in to brush your lips against his once more. “And I’ll show you just how promising I can be.”

His response is to capture your mouth in another bruising kiss, pressing you harder against the wall as a growl rumbles up from deep in his chest. Then, without warning, he’s turning and striding towards the door, carrying you easily as your legs remain locked around his waist.

Breathless with wanting, you finally pull away as he reaches for the doorknob, laughing softly. “I see someone’s eager.”

Carlos’s eyes gleam with pure, undisguised hunger as he looks at you over his shoulder. “For you, mi alma?” He leans in, lips hovering tantalizingly close as his beard brushes your tingling skin. “Always.”

With that, he’s swinging the door open and striding out into the hallway, completely uncaring of who might see. His focus, his entire world, is solely on you in this moment. Just as yours is on him.

As the adrenaline of victory fades and the ache of longing for your absent father eases into a dull, familiar ache, you’re reminded once more of the incredible gift you’ve been given.

Carlos’ love, his understanding and acceptance of every broken, yearning part of you is a blessing. One you vow never to take for granted.

Winding your arms securely around his neck, you let yourself get lost in the heat of his gaze, the depth of emotion shining there. And you realize — with him, you don’t feel so alone.

Even if your father isn’t here in person, some piece of him does live on. Not in memories or old recordings. But in the love you hold in your heart. The love you pour into everything you do, every dream you dare to chase. The love that connects you to Carlos so wholly.

Maybe, just maybe, your father is prouder than either of you can fathom as he watches the remarkable life you’ve created together unfold.

Smiling softly, you lean in to feather a kiss along the sharp line of Carlos’ jaw, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Take me home, meu amor.”

Australian Grand Prix, 2024

The podium ceremony is pure pandemonium. Carlos stands on the top step, beaming and cheering, having just claimed his first win of the new season. You’re on the second step beside him, arm raised in celebration of your own P2 finish. The energy from the crowd is electric, filling your veins with the same adrenaline rush as when you crossed the finish line.

You should be deliriously happy. Scoring such a strong result alongside your boyfriend at the third race is the dream start to your championship chase. And yet … something feels off. A strange melancholy tugs at the corner of your heart even as the champagne sprays and camera flashes bombard you from all angles.

Then you spot him — Carlos’ father, beaming at his son from the front of the crowd gathered below the podium. His chest is puffed out with undisguised pride, eyes crinkled at the corners behind his designer shades.

As you watch, father and son’s gazes meet and lock, and the sheer depth of emotion in that one look breaks something inside you.

Oh.

That’s what’s missing.

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut, stealing your breath. You barely register the Spanish national anthem playing as your eyes stay glued to the tender scene before you.

Carlos shooting his father a brilliant grin, chin dipping in acknowledgment of the pride shining through. Carlos Sr.’s face split by the biggest smile you’ve ever seen him wear. It’s such a simple gesture, but one utterly steeped in parental pride.

You should look away before it gets to be too much, but some masochistic part of you can’t tear your gaze from the heartwarming display. Seeing that effortless bond between father and son, witnessing their silent communication and affection laden with years of inside jokes and childhood memories … it awakens a hollow ache, one you’re terribly familiar with.

By the time the ceremony finally winds down, hot tears are stinging your eyes. You blink rapidly, ducking your head in hopes that the dark tint of your sunglasses conceals your fragile state. But of course, Carlos notices immediately.

He pauses mid-celebration, halfway through accepting some prize filled with the event sponsor’s product. Frowning, he leans in close under the pretense of thanking you for pushing him all the way. “Mi alma? What’s wrong?”

You nearly choke on your own breath at the naked concern in his voice. Trust Carlos to pick up on your inner turmoil even in the middle of what should be an incredibly joyous occasion. Steeling yourself, you manage a smile that you hope passes as genuine.

“Nothing, I’m just ...” Your excuse dies in your throat as you look past him towards the crowd once more.

Carlos Sr. is shouldering his way through the mass of staff and media, pushing towards his son. He’s waving and grinning from ear to ear as Carlos straightens up, delight overtaking his features. The second the older Sainz’s feet cross the barriers, Carlos drops everything and bounds over, hauling his father into a tight embrace.

They laugh and cheer as Carlos pumps a victorious fist in the air, the other arm wrapped securely around Carlos Sr. You can’t hear what they’re saying over the noise of the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. Their body language says it all.

Pride. Joy. Celebration. A bond forged in the fires of hardship and sacrifice, of a lifetime pursuing the most elite level of a deadly sport.

Father and son, reveling together in the sweetness of hard-earned success.

Your throat constricts painfully as you watch them, your own arms wrapping protectively around your middle. How many times had you dreamed of recreating this exact moment as a young girl? Crossing the chequered line in first place, only to be swept up in a boundless hug by a beaming, triumphant father?

You remember pretending with your childhood race cars, standing on an overturned bucket that served as your make-believe podium. You’d mimic the anthems and champagne sprays, then launch yourself off the “top step“ and into the arms of an imaginary Ayrton, dreaming about what it would feel like to bury your face in his shoulder as he swung you around, both of you dissolving into happy laughter as you celebrated together.

Of course, those were only childish fantasies even then. By the time you were old enough to understand racing, to grasp what your father did and meant to the world, he was already long gone. You never got the chance to make those podium daydreams a reality.

And you never would.

The harsh truth is like a bucket of ice water over your head. You’re vaguely aware of your sunglasses slipping down your nose as your eyes burn with unshed tears. Angrily, you blink them back, steeling your jaw.

Now is not the time.

You plaster on the brightest smile you can muster as Carlos and his father turn back towards you. Throwing propriety to the wind, Carlos Sr. comes up to engulf you in a tight hug, the scratch of barely-there stubble rasping against your cheek.

“Another stellar drive, mariposa,” he praises in his thick, warm accent as Carlos laughs in delight beside you. “Keeping this one on his toes, I see.”

Despite your fragile emotional state, you can’t help but grin at his spirit and affection. “Always,” you reply, squeezing him back firmly before pulling away to make room for Carlos.

Almost automatically, you take a step back to give them space. You have no wish to intrude on what should be their private moment together. And sure enough, no sooner have you retreated than Carlos is wrapping his arm around his father’s shoulders, guiding him towards the edge of the pit lane where Ferrari representatives are waiting.

You hang back, a sad smile playing across your lips as you watch them go. All the teasing and laughing, the play-fights and unbreakable bonds of family you wish you could have experienced for yourself play out in vivid detail before your eyes.

Off to the side, almost like an afterthought despite your place right beside him on the podium. Just … watching.

Slowly, you turn away, the roar of the fans and celebrations fading into the distance as you head up the ramp to the McLaren motorhome.

A thousand wistful memories drift through your mind. Muted footage of you as a newborn cradled in your father’s arms, grinning up at him in pure innocence and adoration. Photos of Ayrton gazing down at his infant daughter with a look of such unconditional love that it breaks you all over again.

No matter how many trophies you win or records you break, that will always be the one achievement he never had the chance to witness. You’ll never experience a father’s unadulterated pride at his child’s success.

Your breath hitches as you finally reach the solitude of your private room, sinking onto the plush sofa as the tears begin rolling in earnest. Who are you kidding? As much as Carlos and his family envelop you in their warmth, as much as you are unquestionably part of their clan now … there is always going to be an empty space in your heart where a father’s love should be.

You bury your face in your hands, ignoring the wet streaks smearing across your knuckles as you try in vain to compose yourself. You can’t be like this, falling apart every time. Carlos deserves to revel in one of the greatest wins of his career. He shouldn’t have to devote energy to consoling you, not after a spectacular drive like that.

A soft knock at the door startles you. Swiping hastily at your cheeks, you suck in a shuddering breath and call out. “Come in.”

The door opens, and of course, it’s Carlos. Because even in the midst of unbridled jubilation, he senses your inner turmoil. He steps inside, the happiness draining from his expression as he takes in your blotchy complexion and reddened eyes.

“Mi amor,” he breathes, crossing to you in two quick strides and gathering you into his arms. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of his sweat-damp race suit as he rubs soothing circles across your back. “Talk to me, cariño. What’s got you so upset, hmm?”

You want to explain, but the words stick in your throat. Instead, you simply shake your head, a few errant tears slipping free to wet the material covering his shoulder. Carlos doesn’t push, just holds you close and lets you cry it out against him.

Eventually, you find your voice, thick with emotion. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your celebration like this. You should be out there enjoying your win, not consoling your mess of a girlfriend.”

“Hey now,” he chides gently, tipping your chin up to meet his concerned gaze. “None of that, mi alma. Your feelings are never something to apologize for.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear from your cheek. “I know today was … difficult. Seeing me with my dad, it brought up a lot of old hurts, didn’t it?”

You let out a watery chuckle, amazed as always by his intuition when it comes to your innermost struggles. “Am I that obvious?”

“Only to someone who knows and loves every facet of you,” he replies simply, stroking your hair back from your forehead. “Will you tell me? Let me in on what you’re feeling so I can try to understand?”

Taking a shuddering breath, you nod and disentangle yourself enough to sit beside him on the couch. You keep one of his hands linked with yours, anchoring you as you gather your thoughts. “It’s just … out there on the podium, when I saw you and your dad together ...” You pause, blinking rapidly against a fresh swell of tears. “It reminded me all over again of what I’m missing. What I’ll never get to have.”

Carlos’ expression softens with understanding and he gives your hand a reassuring squeeze, silently urging you to continue. You draw strength from his presence beside you.

“You two have this … bond. This connection, like you’re the only ones who truly understand each other’s perspectives. And I’m envious, Carlos. So envious of the lifetime of love and memories that exists just in the silent communication between you.” You let out a mirthless chuckle, swiping at the dampness on your cheeks. “God, that sounds so pathetic when I say it out loud.”

“No, mi vida.” Carlos is firm, his eyes shining with sincerity. “Not pathetic at all. You’re allowed to feel that longing, that sadness over being deprived of something so integral.” His free hand comes up to cradle your jaw, calloused thumb stroking along your cheekbone. “You miss your dad. You mourn not having that relationship in your life. Those are entirely valid feelings to have, especially on days like this when I got to share my joy with my own father.”

You lean into his touch, fresh tears spilling over at his words as your breath hitches. “It’s like … no matter what I accomplish, no matter how successful I become, there will always be this hole.” Your hand comes up to clasp his wrist, holding him close. “Because he never got to see it. He never got to be that person cheering me on, taking pride in my achievements. Instead, I’m left imagining what it would be like, watching you and your dad and aching for something I can’t have.”

Carlos’ eyes turn molten, brimming with empathy and sorrow for your pain. Slowly, he guides you forward until your foreheads are pressed together, his breath fanning across your lips.

“Mi amor … I can’t replace what you’ve lost, or take away that regret and heartache. All I can do is promise to spend every day showing you how proud I am of you.” His fingers thread through your hair, cradling your head tenderly. “You are the strongest, bravest, most amazing woman I have ever known. Watching you out on the track, giving everything you have with that same fire and spirit as your father … words can’t express how awestruck I am. How honored I feel to witness your brilliance and passion race after race.”

You suck in a sharp breath at the reverent tone in his voice, fresh tears streaking down your cheeks at the depth of feeling behind his words. Carlos tugs you even closer until there’s no space between your bodies, until you’re sharing the same air in an intimate embrace.

“I only wish he could see you the way I do,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours with each word. “I wish he was here to feel the immense pride and adoration I feel every single time you leave me breathless behind the wheel.” A tender, lingering kiss punctuates his words. “You are your father’s greatest legacy, mi alma. And I will spend every day showing you that, if you’ll let me.”

A choked whimper escapes your lips as you surge forward, capturing Carlos’ mouth in a searing, fevered kiss. You pour every ounce of overwhelmed emotion, every bit of ardor and heartache and gratitude into the heated glide of your lips against his. His arms band around you like steel cables, holding you impossibly close as the kiss turns bruising, desperate, all-consuming.

When you finally pull apart, you’re both panting harshly. Carlos’ pupils are blown wide, lips red and swollen and thoroughly kissed. He stares at you with such naked adoration, such devotion, that it steals what little breath you have left.

“Thank you,” you rasp, cradling his face in your trembling hands. “Thank you for loving me so completely. Despite all my broken pieces, you see me at my core and still chose me.”

He leans into your touch, lips brushing your palm. “There is nothing to thank me for, mi amor. You are the sun, I’m merely lucky enough to orbit you and bask in your warmth.” He places another soft, lingering kiss to your wrist, right over your thundering pulse. “I am yours, corazón. Every piece of me, for every piece of you. Never doubt that.”

A fresh wave of emotion rises up, this one filled with pure, dizzying love and affection for the incredible man kneeling before you. Pulling him up, you simply hold him for a long moment, relishing his solid strength surrounding you in the protective circle of his arms.

Here, in his embrace, the ache of your father’s absence dulls to a faded echo in the corners of your heart. Here, you can breathe easy, reassured and loved down to your very core.

Eventually, the sounds of celebration filter in through the door — your team must be getting restless waiting for their driver. Carlos seems to hear it too, huffing out a quiet chuckle against your hairline.

“We should get out there, hmm? Before both of our teams send a search party for their drivers.”

You nod, but make no move to disentangle yourself, soaking up his warmth and steady presence for a few more selfish moments.

When you do finally pull away, there are fresh tear tracks on your cheeks but also a peaceful smile gracing your lips. Reverently, you run your fingers through the sweat-damp curls at Carlos’ temples as his eyes flutter closed, savoring your touch.

“I love you,” you murmur, the words seeming impossibly inadequate to convey the depth of feeling they represent. “Endlessly, meu amado.”

Carlos’ gaze when he opens his eyes practically glows with emotion, pure elation and adoration radiating from his expression. “As I love you, mi alma,” he husks, stealing one more searingly tender kiss. “Always.”

With twin smiles and your hands linked tightly, you exit the room together into the raucous cheers and celebrations. Outside, you can see Carlos Sr. surrounded by a sea of red, laughing and beaming with incomparable pride and joy at his son’s success. Your breath catches when he spots the two of you emerging, arms flinging wide.

“There are my superstars! Vámonos, we have a victory to toast!”

As Carlos tugs you forward into the chaos, his father enveloping you both in a crushing embrace and peppering your cheeks with scratchy kisses, you feel a sense of peace settle over you.

Yes, there will always be an absence where your father should have been, a hollow space in your heart shaped perfectly to his memory. But you’ll never truly be alone.

Not with Carlos beside you every step of the way. Not with his family’s boundless love and affection enveloping you, treating you as their own daughter. They are the salve for when that empty ache becomes too much to bear.

So you let yourself sink into the celebration, into the warmth of the Sainz clan and the sheer euphoria of your personal success. As long as Carlos keeps chasing his passion with the same fanatical devotion as his father … as long as you chase your own with every ounce of vigor and spirit that your father passed down through shared blood … then Ayrton will never stop watching over you both with immeasurable pride and a heart overflowing with love.

And for now, for today, that will simply have to be enough.

Days Before the Miami Grand Prix, 2024

The Miami sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the hotel balcony in a warm orange glow. You lean against the railing, staring unseeingly at the cruise ships dotting the horizon. Your eyes are glassy, your mind a million miles away.

It’s been thirty years to the day since your father’s life was snatched away. Thirty years of living in his immense shadow, constantly reminded of the racing legend you never truly knew.

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, a steady stream of texts and calls offering condolences. Old acquaintances you haven’t spoken to in years, suddenly reaching out on this morbid anniversary.

What can you possibly say that the world doesn’t already know? That they haven’t already dissected and analyzed a million times over?

The harsh truth is that so many strangers have more vivid memories of Ayrton Senna than his own daughter. It’s a sobering reality, one that reopens that wound all over again every May 1st.

You feel numb, gutted, emptied out.

“Amor?” The familiar voice pulls you from your reverie. You turn to find Carlos staring at you with soft concern in his warm brown eyes. “Are you alright?”

You try for a reassuring smile, but it feels stale on your lips. “I’m fine, just … thinking.”

He sees right through you, the way he always does. Crossing the balcony, he wraps his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. You lean back into his solid embrace, drawing comfort from his presence.

“You know you don’t have to put on a brave face for me, right?” He murmurs against your hair. “Not today.”

You let out a shuddering breath, blinking back the sting of tears. “I know. It’s just … it never gets any easier, you know? All these years later and the wound still feels fresh.”

His arms tighten around you. “I’m so sorry, mi amor. I wish I could take the pain away.”

“You help more than you know, just by being here,” you reply thickly. A tremulous smile curves your lips as you cover his hands with yours. “Thank you for putting up with my melancholy every year.”

“You never have to thank me for that,” he says fiercely. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

The sound of the balcony door opening draws your attention as Carlos Sr. steps out onto the balcony, his eyes kind but assessing as he takes in the two of you embracing.

“Ah, lo siento,” he says apologetically. “I did not mean to intrude on a private moment.”

“No, no, you’re not intruding,” you assure him, reluctantly extracting yourself from Carlos’ arms. You turn to face his father, subtly wiping at your damp eyes. “What’s going on?”

Carlos Sr. hesitates, shooting his son a questioning look. Carlos nods almost imperceptibly.

“Actually, hijo, do you mind if I borrow Y/N for a few minutes?” Carlos’ father asks. “Hombre a hombre, as they say.”

Your brows knit in confusion, but Carlos just smiles faintly and drops a kiss on your temple. “Of course. I’ll be inside whenever you’re ready, mi vida.”

With a final squeeze of your hand, he disappears back into the suite, leaving you alone with his father on the balcony. The older Sainz settles into one of the plush lounge chairs with a slight groan.

“Please, join an old man,” he says, patting the chair beside him. You hesitate briefly before sinking into the indicated seat. An awkward silence stretches between you both.

“You’ll have to forgive me,” Carlos’ father begins at last. “I am not usually at such a loss for words. But I find myself struggling to know what to say on a day like today.”

You manage a watery chuckle. “Trust me, you’re not the only one at a loss. I don’t even know what to say to myself half the time.”

He regards you with such tender understanding that it steals your breath away. “My dear girl, you have carried such a heavy burden on those young shoulders for far too long. No child should have to grow up in the shadow of tragedy the way you have.”

Tears well up anew in your eyes. “I just … I wish I could remember him, you know? Really remember him, not just what I’ve seen in videos or heard in interviews. It feels so unfair that the whole world has vibrant memories of who he was, but I’m just … left with echoes and fragments of a man I never truly knew.”

Carlos Sr.’s eyes glisten with empathy as he reaches over to take your hand, enveloping it in his calloused grip. “Listen to me, mija. While I cannot begin to understand the depth of your loss, I do know this — it is never strange to mourn someone you loved, even if you cannot recall the time you spent together.”

His words are like a soothing balm on the ragged wound of your heart. You squeeze his hand fiercely, struggling to keep your composure as he continues.

“Your father was ...” He pauses, seeming to carefully weigh his next words. “Your father was an incredible man, one who touched countless lives all over the world. But to you, he was simply your father. And that bond, that love between a parent and child, transcends memory. It lives on in here.” He taps his heart with his free hand. “In a way that no amount of biographies or documentaries could ever capture.”

The tears spill over, streaking down your cheeks. You make no effort to stop them this time. Carlos’ father merely watches you with infinite tenderness, his thumb brushing soothingly over your knuckles.

“I know I cannot replace the father you lost,” he continues softly. “Nor would I ever try. But I hope you know that our family … we love you as one of our own, mija. You will always have a home and a family with us, for as long as you desire it.”

A broken sound escapes your throat and Carlos Sr. immediately rises from his chair to gather you into his arms, his embrace warm and secure and achingly paternal. You bury your face in his shoulder, body shaking with muffled sobs as the floodgates finally burst open.

“That’s it, let it all out,” he murmurs, one broad hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Holding in such grief for so long, it’s a wonder you did not crumble beneath the weight of it long ago. You are stronger than you know, mija.”

You cry until you’re completely spent, until the front of Carlos Sr.’s shirt is damp and your eyes are swollen and puffy. When at last the tears subside, leaving you wrung out but strangely peaceful, he produces a handkerchief from his pocket and gently dabs at your cheeks.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it?” He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles down at you. “I think my son may have plans to cheer you up, if you’re amenable?”

You let out a watery chuckle, feeling lighter than you have in days … weeks … months maybe. “That does sound nice.”

The elder Spaniard presses the handkerchief into your hand, then steers you back towards the balcony door with a gentle hand on your back. “Then what are we waiting for? That boy may look like me, but his sweet tooth is all his mother’s doing.”

You pause in the doorway, impulsively turning to throw your arms around the man who has, in many ways, become a second father to you. “Thank you,” you whisper shakily against his shoulder. “For everything.”

His arms tighten around you briefly. “De nada, mija. That’s what family is for.”

When at last you disentangle yourself, Carlos is waiting just inside, a bright smile lighting up his face at the sight of the two of you. On the counter, a cheerful array of pastries and confections beckons, the delicious aroma of fresh Brazilian baked goods enveloping you in a warm, sugary hug.

Carlos’ eyes are shining with love and relief as you cross the room to plant a lingering kiss of gratitude on his smiling lips.

“I love you,” you murmur when you finally pull back, cradling his face in your palms. “Thank you for being you.”

His forehead drops to rest against yours. “Always, mi alma. I’ll never stop loving you and being here for you, no matter what.”

You hold him tightly for a long moment, savoring his warmth and solidity. When you finally part, Carlos’ arm stays looped around your waist as he turns towards the dessert spread.

“So, I may have gone a little overboard at the bakery,” he admits with an unrepentant grin, waving his free hand at the sugary bounty. “But it’s been a rough day and you deserve to indulge a little.”

You can’t help but laugh, feeling some of the lingering heaviness dissipate at the pure, infectious joy on his face. Leave it to Carlos to try and solve everything with baked goods and affection.

“Well, when you put it that way,” you tease, leaning into his side, “I suppose I can’t say no to that face.”

“That’s the spirit!” Carlos crows, beaming at you with such adoration that it makes your heart squeeze. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he scoops up one of the frosted confections and holds it up to your lips. “Open wide, mi amor.”

You obediently take a bite of the sugary pastry, the rich flavors of doce de leite and buttery dough melting over your tongue. Carlos watches you with rapt attention, his eyes darkening slightly as you slowly lick a stray bit of frosting from the corner of your mouth.

His father clears his throat loudly behind you. “Ay dios mio, get a room you two!”

Carlos has the grace to look abashed, but you just grin unrepentantly at your future father-in-law as he shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Carlos says cheekily, surprising you by suddenly sweeping you up into his arms bridal-style.

You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly dissolves into delighted laughter as he starts carrying you toward the bedroom, peppering your face with noisy kisses. Over his shoulder, you catch Carlos Sr.’s indulgent smile and parting wink before the door swings shut behind you.

The rest of the evening passes in a sugary, affectionate haze. For the first time in as long as you can remember, the grief feels bearable, soothed by the love of your chosen family.

While the ache may never fully heal, you have a newfound sense of lightness in your heart.

As you lay tangled in the sheets later that night, Carlos’ arm a grounding weight around your waist, you send up a silent thank you to whatever cosmic forces brought this incredible man into your life.

And maybe, just maybe, your father can finally rest easy knowing his little girl found her way to happiness after all.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

*puts down some SAGAU fluff* come here i have a tasty meal for you :)

Childe often goes to the city to pick up supplies, as you can't wander into a crowd without getting accused of impersonation- he's seen the scars etched over your skin, the lines of starry blood from blades and burns. so even with the cloth mask you always wear, he doesn't push you to venture into any big cities or villages. you are the Creator, after all, and Childe- Ajax- wants you to be as happy as possible. besides, it's always the perfect opportunity to catch wind of any news floating around, both from his subordinates and chatter on the street. the Eleventh Harbinger is oddly quiet nowadays, completing his work in silence and deep thought, yet the agents of the Fatui swear they can see a faint sparkle in his deep blue eyes.

it's during one of his outings that Ajax notices that he has a shadow- a small, fuzzy shadow, a kitten trotting after him as he goes around doing his weekly errands. the tiny thing is determined keep following him, even though one of his steps is practically an entire journey to it, and after the kitten trails after him to every shop he visits, Ajax simply scoops it up in one hand and carries it with him. it clambers onto his shoulder and makes itself comfortable, periodically mewing and nudging his cheek. Foul Legacy is going mad trying to stay silent in the back of Ajax's head, trilling and chirping in delight at the new adorable friend.

you're equally as delighted when Ajax brings the kitten home, gasping and reaching out as he gently sets it in your hands- and just in time, as Foul Legacy takes over their shared body, nuzzling up to you and chittering very quietly so he doesn't scare the cat. he watches your every move and reaction, the warm smile on your face after all that you've suffered making his heart melt. your newfound friend meows, high pitched and squeaky, kneading biscuits against your scarred palms as Legacy gently pulls you into his lap and purrs deeply along with the tiny kitten's buzzing.

the Creator, an Abyssal monster, and their fluffy companion- now all you need to do is think of a name.

[coffee-and-geto]

“JE TE LAISSERAI DES MOTS”

‧ ˚. pairing: kento nanami x f!reader

‧ ˚. summary: your beloved husband nanami, the one who promised you a trip to malaysia with him, to be the father of the son you were carrying and to live happily with you for the rest of his life—all this, after his mission to shibuya. but if only shibuya hadn't happened...

‧ ˚. warnings: post/shibuya arc canon, so much angst, established relationship, husband!nanami, reader is pregnant, nanami being perfect (so perfect you’ll end up crying), love letter, will & legacy, death, thoughts on death, yuji/mahito/gojo’s mention, shoko makes an appearance, this scene of nanami tightens my heart.

‧ ˚. wc: 1,435

“Malaysia…” Nanami murmured in a long, weary breath.

He was tired.

Tired of all of it.

Even the wounds inflicted by his earlier fight with a curse no longer pained him.

His dream of eternal rest in Malaysia had the effect of morphine on him.

The waves, the warm sand beneath his feet, the cries of seagulls, and your smile that had captured his heart when the sun’s rays illuminated your face. Nanami had always assured you he would be by your side.

But if there was one thing that broke his heart, it was not being able to prevent this gap from affecting you.

He was sorry.

But he thanked himself for having done what was necessary to not leave you with nothing. He had planned for it—ever since the day he vowed never to marry another sorcerer to the day he asked for your hand.

Cursed energy flowed through your veins.

And he knew it.

But he regretted nothing. Not marrying you, nor returning to his work as a sorcerer—without which he would have never met you. From the moment Nanami re-entered the world of sorcery, he already knew he would eventually meet his end. But with or without regret? At the time, he couldn’t have provided an answer, but today, he had one.

Kento Nanami had no regrets.

Perhaps he was the first sorcerer in that regard?

He then thought of the words of his student, Yuji, that pink-haired teenager who kept smiling despite the atrocities fate threw his way.

He would miss him.

And you too.

That thought alone was enough to tear his heart apart. Because you were the one and only person who made Nanami understand that he was not just a cog needed to keep a machine running. That’s why he had never been able to unlock a Domain Expansion.

But with you, it was different.

Nanami would never have thought his death would affect anyone.

But if there had to be one person, it would be you.

If there was one person who would cry at his funeral, it would be you and no one else.

You and the son he was expecting…

You made him understand that Nanami mattered.

That he would be the only one to hold your heart and take it with him forever, leaving you with a hole in your chest until your death. But Nanami knew you wouldn’t be alone.

He was counting on Satoru and Shoko to support you.

So, there was no need to worry or be afraid, right?

So why did he have a knot in his stomach when Mahito placed a hand on him?

Nanami didn’t want to leave you. But the hope of seeing you again one day in peace lifted his spirits.

When Mahito’s power coursed through his body like an electric current and death came to greet him, the last image Nanami saw was yours—you, kneeling on your shared bed one sunny morning, your nose bent towards your round belly that you caressed with love. You lifted your head and smiled at Nanami.

A smile so bright it blinded him, and he saw nothing more.

When his vision adjusted, he was on a beach, alone, but with a light heart.

°°°°

“Bring him back… Please… S-Shoko…” you plead amidst the cascade of sobs that make you stutter. You hammer her chest with your clenched fists in a near-feverish desperation and slide from your nurse friend’s embrace to collapse on the floor, your heart in shambles. “P-Please, I beg you…”

Shoko bites her lip and shakes her head. She carefully wraps her arms around you, avoiding any abrupt movements that could harm you or your baby. “I can’t… Not like this…” she whispers in a voice as pained as yours. “I’m sorry, I can’t…”

And her words seal your fate.

It’s over.

Kento is dead.

Your teeth sink into the flesh of your lips, biting until they bleed. But it doesn’t stop the tears from flowing. The pain overwhelms you. And it always will—just as it has taken your husband.

You break down and dissolve into tears in Shoko’s comforting embrace. She rocks you gently, drawing circles on your back with her hand. “It’s not possible, no, no…”

Another sob escapes you, and you struggle to breathe through the tears. It’s not just your heart that makes you lose your composure. The cold floor of the infirmary sends shivers through your body, and you struggle to breathe properly. Shoko gently lifts your head and massages your shoulders. “Breathe slowly… Everything will be okay…” But her words only worsen your state because they remind you of the ones Nanami used to comfort you whenever something was wrong—your painful periods, your first months of pregnancy, when you were sick… Nanami had been the perfect husband.

And now he’s gone.

Leaving you alone with the solitude.

Your sobs intensify, and a heart-wrenching cry escapes your lips. Shoko holds you tightly and murmurs for you to let go. Her arms wrapped around you are the only thing keeping you from collapsing. At that moment, you want to die and join your husband.

You murmur prayers—a torrent of tears streaming down your cheeks—begging for the return of just one thing…

…Kento Nanami. 28 years old. Born on July 3, 1990. Grade 1 Sorcerer. Husband (and supposed future father of a child who will never meet him), nicknamed ‘Nanamin’ by his kind and adorable student Yuji Itadori…

Please…

°°°°

My love,

Here are some words I write carefully for you. The mission in Shibuya is being prepared, and as a married sorcerer, I think it is necessary, even my duty, to write these words to you. Because, as we have discussed for hours, there is a chance I might not come out of it alive.

But first of all, if you unfortunately come across this letter (and my heart aches at the thought), I ask for your forgiveness.

Forgive me, my love.

And please, do not be saddened.

If you are reading these words, it means I could not escape it.

But instead of burdening you, I have left you a will containing everything that belongs to you.

First, I, Kento Nanami, bequeath to you all of my money, my possessions without any exception. As per your desire, it can either remain in my name or pass into yours.

Next, I have left some small things for you personally…

Do you remember that book you wanted to read the other day? I bought it, read it, and annotated it with my own hand. On every page, you will find comments on my impressions of the reading. I hope this first gift brings you joy.

I also hope you haven’t forgotten the promise I made to you about taking you to Malaysia. I bought two tickets. One is reserved for you, the other for me (if I come back alive). If the second ticket becomes useless, use it as you see fit; I would be overjoyed if you could accomplish what I probably never will.

I hope you never have to read these words, which, oh I know how painful they are, and that we will leave together to travel to Malaysia, far from this world.

I want to tell you one last time that I love you from the depths of my heart and soul.

My sweetheart, I love you.

Sincerely and see you soon,

Your husband,

Kento Nanami.

Your trembling hand holds the letter between your fingers. Your throat tightens, making it difficult for you to swallow, and this simple gesture now seems absurd.

Through his words, you can feel Kento’s smile gracing his beautiful thin lips as he wrote this letter. Why? Why did he have to make your situation worse by being so perfect?

°°°°

Raucous cries, resembling chuckles, are emitted by the seagulls as you let out a sigh from your mouth. The gentle lapping of the seawater soothes your mind, and the warm sand beneath your feet tickles your skin.

A serene smile graces the swell of your lips.

All of it, illuminated by the warm rays of the Malaysian sun.

You place a peaceful hand on your round belly, and the warmth of a second hand, not your own, joins it. Opening your eyes, it feels as if Nanami is standing beside you, as happy as you are to be here.

And even though he is no longer here, Nanami had promised to watch over you.

And that’s exactly what he did.

What he is doing.

And what he will continue to do even after death.

‧ ˚. a/u: i need to say that i didn’t write at least, one sentence or one paragraph, without crying and sobbing my entire soul :)

‧ ˚. tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @alwaysfreakingout

[natsaffection]

Kingdom of Secrets | Prologue | N. Romanoff

Knight!Natasha x younger!princess!Reader

MINOR DNI!! (18+!)

warnings: age gap (Natasha is 16 when she comes to the palace and the reader is 4 years old. At the end of this chapter Natasha is 33 and reader 21) fingering, begging, crying

word count: 4,5k

A/n: welcome to the prologue of Kingdom of Secrets! (Yes the title has a meaning) This is just the opening chapter. So it's not the first real part. It cost me already tears because I wanted it to come across the way people spoke back in the Middle Ages..so please give feedback!🫂

In the heart of the great kingdom of Celestria, where emerald fields stretch as far as the eye can see and spires kiss the sky, there was great anticipation in the royal court. King Alistair and Queen Seraphina Dawn, the beloved rulers of the realm, had long yearned for an heir to carry on the legacy of their noble lineage. The palace echoed with the whispers of courtiers as news spread of a momentous event.

Queen Seraphina was expecting a child.

Months passed, each one accompanied by prayers and whispered hopes echoing through the halls of the palace. The kingdom collectively held its breath, waiting for the joyous news that would bring new life to the royal family. The gardens adorned with blooming flowers bore witness to the ebb and flow of the seasons, reflecting the anticipation within the palace walls.

And then, as the golden colors of autumn tinged the landscape, the long-awaited moment arrived. Like a melody of hope, the announcement resounded through the kingdom and spread from town to town. Queen Seraphina had given birth to a daughter, a shining beacon of joy in the embrace of her parents' love.

The kingdom erupted in jubilation. Banners swayed in the fresh breeze, their colors dancing to the rhythm of the joy that flowed through the streets. The citizens rushed to the gates of the palace in their finest clothes to join in the royal rejoicing. The sweet scent of flowers was in the air and the distant sounds of musicians tuning their instruments heralded the great celebrations to come.

Inside the palace, the little princess lay in her mother's arms, wrapped in a tapestry of delicate silk. Queen Seraphina's eyes, glistening with tears of happiness, met King Alistair's gaze, a silent exchange that spoke volumes about the unspoken journey they had traveled to reach this blessed moment.

As the sun sank below the horizon, the palace gates opened to welcome the many well-wishers. The Great Hall, decorated with golden tapestries and crystal chandeliers, shone in the light of a thousand candles. Laughter and chatter filled the air as nobles, commoners and dignitaries alike joined in the celebration.

In the midst of this splendor, the little princess lay in her crib, surrounded by a symphony of admiration. Her tiny fingers, like rose petals, grasped at the air as if reaching for the love that surrounded her. The flickering candlelight painted her delicate features and cast a warm, ethereal glow on her.

Y/n, as she would later be called, became the beacon of hope that united the kingdom. Her laughter echoed through the palace like silver bells, eliciting smiles from all who basked in her innocent radiance. The court musicians, attuned to the heartbeat of the celebration, played melodies that blended with the collective heartbeat of the kingdom, a harmonious testament to the unity created by the birth of the princess.

Over the years, the princess's birthdays became a cherished tradition. The kingdom celebrated with greater fervor each year, turning the anniversary of her birth into a grand spectacle. The gardens, where once the whispers of anticipation could be heard, now bloomed in vibrant colors that reflected the princess's exuberant spirit.On her birthdays, the people of Celestria gathered to honor their beloved princess. The streets were lined with stalls selling sweet treats and enchanting trinkets. Musicians played lilting melodies and performers brought fairy tales to life through dance and theater. But amidst the splendor, it was Y/n herself who was in the spotlight.

Her laughter, the elixir that had breathed life into the kingdom years ago, echoed through the air. The joy that emanated from her was infectious and transformed the celebration into a mosaic of smiles and shared happiness. Y/n had become the living embodiment of the kingdom's dreams with her sparkling eyes and a heart full of kindness.

As Y/n grew, so did the kingdom around her. The once silent halls of the palace echoed with the footsteps of a vibrant princess whose spirit danced like the sunlight that fell through the leaves. She became a symbol of hope, bridging the realms of royalty and commonality - a beacon of unity for a kingdom that had waited with bated breath for her arrival.

And so, under the golden skies of Celestria, the royal court and citizens celebrated the birth of their princess, whose laughter echoed throughout the kingdom, mingling with the melodies of joy that had marked her grand entrance into the world.

But a shadowy group lurked in the hidden corridors beneath the splendor of the kingdom. Unseen and unheard, this gang shrouded in mystery plotted insidiously to infiltrate the royal house.

In the dimly lit chamber adorned with ancient symbols, the agents of the group - Shadows of Darkness - received a chilling instruction. The leaders, shrouded in the cloak of shadows, readjusted their strategy. Princess Y/n, an unforeseen variable, demanded an adjustment to their malevolent plans.

As Y/n's laughter rang through the palace, the group's secret game unfolded on an invisible chessboard. The birth of the princess upset their carefully laid plans and brought an element of unpredictability into play. Beneath the surface of the festivities, a calculated dance played out, where joyful echoes collided with the malice lurking in the shadows. Citizens and royalty revelled in blissful ignorance, unaware of the ominous threat lurking in the hidden corners of the palace. A dangerous dance began. One in which the laughter of a princess served as an eerie soundtrack to a covert operation that would reshape Celestria's destiny.

As daylight bathed the kingdom in golden hues, the shadowy group moved in secrecy. Their ominous influence extended to unsuspecting future queens. The dark puppet, manipulated by unseen hands, infiltrated the royal court and left a menacing presence.

The king, who had followers in every country, became aware of the terrifying power. Fearing for his family and the future of his country, he had his troops strengthened and also looked for a guardian for his daughter. So he spread the word throughout the country that a tournament was to be held in the late evening and that the bravest and strongest fighters were to take part.The anticipation of the great tournament was in the air that day. The king, seeking the perfect protector for his most precious treasure, gathered warriors from faraway lands. Men vying for the honor of protecting the jewel of the realm presented themselves in the arena.

The tournament, a spectacle of skill and courage, began with the clash of swords and the thundering hooves of warhorses. Knights from all corners of the realm showcased their skills, a dance of blades played out under the watchful eyes of the royal court.

As the dust settled and countless fighters succumbed to the skill of their opponents, there was a quiet tension among the spectators. The king, seated on his magnificent throne, surveyed the remaining warriors, his keen eyes searching for the one who would serve as a shield against the impending danger to the princess. Then, amidst the remaining fighters, a lone, young figure emerged, clad in armor that seemed to absorb the essence of the shadows. The air fell silent as this knight stepped forward, exuding an aura of fear and admiration. A murmur went through the audience, a collective acknowledgement that a formidable force had entered the arena.

The king, mesmerized and wary, leaned forward in his throne, a silent question etched on his regal countenance. "Tell me, what is a child doing on the field?" he asked his 1st in command. He bowed to his king, "Forgive me, my majesty, but you emphasized that the gates were open to anyone carrying a sword." The king forced the moment back into his mind and now looked further down, at the person.

At that very moment, the mysterious knight removed the helmet, revealing a cascade of fiery red hair framing a face marked by the scars of countless battles. Her piercing gaze, a mixture of steel and determination, met the king's eyes with an unwavering intensity. A murmur went through the hall as the realization set in. "Lady, Natalia Alianovna Romanoff," someone breathed, the name inspiring both awe and fear. As the first young woman to be knighted, Natasha was widely known, and her accomplishments on the battlefield were whispered about in saintly tones. The king, who also learned of her presence, widened his eyes.

As she approached the king, Natasha dropped to one knee, a sign of respect and submission. Her armor bore the marks of countless victories, and the sword at her side was a testament to her skill as a warrior.

"Your Majesty," Natasha's voice, a symphony of authority and humility, echoed through the arena. "I am Natalia Alianovna Romanoff, sworn to protect those deemed worthy of the Empire's protection. I offer my skills and loyalty to defend your princess, the jewel of Celestria." The king, observing the steely determination in Natasha's eyes, pondered her words. Isn't she too young to be a knight? Presently good..She could form a bond with Y/n. He thought.

The court remained in a collective breathless pause, awaiting the monarch's decision. After a moment's thought, the king nodded, a gesture that echoed through the arena like a decree.

"Lady Natasha Romanoff, rise. You have proven that you are an excellent Fighter. May the realm be witness to your service as my daughter's protector."

The crowd erupted in a mixture of cheers and whispers in appreciation of the gravity of the moment. Natasha rose from her knees and hid her features behind her helmet again. With measured steps, she returned to the ranks of the assembled knights, her presence leaving an indelible impression on the tournament and setting the stage for a new chapter in the kingdom's saga. Since then, the unique bond between the young princess and the fearless knight began to grow. Y/n, a little bundle of joyful energy, zoomed through the flowerbeds. "Tasha, look, I can fly!" she cried, spreading her tiny arms. Natasha, with a smile on her lips, leaned down. "Really? Show me, little whirlwind." And chase her through the field.

"Tasha, why are you so strong?" asked Y/n three years later, while they were playing in the halls. Natasha, with a mischievous smile, replied, "Strength comes not only from muscles, but also from courage and determination, my Princess."

The royal parents, from their thrones, watched the scene with warm smiles. "Look how Natasha is teaching our daughter," said the queen. The king nodded proudly. "A bond strengthened not only by duty, but also by the heart..I could not have chosen anyone better."

In the shelter of the pavilion, Y/n and Natasha talked about the years of shared experiences. "Promise me, Natasha, that you will always be by my side," Natasha, serious yet tender, replied, "As long as I breathe, I will watch over you, Princess."

Over the years, not only did Y/n grow up, but so did the love between her and Natasha. Adventures together, laughter and tears formed a bond that blurred the boundaries between princess and protector.

At the age of 20, Y/n found herself in the midst of an inner turmoil. The years had passed since Natasha had taken up residence as her protector, and a subtle change was creeping into the princess's mind.

In the quiet moments when the sun slowly disappeared behind the palace walls, Y/n discovered a growing urge to seek Natasha's closeness. Every look from the knightess, every gentle touch, seemed to break through an invisible barrier within Y/n.

The glances Natasha cast across the ballroom as they shared in royal festivities carried a deeper meaning. Y/n recognized the warmth in Natasha's eyes, which came not only from her proximity to the king, but betrayed something more intimate. Uncertainty gnawed at Y/n as she thought about these growing feelings. Society, royal expectations, all created a veil that kept her growing affection for Natasha hidden.

The Royal Mother observed the subtle changes in Y/n's behavior, but the secret remained hidden between the lines. Y/n felt her heart beat faster when she faced Natasha, and the soft sighs that escaped her were carried on the winds of fate.

One day, Natasha, bathed in sweat from the rigorous training session, gracefully moved through the courtyard, effortlessly wrestling each knight that dared to cross her path to the ground. As Y/n strolled through the palace, she unexpectedly caught sight of Natasha in action, sans her usual formidable armor.

Mesmerized by the raw power and agility on display, Yn found it challenging to look away. Natasha's every move seemed like a choreographed dance of strength and finesse. It was the first time Y/n had seen her like this, vulnerable yet invincible

Natasha, engrossed in her sparring session, sensed Y/n's eyes on her. Mid-wrestle with one of the knights, she subtly shifted her gaze to meet Y/n's, exhaling almost imperceptibly. In that brief connection, Natasha's intense focus softened, and a ghost of a smile played on her lips, as if she had caught Y/n in the act.

Y/n, startled by Natasha's awareness, quickly averted her gaze, pretending to be absorbed in the palace architecture. The blush on her cheeks, however, betrayed her attempt to conceal the intrigue Natasha's athleticism had sparked.

She continued her training, each movement deliberate and powerful. Y/n, despite her efforts to remain discreet, stole occasional glances, hoping Natasha wouldn't notice..

When a maid approached, unaware of the silent exchange, Y/n stammered, "I-I was just, you know, walking around," as she tried to divert attention from the fact that Natasha had momentarily captured her focus. Natasha, still engaged in her training, shot Y/n a knowing look, her eyes betraying a hint of amusement, silently acknowledging the unspoken connection while respecting Y/n's attempt to keep her feelings concealed.

Several hours passed, and Y/n immersed herself in the demands of royal duties. As she diligently attended to matters within the palace, she couldn't shake the memory of Natasha's training session. Much to her surprise, as she returned to the main hall, there was Natasha, seamlessly transitioning from warrior to protector, resuming her role by Y/n's side.

Their eyes met once again, and this time Natasha's expression spoke volumes. A playful glint in her eyes suggested a shared secret, referencing the earlier stolen glances. Y/n couldn't help but smile in response, a subtle acknowledgment of the connection they had formed.

Weeks later when the moon towered over Celestria, Y/n dared a tentative look into Natasha's eyes. It was as if the universe melded their souls together, and in that moment, Y/n knew it was more than mere reverence for the brave knight. The realization that her heart was following a path of love was like the blossoming of a delicate flower within her. But the world she lived in demanded secrecy - a love that blossomed in the shadow of royal duties.

Another year passed and Y/n's duties to the throne drew ever closer. Her parents now saw her as an adult woman who would later rule the people. However, this could not be done alone and the time had come to find a suitable mate. So they embarked on various journeys to neighboring countries to consider their princes and princesses. A point Y/n is proud to show. With all the fuss she secretly has about Natasha, her eyes opened to another part.

It was a sunny day when the royal family were visiting another kingdom. The family was welcomed with joy. But the festive atmosphere was pervaded by an underlying tension. As Y/n strode through the hall in royal garb, she was swarmed by the polite remarks and advances of the foreign prince. The looks he gave her were full of obvious interest, and the smile on his lips betrayed intentions that went beyond polite courtesies.

Natasha, standing in her imposing armor alongside the royal family, felt a flame of jealousy flare up inside her. Every passionate look, every touched hand, felt like a stab in her chest. In a quiet moment, when the prince engaged Y/n in a private conversation, Natasha could hardly bear the sight. Her hands clenched into fists as she inwardly fought back the burning sting of jealousy.

Finally, the festive gathering broke up and the royal family returned to their chambers. The opulent chambers of Y/n awoke to the pale glow of candles as the evening shrouded the royal estate in an atmosphere of twilight. The prince, wearing a polite facade, had made his intentions clear. But Natasha sensed the unease in the air. When the prince attempted to cross the boundaries of politeness and seek out Y/n in her chambers, Natasha turned cold as ice. Her eyes, normally as impenetrable as the darkness, bore into the young nobleman. Without a word, her gaze spoke volumes, and the prince retreated as if he had entered an invisible barrier.

When Natasha entered Y/n's chamber, the discomfort was reflected on Y/n's face. "Thank you.. I was so uncomfortable, but I didn't mean to be rude," Y/n murmured, her voice low in the intimate atmosphere. Natasha stepped closer, her touch cooler than the night breeze blowing through the open window. "My princess, you never have to compromise for politeness."

In a calculated move that blurred the line between protector and seductress, Natasha lifted Y/n's hand and stroked her fingertips over the delicate skin. "Don't let anyone enter your world if you don't want them to. You deserve respect and so much more."

The darkness of the room seemed to tighten around the two of them as Natasha continued, intensifying her own touch. "And maybe, there is someone..who is willing to go deeper than politeness allows."

The words echoed between the walls as the coolness of the night turned into a dance of desire. Y/n sensed the play of shadows as Natasha, took on the role of seductress. A passionate revelation that in the twilight of her chambers revealed a connection that transcended the duties of the royal hall.

The room lost its dimensions in darkness as Natasha and Y/n were caught in a mesmerizing dance of tension. Y/n's heartbeat quickened as Natasha's words sounded like a breath in the night, a promise that implied more than it stated. "Natasha, I don't know what you mean..." whispered Y/n, her voice caught between curiosity and an underlying desire that lingered in the air. Natasha stepped closer, her gaze like the dark veil of night that hid everything and yet revealed everything. "I speak of desire that goes deeper than any protocol that exists within the walls of a palace."

The atmosphere thickened as Natasha began to loosen Y/n's royal robes with deft fingers. "You can feel it, can't you? This suppressed energy between us. It's time to explore the shadows that lurk in the corners of our connection."

Y/n's breathing quickened as the warmth of Natasha's hands touched her skin. A mixture of fear and desire flickered in her eyes as she embraced the unknown.

"N-Natasha, I... Is this right?" asked Y/n, but her reticence was swallowed up by the darkness.

Natasha replied with a cool smile that betrayed a deep, hidden passion. "Right or wrong, Y/n, does not exist in this world of shadows. There is only what you desire and what you are willing to experience." The air between them was charged as Natasha gently placed her lips on Y/n's. A passionate kiss that burned down the blurred lines between duty and desire. Still, Natasha paused for a moment and looked her princess in the eye, “I notice your looks, your breath when I sneak up on you..you’re begging when I retreat to my chambers..” Natasha pushed the princess onto the bed. The redhead had Y/n's legs wide open. Open for her to devour.

Natasha licked her lips, staring at Y/n's underwear, a hungry look in her mouth. Y/n still felt the slight urge to protest. What is she doing here? What happens if her parents find out about this? Are they allowed-

But all words of resistance melted into a moan in her mouth as Natasha opened her entrance with her tongue. She lay down in front of Y/n, lifting the princess's legs by her thighs onto her shoulders. Natasha's tongue turned her princess's moans into groans and then shouts of ecstasy. After tasting Y/n for long enough, Natasha lifted her head. Her mouth was covered in Y/n's fluid, giving her face a glow that Y/n found simply intoxicating.

"How are you feeling? Can I continue?" Natasha's eyes widened as she saw the sight of her ruler. Spread wide and with her hands clenched in the pillows, "K-Keep going please..” Natasha smiled and climbed up to Y/n to take off her dress and while she undressed Y/n, Natasha kissed Y/n and she tasted herself on her lips. Without breaking the kiss, Natasha inserted two of her fingers into Y/n. In response, the young princess let out a deep moan into Natasha's mouth as she slowly penetrated her. As Natasha alternated between driving her index and middle fingers in and out of Y/n's cavity, Y/n was disturbed by the amount of armor Natasha still had on and set about removing it.

Natasha smirked again as she realized what Y/n's plans were and sat back up, "You could have asked, my highness..." Y/n's eyes were wide as she watched Natasha remove every single piece of metal from her body. Eventually it just tinkled on the floor and Natasha stood before her in a white shirt. She wasted no more time and pounced on the young girl again.

"What do you want me to do, princess?" Natasha now asked, breathing in unison with her aroused ruler. She had already slipped a hand between Y/n's thighs and was leaning on her shorts. Y/n knew what Natasha wanted to hear. "Please.." she begged, "fuck me." Natasha watched Y/n's flushed face. It was so, so lewd. This time, however, Natasha stroked a finger over the edge of her labia and felt how far the wetness had spread.

"You really want it, don't you?" said Natasha with a hint of smugness in her voice. Y/n knew it wasn't to humiliate her, but rather to increase her sense of exposure.

Yes, I really fucking want it, Y/n wanted to say, but managed to hold back. Natasha, however, didn't miss the look on her face before she leaned in and slowly kissed Y/n again. She began to run her fingers up and down the wetness between Y/n's legs, stroking slowly and rhythmically.

Y/n held back any sound that wanted to come out of her mouth, knowing there was more to come. A touch slipped past a certain spot so briefly and lightly that Y/n's body flinched in response. Natasha had to keep her senses together, just a little longer. The stroking and kissing gradually became faster, without either of them noticing against the backdrop of their growing arousal. Natasha's fingers were touching Y/n's clit more and more frequently now, and Y/n couldn't keep up, the tension between her legs growing and her mouth remaining slightly open.

"A-A-hh..." she gasped, and her body arched back more and more. She was crying out now, twisting and turning, her clit at the center of the movement, her hands wrapped around Y/ns, her face pressed into her shoulders, her upper body arched so that her breasts and erect nipples moved against Natasha's body in the same rhythm as the caresses between her thighs. "Nat-..Natasha...!" She cried out. "I'm... ah, I'm..."

Natasha kissed her neck in response and concentrated fully on bringing Y/n to climax. She wanted to hear her princess scream, to feel her thrusting against her body in a frenzy of pleasure. She wanted Y/n to lose all inhibitions and move against her hand like a horny slut. Y/n couldn't take it anymore. Her hips and buttocks began to move against Natasha, thrusting towards her with desire, begging her not to stop. It felt so dirty to cooperate and beg so earnestly, but Y/n didn't care about any of it. Natasha moaned along with Y/n and couldn't hold back either after listening to Y/n feel this way about her.

“Cum for me.”

When Y/n heard Natasha's soft and loving voice moaning like that, she shook with pleasure. Her mind went blank. The room disappeared, the bed vanished. The world consisted only of her body, which contracted and pulsated to release all its pent-up arousal in one go. Y/n didn't know how much time had passed while she trembled and shook and moaned, even though she didn't want to. All she knew was that Natasha had been holding her the whole time and watched every single facial feature of her beloved princess.

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TAGLIST: @taliiiaasteria @natty-taffy @natashaswife4125 @lifebyinez @aemilia19 @natwifesblog @clearcoloredlenses @ragoshmog @eringranola

[twi-liight]

Hello gorgeous! I love the way you write Astarion :) could I please request a fic where the reader (female or non-binary your choice!) has a nightmare and comes to our favorite vampire for comfort? Love you work, I totally understand if this doesn’t spark inspiration!

Phantom Heartache ❣

Brave, sad Alfira. All she yearned for was to carry Lihala's legacy to Baldur's Gate, but thanks to the Dark Urge, the furthest she went was to Tav's camp. That was all she could ever amount to. Slay a thousand enemies. Be pierced by a million blades. Nothing ever compares to the pain of her loss at their hands. ❥ DarkUrge!Tav spoilers for Act 1. ❥ Astarion/Tav. ❥ They/them pronouns for Tav. ❥ Tav is the nickname for the oc/reader insert. Their real name is up to you!

At the crest of their slumber, when inky tendrils drag them gently into the arms of deep sleep, Tav comes home to her.

Dreams cannot fool them easily. Too many have come and gone with promises of power and blood for them to dismiss them as simple yearnings of the mind when they are fast asleep. They know, on a shallow, muted level that this is a dream, that this isn't reality. That none of this is real and it doesn't mean anything.

But there Alfira stands, nothing like the day she left this world. Her purple locks drift in the waters around them. Despite the depths of the ocean, sunlight pierces through the darkness and glitters on her.

"Alfira," they croak out. They speak her name into existence and their heart splits in two.

"Tav," Alfira whispers. Her brows furrow the same way she did whenever she thought too hard. Her lips pucker and set like she's recited these words too many times before. "You have to know something. Something important. I-... Please, just listen."

When they reach out for her, she takes their hands. They wander the ocean depths with no true purpose or destination. It hurts so much. The guilt could crush them before the inevitable dooms along the horizon. It takes all of their strength to say, "I'm so sorry, Alfira."

She shakes her head. Sunbeams catch tears welling up in her ocher eyes. "I know you are. I know you." Alfira clasps their hands tight, warm and comforting, filled with assurance. "You've done so much for us. Thank you, Tav."

Silence overwhelms Tav at that moment, crushing their neck in one fell swoop. They can't breathe. It hurts, and they can't breathe.

"I'm sorry, too. For all the love you gave me that I can't repay, I'm sorry." Alfira whispers, her voice breaking in too many places. The warmth from her hands disappears, and they realize she's letting them go.

"Tav," she says one last time, their last image of her reaching for them as the distance grows wider and wider.

Tav. Tav. Tav. Tav. Tav. Tav. Tav!

"Tav!"

Astarion breaks the connection. Suddenly and all at once, they've surfaced from the waters back to reality, where air is shoveled into their drowned lungs.

All at once, faces and voices. They heave, doubling over as they push themselves upright. Nausea hits them fast and hard but they don't care. Shadowheart, Gale, Karlach, Lae'zel, Wyll - a few paces behind them, Jaheira and Halsin gaze down at her with a somber expression. Closest to them, with his hands closed around their inner elbow is Astarion.

"Tav," he says, softer this time.

Tav, Alfira chokes out. Tav. I'm so sorry.

No. "No." No, no, no, sorry for what? Come back, Alfira. What are you apologizing for, I was the one who-

The vision tightens around their skull like molten iron. The tadpole squirms, receding from the shameful memory of Alfira's corpse, defiled and destroyed. In her eyes, they see themselves.

They were her friend. And they let her die screaming and alone.

"Away," Tav breathes out. It's so weak that it's just a whittled breath, but the strength behind them gives pause to everyone around.

Astarion's hands flinch back, but by then it's too late. It's too much. Their tadpole activates a defense mechanism and power crumbles from the depths of their mind. They struggle away from their companions, roaring out, "I commanded you!"

Waves of ilithid energy break through their portcullis - Karlach audibly yelps in pain, struggling against the barrage of mental energy. "Tav-- damn it, we're trying to--" Wyll's hand lashes out to steady her, only to recede as it flies back to clutch his head in pain. "-- Help you!"

"Gale!" Shadowheart cries, nearly buckling to the floor as the full weight of Tav's prowess pours into her mind, threatening to snap it in two. "Can you-- is there a--"

They lock eyes with Gale, who shoots them a pleading look. "Enough," he begs, holding up his shaky hands as a sign of surrender. "Tav, enough. It's alright."

"It's not," they whisper. It's hard to speak when their breaths are too fast, too raggedy, too stuttered to be anything but a cornered animal floundering for air. They don't notice it. They choke on lungfuls of breaths as they wrap their arms around their waist.

"It's not," they repeat again. Something shifts in the air. Power. Arcane power snapping to Gale's fingertips. Their tadpole twists with alarm. He's trying to hurt you. He doesn't want to understand. None of them understand, they're just using you.

Gale points his finger out, aiming for something behind them.

Enraged, they reach deep into the recesses of their mind for the reservoir of power. To sink their fingertips deep in it feels so alien but familiar. Like pushing their hands into a pool of thick blood, warm and fresh.

Wait. No. No, this is not the tadpole's power. This is...

Kill them, Tav. Before they hurt you. Before you hurt them.

Like what you did to me, Alfira whispers in their ear.

Something inside them breaks into two. It shatters into pieces and pulls out everything they have been hiding; the misery, the weight, the guilt, the howling wail that rings in the air as they crumble in on themselves. Hot, wet tears run down their cheeks, and it's too much.

They can't bear it. It's too much.

"Hey hey hey hey, shh shh shh," Astarion's hands cup around their ears. The remnants of Gale's magic outline him in a misty purple. When had he gotten to them so fast? They don't know. They don't understand. "Look at me, sweetheart."

They can't. Everyone around them is looking at them like they're a stranger. Shadowheart's shell-shocked expression sends a ringing ache down their spine; she is looking at them with pity and concern and fear.

"Let them breathe," Jaheira commands. When no one moves, her voice comes out sharper. "Go! Now. Ready yourselves for a long rest and give them space. You will only make it worse for them. Astarion-"

"I can handle this," Astarion murmurs. Jaheira nods, leading the companions away from the bedrolls.

"Please," Astarion pleads, rubbing circles into their cheeks with his thumbs. "Look at me. Why the tears? You know I hate tears. It is unbecoming of you to tarnish your otherwise candid expression with that face. You go from beautiful to an ugly little duck in less than a second."

"I can't," they choke out. Sobs push in between breaths and words, and they shake their head, suddenly just as afraid as the rest of them.

"You can," he murmurs. "What are you so afraid of, darling? It's just me."

It is just Astarion.

Tentatively, they lift their eyes. When they gaze into him, they find no fear or judgment. There is no anger, either, despite what they had just done and what they were going to do. His stare is forlorn and quiet. His noble brow furrows slightly, contemplative, trying to find something in their eyes.

"There you are," he says, his voice so gentle it could have been a trick of the wind. "Tav of mine."

An aching, dull pain spreads across their chest, and their body seems to understand that the only way to relieve it is to cry. Their shoulders shake, and their lungs are sore, but it doesn't stop the biting sobs from pushing out.

"Astarion," Tav begs, hands catching his wrists and holding onto them tightly. "I hurt her, I-- hah-- hurt, Alfira-"

"I know," Astarion croons.

"I killed her."

"I know."

"She was my friend and I--"

"And you betrayed her." He kisses their knuckles tenderly. "I know. Shh, shh. Oh, gods below. I dreaded the day I'd see you cry. You know why?"

"Because I'm ugly?" They hic-sob, pathetically.

He scoffs, but it sounds oddly fond. "No." Pause. Slight amusement in his wine-red eyes. "Well, yes, in this moment, you are a travesty."

They sob.

"Oh, but don't take that the wrong way, you know I can't stand to see you so hurt. What am I supposed to do, hm? Hold you until the morning comes?" His hand guides their head to the crook of his neck, where he hides them from the rest of the world.

No prying eyes can find them, now. No judgment. No words to say about the hell that they unleashed. Into the shadows, where they're safe in his embrace, where he will keep them until they decide it is time to go.

"You know I will," he murmurs into the crown of their head. "I would hold you through it all, my love. You could become the most hateful monster, covered in the blood of the undeserving, your ledger as red as an apple..."

Astarion shuts his eyes.

"... And still, I would hold you and vow to never let go. Shed your tears for the wrongs you have committed. The blood you have spilled. I don't care. So long as are my Tav, that is all that matters."

They close their eyes, tears spilling down their cheeks. Their dreamless sleep is peaceful. It is empty.

❥ Additional links: kofi | ao3

[callsigns-haze]

Oh, How She's Changed...

Pairing: Acotar x reader Warnings: Contains mature themes, including violence, romance, and adult situations. Summary: YN, the immortal descendant of gods, reunites with her friends Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel at a lavish gathering in the Night Court's grand ballroom. As they reminisce about past adventures and observe the antics of other courtiers, they marvel at YN's transformation from an innocent girl into a captivating woman. However, their reunion is cut short when one of YN's guards arrives to escort her away, leaving Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel with lingering thoughts and a sense of longing as they watch her depart into the night.

As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden hue across the Night Court's palace, YN, the immortal descendant of gods, found herself ensconced in a lavish chamber. Intricate tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of ancient battles and celestial beings, while flickering candles bathed the room in a soft, ethereal glow. At the heart of the chamber, YN stood surrounded by the opulent splendour of her surroundings, her gaze drawn to the figures of Mor and Amren bustling around her.

Mor, her fiery locks cascading in loose waves around her shoulders, moved with a grace born of centuries of battle and camaraderie. Dressed in elegant attire befitting her station as a high-ranking member of the Night Court, she approached YN with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Well, YN," she said, her voice carrying a note of playful anticipation, "are you ready to grace the fae with your divine presence tonight?"

YN, radiant in her own right, adorned in garments woven from the finest silks and adorned with jewels that shimmered like stars, offered Mor a warm smile. "I hope I can do justice to the legacy of my ancestors," she replied, her voice infused with a hint of humility.

Meanwhile, Amren, the enigmatic being of ancient origins, moved with a fluidity that spoke of eons spent mastering the arcane arts. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned forth threads of celestial magic, weaving enchantments into the fabric of YN's gown. Each stitch pulsed with otherworldly energy, resonating with the divine power that flowed through YN's immortal veins.

"Fear not, YN," Amren reassured her, her voice a melodic echo of distant thunder, "with Mor's impeccable taste and my arcane prowess, you'll be the epitome of divine elegance."

Mor nodded in agreement, her gaze sweeping over YN with an approving smile. "And let's not forget your own innate charm and grace, YN," she added, her eyes alight with pride. "You were born for moments like these."

Grateful for their support and guidance, YN felt a surge of confidence coursing through her veins. "Thank you, both of you," she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "I'm grateful to have such wise counsel."

Amren's lips curved into a knowing smile, her eyes glittering with ancient wisdom. "The honour is ours, YN," she replied, her voice carrying the weight of centuries past. "Now, let us ensure that you're prepared for whatever the night may hold."

But as YN caught her reflection in the polished mirror, something stirred within her. Gone was the innocent girl she had always been, replaced by a woman exuding an air of confidence and allure. With a subtle sway of her hips and a coy smile playing upon her lips, she realized that with this new look, she was ready for some spice.

And so, as she stepped out into the night, her heart brimming with anticipation, YN knew that she was not just a descendant of gods, but a force to be reckoned with—a goddess in her own right, ready to conquer whatever challenges lay ahead.

--

In the heart of the Night Court's grand ballroom, the air hummed with the vibrant energy of celebration. The room pulsated with music, the melodies weaving through the throng of fae dancers swirling gracefully across the floor. Amidst the lively festivities, three figures sat at a secluded table, their voices mingling with laughter and camaraderie.

Rhysand, the enigmatic High Lord of the Night Court, reclined in his seat with an easy grace, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. Beside him, Cassian and Azriel, his loyal companions and warriors of the Night Court, shared a toast, their laughter echoing through the hall.

"Another round, gentlemen?" Rhysand suggested, raising his glass in a playful salute.

Cassian grinned, clinking his glass against Rhysand's. "You read my mind, Rhys."

Azriel nodded in agreement, his usually stoic demeanor softened by the warmth of the moment. "To old friends and new beginnings," he said, his voice a low rumble that resonated with quiet strength.

As they sipped their drinks, their conversation turned to memories of times long past. They spoke of battles fought and victories won, of challenges overcome and bonds forged in the crucible of war. And yet, amidst the tales of triumph, there lingered a sense of longing—a yearning for something—or rather, someone—missing from their midst.

"I can't wait to see YN again," Cassian remarked, his eyes alight with anticipation. "It's been far too long since she graced us with her presence."

Rhysand nodded in agreement, a flicker of excitement dancing in his gaze. "Indeed. It will be interesting to see how she's changed over the years."

Azriel's expression softened with a hint of nostalgia. "She was always a force to be reckoned with," he said, his voice tinged with reverence. "I have no doubt that she's only grown stronger with time."

As they spoke of YN, the immortal descendant of gods, their voices filled with a mixture of fondness and admiration. Though separated by distance and time, their bond with her remained unbreakable—a testament to the enduring power of friendship and loyalty.

And so, amidst the revelry of the Night Court, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel raised their glasses once more, toasting to the promise of a long-awaited reunion—a moment that would soon bring together old friends and new beginnings in a celebration of life, love, and the enduring bonds that unite them all.

As the night wore on and the revelry reached its peak, the grand ballroom of the Night Court was alive with energy. Fae of all shapes and sizes danced in a whirl of vibrant colors and laughter, their movements reflecting the joy and freedom of the moment.

Amidst the swirling throng, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel found themselves drawn into the rhythm of the music, their spirits lifted by the infectious enthusiasm of the crowd. They moved with a fluid grace, their movements a testament to years of training and camaraderie.

As they danced, their thoughts inevitably turned to YN, the immortal descendant of gods they had long considered a dear friend. Memories of their past adventures together flooded their minds, filling them with a sense of nostalgia and longing.

"I remember the first time I met YN," Cassian reminisced, his voice tinged with fondness. "She was like a breath of fresh air—a ray of sunshine in the darkness."

Rhysand chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Yes, I recall that day well. She certainly knew how to make an entrance."

Azriel nodded in agreement, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "She was always full of surprises. I have no doubt that tonight will be no different."

As they danced and laughed, their anticipation for YN's arrival grew with each passing moment. They imagined the joy of seeing her again, the warmth of her smile, and the strength of her spirit.

And so, amidst the music and merriment of the Night Court's grand celebration, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel continued to dance, their hearts filled with excitement and anticipation for the long-awaited reunion that awaited them. For in that moment, surrounded by friends and allies, they knew that no matter what the future held, they would face it together, united in their bond of friendship and shared experiences.

As the trio continued their animated conversation, a sudden interruption from behind caught them off guard. Before they could react, a voice, once familiar but now tinged with a newfound confidence, sliced through the air.

"Did I hear someone talking about me?" YN's voice teased, laced with amusement and a hint of mischief.

Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel froze mid-conversation, their heads snapping around to find the source of the interruption. And there, standing before them, was YN—transformed beyond recognition.

Gone was the innocent girl they remembered from years past. In her place stood a woman of breathtaking beauty and undeniable allure. Her hair cascaded in waves of midnight silk, framing a face that radiated with confidence and strength. Every movement she made exuded grace and poise, her eyes sparkling with a newfound fire that sent shivers down their spines.

For a moment, the trio could only stare in stunned silence, their minds struggling to reconcile the image before them with the memories of the girl they once knew. It took them a beat too long to realize that the innocent girl had blossomed into a captivating woman—a realization that nearly caused Azriel to choke on his drink.

Cassian was the first to recover, his trademark grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, well," he exclaimed, his voice filled with playful delight. "Look who decided to grace us with her presence."

Rhysand's eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed YN's transformation. "I must say, you clean up rather nicely, YN," he remarked, his tone teasing yet genuine.

Azriel, usually composed and reserved, found himself at a loss for words. He cleared his throat awkwardly, his cheeks flushing faintly as he struggled to regain his composure. "You... uh... look... stunning," he managed to stammer out, his voice barely above a whisper.

YN chuckled at their reactions, a knowing gleam dancing in her eyes. "Why, thank you, gentlemen," she replied, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "I must admit, it's been quite the journey."

As they exchanged pleasantries and caught up on lost time, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel couldn't help but marvel at the woman YN had become. And as they continued to bask in the warmth of her presence, they knew that this reunion would mark the beginning of a new chapter—one filled with excitement, adventure, and the enduring bond of friendship that had stood the test of time.

As Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, and YN retreated to a secluded corner of the ballroom, their conversation took a more relaxed turn. Surrounded by the lively festivities of the Night Court, they observed the arrival of other lords and ladies with a mixture of amusement and mild skepticism.

Rhysand leaned against a pillar, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips as he surveyed the gathering crowd. "Ah, it seems the usual suspects have graced us with their presence," he remarked, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.

Cassian chuckled, his eyes scanning the room with a discerning gaze. "Indeed. I see Lord Tarquin has brought his entourage of sycophants," he observed, a bemused expression crossing his features.

Azriel's lips quirked into a wry smile as he watched the various courtiers mingling with practiced charm and false pretenses. "And let's not forget Lady Ianthe, fluttering about like a peacock in heat," he added, his voice dripping with dry humor.

YN, who had been quietly observing the scene, couldn't help but join in their laughter. "It's almost comical, isn't it?" she remarked, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes. "All this posturing and preening for the sake of appearances."

As they continued to share in their amusement, their conversation turned to lighter topics—old memories, shared experiences, and the absurdities of fae society. They laughed and joked, their camaraderie growing stronger with each passing moment.

But amidst the laughter and light-hearted banter, there was an unspoken understanding—a recognition of the challenges they faced and the dangers that lurked in the shadows. And as they stood together, united in their bond of friendship and shared experiences, they knew that no matter what trials lay ahead, they would face them together, with strength, courage, and a healthy dose of laughter to see them through.

As Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, and YN observed the arrivals, their conversation took on a slightly more critical tone. They couldn't help but exchange knowing glances and subtle nods of agreement as they assessed the behavior of the other lords and ladies.

"Look at Lord Beron," Rhysand remarked, his voice dripping with disdain as he gestured towards a particularly pompous nobleman. "Does he ever tire of hearing himself talk?"

Cassian snorted in amusement, his eyes following Rhysand's gesture. "I doubt it," he replied, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "He's too enamored with the sound of his own voice."

Azriel, ever the silent observer, watched with a keen eye as the various courtiers vied for attention and favor. "And what about Lord Eris?" he mused, his tone tinged with skepticism. "Does he ever tire of playing his little games?"

YN nodded in agreement, her gaze narrowing slightly as she observed Lord Eris' calculating smile. "He's always been one for manipulation and intrigue," she remarked, her voice tinged with a hint of disdain. "But I doubt he'll find much success here tonight."

As they continued to pass judgment on the behavior of their fellow courtiers, Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, and YN found themselves sharing in a sense of camaraderie born of mutual understanding. They may have been outsiders in the eyes of some, but together, they formed a formidable alliance—one built on trust, loyalty, and a shared disdain for the superficiality and pretense that often permeated fae society.

And as they stood together, laughing and jesting in their secluded corner of the ballroom, they knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them with unwavering resolve and the unbreakable bond of friendship that bound them together.

As the night wore on, the revelry continued to swell around them, but amidst the celebration, a hushed murmur reached YN's ears. Turning slightly, she saw one of her guards approaching, his demeanor serious and resolute.

Excusing herself from the conversation with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel, YN turned to face her guard. His presence reminded her of the responsibilities that came with her divine lineage—the duties and obligations that often weighed heavily upon her shoulders.

With a nod of understanding, YN bid farewell to her companions, offering each of them a warm smile and a promise to meet again soon. Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel returned her smile, their expressions filled with a mixture of fondness and admiration.

As YN began to make her way towards the exit, the trio watched her go, their eyes following her with a mixture of awe and longing. It was impossible not to notice how she had changed—the way she carried herself with a newfound confidence, the subtle shift in her demeanor that spoke of experiences and challenges faced.

"She's grown into quite the remarkable woman, hasn't she?" Rhysand remarked, his voice tinged with a hint of pride.

Cassian nodded in agreement, his gaze never leaving YN's retreating figure. "Indeed. She's like a jewel—radiant and untouchable."

Azriel remained silent, his eyes fixed on YN with a depth of emotion that spoke volumes. He had always felt a special connection to her—a bond forged in the crucible of shared experiences and unspoken understanding. And as he watched her disappear into the night, a sense of longing stirred within him—a yearning to be by her side, to protect her and guide her through the challenges that lay ahead.

As YN disappeared from view, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel turned back to the festivities, their thoughts lingering on the woman who had captured their hearts and inspired their admiration. For in that moment, they knew that no matter where their paths may lead, their bond with YN would remain unbreakable—a beacon of light in the darkness, guiding them through the trials and tribulations of the fae realm.

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@shanimallina87

@kmc1989

@djs8891

@hardballoonlove

@callsign-dexter

@mamachasesmayhem

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@rosiahills22

[ackerfics]

to the girls who are failed by the narrative: masterlist | jjk

enclosed here are stories of tragedy; of loving someone too much that his loss becomes your ruination, of waves of blue and black that threatens to wash your cheeks with the colors of summer, of curses trapping you in prophecies not even a red string can break, of unlikely saviours and damsels who fell harder for each other.

note: all of these are connected. every character has their own 'reader' (except for yuta). once we move on to the next character, the previous reader will be given a nickname. i am actually excited about this <5 consider this as my official comeback (?) here on this site.

my love is mine all mine — zen'in toji (later fushiguro) x reader

: 'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapters:

i: their redness talks to my wounds

ii: in our circle of green

iii: the answer will be an echo: why did you do this?

iv: coming soon !!

v: coming soon !!

to love and be loved is to rest  — gojo satoru (w. geto suguru) x reader

: you knew you will never love gojo satoru, the godling that will make kingdom come if he so wished it, the moment he pushed you into a puddle of muddy water the day your older sister was announced to be engaged to the possible heir of the zen'in clan. with your new kimono drenched in brown splatters and your hair in disarray, the little white rat had the gall to cackle in front of majority of the jujutsu society. that was the day you vowed to always harbour hate for him. yet for some weird reason, gojo becomes a constant in your life — the only one to ever see you at your weakest when your sister abandoned you to become the next bride and the only one who promised to return your youth to you by being your semblance of normalcy among the decaying beliefs and elders of the jujutsu society.

you thought you will never know love until you met geto suguru and all his gentle smiles, warm demeanour, and weird fringe. and before you know it, your little world with gojo expanded to include geto, ieiri, and the colours of summer throughout the year. but summer will always fade away to autumn, a season that chills you to the bone and sets glaciers in your blood, its fingers promising change like no other.

because it was fall of 2007 that you wish you never knew what love is at all.

chapters: coming soon !!

except for your eyes, no blade can control me  — fushiguro megumi x reader

: coming soon !!

[bonus] hearts be burned asunder with love — okkotsu yuta x oc

: it's a new generation of sorcerers and the flower of the jujutsu society truly lived up to her fate of carrying new heirs for a dying clan. from her union with the nefarious sorcerer killer comes a blessing and a festival; a shepherd of umbras in the shape of animal curses and the other an amalgamation of opposing energies.

the moment fushiguro matsuri first sung her pleas to the world, the shadows danced and the flowers tried reaching for a speck of light. and it is when she was finally swallowed by the mass of shadows that her twin brother first saw how cruel their part of the world can be.

it's november 2017 and a cursed womb has been spotted hanging like an ominous raindrop of cynicism above a remote forest near a clan compound. all sorcerers near the area are dispatched to the scene but fushiguro megumi has one request to his mentor (begrudging uncle), bring the first-year jujutsu high student he met a few months ago to where the cursed womb is. after all, okkotsu yuta is the only sorcerer megumi openly respects to save his sister and matsuri is the only person everyone expects to neutralize the queen of curses if the time comes for the sword to reap its harvest.

: coming soon !!

send an ask or reply if you want to be added to the taglist <3

[cnnmairoll]

Habits Before Bed

Character(s) : Sampo Koski, Jing Yuan, Gepard Landau, Dan Heng a/n : Third time writing for HSR!! Second time writing for multiple charas! Hope you enjoy this, I will try to write more often :)

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting warm hues across the room, you find yourself settling into the cozy embrace of your shared haven with Sampo. It's a nightly ritual that warms your heart and brings a sense of comfort like no other. Before the world slips away into dreams, Sampo always insists on hearing about your day first. He's attentive, his eyes fixed on yours, hanging on every word that tumbles from your lips.

You have his undivided attention, and it's clear that he cherishes these moments. The genuine interest he shows in your daily experiences makes you feel valued, your thoughts and feelings important in his world. As you recount the highs and lows, the mundane and the extraordinary, his gentle smiles and reassuring nods encourage you to spill your thoughts without hesitation.

But then it's his turn, and as he launches into his own tales, you're transported to a realm where reality intertwines with his vivid imagination. Adventures take on a slightly exaggerated hue, turning the ordinary into something extraordinary. His animated gestures and enthusiasm bring his stories to life, evoking laughter and wonder from you. It's a dance of shared narratives, each of you taking turns to create a bridge between your worlds.

As his stories come to an end, there's a subtle shift in his demeanor. The same grin that once adorned your face now rests on his, and he pulls you in closer. The warmth of his presence wraps around you like a security blanket, and the proximity of his heartbeat is a reminder that you're not alone in this vast universe. In his arms, conversations become connections, and the simple act of talking before sleep turns into an intimate bond that grows stronger with each passing day.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As the day winds down and the world retreats into the quiet embrace of the night, you find solace in the presence of Jing Yuan. The moments just before sleep become an enchanting ritual, a time when his deep and velvety voice brushes against your ear like a soft caress. It's in these hushed moments that he weaves his words, whispering sweet nothings that wrap around your heart.

Despite the weight of his duties as a general, the exhaustion that lingers in the corners of his eyes, he always carves out a precious pocket of time for you. It's in these moments that his devotion shines brightest. His words are like a delicate melody, a lullaby that lulls away the worries of the day and ushers in a sense of calm. With each whispered sentiment, he lets you into the depth of his affection, a tenderness that remains unspoken amidst the chaos of his responsibilities.

In those quiet moments, his words hold the power to mend the frayed edges of the day. He reminds you of your worth, of how deeply you've intertwined your life with his. His whispers are a balm to your soul, a reminder that you are cherished beyond measure. And as the night deepens and his voice paints a canvas of affection, you're cocooned in his love, finding solace in the arms of a man who, despite the burdens he carries, always finds the time to remind you just how much you mean to him.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

As the day mellows into dusk, you find yourself immersed in a tender nightly ritual with Gepard. His devotion to skincare is a charming facet of his personality, one that he inherited from his sister, Serval. The wisdom of generations is carried in the routines he follows, a legacy of care passed down through time. Gepard's commitment to his skincare regimen is admirable, although sometimes life's demands cause him to miss a step or two, transforming his nightly routine into a sporadic endeavor.

But then you entered his life, and something magical happened. Your presence became a catalyst for change, a reason to transform his solo skincare moments into shared experiences. Together, you've crafted a new routine, one filled with shared laughter and intimacy. The quiet moments before bed are now punctuated with smiles and affection, as you both stand before the mirror, swapping tales of the day and helping each other with creams, serums, and lotions.

Giggles echo in the air as gentle touches are exchanged, each stroke of skincare becoming a gesture of love. The vulnerability of baring your bare face to another person is replaced with a sense of comfort, knowing that Gepard's appreciation for you extends beyond appearances. As you both pamper each other, the barriers of formality fall away, and you revel in the simplicity of the moment, in the connection fostered by these small acts of care.

In these shared skincare routines, you've found a way to intertwine your lives even more deeply. With each pat and rub, you're nurturing not just your skin, but the bonds that tie you together. And as you tuck yourselves into bed, feeling refreshed and cherished, you realize that in these intimate moments, you've discovered a unique blend of self-care and love that makes your connection with Gepard all the more special.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Nestled in the comfort of your shared sanctuary, the evening ushers in a familiar and cherished ritual with Dan Heng. A symphony of words and emotions awaits you both, as the pages of your books become a portal to new worlds. The quiet hush of the night wraps around you, and the tradition of reading before bed unfolds seamlessly, a constant in the ebb and flow of life.

Side by side, you and Dan Heng immerse yourselves in your respective stories. There's a serenity in the silence, the mere presence of each other serving as a soothing backdrop to the worlds you explore within your books. Now and then, a passage captures your attention, and the sharing of intriguing quotes becomes a bridge between your separate narratives, connecting your thoughts in a subtle dance of minds.

Yet, it's the moments when the books lower and the soft rustling of pages fades that hold an even greater magic. Your head finds its place on Dan Heng's chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a gentle lullaby. A book rests in his hand, but his focus is now on you. His voice, a velvety cadence that holds within it a world of comfort, resonates through the air. With each word, each sentence, he guides you through the tale, not bound by the pages but by the intimate connection you share.

As his voice carries you through the narrative, it becomes a tether between wakefulness and dreams. The gentle undulations of his reading transform into whispers of reassurance, wrapping you in a cocoon of tranquility. You listen, surrendering to the soothing spell his voice weaves, until the stories blend with your own dreams, and the line between fiction and reality becomes beautifully blurred. In these moments of literary companionship, you find not only solace but a profound intimacy that speaks volumes without words.

[drtyelvisfantasy]

𝒪𝓃ℯ 𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓅 𝒶𝓉 𝒶 𝓉𝒾𝓂ℯ

Pairings: Elvis Presley x female!reader

Summary: The reader who is Elvis Presley’s wife wakes up to see her husband teaching their baby son Jesse how to walk🥹

౨ৎ ౨ৎ ౨ৎ

The sun peeked through the curtains of Graceland, casting a warm glow over the room. You found yourself in the presence of the King himself, Elvis Presley. Your heart fluttered as you watched him, his mesmerizing voice filling the air as he strummed his guitar effortlessly. It was a rare, intimate moment you had the privilege of witnessing.

As you stood by the doorway, you saw Elvis glance towards the crib tucked in the corner of the room. A smile crept across his face as he noticed his baby son, Jesse, starting to stir. Gently setting his guitar aside, Elvis approached the crib, his eyes filled with adoration.

"Hey there, little man," Elvis cooed, his voice soft and melodic. "Ready to show Daddy those fancy moves of yours?"

Jesse giggled in response, his chubby arms reaching out towards his father. Elvis scooped his little boy up into his arms, cradling him securely against his chest. The room seemed to come alive with the sound of their laughter, a symphony of love.

With careful steps, Elvis carried Jesse to the center of the room, creating a safe space for their adventure. He positioned Jesse's tiny feet on the wooden floor, supporting his wobbly legs with his hands.

"Alright, Jesse, it's time to show Daddy how you can walk," Elvis encouraged, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "You've got the rhythm in your blood, just like your old man."

As if on cue, the room filled with the sound of Elvis singing softly, his voice guiding Jesse's every movement. With each step, Elvis matched their strides, gently swaying from side to side, ensuring Jesse felt secure in his arms.

One hesitant step, then another. Jesse's face lit up with excitement, his eyes gleaming with determination. Elvis offered words of encouragement, his voice a gentle melody, easing any fear his son might have had.

"That's it, baby boy!" Elvis praised, his voice filled with pride. "You're doing great, just like your Mama."

Jesse's chubby legs grew stronger, his steps more assured. The room filled with joyous laughter and applause as he took his first independent steps, stumbling slightly before regaining his balance.

Elvis smiled brightly, his heart swelling with love and pride. He knew this was just the beginning of a lifetime of dances they would share together, a legacy that would continue to live on.

"You see, my little man," Elvis whispered, his voice filled with emotion, "Your Mama and I will always be here to catch you when you fall, to help you find your way. You've got a whole world waiting for you, and your old man will be by your side every step of the way."

As Jesse continued to take his first steps, the room filled with a sense of wonder and joy. The bond between father and son grew stronger with each passing moment, a testament to the love that would always guide them.

And as you watched this enchanting scene unfold before your eyes, you couldn't help but feel privileged to have witnessed such a magical moment. Your husband, The King of Rock and Roll, teaching his baby boy to walk, was a memory that would forever be etched in your heart.

[jinkicake]

YOUR ARRANGED/FORCED MARRIAGE IS SO GOOD OMG. if you’re up to it, i was wondering if you could write one for childe? ofc only if you want to <3

Forced / Arranged Marriage Trope 

Childe, Scaramouche x Reader

A/N: Hi, Anon, you're so sweet!!! Thank you!! I had to add Scaramouche too bc... I simply had to (it fits so well w him) so I hope that is okay~ I kinda got carried away and made Childe sorta yandere, im sorry I love him being unhinged and it scares me in the best way like somehow scara is soft but I made childe not…. Hmmm i love childe!!!!!!

fem!reader bc I like the use of ‘wife’

WC - 1.5k

TW // SLIGHT YANDERE!CHILDE (NOT REALLY)

~~~

Childe

“If you’re thinking about going back to that kitten outside I will tie you down to our bed.” Childe’s rather calm voice strikes you down on the spot, almost as if you’ve been struck with a flash of lightning. The original plan that you had was to make a stealthy exit through the front door, you should have known better. You try to keep your frantic heart sane as you slowly turn on the tips of your toes to face him. 

Your husband is sitting in one of the couches of your front room as he thumbs through a book gifted by a friend of his in Liyue. It’s incredibly hard to not roll your eyes as he practically sits in the dark like some villain, tucked away and hoping to catch you lacking. 

“Come here.” Despite his soft voice, you can tell that he is not in the mood to play with you. You clench your teeth painfully tight and wordlessly head to stand by his side. The harbinger doesn’t look up from his book as he blindly grabs your wrist, tightly wrapping his fingers around the two bones. He presses his touch, imprinting his fingers, into your skin as his thumb rubs comforting strokes against you. “Be more careful wife, it’s too dangerous to go out late at night.” Through your leveled breathing, you can’t help but gasp as he tugs you closer toward him. “I would hate for anything to happen to you.”

You don’t have it in yourself to tell him that the dangers inside this house put any of those outside of it to shame. 

“I know,” You settle for something that will please him, a kind phrase that will acknowledge his worries and provide him with a sense of understanding. By the narrowing of his dull eyes, you seemingly said something completely wrong.

“I don’t think you do.” Childe finally looks at you and the blank expression on his face causes a sense of fear to find root in your heart. He looks at you calculatingly as if he is planning his every move and the one that follows in his head. “How can I possibly make it clear to you?”

The vision that lights up on his hip makes your entire body freeze.

“No- I believe you, I won’t go out anymore,” In your panic, all you manage to sound is desperate. Childe ignores you.

“I really just want to protect you, don’t you understand how much you mean to me?” It’s so terribly difficult for you to focus on him as his voice is overcome with heavy emotion. Almost like a flip of a switch, the thought of losing you breaks his sanity and pushes him to a dark edge. “Oh, ангел (angel), you must listen to me,”

You’ll do anything if it means you’ll never have to see him in his foul legacy form again. 

“I will, I will, I promise.” Despite all your troubles, you dryly swallow any anxious nerves down. You place your free hand over his own, slowly closing the book that Childe is reading. “жизнь  моя (my life), let’s go to bed, please.” His native language sounds heavy on your tongue and you nearly twist the muscle trying to spit the pet name out. For once, you applaud your memory and mentally thank Childe for always calling you something other than your own name. 

“Right,” Childe puts the book on the coffee table before rising to his towering height, he stands above you with a sweet smile on his face. Despite the warm expression, you nearly start to break into a sweat at the lack of feeling seen in his eyes. “I am rather tired. We can finish this in the morning.”

“Of course,” You struggle to give him a smile back and choose to instead place a kiss on the back of his knuckles. Childe greedily bathes in your affections as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his chest. 

“You know that I love you, жена (wife),” His voice now sounds uncharacteristically vulnerable, it quickly smothers over any of your fear and hostility and causes your heartstrings to twinge with adoration. “I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you.” 

Perhaps you are just as far gone off the deep end as he is because, above all else, you feel safest in his arms and sheer terror in his presence. 

“I will always protect you with my life. If I must, I will kill for you, Родна́я (dear).”

Scaramouche 

“You can’t be serious.” In all the years you’ve been married to Scaramouche, there have been multiple times when you thought him to be ridiculous. This situation is by far the most ridiculous of them all. Above everything else, the Harbinger is a drama king.

“I will not have my wife being accompanied by another man.” His anger is laughable, you’ve seen the true extent of it but, it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s glaring at you from under his too-large-of-a-hat.

“I wouldn’t have to be accompanied at all if you just let me go by myself,” Your reasoning does not get through to him.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He snaps and the bite isn’t even strong, you already expected this from him. “As if I could let you out of my sight for a minute,”

In the worst way possible, your husband is attached to you with no desire to let you go. Although he tries with his affections and will lovingly pet your hair with an awkward hand, he still stumbles over his own two feet when around you. 

“I want to visit Mondstadt for their Windblume festival, you promised me that we would go.” You’re stubborn in your ways and are unwilling to let Scaramouche forget his first and foremost obligations to you. “I am going with or without you.” 

Your husband glares at you, eyes narrowed in frustration as he clenches and unclenches his fists. All you do is stand patiently and wait for his fit to end. 

“Fine.” He grunts and quickly writes a note on his desk, you excitedly wait for him as he hands the note to one of the guards outside his door. It’s only when he closes his office door again and it’s the two of you alone inside that you run to him with open arms. 

“I’m so excited!” You gush and gush while squeezing your arms around his waist. Scaramouche pats you back as he tips his hat to cover more of his face, he quietly scoffs through your cheers. 

If he had an ounce of courage to stand up to you the way he does the other Harbingers, the way he just told Dottore to fuck off through a simple note, then perhaps the puppet would have some control in his marriage. 

Much to your delight, he does not.

“What is the point of all this?” The grumpiness that Scaramouche is exuding does not go over your head. All it takes is a simple squeeze of your hand, which is tightly held within his own, to make his grumbling melt away under the Mondstadt sun. Being tucked away in the forest, away from the cozy town and any of its people is something you’ve already become accustomed to.

Whenever you travel with your husband, the two of you can’t get too close to others because of his status as a Harbinger and everything else.

“We are supposed to strengthen our relationships!” You place your basket onto the soft green grass before pulling out a blanket with one hand. Somehow you manage to spread it out and sit before ushering your husband to do the same. “Don’t you want to improve your relationship with me?”

Scaramouche rolls his eyes.

“What is there to improve?” He turns to glare at anything but you, his hard eyes rest on the trees and then the blue sky all while you sweetly tuck his hair behind his ear. The soft action internally makes him flinch but, on the outside, all the Harbinger manages to do is blush. “You’re already perfect,” 

“Aren’t you sweet?” You tease and lean over to place a kiss on his cheek. Scaramouche pushes you away, hand resting on your shoulder before he throws the idea away and tightens his grip. The gentle smile on your face, radiating more warmth than the spring sun could ever provide him, makes the Harbinger feel a little nervous. 

You are everything to him. 

Just as he goes to kiss you, a lone dandelion flows through the air. He watches it carefully as it sneaks over your head and fades away into the distance. The entire time he is distracted, you lean over again and place a kiss on his lips. 

“Happy Windblume, my love,”

Scaramouche can’t even fight the ridiculous smile off of his face as he makes a promise about your future together. 

“We will have to do this again next year. We’ll return every year.”

[itneverendshere]

you're burning - rafe cameron (one shot!series)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader (fem!reader; criminal!reader)

word count: 1277

WARNINGS: sexual tension; asshole!rafe; enemies to coworkers??; mentions of sex; canon!rafe; two peas in a pod if you ask m; author note in the end :)

part ii

The sun dips below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the sand. The sea breeze carries the scent of salt and adventure, blending seamlessly with the whispers of secrets that echo through the narrow streets. 

In the heart of it all, Rafe Cameron prowls like a restless predator, his ocean-blue eyes glinting with mayhem.

Rafe is a force to be reckoned with – reckless, impulsive, and fueled by a thirst for danger. He thrives on chaos, his reputation preceding him like a storm warning. The heir to the Cameron family legacy, Rafe is born into privilege, but he craves more than the silver spoils of his lineage. His ambitions reach beyond the manicured lawns of the estate; they stretch into the murky depths of the Outer Banks' underbelly.

He is no good, but you aren’t better.

A tempest of a woman with a spirit as wild as the untamed waves crashing against the shore. You carry your father’s legacy with pride.

A “no-good criminal pogue”.

Some would say you embody the spirit of the Outer Banks – unpredictable, rebellious, and unapologetically untamed.

It is no wonder you and Rafe Cameron clash like waves in a storm, egos colliding with a force that leaves destruction in its wake. The town witnesses your battles – verbal and physical – as they dance on the edge of destruction, neither willing to yield.

“I’d rather eat shit.”

“That can be arranged, sweetheart,” Rafe all but grits out, jaw tense as he tries his best not to lash out, “Think about it.”

You eye him up and down. He can see the wheels in your head spinning.

“No.”

“Is this some crazy kink?” He looks at you, expectantly, “Denying me?”

His piercing blue always seems to know everything. Always demanding to be the center of your attention. You don’t know why you do this to yourself.

You really don’t.

“I’m not helping you steal the fucking gold, Cameron,” You smirk, a devilish glint in your eyes, “Not in this lifetime, or the next.”

"You have a real problem, you know that?" He growls lowly, making your stomach flip, your pulse racing at the scent of his cologne when he stands so close to you.

It’s as if your bodies, despite the antagonism, yearn to bridge the gap, only to be restrained by the walls you’ve both built around yourselves. His eyes blaze with an intensity that could scorch the very ground you focus on.

"Yeah?” Your attitude falters for mere seconds as he presses his chest against yours, his warm breath fanning on your face. For all you know, he could be seconds away from strangling you, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

Suddenly, a subtle transformation occurs. The corners of his mouth twitch, and he tilts his head ever so slightly. With an almost imperceptible move, he brings the tip of his tongue to lightly poke at his cheek. It is a spontaneous, yet deliberate gesture, as if he is physically suppressing the words that threaten to spill forth. 

“You’re a brat.”

Your gazes, though laced with disdain, hold a magnetic pull, an unspoken acknowledgment of an attraction that simmers beneath the surface.

“Oh no!” Your tone is condescending, “I guess that makes two of us.”

His smirk grows into a full-blown grin, “Only difference is I know how to keep my mouth shut in bed.” 

“And how would you know that?” You sneer as you step back, wrapping your arms around yourself to fend off from his presence.

A subtle ripple of exasperation sweeps across his features, momentarily interrupting the canvas of attractiveness. The movement is graceful, accompanied by a languid blink, as if he is momentarily seeking refuge from your conversation.

“Don’t play dumb with me.”

Your laughter, carefree and unrestrained, adds to the act, as if the memory of your shared night is nothing more than a fleeting thought, “I wouldn’t dare.”

Rafe's eyes narrow at your retort, a mix of frustration and amusement dancing in their depths. This is dangerous. You’re dangerous.

It’s hard to keep himself in check when he’s around you, but he promised Ward the gold, and right now, you’re his only hope. Even though he’s currently torn between kissing you or killing you.

“I'll give you credit,” Rafe says, a hint of admiration in his voice, “You sure know how to keep things interesting.”

Your response is a nonchalant shrug, but the sparks in your eyes tells him otherwise, “You want my help? Why don’t you beg for it? Oh, and while you’re at it, throw some of your daddy’s money in my bank account.”

Rafe's grin widens, a glint of mischief in his eyes as he steps closer. If he leans just a little more, he’d be kissing you right now.

"Beg? Sweetheart, you know I don't beg," He says, his voice low and teasing, "But I suppose I could entertain the idea for the sake of a good cause."

His words carry a dual meaning, and your eyes meet again in a silent acknowledgment of the complexities that underpin your connection. 

"As for the money," Rafe adds, "How about a deal? Help me, and once we get our hands on that gold, you'll get a cut. Fair enough?"

Your expression remains guarded, but there's a flicker of consideration in your eyes. The offer hangs in the air, a tantalizing proposal that could change the course of your adversarial dance. The sun continues its descent, casting a shadow on the sandy canvas beneath your feet, as if mirroring the intricate dance of trust and deceit between you and the heir to the Cameron legacy.

“I don’t take scraps, Rafe.”

“Who said anything about scraps?” His voice is a low purr, an alluring undercurrent that weaves its way through the tension-laden air.

Rafe's proximity becomes almost unbearable, the warmth of his breath brushing against your cheek. The scent of his cologne is intoxicating, creating a sensory whirlwind that further blurs the lines between animosity and desire.

You stand your ground, unwavering, even as his chest presses against yours, again. The physical closeness is a silent challenge, a test of your resolve in this intricate dance of power. For a moment, it feels like the world around you fades, leaving only the palpable energy that crackles between you and Rafe.

"What's the catch, Cameron?" You retort, your voice a defiant counterpoint to the magnetic pull. Your arms remain crossed, a shield against the vulnerability that threatens to break through the façade you've carefully constructed.

Rafe's grin persists, undeterred by your resistance. 

"No catch. Just a partnership of mutual benefit. You help me get the gold, and we both walk away with what we want."

His words hang in the air, a tempting proposition that dangles on the precipice of danger. 

“I don’t trust you.” You admit, your tone unwavering. 

His gaze intensifies, a glint of sincerity breaking through the façade. 

"Who gives a fuck about trust? Now…Gold, that's something you can believe in."

A pause hangs in the air, pregnant with unspoken considerations.

The sea breeze carries with it the weight of possibilities, a delicate balance between betrayal and opportunity. The threat lingers in the air like an unspoken promise, and your words, delivered with a chilling calm, cut through the silence.

"If you fuck me over, it won't end well for you," Your tone slices through the air like a razor, "I know things that you or Ward wouldn't want the world to discover. Don’t play with fire, Rafe.”

His grin widens into a triumphant smile, "Where’s the fun in that?”

━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━ ━

after 737218 years…im back😭 let me know if you like this little blurb🫣 i might write more, i was itching to write something with rafe and a pogue reader but also a justascrazyashim! reader.

not sure when i’ll update my rafe one shot fanfiction😳 im kinda stuck in the plot but im sure something will come up soon! anyway thank you for reading and for still hanging around my page and liking my work. even though im not really posting anything at the moment, i just like to check in and also read other people’s work.

byee!

[dimepdf]

★  𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄. + 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. the lovely feelings Gojo would experience knowing just how vulnerable he was to your roughness.

✧. ┊    notes. everyone thank @ouchthathurts for getting me back on my writing grind, lord knows I need to start posting fics again. | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

✧. ┊    genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | drabble | slight sub!gojo | hair pulling | strength kink | established relationship | body worship | oral sex(f receiving) | cunnilingus | pussy eating | fingering | overstimulation | multiple orgasms | pain kink(?) | title Inso by this song.

IT WASN'T SHOCKING that everyone thought that Gojo was significantly stronger than he had ever shown anyone.

It was also just the fact that he never really felt the need to flaunt the mass extreme of his abilities in front of others out of the pure amount of boredom he would feel being all serious and how tiresome he would feel wasting his time fighting all the damn time, surprisingly, including over performing in front of you as well.

Because of this, it was only logical to assume from an outside perspective that he was the "strong" one in your relationship. Even if the blue-eyed man did not have an unfair advantage over you with his supernatural abilities, he would still be the one to carry the weight of having the most powerful legacy within his bored, lengthy fingertips from his hidden lean build.

Gojo frequently outshone you in strength, and that was just a result of your extreme inability to even remotely compare to the godlike level of power he possessed. However, as the saying goes, behind every strong man is an even stronger woman.

Gojo can recall the number of times your influence has caused him to feel genuine fear, even though you weren't unable to destroy demons with the snap of a finger, and that you have not shed a few tears after stubbing your toe on something.

Despite all of this, Gojo would openly admit that you were the only living thing to ever manage to strike genuine fear into his heart, as well as the only living being to actually harm him in any way.

There were times when you weren't even aware of your strength. Gojo would still wince when you would find something just too funny to the point where your body would react on its own, playfully slapping him on the shoulder or whacking the front of his chest, too caught up in your fit of giggles to see that you would manage to catch him off guard enough to knock some air out of the poor man's lungs.

So sure, Gojo had his powers, but you were strong in your way. And the mere idea of it would be enough to get your boyfriend worked up all by itself.

When you're with Gojo, you don't even bother to hold back, and he admits that he adores that about you a little too much on his part.

His silvery white hair was caught between each of your knuckles, Your nails not letting up from their death grip, and your fist balled up at the front of his scalp as his mouth parted, leaving wet kisses between your inner thighs to let out a needy vocal reaction from the tug you had at his scalp.

The raw, intimate feeling of Gojo’s mouth teasing at your sensitive clit made it impossible for your hips not to jerk against your soft duvet bedding, even despite his locked-in hold around the bones of your hips. the small indents of his fingers already leaving small marks that you both knew would mix with the warming brown of your skin into a bruising color later.

Even with his hands holding you in place, your hips somehow still managed to buck against his hold so easily, the newfound strength building from the promise of your third orgasm of the night fighting against the man with impossible ease.  

You don't even realize that your hips are rolling involuntarily to the clouded thoughts littering your thoughts as you eagerly press Gojo's face closer between your legs, a low moan of impatience escaping from your throat, wanting him to do nothing more than settle the building orgasm that rudely threatened the proper wire of all your nerves.

Without embarrassment, his long finger's piston inside of you knuckle-deep, pairing almost too perfectly with the warmth of his tongue. The lewd, wet sounds reverberate through your shared master bedroom, making your body flush with a sweating sense of heat.

He made you feel so good that it almost started to hurt. Convinced at the thought of your bones having melted into some type of putty in Gojo's grip, and yet the sight of him lying on his stomach between your parted legs, with one knee bent lazily over his shoulder—the muscle tremor was barely noticeable if it weren't for the twitch of your toes, with the other one folded up—could barely be made through the tears that clung to your lashes.

Your breath was almost heaving at the piercing blue eye contact you had gotten back, and the flutter of his long white lashes almost tickled you as they brushed against the plush of your inner thighs. You could tell he was smiling with the telltale crinkle at the corners of his eyes when he would squint, despite his mouth being all too preoccupied with eating your pussy.

As he coaxed another orgasm from your poor, trembling body, you felt as if he was holding you captive. The whimpering release tensed you farther into your euphoria, having you lean your head back against your pile of pillows.

Your fist clenches tighter into Gojo’s locks at the slight slapping noise of your thighs squeezing together with Gojo’s face smothered and caged between the thick of them.

It takes a few moments along with a few breaths for you to come down from your climax, your legs unsensing and shifting quickly to something comparable to jelly as Gojo frees himself from your plush prison, wanting to laugh at whoever would consider you weak with a deep sigh accompanied by an all too happy famous beaming smirk.

🔖 @souljagrldotcom / @toji-dabi-wife / @dilfs-lover / @venussakura / @mimixrx2 / @unheolybakugo / @dunixxd / @songbirdgardensworld / @s-witch-bitch / @chloee0x0 / @kawatabae / @haitaniwhor3 / @pluzo / @momoewn / @angel-luv-04 / @laylasbunbunny / @celi-xxmoon / @sheluvzeren / @kogoshidied / @sacvh / @disaster-rose / @zombieghoulfriend / @hoohoohope / @thisbicc / @jadeisthirsting / @zuuki / @rumi-rants / @kiyomeichann / @anotherlovelyruin / @lone-poltergeist / @wenumsmol / @namidaass / @justanotherkpopstanlol / @awkwardaardvarkforever / @lexiinanime / @melty-kisses / @kageyama-i-want-tobiors / @crissteetee / @princesstiti14 / @watyousayin / @ziggy-09 / @carcarmeowmeow19 / @p-rizz-ha / @lilvampirina / @atsumubabe / @lialia3945 / / @innocxntdexth / @simpforsat0ru / @inumakiiz /

tap here to be added to taglist.

[whaledenwtf]

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Halsin’s thighs, if it strikes your fancy could you please write some thigh riding please 🙏

OH MY GOD YES YES YES YES. Ahem. Yes I will. I will make the reader thick cause obviously Halsin would like curvier women (this isnt headcannon this is just obvious.. he's a bear for gods sake)

Edit (12/10/2023): the fact I didnt realize I left WIP in the content warnings 😭 now I gotta triple check everything I've written the last couple months

HALSIN x THICK!READER - Riding the Bear

Warnings: Thigh Riding, Light Bondage, afb!reader and Male Smut, Praise Kink, Body Worship (Female Receiving)

Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist: LINK

It was torturous, being fully naked with Halsin and him insisting not to touch you where you needed him to.

"Halsin, please." You plead with him. He chuckles and shakes his head, braids swaying.

"My heart, you must know that I have to learn restraint. This is a good way to do it." You grumble, hands straining against the soft linen cloths Halsin had tied around your wrists.

"Maybe your restraint, but mine is perfectly fine. Let me touch you dammit!" He smirks at your plight, watching you try and fail miserably to loosen your ties. You're straddling one of his thick thighs, and all your movement is making you rub against the muscles. You moan, looking at him defiantly.

"You can still take your pleasure from me, little one." You're whimpering. This is awful. How can you take your pleasure from his bountiful body when your hands are tied! You look down, seeing his heavy cock leaning against his stomach, precum pooling in the dips of his muscles.

"Let me please you Halsin-" You go to get up off his thigh, but his hands latch to your thick waist, seating you back down. The movement made your breasts bounce and he groans, eyes turning amber for a moment.

"Ride my thigh, little one." It comes off as a soft request, but you knew it was a demand. Halsin is always excited when he feels your weight on his body. You thought you were always heavy, squashing him. He would always remind you "Nature is bountiful, and so are you. There is much more of you to love, to taste... to devour." before he'd sit you on his face and eat you out for hours. The thought of those nights warmed you up again, and without thinking you grind down on his thigh. You moan at the action, the friction causing delicious waves of pleasure. You begin a soft pace, grinding up and down on his thigh. You are panting, and one of his hands goes to your waist, to speed up your actions. The other trails to his cock, stroking it in pace with your movements.

His hazel eyes are locked on your face, watching the small twitches of pleasure show themselves in your features. His eyes trail down your body, watching how your breasts bounce with the movement, nipples peaked and begging for attention. They stray further down to your stomach, round but flattering. He can't help but imagine you full of his seed and carrying his legacy. He moans out, eyes fluttering shut. You continue your pace, your slick leaving you and allowing the movements to be easier. Your clit keeps bumping into the muscles of his thigh, and you keen, quickening your speed. When he opens his eyes, he looks down at his thigh, slick and wet from your ministrations. His eyes snap back up to yours, before he pushes you forward into a passionate kiss.

Your pace quickens again, as you get so close to the precipice, but can't leap over it. You whimper in his mouth. The hand on your hip goes down where you are grinding yourself against him and rubs quick but small circles over your clit. You scream into his mouth, a rush of slick leaking out of you and on his thigh. He groans, cumming onto his stomach. You release each other's lips, whimpering. Your body still quakes, jolting every couple seconds from the intensity of your orgasm. You look down at his thigh and whimper; its drenched, you definitely squirted on him. He growls, before running his hand through your slick and tasting it.

"Like honey... little one I need to devour you." He lies himself down fully, pulling you to sit on his face.

You will not be sleeping tonight.

[bigbadbatch]

The Tortured Padawan Department

I am starting a mini-one shot series where I mix Taylor Swift's TTPD with my favorite Star Wars Boys. Each one shot has an essential listening song (be on the look out for quotes and themes!) Rex and Hunter are heavy focused for first two, with a surprise guest in the third fic!

First up: Guilty as Sin?

Word Count: 1.5k

A Captain Rex x Fem!reader fic

Attachment is forbidden for a Jedi, but what if it's a sin worth committing ?

You woke up drenched in sweat, panting. The temple was quiet, and your small bedroom deafeningly silent. Your heart pounded, and you worried it could be heard through the thin walls around you. That dream. Again. This was the seventh occasion you had such a dream. It always started decent enough. Then it became anything but decent. Your skin prickled remembering- the smell of him in the dream, the feel of his rough hands on your arms, your back, your…

 “Rex.” You cursed under your breath. You needed to walk this off. Getting quickly dressed, you stepped out into the empty hall of the Jedi Temple. It was his fault, really. All the flirtations on the field, the way he always dared to joke with you. His smile, his laugh. You shook your head and left the temple, walking towards the bright city lights, and the bars you knew awaited. This is what you always did after one of those dreams. Go for a drink, a fling, anything to help you clear your head, get your fix. Sex wasn’t forbidden for a Jedi, if anything it could be encouraged to blow off steam after a battle. But attachment. There was the trick of it. Attachment was strictly against the code. To get attached, to love, was to eventually lose. Grief, jealousy, fear- these all lead to the Dark Side. Still, it came so naturally. Especially with him. Rex had taken you under his wing when you were transferred to the 501st. You had been hesitant, still hurting from the loss of your Master and the 271st, all lost in the Battle of Rankill, you the sole survivior.

Those were the first recurring dreams you had, nightmares of reliving the loss over and over. Your Master running, trying desperately to save his men, you, and the man he loved. It was no secret that Commander Dax and your Master were involved. If anything it was part of the reason you felt so strongly about attachment. Your Master’s love is what got him killed, and neither he, his lover, nor his men were left to show for it. Only you, a new stray picked up by Master Kenobi, were left standing to carry your Master’s legacy.

What would he think of me? You ponder as you enter the bar, neon lights, music and chatter streaming from the open door. You had barely taken a seat when you heard your name being called. An all too familiar form strode to you, smiling.

“Fancy seeing you here. Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Rex saddled up next to you, as if that seat was meant for him. The grinning, handsome clone put his arm around you, jostling your shoulder, friendly.

“Aren’t you typically at 79’s?” You ask incredulously. How could he be here, of all places? Of all people, him, here, now?

“Wanted a change of scenery, and I must admit I like the view.” He growls, and you scowled and shoved his arm off of you.

“Well, I wanted a drink. Buy me one?” You said, smirking. 

He somehow smiled even wider than before. “Sure thing cyare, be right back.” 

Shit, shit, shit. Your skin was so warm where he had touched you, and his casual flirting set your heart fluttering. You knew you should leave, before he gets back. You’re too pent up, too enamored by him to deal with this rationally. A broad body slid back in next to you.

“You looked like you could use something a bit strong. You alright tonight, mesh’la?”

You knew what the Mandalorian words meant, and knew he meant them in good fun. He must. In one stroke you downed the whole drink, it burning as it went down.

“Well shit.” He said. “What’s going on?”

You shake your head. He was too close to you. You could smell his leathery, smoky scent, and it filled you up. Your stomach was fluttering, flashes of the dream popping into your mind. He wasn’t supposed to be here. You needed a distraction. 

“Let’s dance.”

Even you are surprised by the words that come out of your mouth. Rex’s eyebrows shot up.

“Alright. We can dance.”

He stood and gestured for you to lead the way. 

The dancefloor was crowded, and the music thumping. It rattled your bones, the fast beat just what you needed. You closed your eyes and let the movement come to you. You couldn't see Rex, but you could still feel him near, his body swaying in time with yours.  You gave yourself over to the music. It was almost like a form of meditation, getting you in tune with yourself once again.

Warm hands brushed your hips. Eyes still closed, mind still consumed by the drink and the music, you leaned in. The hands grasped you strongly, swinging your hips back and forth with the music, your body rolling. You felt alive. Everything forgotten, your past, your present, your dreams, the only thing that mattered was this moment. He pulled you close, chest to chest, with no room between you. Your hips circled, and his ground, and you couldn't help it, your lips parted and you exhaled. His head bent, and lips brushed the side of your neck. You twined your arms around him, pulling him closer, the two of you spinning in a slow circle, at odds with the quick rhythm of the music. A hand slipped up to your neck, then to your face. The large, rugged hand cupped your face and you leaned into it. You could feel warm breath on your lips, and without thinking moved to meet his. 

Fireworks exploded. Warmth flooded your body as you gave in to the kiss. Then you opened your eyes. No. Rex gazed back at you, stars in his eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.” he said. 

Fear seized you. You tensed, and he immediately noticed. He took his hands off of you as you backed away. No. No. No. No. You shook your head, nearly trembling, and bolted for the door. “Wait!” He called after you, but you were gone into the night. 

You ran, legs pumping, heart racing down the streets. You ran past 79’s, past the temple, until you couldn’t run anymore. You ducked into an alley, gasping for breath. Anger, fear, guilt, all of these emotions flooded you. You punched the stone wall in front of you and nearly screamed in exasperation. Your bones felt like they were breaking inside your skin, your head pounded with bad thoughts. You were bad. You were wrong. You had been having these dreams, you clearly wanted what you knew you couldn’t and shouldn’t have. You led him on. You were guilty of attachment, guilty for your feelings. Guilty for falling in love with Rex. Tears sprang to your eyes.

You thought about him day in and out. You worried about him in battle, on the field. You touched yourself to thoughts of him. You'd already been with him a thousand times in your mind. You pretended your one-night stands were him. You nearly sobbed at the revelation. You did love him. You loved him.

“Cyare!” A shout and the pounding of feet towards you roused you. You hurriedly wiped your eyes in an attempt to hide your shame, but he saw.

“Cyare please, are you okay? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I went too far.” Rex grabbed your hands and pulled them from your hiding face, wiping tears from your eyes as he did. You can’t help it. You laugh. You laugh at the absurdity of this.

“No, I’m sorry.” You said, and with your back to the wall you slid down onto the cold ground, head in your hands. Without hesitation, he sat beside you, silently giving you a moment to compose your thoughts. 

“Rex”. You say, his name sickly sweet on your tongue. “We can’t do this.” Fresh tears cascaded down your face, and he quickly brushed them away for you. He was quiet, then said. “I overstepped. I thought you felt the same way, I thought we wanted the same thing. I shouldn’t have.”

You cut him off saying “I do.”

Silence.

“I don’t understand.” He said as he took your hand.

So you tell him everything. How guilty you felt, how your Master lost his life for his lover, how a good Jedi doesn’t love, and most of all how your heart was hurting.

“I love you, Rex. I shouldn’t, but I love you.” He squeezed your hand, hard and tears welled in his eyes too. “I love you too mesh’la. And I am so sorry you feel guilty, but please know, I would never want to put you in a position where you feel like this. I’m giving you full control from here on. You dictate what we are, what we do. Lovers? I’d love that. Friends? That’s fine too. If sex is what you need, I’ll gladly volunteer. I want you to be happy, and I will do anything for that. So you tell me, what do you want?”

You take a deep breath. Everything feels so much more clear with him here, now, after everything. 

“You. I want you.”

And as you kissed in that alleyway, and later gave yourself to each other completely, you felt a peace you had never known.

[hyperfixated-fan]

I have some semi-coherent thoughts now. I want to specifically analyze that final scene and why that in particular had me bursting into tears. (I still can’t watch it without tearing up.) I use the term “analyze” loosely and really mean stick around and listen to me emotionally ramble.

FIRST of all, they hit us with grown up Omega, which automatically hits you in the feels because this is the naive, bright-eyed child we’ve watched be amazed by dirt now getting ready to head off and fight in the Rebellion.

Then, they hit us with her exchange with old man Hunter. We got that bittersweet ending in the best way possible.

This is the payoff. The Bad Batch has raised her well. She has grown up into the type of person who sees the injustices in the galaxy and wants to do something about it. It’s time for her to take up a cause and fight.

Hunter’s response. “And we want to keep you safe.”

Omega: “You have. But I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Hunter: “You’re our kid, Omega. You always will be.”

Admittedly, this exchange here hit me deep on a personal level as someone who’s going to be moving out very soon. It’s time to grow up and I want to do this to step into who I am meant to be. But I also know in my parent’s eyes, I’ll always be there little child. And that both warms and breaks my heart just as it does theirs.

My personal life aside, from a storyline perspective, it is adorable how Omega reassures Hunter that they have kept her safe. I mean, just look at her! Look at the bright young person you’ve managed to raise, Hunter. The father genes are strong in this one.

Omega tells him: “Hunter, you’ve all fought enough.”

This in it of itself is heartbreaking. The clones have all fought enough for a Republic that ultimately failed and discarded them. Clone Force 99 was fortunate to end up fighting for something worthwhile. For them, they fought for family and they ultimately won. And now, it is Hunter’s turn to lay down his arms to let the next generation take up the fight. And that stings because while he managed to eventually raise Omega in peace, he cannot fully shield her from having to bear the burden of war.

Honestly, I often think of Thrawn’s lines when talking to Hera and I think it’s applicable to Omega as well. “War is in your blood… You were forged by it.”

Here is Omega telling Hunter that it’s her fight. As a clone, it’s in her blood, in her genes, to fight. As a child raised on the tail end of the Clone Wars, it is her fight because she inherited it. As a person, it is her fight because she’s not one to stand aside while others are oppressed. Once again, a sign of how well-raised she is.

Hunter acknowledges Omega’s readiness, “I know you are… but I’m not.”

Oof. His admittance is a double edged sword. He knows she’s ready, he helped train her himself after all. It’s obvious he is so proud of her, but he doesn’t feel ready to let her go. Listening to his perspective really makes me tear up because it really gives insight on how my parents are handling my move. They don’t necessarily want to say goodbye but they are willing because they know I can accomplish what I set out to do.

THE HUG.

Yeah, I’m drowning in a sea of tears. This is so wholesome!

Before Omega boards her ship, Hunter is sure to tell her, “If you ever need us,

Omega need only say the word and you best believe her brothers are crossing the entire galaxy more than five times to be at her side.

And yeah, that makes me cry all the harder because I know my family will do the same.

And the goggles scene was such another bittersweet punch in the gut.

She’s definitely older than Tech was when he died, but the life she got to live on Pabu and what she’s going to do in the future is exactly why he sacrificed himself. She can live and live well. She’s forever going to be carrying a piece of him with her and carry on his legacy by utilizing the knowledge that he bestowed upon her. I’m definitely sobbing even harder. Tech girlies, I think denial is no longer an option.

Omega takes off in her ship and her theme swells in the background and it a scene of pure art and emotion. Batcher whines as she departs and I am so sad that Omega didn’t get to take Batcher with her because it parallels how I have to leave my fur babies behind!

The Bad Batch has showed us how change greatly affected everyone’s lives and how they learned to adapt to such changes. Yet, there was the constant that no matter what happened, family is still family and you can find a way to carry on to a brighter future.

Hunter’s final lines really get me, “It’s all right, girl. She’ll be fine.”

To me, I can almost take it as a message for myself. As the Bad Batch draws to a close and Omega steps into a new chapter, so must I. It’s rather daunting, but you know what, I’m gonna be fine and I’m gonna make it.

Whatever you are going through, just know you’re going to be fine as well.