#i hope his family and loved ones are doing better & at their own pace. i hope they're resting and getting the support they need | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

merbear25 · 5 months ago

Note

Hey!! How is your day going? I have a request, could you do Katakuri, Crocodile, and Mihawk with a Fem S/O with a breeding kink :)

Hello! My day has been fabulous now that I was able to write such a great request. I don’t know what happened but these came out much longer than anticipated. I hope you like what I’ve written for you and wish you a wonderful day/night. 💜💜

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, breeding kink, creampie, established relationship

Their s/o having a breeding kink (Katakuri, Crocodile, Mihawk)

Katakuri: He was very much questioning why you would want to risk bringing a child into his family. With such uncertainty of what could come, the potential dangers that came with being tied to his mother made him hesitant to bring a child into that.

Oh but how he adored you; there were times he caught himself lost in thought—an image of you holding his child with such affection, looking at them with nothing but fondness was painted in his imagination. Listening to you share the vision of the family you saw with him unearthed something that had remained dormant for many years: a loving family of his own.

Despite his reluctance to make such fantasies a reality, your sweet pleas and gentle touches only continued to bring such a suppressed want further into the light. You were far too perfect for this world—too perfect for him. And yet, he found himself entertaining this idea more and more often.

It wasn’t as simple as you made it out to be, but perhaps you were already aware of that. He wasn’t one to throw caution to the wind and willingly surrender himself to wicked whims. If there was a chance that he’d impregnate you, there needed to be a plan set in place. At least that way, he would be able to fill you as much as either of you wanted.

As you curled up closer to him in bed, he instinctively wrapped you up in his arms. The mutual yearning to feel both physically and emotionally connected never subsided, and in fact was heightened when you laid together—your warm bodies finding solace in each other. The temptation to have such an innocent display of affection turn into something more was an option which was never off of the table.

When the two of you were alone, the rest of the world was of no importance. Such moments with you deserved to be cherished: savoring the way your skin felt under his hands, the way you whimpered when he gripped the fat on your hips, and the soft huffs you made as he caressed you.

You would look exquisite with a round belly; the thought crept up on him. But despite how sudden such a thought was, his fingers kneaded your soft skin and lingered on the fattier parts. He couldn’t stop himself from imagining how perfect your body was to carry a child—his child.

He slipped his hand between your thighs, teasing you as his long fingers glided against your clit.

Leaning in closely, his voice was barely above a whisper, “You want to have a baby with me?” A question that bore part of his worries that you’d change your mind.

The vulnerability he had couldn’t be missed. “I’d love nothing more.” You let your heart guide you in that moment, allowing the sincerity in your words to console any doubts.

His lips twitched for a moment, hinting at how deeply your words touched him. Swiftly, he leaned in to capture your lips all while sliding his fingers into you. Even after the many times you gave yourself to him, preparation was always a necessity.

Your slick arousal coated his fingers, which made you appear even more delectable—ripe for his seed.

“Come here,” he breathed, pulling you into a better position.

Aligning his tip with your entrance, he eased his way in to give your body time to adjust. With your walls accommodating his size, spasming from his girth stretching you, they were eager to have him coat them.

“Just like that,” you mused as he picked up the pace. Your hands gripped at his arms tightly to brace yourself for the increasing collision.

Raw emotions entwining with lustful urges created a symphony of shared euphoria. Your soft, sweet moans transforming into feral grunts were making it difficult not to let go right there and then. However, that need to watch the ecstasy washing over your trembling form kept him from entirely losing control.

“Want a baby?”

“Yes!”

“Want me to cum in you again and again till I knock you up?”

“Yes, oh fuck, yes!” You cried as his thrusts became more ruthless.

Witnessing that euphoric peak wrecking you, your climax covering his cock: it was more than he could bear. With a final thrust, he released deep within your womb—beads of it spilling out of you from the intense brunt.

Holding you there for a moment longer, the both of you basked in the afterglow of your shared passion. With the high subsiding, your tenderness peaked through again.

“You’re going to make such a great father.”

He cuddled you closer and cradled you in his arms, his touch never straying from affectionate. He pressed his lips to the top of your head and lazily stroked your side with his thumb.

“Our child deserves nothing less.”

Crocodile: He’d never put much thought into having a family. That didn’t mean that he was ruling it out entirely but given his line of work, it was far from the ideal environment to raise children. In spite of this, he couldn’t deny the fantasies of you filled to the brim with his cum. If that led to a pregnancy, then so be it.

Being one to hold back on diving head first into fantasies and choosing to weigh the pros and cons of any and every situation, he still had needs. He still had wants, and if there was going to be anyone suited to bear his children, it was you.

Coming to him in your vulnerable state and opening up to him about these fantasies you had only piqued his own. He mulled over how prepared the both of you would be to potentially bring a child into the relationship and decided that whatever happened would be taken care of.

You were, afterall, the one he cherished above all others. Giving into you sweet desires of starting a family with him would be an adventure he wasn’t opposed to.

With the hours he worked, however, it put a pin in the whole thing. He didn’t like it any more than you did, but there wasn’t any chance that he’d cut corners or take extra time off—your escapades would just need to be put on hold for the time being.

Being cooped up in his office all day, the moon holding high in the sky was the only indication for him that perhaps he’d been too absorbed in business. When the door creaked open, he assumed it was one of his employees.

“It’s too late to bother me with anything trivial, you know,” he warned.

When you slipped past the mahogany door, he leaned back and smirked at your attire: a form fitted nightgown with silk fabric that complimented each and every curve which graced your body.

Leaving the doorway, you slowly made your way over to him. Your tired expression was feigned as you asked when he was planning to join you in bed.

Moving back from his desk, he patted his lap. While you made yourself comfortable, he placed his hand on your inner thigh..

“Are you really so needy that you can’t go to bed without me?” he teased.

You let out a deep sigh, playing with the buttons on his vest. “I can’t help it if I sleep better when you’re lying next to me.”

You were such a little minx, weren’t you? Well, if you were so desperate for his attention, he was more than happy to give it to you.

His heart was pounding as he pressed his lips against yours. When you parted yours slightly, he greedily swirled his tongue against yours, which earned him a lust soaked moan.

You parted your legs, allowing him easier access to which he gladly took advantage of. The cool gold of his rings trailing up your thigh sent shivers down your spine. Your breath hitched when his fingers found their way to your folds.

He growled into your kiss. “Not even wearing panties? Such a naughty little thing.”

His teeth grazed your neck, causing your breaths to shake. Having made you wait for as long as he had, your poor needs not being met, he shoved a finger into your weeping pussy and pressed the pad of his thumb against your clit—rubbing it relentlessly.

As you quaked and panted on his lap, his gaze grew darker. With the soft hue of the fireplace and the moonlight peaking through the window, them highlighting your features made him hungrier for you.

The rush of his fingers making you squirm when there were papers of questionable deeds scattered on his desk only made you wilder with lust.

You pawed at his dress-pants, unbuttoning them so you could feel how much he wanted you. After just a few strokes he commanded you to sit on it, which you gladly obeyed.

The girth of his full erection made you cry out. The sudden twinges as your body adjusted caused your back to arch, taking him more easily. With your movements steady and slow, a firm slap on your ass was your incentive to pick up the pace.

Your bounces plunged him deeper and deeper into you, leaving you a trembling mess. Each gasp you made, each plea for him to cum in you and give you the family you so desperately wanted was like music to his ears.

“Don’t worry, dear,” his tone husky from his own release building. “You’ll have your baby. I’ll make sure of it.”

He gripped your hip and took control, thrusting into you with abandon. You collapsed on him, clinging to him for dear life as the sounds of his cock slapping against your wet cunt echoed in the room. When coupled with your sobs of ecstasy, both of your climaxes were just within reach.

With his final thrust sending you over the edge, his own release followed suit. As he pumped each drop into you, the soft gasps passing your lips never failed to add to your allure.

“Now, then,” he said breathlessly. “Will you please go off to bed, so I can finish up here?”

With a firm kiss planted on your temple, you knew you wouldn’t have to wait long for him to join you for the night.

Mihawk: He had entertained the thought of having a child and raising a family before but due to his reputation, it wasn’t exactly a safe environment for them to grow up in. Having a family would mean making them a larger target for enemies, as well—something that he wouldn’t want to burden them with much less himself.

However, when you and him were relaxing under the shade one warm summer’s day, you thought it was the perfect moment to share your wants to start a family with him. Hearing you explain it the way you did, watching your features growing darker to create a faint pull of seduction was eye-opening.

Coming to the realization that you saw this as a kink was, quite frankly, off-putting. Yet, you assured him that you truly did want to have a child with him. Holding his hand in yours, the sincerity wrapping your words was enough to convince him—plus, the image of your little one pitter pattering down the hall was one he wanted to make a reality.

He did his best to set time aside for you, but it wasn’t always something he could promise. With your schedules keeping the both of you in dry spells, some improvisation became more and more appealing to him.

When you were wiping down the counters in the kitchen, the way your hair framed your face and the concentrated expression you were wearing made you that much more beautiful. Seeing you were starting to move on to the dishes, he took you by the hand and pulled you into an embrace.

“Why don’t you let me take care of those later?”

His suave delivery got you nodding slowly. As he swayed you back and forth, brushing your hips together, there was no denying the spark that had been ignited.

With the pools of desire deepening in your eyes, he brought your hand to his lips. Maintaining eye contact as he traced your delicate fingers with light kisses, he kept track of each subtlety that graced your perfect face.

Lacing his fingers with yours, his other hand cupped the small of your back. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. “You look absolutely ravishing today, my love.”

His hand traveled lower down your back, taking a handful of your backside while pulling you into a searing kiss. As the kiss deepened, your control was quick to wane. With such adoration being passed to each other through parted lips and bated breath, the temptation to take you was all too inviting not to succumb to.

Never breaking your kiss, both of his hands slid up your dress. His fingers gripped the soft skin you kept hidden under the cotton fabric. Slipping his fingers under the waistband of your panties, his hands roamed under your underwear’s surface. Each graze across your ass pulled you deeper into your desires, his teasing touch making your core ache for more.

Pulling away from the kiss, he kept his gaze on yours. As he reached around, pressing you firmly against him, the trembling of your legs was the response he’d been craving.

“It would seem I kept you waiting for too long,” he whispered while soaking his fingers in your throbbing pussy. “My apologies, love.”

As you shook and quaked on his fingers, he lathered your sensitive neck with nips and kisses.

“Dracule,” you breathed. “Make me a mom…wanna have your baby so badly.” Your love-soaked sobs of devotion struck straight through to his core.

He placed one more fiery kiss before promptly bending you over the island counter. You eagerly tugged your dress up, presenting the arousal pooling in the fabric.

Wanting to soak in devine display, he planted his hands on your cheeks, gripping them tightly, kneading and shaking them. With one swift motion, he ripped your underwear down to your knees. A trail of your wetness snapped up from it, causing him to revel at the state you were in.

Gripping his cock, he teased your opening to further hear your sweet whimpers before plunging between your sopping lips. Your body readily accepted him, already desperate for more.

His movements started off steady and deliberate with a clear aim in mind. As he picked up the pace, the sensation of you gripping around him was proving to be a test of his self-control.

“You’re going to make such a beautiful mother.” His words wrapped around you, leaving you breathless.

The harder he slammed into you, the more the chilled countertops adapted to your shared warmth—an offer of a temporary haven to conceive the child you both so desperately wanted.

Your whimpers grew into groans dripping with euphoria, echoing throughout the castle’s kitchen. Clawing at the surface, digging your fingers into it: you could feel yourself teetering on the edge. You gasped and cursed as he hit that sweet spot at just the right moment.

Feeling you clamp around him, pulsating from the velocity of your sudden undoing shattered any remainder of control he thought he still had.

Spilling every ounce of himself into you, the image of the family you were both trying for lingered in your minds. His hands caressed your shaky form, providing a balm for the high you’d just shared.

You eased yourself off of the now warmed counter and pulled him into a kiss which spoke to your unwavering devotion to him.

“Let’s not leave such a long gap next time,” you cupped his face, and he was inclined to agree with you.

823 notes · View notes

leclsrc · 2 years ago

Text

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

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

word count: 10.5k

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

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

“Portugal is not boring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

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

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

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

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

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

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

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

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

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

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

“Try fourteen,” you argue.

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

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

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

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

“I am not a big reader. You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

He squints. “Beer?”

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

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brat,” he responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feel good?

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m cumming—!

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

“I said fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if your dad walked in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look pretty.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

6K notes · View notes

sfznyxio · 2 months ago

Text

-ˋˏ REQUIESCAT IN PACE ˎˊ

SYNOPSIS. the dead deserve their happy endings.

CHARACTERS. dainsleif, tartaglia, zhongli

CONTENT. gn!reader. afterlife au. angst. 1.8k wc. rewrite of requiescat in pace at my old main blog @/verxsyon. everyone dies and ascends to a higher plane of existence. fan interpretation of snezhnaya and celestia arc. allusions to war, so expect blood and death. tartaglia and reader adopted children together in the afterlife. dainsleif killed reader from the curse. reader is killed by their spouse (zhongli). petnames (my dear, darling - zhongli).

VERA. it’s been three years since this fic was posted. crazy how time flies. i remember crying when i wrote this. hopefully i’ll make you all suffer as well hahaha.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. DAINSLEIF

five hundred years ago is when dainsleif committed the gravest mistake of his life. he was the twilight sword, a royal guard sworn to protect the people and the royalties of khaenri’ah. his people placed their trust in him to stop the destruction of the nation, only to watch them turn into monsters from the curse laid upon them.

the castle he enters with the traveler and paimon holds many memories he wishes to forget. it was occupied by the eclipse dynasty, the ruler of khaenri’ah before its destruction. he was well acquainted with the heir at the time: you, and soon fell in love. he passes by your room, where he killed you to stop your transformation. realizing what he had done, he left for them to suffer.

“dainsleif,” the abyss herald sneers. dainsleif is so used to that tone of voice. him and the rest of the abyss, especially its leader, have the right to resent him. the traveler and paimon are not here to back him up as they are looking for the twin, so he must atone his own sins himself.

“do whatever you need to do,” dainsleif says, starry voids emitting from his palms. “i don’t intend to hold back.”

the curse of immortality. how sickening. for five hundred years, he has wandered aimlessly for information about his nation. regardless of the amount he has gathered, he wants to end his journey here. he trusts the traveling duo to answer the rest for him.

is death supposed to be this painful? well-deserved for a coward like him. he can sense the satisfaction from the herald destroying him inside his body with hydro. the abyss now has one less problem to deal with. dainsleif can feel himself slipping away, departing the world still a sinner.

“sir dainsleif. their highness requests your presence.” he is at the castle, decorated with life instead of the dust and cracks when he first arrived. the guard with him possesses no signs of abyssal features. everyone here doesn’t.

behind the double doors is you admiring the plants on the balcony. he gapes at your appearance: the heir of the eclipse dynasty, beautiful and regal as ever. you thank the guard for bringing him over, and they take their leave. this can’t be real.

“my dear dainsleif.” he loses his composure, rushing over to you to pull you into his embrace. your eyes soften upon feeling his sobs on your neck. “my love? are you alright?”

he sniffs, tightening his grip. your touch, your voice, your love for him, he misses them all. “forgive me, your highness. let’s stay like this for a while.”

“i told you to drop the formalities when we’re alone. we’re lovers, aren’t we?” you chuckle, your fingers finding purchase in his blonde locks. oh, how he misses that feeling. “and what are you saying sorry for? we’re all human here. if that makes you feel better, we can stay like this as long as you like.”

dainsleif lifts his head to kiss your knuckles and then presses his lips on yours. he does not know what brought him here, but he is truly grateful. whatever this realm is called, as long as you’re by his side, he will always be forgiven.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. TARTAGLIA

tartaglia is naive about the future. the desire to protect it influences his decision to serve the tsaritsa. with the mora he earned as a harbinger, he hopes to buy his family a house and send teucer to school. when the war is over, he plans to settle with you and live in a cabin where the two of you ice fish with your children.

if only it was that easy. his family is suffering from financial hardships, and the mora he sends is their savior. as for you, you severed ties with him a long time ago because of moral differences. in fact, you lead the faction that opposes the cryo archon and the fatui as your act of revenge for your family.

the palace is in shambles. the traveler and paimon escort the tsaritsa out of the throne room to allow you and tartaglia to compromise. your mind is not easily swayed as expected, given that you spent most of your life waiting to kill. your fate has been decided, when bloodlust overtook him and made him pierce his weapon through your stomach.

“no!” he cradles your body into his arms. his grief causes his delusion to spiral out of control, bringing the palace to destruction. the traveler and paimon rush back inside the room, yelling at the harbinger to get out of there. but he chooses to stay.

“traveler, can you please do me a favor?” they look at him in shock when he places the tip of their on his chest. “put me out of my misery before i lose control. i want to see my friend again. and when you see my family, tell them i’m sorry for everything.”

swift and painless, exactly how he wants death to feel like. the boulders come crashing down upon you and him, and he blacks out. he wonders if the tsaritsa and the traveler will succeed in preventing the second cataclysm. he wonders how his family will handle the news. teucer will be affected the most, feeling betrayed by his big brother lying that he’ll come home soon.

he wonders about you. if you two ever come to a mutual understanding, will the future be any different?

“papa!” a voice of a child calls, waking him up to a scenery full of snow. he spots a cabin in the distance, where a little girl is waving at him with a proud grin. she runs up to him with a bucket in tow, tripping on lumps of ice along the way.

“papa, look! i caught some fish!” she exclaims, showing him the content of her bucket. a cacophony of high-pitched screams echo. more children spook him by hugging his legs.

“good job, baby. you found papa.” he gasps at the sight of you kissing the girl’s forehead. he can’t believe it. “okay, kids. since papa is here, let’s go home. we’re going to eat fish for dinner.”

“yay!” the kids who seem to be his children happily zoom to the cabin, making you chuckle. tartaglia doesn’t waste any time hugging you tight. he can’t lose you again.

“ajax?” it’s been a while since you called him by his birth name. you cup his cheeks with worry when you see tears streaming down his face. “are you okay?”

he nods, kissing you as if his life depends on it. “i’m okay. shall we go home? we don’t want to keep our kids waiting, do we?”

hand in hand, the two of you follow your children to the cabin. in a future where a war between all creatures of teyvat is over, ajax is finally home.

𝄞༉‧₊˚. ZHONGLI

the past six thousand years have been prolific of brutality. old friends and acquaintances were subjected to erosion, being forced to neutralize them. one is unfortunate enough to perish from the archon war, leading to the creation of liyue harbor.

if there is one thing to take away from her advice, it’s about the concept of change. he is the type of person to slowly adapt into it. her death and the death of the land they both created is not easy to accept. change isn’t a bad thing, she had said. he did not take her words into heart until he met you.

you’re a mortal who lived in a village, you spent more time exploring the outskirts without letting everyone know. you couldn’t care less, having a dream to live in a lively city like liyue. a certain archon would’ve loved you, for you valued freedom.

he finds you to be quite humorous. once you joked about eloping with the former archon somewhere teeming with fireflies and crystalflies. when he asked you to define the term, you brushed it off and changed the subject. if he knew you weren’t kidding, you wouldn’t have fallen victim to your marriage.

shame, at such a young age too. he regrets not being able to keep you safe, reminding him of his failure with his old friends and the people who are fighting in the second cataclysm by his side. at the climax of the war, he comes face to face with the gods who stirred the calamities around the world for centuries. as much as he wants to stray from violence, he can’t let them win.

“i will no longer stay silent,” he growls, summoning his pillars around incoming enemies. contracts are sacred, no matter who he established them with. breaking any of those would result in facing the wrath of the rock. breaking the one he signed with celestia would mean he would suffer under his own wrath.

gold liquid spills onto the floor, and his ears are blocked by white noise. no, he can’t die like this. not right this instant. his allies haven’t reached an advantage yet. how is it possible for the strongest deity to already fall like this?

six thousand years of changes and sacrifices. the geo element is strong and unmoving, yet it can also crumble. zhongli has to keep on fighting for the sake of his allies and those who have perished, and yours. all he needs to do is take that extra step to victory.

“zhongli?” that voice is familiar. too familiar. he gazes at his swarms of fireflies and crystalflies circling around your figure. your fingers lingers across his cheek with a somber smile. “my dear, you looked troubled in your sleep. do you want to talk about it?”

he leans on your shoulder, inhaling your scent. he’s so tired, enduring six thousand years worth of cycles of life and death among his nation. “hm, i will eventually. but please let me rest first, darling…”

“okay,” you hum, linking your hand with his. “rest well, zhongli. if you need a shoulder to cry on, i will be here. i won’t ever leave your side.”

you tilt his head to kiss him, tasting the salt of his tears on your lips. his allies may be gone and treasured in his memories, you choose to remain by his side and give him relief that he won’t be alone. not anymore.

zhongli is not the same person he was before, and believes he will never be. cradling the finger adorned with the ring crafted from the abundant rocks in liyue, it gives him hope. you are his pillar. when at his lowest, you and your army of lights will guide him back to the surface.

#♪ .fics #house of solis occasum #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gi x reader #dainsleif x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #zhongli x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #gi angst

367 notes · View notes

just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace · 3 months ago

Text

Old wounds (Sauron x fem!Elf!reader)

-> in which you guard Celebrimbor to make sure he finishes the Nine, and he makes the mistake of underestimating the bond you and your husband share

Warnings: evil!reader, some lines about reader being captive and Sauron being tortured in the past, her family being killed, touching of wounds, making out in front of the poor guy you’re keeping prisoner

Note: same reader as the one in Jealousy and Reveal, but works on its own too. Also, I’m no expert in the lore, the aspects regarding reader’s past/powers are just what’s convenient for the fic.

“After all the time I spent watching you work,” you say, leaning against the table, “you truly think I can’t tell when you’re stalling?”

Celebrimbor looks up at you, fingers faltering in their movements with one of the unfinished Nine. It’s terribly unfair, of course—berating him for his slow pace when he is being made to work with a shackle around his wrist, a battle being waged outside and the threat of your husband’s wrath ever looming above his head. Still, you know his patterns, and this isn’t fatigue or nervousness. It’s a misguided attempt at gathering his thoughts, thinking he might stand a better chance at escaping now, while Sauron himself isn’t in the room. Underestimating you.

“This work requires precision,” he says, begrudgingly.

“Celebrimbor...” You tilt your head, speaking in the same manner as a mother scolding a child. “This is not precision. This is lack of care—for your people, whose only hope for salvation is that you do as you were asked and deliver the last of the Rings.”

Your voice sharpens by the end. Celebrimbor swallows thickly, casting his eyes back down to his work in defeat. His focus seems renewed as he tinkers with the Ring, and, satisfied, you head to the balcony to watch the battle unfold.

But then he speaks again.

“You said...”

He stops unsurely when you turn back towards him. It’s irritating that his focus is on you instead of the work, but he begins speaking again before you can complain.

“You said that while you dwelled in my kingdom, awaiting your... husband’s return, under the guise of a mere smith... it hurt your pride to obey my orders.” He pauses, weaving a trace of defiance in his tone. “Yet you seem perfectly content obeying his.”

You know better than to fall prey to the silent challenge in his words. Still, there is a tick in your jaw you can’t suppress at the implication.

“I obey no one,” you say firmly. “My husband and I share in our toils, the same as we will share in the reward.”

Celebrimbor gives you a sorrowful smile.

“That is what I believed as well,” he says quietly. “What Mirdania must have believed. As countless others must have before. Once he has no more use of you, he will cast you aside—and the rewards of your labour shall be his alone.”

He is so sure of his words. He looks at you as though he’s doing you a kindness, as if you need his warning as much as he would have needed one before.

Anger grips your heart. A sudden gust of wind enters the room, blowing out the candle closest to you.

“Do not speak,” you say, cold as the chill suddenly in the air, “of what you do not know.”

Celebrimbor shudders. Most likely he had meant to insist, but your reaction and the darkness in your gaze are enough to quiet him once more, at least for the moment. As he returns to work, the fire within you lessens, melting into a dull ache.

Of course he would assume such a thing. That you are nothing more than another pawn in the Dark Lord’s design, to be moved about as he pleases and discarded in a heartbeat. He doesn’t know the truth. How could he? No one does.

Suddenly, you’re moved to speak.

“When we bound ourselves to one another in marriage, part of my love’s power and might became my own,” you tell him. Your voice is soft, the complete opposite of how venomous it was only a moment ago. Celebrimbor turns to you hesitantly, though he remains looking at you.

“But even before he shared this gift with me, I was not without my own,” you say, proudly. “I was a great healer, you see. With a touch of my fingertips, bones mended, sickness faded, terrible wounds healed... Some said even hearts.” You chuckle faintly. “I don’t know about that.”

For a moment, there is a flicker of light in your eyes, but it dies as quickly as it appears.

“But I know it was for this gift that Morgoth kept me alive once he had slayed my kin. For this, he kept me. For he wished to torment his own to his heart’s desire without leaving them too weakened to serve him after. Without the need to stop. And there was one he loved to torment above all. The mighty Sauron, Morgoth’s fearsome lieutenant, who struck unspeakable horror into the hearts of his enemies...” You close your eyes, voice dropping to a whisper still trembling with the terror of those days. “His screams of anguish were so loud and terrible, they felt like blades in my ears.”

Tears fall silently from your eyes as you open them, meeting Celebrimbor’s gaze.

“And when silence finally came,” you speak slowly, moving closer to him. “I was brought to his side...”

Celebrimbor shifts in his seat as you come to stand near him.

“I kneeled by his bloodied, mangled form...”

You sit down in the chair next to Celebrimbor’s, voice little more than a whisper as you lean in uncomfortably close to him.

“And as he writhed and moaned in agony... I touched his skin...”

Celebrimbor flinches as your fingertips find a cut on his temple.

“And caressed his wounds...”

You trace the cut with eerie gentleness, watching as blood gathers at your fingertips and Celebrimbor shudders beneath your gaze.

“And took his pain...”

More tears slide down your cheeks as you look straight through the alarmed Celebrimbor, lost in another time.

“And I put him back together... piece by piece.”

Your eyes return to Celebrimbor then, suddenly regaining clarity.

“Only for Morgoth to take him apart again. And again. And again. To punish... or perfect. Who could tell?”

To his visible relief, your hand leaves his face and you pull away, eyes drifting to the Rings lined before him and you.

“I know not how long it lasted,” you go on. “But with time, I realized that he and I—we were not right and wrong, or light and dark. We were both of us slaves. And in that place of bleak despair—”

“A bond was forged,” Sauron speaks—as you and Celebrimbor turn to see he has silently joined you. Your breath catches in your throat as his eyes meet yours and he speaks the words on your tongue, “...stronger than any that ever was or ever will be.”

Your chest aches unbearably as emotion overcomes you. You long to run into his arms, but at the same time you can barely move. However long time passes, the memories take their toll.

Thankfully, your husband comes to you. You look up at him with tear-filled eyes as he lays one hand on your shoulder, the other cupping your cheek with utmost tenderness. Your eyes fall shut, and you lean into his touch, and finally, you can breathe easy.

“Your people’s fate depends on the fruits of your labour, Celebrimbor,” your husband says, frowning deeply as he takes in your state. “How is it then that you still find the time to upset my wife?”

“My most sincere apologies,” Celebrimbor says flatly.

“I have no need of your apologies.” Sauron fixes him with a sharp look. “Only of your Rings. I thought they would be finished by now.”

“I was a bit of a distraction,” you admit, some of your teasing nature returning to you. Your husband’s gaze softens as he turns it to you.

“When are you not?”

You smile then, pressing a quick kiss to the palm of his hand before you stand and will your tears to vanish from your cheeks. Moving with grace, Sauron pulls your chair a little further away from the table and Celebrimbor, and takes the seat himself. He knows you too well to believe your mood has brightened in the blink of an eye, not when the past is as painful a memory to him as well. He tugs at your hand, and you’re all too happy to take his invitation and settle comfortably in his lap.

For a moment, you are alone in the world. You hold each other’s gaze as you put your arm around his neck and he wraps his around your waist, holding you close to him. He takes your hand reverently, bringing it to his mouth to place a most gentle kiss to your knuckles. He murmurs an endearment in Black Speech, so sweet even the foul-sounding language wraps beautifully around the words, and your eyes fall shut in bliss, forehead resting against his.

Your company is completely forgotten as peace returns to you in the arms of your love. That is, until you hear something clatter and Celebrimbor mutters a soft curse. Even then, you don’t even bother to look.

“A most glorious sight we may be together,” Sauron tells him, cruelly casual, “but I must insist that you concentrate on the work.”

You pull back slightly, opening your eyes. At the periphery of your vision, a very flustered Celebrimbor recovers the Ring he had dropped and returns to work—this time, you think, for good.

“Pay us no mind,” you tell the smith breathily, consumed by your husband’s piercing gaze. You touch his cheek, marveling for the millionth time at the perfection beneath your fingertips, and press your lips to his, melting into a deep, languid kiss.

Celebrimbor is wise enough not to disturb you again.

Previous fic with same reader -> Theatrics

Next fic with same reader -> Kill and make up

#sauron x reader #annatar x reader #the rings of power

314 notes · View notes

artytaeh · 6 months ago

Note

honeymoon!Mattheo? Also I'm so obsessed with your pages aesthetic, especially since I've been on this app for like 3 years and just changed my profile picture... anyways adore you and your writing <3

this is so sweet! i melt everytime i reread this rq, i swear. tysm for reading my posts and accompanying my writing, also for requesting 🌷 honeymoon!theo was a silly shower thought— i didn't plan to do a version of it. however, since you're asking, i just can't say no; so i hope that you like it, love! ♡

warnings: includes smut, so obviously it's advised for +18 readers; read at your own risk. brief mentions of trauma from being the son of bellatrix lestrange + the dark lord.

honeymoon!mattheo who felt like these next two weeks outside england, just the two of you, were like a blessing after your wedding day— don't get me wrong, mattheo riddle feels like the luckiest motherfucker to have been the one to marry you, the man who put that ring on your finger and to see you walking down the aisle to him. even so, fucking hell, how can a celebration for your marriage be so, so exhausting for the two of you? mattheo himself begged you to take off those heels; it was paining him to see you in them after so many hours, really!

honeymoon!mattheo who was ecstatic at the idea of going out of the country with you, of all people. sure, he's been out of england: he studied at hogwarts, which is in scotland; italy too, courtesy of theodore's invitations to spend a few weeks or most of the summer break at his family's estate; that one time that draco bragged about his wealth and took all of his friends to spend weekends or some days somewhere through europe. but travelling with you? that's different. this isn't a vacation with the boys; he's on his way to enjoy two paradisical weeks with the love of his life— just. the. two. of you.

honeymoon!mattheo who planned these vacations with you — where do you wanna go? how long would you like to stay? would you rather somewhere to rest and do nothing, or travelling around? truthfully, mattheo had his own preferences; as fun as it is to explore new places and unraveling different cultures, mattheo was a bit (a lot more) into seeing you in bikini most of the day. visiting a city or some nearby mexican tourist attraction is totally fine by him; a few were chosen by the two of you during a rainy day, cuddling on the sofa as you and him daydream about the sound of waves, sunny days and heat tanning your skins. with a laptop in front of you, mattheo checklists and makes notes of whatever was decided that day.

honeymoon!mattheo who jumps straight to the bed as soon as you arrive to the hotel's bedroom. soon, strong arms pull you close to him; mattheo spends some minutes like this with you, cuddling and feeling you close, nevermind how warm it is in mexico during this time of the year, not giving a flying fuck if you two are sweaty. mattheo riddle needs to rest after so many bloody hours inside a plane, and dealing with the airport's burocracy. fuck, there's a fucking spell for everything in the wizarding world, how come no one found a better way to travel between two continents already?!

honeymoon!mattheo who has his arm around your waist at all times. walking together? mattheo is there, hugging your waist, matching his usual long strides to your calmer pace, making sure that you're the one leading the speed of your walk. taking a stroll on a nearby city or exploring the streets? mattheo riddle won't unwrap his arm from your waist, fingers gently tracing the curve of your side, as you two comment about the beautiful streets you walk by and how good all of these restaurants smell. and, well, if his arm becomes bothersome because of the heat, mattheo is happy to hold your hand— as soon as it becomes sweaty, mattheo himself moves to your other side, to take your other hand in his, nevermind if he has to repeat this ritual every five minutes.

honeymoon!mattheo who drags you to play on the beach with him! this man will proudly buy a kid's kit for himself: a set with beach toys, including a bucket, shovels and other stuff to build castles on the damp sand. obviously, the set is green, if there's that color option— hey, all of those years as a slytherin, wearing a green tie on a daily basis, got him a little attached to the color, alright?!

honeymoon!mattheo who looks like a man preparing himself to go to war, as you patiently massage the sunscreen on his face, warm shoulders and back, along with the rest of his body; you don't trust your husband to apply the sunscreen correctly, since mattheo is all too impatient to go have fun. he does the same to you, of course; pulling you to his lap, big hands making sure that your smooth thighs are protected by the sunscreen— maybe a little too much, since you grow suspicious that mattheo caresses your thighs for a moment longer than necessary. hey, he's a man in love; can't a husband appreciate his wife's beautiful body?!

honeymoon!mattheo who lowkey tries to learn how to speak spanish, or at least simple phrases; thank you, hello, please, and perhaps being a little more observant to catch a curse word or two. god forbid mattheo catches on how to compliment you— now, each time you show your outfit, smile or do something as simple as existing near mattheo riddle, he grins and dramatically pronounces: 'guapissima! bonita, muy bonita.' — sneaking a squeeze on your bottom, pressing your body closer to his. you'd be at least a little annoyed, if mattheo's bambi eyes weren't so full of love for you. you know he means every single praise that rolls out of his mouth.

honeymoon!mattheo who sleeps a little more peacefully now, in mexico, far away from london and the looming notion of his ancestry. here, a continent away from his lunatic of a mother, oceans away from the knowledge of being the dark lord's son, mattheo riddle relaxes. you're married now; away from the chaos. during your wedding day, mattheo was terrified that something would tarnish this happiness with you. being physically away from all of that, on a country where no one blinks an eye at the surname riddle, mattheo is able to relax and let go of the overthinking habit he created since childhood. mattheo riddle isn't a cursed child anymore— at least not here with you.

honeymoon!mattheo who buys a lot of souvenirs. at least for theodore, he gets something that he knows that his best friend would find funny too; perhaps one or two things for his slytherin friends. then a lot of bracelets, or whatever the fuck you happen to stare for a few seconds. sundresses become part of your wardrobe, too, since mattheo argues that is sinful to not have you wearing such flattering clothes, choosing colors that you like the most, and compliment you the best.

🗯️ : matt, this is the third dress you're about to buy for me. i already have enough!

m : nonsense. you don't have any on this color, do you? besides, it's fancy to say 'hey, see this dress? my husband got it for me from mexico'; i'm helping you to brag, woman!

honeymoon!mattheo who hugs you from behind in the pool, trailing kisses from your left shoulder, cheek, neck, shoulder blades, until he does the same to the other side. he's not even attempting to convince you to lustful things— mattheo is just so in love with you. should an older couple or bitter tourists side-eye any of you, mattheo will kiss your cheek for a moment longer, staring menacingly to whoever is nosy enough to notice him and his wife. mattheo riddle, as always, doesn't even have to open his mouth; his serious expression and dark eyes being enough of a warning. as soon as they avert their gaze, mattheo goes back to the task at hand: kissing every inch of you with that silly little smile of his.

honeymoon!mattheo who takes full advantage of the jacuzzi on your bedroom. you should have expected it, as soon as dark eyes shine with mischief, a wolfish grin on his lips as mattheo riddle inevitably plans ahead— hours later, you'll find out exactly what was going through that devilish mind of his.

honeymoon!mattheo who is safe to say that fully enjoyed the warm water at night— calloused hands placed on your hips, thumbs brushing soothing circles on your hipbones as mattheo takes in the sight of you, naked on top of him, guiding your movements as you bounce on his length. mattheo fights the urge to tilt his head back and close his eyes, wanting to drown himself in the sensation of you so tight, so warm and wet around him— but then, he'd lose the bewitching vision of you, so mattheo bites his lip while his hands move lower and lower, greedily squeezing your bottom, hands full of the smooth, soft skin. mattheo watches you so intensely, that you're almost shy under his gaze; his strong arms embrace you so close to him, lips bruising the skin of your neck, collarbone, chest (and for a moment, you wonder if wearing a bikini would be safe tomorrow, giving each reddening, becoming purple hickey left on you) as he whispers against your wet skin. 'so pretty— such a good girl for me, aren't you? riding your husband so, so well. so wet and tight for me, huh? moan for me, baby. let me hear all of your pretty moans, hm?'

honeymoon!mattheo who is so gentle with you afterwards. without even having to ask, mattheo carried you back to the bedroom, patting your body with gentle movements so that the towel absorbs the water from your body, cooing at you. despite your tired demeanor, sore legs recovering on the comfortable mattress— mattheo riddle is all too energetic and blissfully satisfied, massaging your smooth skin with a body cream of yours; and trust me, it takes everything within him to not tease you, holding back any 'fun' comments about you after three rounds that got you absolutely wrecked.

honeymoon!mattheo who dedicated a part of these few days to read one of your favorite books. you see, mattheo riddle isn't really one to take reading as a hobby; at most, mattheo would have fun spending the afternoon at some bookstores to read bd, mainly about superheroes, or the ones that blaise brought from school breaks to lend to him. apart from that, mattheo's hobbies mostly revolve around drawing or listening to music— but he's making an effort for you, alright?! he is! look, he read five pages today, while you were tanning!

honeymoon!mattheo who brought a camera with him for the sole purpose to have photos with you during these weeks; as much as he adores all of your wedding photos, either with you, his best friends and other guests— this honeymoon with you must have physical evidence, not wanting to depend on his memory alone. mattheo plans to show most of them (*cough* the appropriate ones) to your children, if you ever have kids together, that is. the camera and him are present at the same place, at all times; like symbiosis, mattheo has the camera by his side to never lose the opportunity of a good photo of you.

photos of you while you're sleeping, dressing up or changing clothes, while you're relaxing on a chair near the pool to tan, swimming, at night with a flower tucked on your hair— one that mattheo picked up for you and fixed behind your ear. mattheo riddle will come back home with enough photos to decorate a wall. there's photos of you two together, too; silly selfies with you, some of them while you're sleeping by his side or on his chest, others blissfully taken by other tourists who offered such a favor. mattheo loves every single one of them.

honeymoon!mattheo who discovered that breakfast could be delivered in bedroom, four days after waking up a little earlier to shower, dress up and go downstairs to have the first meal of the day. ever since mattheo discovered such a wonder, never again— fuck that. he's having breakfast on the bed with you, requesting the staff to put an extra portion of your favorite fruits, which he'd then feed to you while the two of you are lazying on the bed after a shower, talking about whatever.

honeymoon!mattheo who suddenly doesn't hate that much anymore. at hogwarts, first years were a headache; little tiny humans that mattheo had to be careful to not bump against, or else they'd fall to the floor and god forbid professor mcgonagall saw it, should anyone accuse him of bullying. first years were also troublesome at the bloody hogwarts' train, running around like hipper active insects— however, this one little boy that came running up to you, giving you a flower? mattheo riddle couldn't help but smile, a smug grin on his lips as he crouches down:

m : hey, little dude— this beautiful woman is taken. hasn't your mother told you that flirting with a married woman is wrong? the husband might get you in trouble, you know.

honeymoon!mattheo who would complain a little less about the kids running around or simply existing around the hotel. there was this one little girl he saw at the pool, while you were getting drinks; curly hair, soft cheeks that remind him of your beautiful face— mattheo riddle is a weak man, and ever since then... baby fever. suddenly, the idea of a tiny human that is the perfect mixture of you and him, doesn't sound so scary anymore. i mean, if you and him ever had a baby, it'd be the most beautiful kid to exist; mattheo reasons that not having such a blessed child would be illegal, a heartbreaking loss to this world! (correction: a small sized demon that inherits mattheo riddle's troublemaker nature, and your charm that'll get them out of trouble ever. single. time.)

honeymoon!mattheo who tries at least once every single drink and cocktail at the bar. and more than that, makes you try them with him, which becomes a game of creating a tier list of the whole menu. mattheo will get you the colorful ones, being aware of your taste— and should you dislike alcoholic drinks, well, mattheo is a man that is unknowingly considerate, making sure to taste the drink first (so that he's sure that it tastes good, according to your preferences, of course), before giving it to you. lowkey, mattheo riddle who becomes a bit obsessed with those drinks straight from the coconuts— he might have like, seven photos of that, some of them being selfies with you.

honeymoon!mattheo who takes you dancing. hands on your hips, feeling as you sway them, gripping at them each time that mattheo riddle has to take a deep breath to not get a hard-on in the middle of the dancefloor. if possible, he'll learn how to dance the bachata with you— be it by a free class at the hotel or some bar, or even just by staring at an experienced couple dancing with ease. mattheo would be so happy to dance with you, twirling you around and pulling you closer to him, your noses brushing as mattheo looks at you with such intensity; the love of his life, this goddess in his arms. physically can't listen to one of those latino songs without immediately pulling you to dance a little with him; fuck the stares that you might receive.

honeymoon!mattheo who wants to live right here, at mexico.

m : fuck england, let's ditch london.

🗯️ : mattheo, darling, we can't do that.

m : why not?! here's the best— no rain, no people bothering us. why can't we just fuck and chill every day like we do here?

⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🌿 ’

౨ৎ spend the summer of a lifetime with me ♡ ͡

let me take you to the place of my dreams . . .

🪻 ; . . . fandom : harry potter.

— ever since i posted my masterlist i've been receiving some requests; i didn't expect so many so soon! tysm for reading and requesting to my blog; i'll do my best to write and post each of them asap. ♡

the headers + gifs + icons aren't mine. credits to the respective creators ! 🌷

#hp fandom #slytherin boys #slytherin boys react #hp fanfic #headcanons #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle headcanons #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle husband #mattheo riddle honeymoon #mattheo riddle scenarios

655 notes · View notes

mononijikayu · 17 days ago

Text

blue — fushiguro megumi.

As you walked hand in hand through the snow, Fushiguro Megumi felt like your warmth and his blended together, refusing to part as you made your way away from the shrine. The thought of that made him feel like the winter was nothing, the biting chill rendered powerless against the steady heat of your presence. It was the kind of moment that made the world feel smaller and quieter. It was as if the universe had decided to go on a pause just for the two of you. It was as if these two hands were meant to fit because destiny said so.

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Canon Convergence;

WARNING/s: AFAB! Reader, Safe For Work (SFW), Long Distance Romance (LDR), Aged Up Characters (Megumi and Reader are 18!), Young Love, Innocent Romance, Established Relationship, Middle School Classmates to Lovers, Teasing, Teenagers, Feelings, Fluff, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Falling In Love, Flirting, Humor, Domesticity, Slice of Life, Light-Hearted, Confessions, Pining, Holding Hands;

WORD COUNT: 5.3k words.

NOTE: im a bit late, i'm sorry!!! i had a whole list of chores i helped my family with and i met up with some people yesterday, since i might not see them for christmas due to schedules. but i'm here. i always imagined megumi to be the sort of person who loves so wholeheartedly and so innocently. i wanted to capture that for his birthday. happy birthday, megumi!!! you will always be so loved by me <33333 i love you all too!!! thank you for reading!!! see you for yuuji's own fic on 24th <3 (asia time)

addendum: i just want you to know that the exact number of the words are 5302. chinese/cantonese numerology expresses that 53 means my life, 0 means good and 2 means joy and sometimes double joy. it reads as 'my life is good joy' and i think between them reader and megumi, that's genuinely true <333

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

THE DARK BLUE SWIRLED AROUND THE SKY TENDERLY TONIGHT. Had there been more time, he would have enjoyed it more. But he knew there wasn’t. He had to get to you, immediately. He bit his lip softly against the cold winter wind.

Fushiguro Megumi tugged the bright tender scarf tighter around his neck as the frigid wind bit at his cheeks. He caught a faint whiff of the fabric, and something about the scent felt... off.

It’s a good scent, don’t get him wrong. But it wasn’t the familiar one he was used to. Had he bought a new perfume and just forgotten about it?

He sighed to himself. He was too busy lately, going off on missions. And now a lot of his life had become footnotes, even if he didn’t want them to be. Megumi knew he had to do better.

He had to do whatever he could to make a better pace for himself. Still, thinking about that right now is impossible. He had to brush the thought aside. There were more pressing things to focus on—like how late he was. Again.

Megumi could only hope that you weren’t waiting too long or that you had arrived late. But now he can’t help but think if you wore that thick Arc'teryx coat he’d gotten you. Or if you wore mittens or had enough hot packs on your body at this moment. Guilt started to echo into his head as easily as it was breathing. But he can’t help but feel that.

He took a moment to breathe, his breath visible in the cold air. He hated being late about absolutely anything. He likes punctuality, after all. But he especially likes it when it comes to you.

Because that meant he’d have more time with you. And more time with you means that he’d have you with him enough to sweep the thought of missing you for a little while.

But being a sorcerer, the job description didn’t care about holidays or plans. Or even the personal, the thoughts and moments that made one happy. It just never stops. Not even when he was supposed to take you out on a date on New Year’s Eve. Megumi absolutely reviled it. If he saw a curse, he had to deal with it, no matter the time.

And somehow, some sort of way, still, he knew you understood. You always did. You always reassured him of that no matter what. No matter how many times his responsibilities pulled him away from you, even just for five minutes.

You never stopped smiling when he finally showed up. You don’t stop having the warmest red on your cheeks when you see him. Your eyes always shone brighter than Sirius when you both stand beside one another.

Even though you weren’t a sorcerer yourself, you tried to understand his world, even the parts that didn’t make sense to you at all. It wasn’t fair to you, and he knew it. Yet, no matter how hard things got, you never gave up on him. You just didn’t want to, even when he had tried to keep you at bay.

That was one of the things he appreciated most about you. Megumi had never had quite a lot of joy in his life, but he was to be honest, you were one of them. You always will be. And even now, you stand by him, even if it’s hard.

You didn’t care for the hard stuff, you always said it was part of it. Because what mattered to you, was having him in your life. And he was certain he felt the same way about you.

Well, it’s obvious.

Why else would he start running in this cold winter weather?

If it’s you, the person he loved most, then he’ll find a way?

After all, he wanted to be with you for as long as possible.

He paused for a moment, staring at the message. The small emoji made something in his chest tighten, as much as it made his body feel the warmest it had ever been. Despite everything, you still cared enough to wait for him, to worry about him. A small, rare smile tugged at his lips.

The faint vibration of his phone snapped him out of his thoughts. He fished it out of his pocket, his cold fingers fumbling slightly as he unlocked it. A text from you lit up his screen:

“Megu, baby, where are you? 🥺”

Megumi stared at his phone after hitting send, watching the little delivered mark appear. Megumi has thought about how many times he’d sent similar texts, always apologizing to you, for more often than he hoped, about being late.

He typed back quickly, his fingers stiff from the cold.

"On my way, babe. Sorry for being late."

Yet, you never seemed to hold it against him. He wished you had. Most romantic partners would be so fed up with such a position.

Hell, most of them would have already left their partners. But not you. You never had thought of it, not even during middle school, when Gojo started to take him on his missions to observe. You were steadfast, because you saw his efforts. You saw how much he loved you.

And that was enough. He never had to doubt that you loved him. And perhaps, that’s why he kept running. He wanted to get to you, as soon as possible. He wanted to see you. He wanted to hold you in his arms. He wanted to love you.

As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Fushiguro Megumi picked up his pace. He had to. He had to arrive as soon as possible. For once, he hoped the world could hold its chaos at bay. Just for tonight. He owed you that much. He owed you all of the world. And he had to make it possible, even if just for a little while.

His phone buzzed again almost immediately.

“Okay, but you better hurry, baby! It’s cold! Also… why does your scarf smell like my perfume? 🤔”

Megumi stopped in his tracks, his brain processing your words at a glacial pace. Your perfume? His hand instinctively went to the scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. That was the weird smell he’d noticed earlier—the soft, floral notes he’d never associated with his usual scarf. His mind raced. If this was your perfume, then this wasn’t his scarf.

It’s your scarf. The realization hit him like a curse to the chest. Now, his heart was thumping hard on his chest. You must’ve grabbed his scarf by mistake in a rush the last time you visited him and you forgot about it.

And now that left him with your scarf. And he hadn’t noticed at all. His face heated to warm scarlet instantly, the cold air doing nothing to cool it. Ah, this is…..

His grip on the phone tightened as he read your words. Cute. It was hard enough to deal with how much warmth you give him with your scarf, but the thought of you being so tender with him, loving to the point that he can’t take it.

Before he could come up with a reply, another message came through:

“Wait, Megu!… Are you wearing my scarf? 🥺 That’s so cute! Wah!”

He doesn’t know what to do. Everything about his love for you just grows deeper and he can’t help it. His face burned hotter, and he was suddenly hyper-aware of the soft fabric around his neck.

He hesitated, fingers hovering over the keyboard, before typing back:

"I didn’t realize until now. I must’ve grabbed it by accident. Sorry."

Fushiguro Megumi felt like the temperature had risen ten degrees despite the snow swirling around him. He tried to clear his throat, trying to wick away the scarlet blush spreading across his cheeks. But it was no use. He was never going to win against you. Never.

Your reply came almost instantly, as though you’d been waiting for it.

“Don’t apologize! I think it’s adorable. It’s like you’re carrying a little piece of me with you 🥰.”

"It’s not a big deal." he typed, trying to sound indifferent, but his fingers betrayed him as he hesitated before adding: "It does smell nice, though."

His phone buzzed almost immediately. “You’re so sweet, Megu! You better hurry so I can see you all bundled up in my scarf. I want to take a picture and enjoy the cuteness of my baby!🫶 ”

Fushiguro Megumi let out a soft groan, burying his face in the scarf—your scarf. He takes in the soft smell of your scent, while feeling your words take over him. He could feel the heat radiating from his face as he resumed walking, this time a bit faster.

He can’t run in this case, not when he’s overwhelmed by this, by you. You’ve ruined him for any other romance. This was it for him. You were it for him. And yet still, he couldn’t believe he was blushing over a scarf. Over you.

But that’s how it is. It didn’t need explanation, it didn’t need logic. That’s how it is to love you. And he wouldn’t have it any other way. Not ever. But still, as much as possible, he still wanted to play it cool.

There was a wonderfully warm feeling in his chest that he couldn’t ignore, not when it’s caused by you. Even if it was accidental, wearing your scarf made him feel closer to you, like he was carrying a part of you with him.

"I’ll be there soon, babe." he texted back simply, though his heart was racing as he hit send.

“I look forward to it! 🫶”

“I'll see you soon.”

“Love you, Megu~”

".....love you too."

══════════════════

IT WASN’T THAT LONG NOW WHEN HE MADE THE SHARP TURN TO AND ARRIVED. The faint glow of the shrine came into view, and quite expectedly, Fushiguro Megumi’s pace quickened even more now despite the biting cold.

His own breath puffed in little warm clouds as he rounded the last corner, and there you were, just like always, waiting for him by the warm illumination of the bright red shrine gates.

You seemed to be humming to yourself as you waited for him, all bundled up in the white winter coat he gave you and those bright purple gloves trimmed with faux fur you so dearly loved. You hadn’t noticed him yet when he stopped.

But when you did, your eyes widened almost so excitedly. There was a slightly excited bounce in your step as you waved at him enthusiastically, your beautiful face lighting up like the warm spring flowers blossoming when you started to register his presence. Megumi could feel his chest tightened at the sight.

The stress of trying to get here on time, the hardship of not meeting, the times he missed you — every bit of that started to fade away into nothing. He was here with you. You were here. And nothing can take that away from him, from the two of you. Because he knew it too well. He was home.

“Megu!” you called out, your tender voice cutting through the quiet winter air.

He slowed as he approached, his usual calm demeanor taking over, but the pink sunrise on his cheeks hadn’t faded. Megumi tried to casually stuff his rather cold hands into his coat’s pockets, pretending the cold was the only reason his face felt warm.

“You’re late, Megu!” you teased, though your tone was playful, and that familiar smile spread across your face.

“Sorry.” he said quietly, stopping just a few feet away. “There was a—”

“A curse?” you finished for him, watching him blink. You grinned. “I figured. You always come anyway.”

He nodded, his gaze flickering to the shrine gates. “I told you to wait here for a reason. It’s safer.”

“I know, I know.” you said, rolling your eyes with a laugh. “I always know that I’m always safe, thanks to you. But I’m also freezing, so I hope you don’t plan to keep me standing here much longer! Let’s eat dinner!”

Your grin widened as your bright doe eyes flicked to the scarf around his neck. “Especially since it looks like you’re nice and warm in my scarf.”

Megumi’s hand immediately went to the fabric, his ears turning red. “I told you, it was an accident.” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“And I told you, it’s cute.” you said, stepping closer.

“You’re wearing my scarf too.” He mutters under the cold winter air.

You looked down slightly, your cheeks flushing red as you smiled. “Hm! And I love it! It suits me, having a part of you with me always when I’m cold, don’t you think?”

Megumi was taken aback by what you said for a moment. His cheeks turned even redder, even though he wasn’t sure how it was possible. He hums softly, lowering his gaze shyly. “.....It does.”

The soft crunch of snow under your boots was the only sound as you closed the distance between you. You smiled at him as you stopped in front of him. You reached up, on tip toes and gently adjusted your scarf around his neck, your fingers brushing against his skin for just a moment.

“It suits you, don’t you think?” Your soft voice blossomed against the wind. Your gaze met his, as he raised his face. “Being so loved by me in winter cold too.”

He froze, his heart skipping a beat at the gesture. “You’re—you really are…..” he mumbled, though his voice was quieter, almost fond. “How can you say that so easily?”

“And you’re blushing, lover boy!” you teased, stepping back with a playful laugh. “You also said something like that too!”

“Am not.” he replied quickly, though the redness in his cheeks betrayed him.

“Whatever you say, my precious Megu~”

You reached out and took his hand, your gloved fingers curling around his as you tugged him toward the shrine gates. You wanted to keep his hand warm from the cold too. He forgot his gloves, after all. And he knew that, his gaze turning to your tender touch on his, even though the leather.

“Come on, let’s get going before we both turn into icicles.”

For a moment, Fushiguro Megumi hesitated, looking down at your hand wrapped tightly on his own. Years together still hasn’t stopped him from being so awestruck by your touch on his.

To hold someone’s hand, it made him feel like he understood what love was like. Ever since that day he met you. You made him understand, with just a touch of your hand. And still, he continues to learn love, because of you.

Megumi shook his head then he let out a soft sigh, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile as he followed you.Even if he’d never admit it aloud, your warmth, your wonder, your very existence, it made him whole.

And if this was a dream, he wishes he never wakes up. Because nothing of him would exist without you. He refuses to do so.

“Hm, let’s go.”

It was the kind of moment that made the world feel smaller and quieter.

It was as if the universe had decided to go on a pause just for the two of you.

It was as if these two hands were meant to fit because destiny said so.

This, he thought, was more than enough to ground you both in the stillness of the winter night. The two of you ceased to talk for a while, your breaths forming soft clouds in the frosty air.

Neither of you felt the need to fill the silence. The quiet companionship you shared was enough, an unspoken understanding that words could never quite capture.

It was always like this with you. There was a gentle kind of closeness that didn’t demand anything more than your presence. It wasn’t loud or extravagant, but it was steady.

That was more than enough for him, to keep him grounded in a way nothing else could. Megumi didn’t have to explain himself, didn’t have to rush to fill the gaps, because you already understood. It was just like that between the two of you.

He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, noting the way the soft glow of the blue moonlight reflected off your hair and the peaceful expression on your face. A rare warmth bloomed in his chest, spreading slowly but surely, chasing away whatever lingering shadows had tried to follow him here.

Megumi’s grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his way of acknowledging what he couldn’t yet say aloud. This, he thought, was the kind of peace he didn’t know he needed. And for tonight, that was more than enough.

When you both arrived at the train station, the warmth of the moment lingered despite the cold metal benches and the faint whistle of the wind echoing through the platform. The faint hum of distant activity surrounded you, but it all felt muted, like the world had softened its edges just for the two of you.

You both sat down to wait for the train, your hands finally parting as you settled beside each other. Fushiguro Megumi shifted slightly, resting his elbows on his knees and looking out at the empty tracks.

The silence between you was comfortable, but you broke it, your voice cutting through the cold like the first hint of sunlight after a long night.

You looked up at him with a soft smile. “Happy birthday, Megu.”

He froze for a moment, blinking as if he hadn’t quite heard you. Slowly, he turned his head to meet your gaze, his brows furrowing slightly. “What?”

You giggled, the sound warm and light as you looked at his astonished face. “Happy birthday, I said.” you repeated, your smile widening.

His expression softened as realization washed over him. He let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. He shook his head, as you looked at his most adorable expressions, reserved only for you.

“I forgot, babe.” he admitted quietly, glancing away.

“I know, baby.” you said, your tone teasing but gentle. “You always forget. That’s why I’m here to remind you.”

He didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the tracks ahead. But the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, barely there but unmistakable. He turns his blue–green eyes to you, as though you were the most wondrous thing he’d ever set his blue–green eyes on.

“Thanks, babe.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small, neatly wrapped package. You always were better at wrapping presents. You had the best hands in the world, warmest to touch and the most delicate with care. And perhaps that is what made him freeze for a moment.

“And because I know you’d never ask for anything, I got you this.”

He looked at the gift, his eyes widening slightly. “You didn’t have to—”

“But I wanted to, baby.” you interrupted, holding it out to him. “It’s your birthday, Megu. You deserve to feel special, even if it’s just a little.”

He hesitated before taking the gift from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief moment. He stared at it for a few seconds, his expression unreadable, before carefully peeling back the wrapping paper.

Inside was a small, leather keychain engraved with his initials on it. Attached to it was a simple charm shaped like a wolf, a perfect reflection of his shikigami. Megumi stared at it for a moment, his fingers brushing over the smooth leather and the delicate charm. It was clear you’d put thought into this, making sure every detail would suit him.

Everything about it was just to his liking. You always knew it better than him sometimes too. Its design is sleek and understated, free from unnecessary embellishments, yet carrying so much meaning.

It was practical, simple, and deeply personal, just like him. And yet, the simplicity is what made it even more special, just like he knew he was to you.

“You… put a lot of thought into this, babe.” he said softly, his voice tinged with something unspoken, something he wasn’t entirely sure how to express.

You smiled, a faint flush rising to your cheeks. “Of course I did. I wanted it to be something you’d actually use. And… well…. I thought the wolf was a nice touch.”

“It is.” he murmured, his eyes lingering on the charm.

His shikigami were a part of him, a symbol of his strength and the weight he carried in his cursed technique. But they were something he loved too. Especially his wolves. And now, here it was, captured in this small but significant token by you. Now it meant even more. Because you gave it to him. Now, it was something he could keep with him no matter where he went.

“Do you like it?” you asked, almost shyly.

Megumi looked up at you, and though his expression remained its usual calm, there was a softness in his gaze that made your heart flutter. “I do, babe.” he said simply, but the quiet sincerity in your boyfriend’s voice spoke volumes. “Thank you.”

“I thought it could keep you company, when you’re away.” you said softly, watching him closely. “You’re always busy helping people and running around. You keep doing so much for everyone else. I wanted to give you something you could keep with you, something to remind you…”

He glanced up at you, his blue–green eyes meeting yours. “Remind me of what?”

“That you’re never really alone.” you said simply, your voice filled with quiet sincerity. “That I’m always there for you, Megu.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his fingers tightening slightly around the keychain. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. And for a moment, those rare smiles, the smiles he could only show you. You, his most precious person. That smile had trailed on his lips for a moment.

“Thank you, babe.” he said, his voice steady but laced with something deeper—gratitude, maybe, or something even more profound that he didn’t quite know how to put into words. “I’ll treasure this well, I promise.”

You smiled, leaning back against the bench as the distant sound of the approaching train reached your ears. “Happy birthday, Megu.” you said again, your tone warm and light, your words laced with genuine affection. And then, as naturally as breathing, you added, “I love you.”

The words were simple but carried a weight that made Fushiguro Megumi’s heart stutter. He froze for a moment, wide-eyed, his usual composure shattered like glass under the heat of your confession. He’d always heard you say it over and over again. And yet…..it always made him feel like he was going to drown in your wonders.

He couldn’t help but feel himself combust with your words, the warmth spreading from his chest to his ears, and then outward until he was sure he’d melt into this cold blue winter night. Before he could even begin to stammer out a response, you squeezed his hand, your smile never fading.

“Our train’s here! We gotta go!”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked, glancing at the train now pulling into the station. You tugged him forward, your fingers laced with his, as if the moment hadn’t just turned his world upside down.

Megumi let out a soft sigh, a mix of exasperation and fondness, as he let you guide him toward the train. His blue–green eyes drifted to the keychain in his hand, its wolf charm catching the dim station light, and then to the scarf around his neck.

The warmth of your scarf, still carrying your faint, comforting scent. For someone who often felt like the weight of the world rested squarely on his shoulders, tonight felt light. For tonight, everything just felt like a gift. The greatest gift in the world.

The train doors slid open with a gentle hiss, and you both stepped inside, settling into a pair of seats by the window. As the train began to move, Megumi finally found the courage to speak, his voice quieter than usual.

“You’re ridiculous, you know?” he muttered, though there was no bite in his tone.

You tilted your head, looking at him curiously. “What do you mean?”

His cheeks flushed again, and he turned his gaze to the window, watching the snow-covered scenery blur past. “You can’t just… say things like that so casually and just….watch me combust.”

“Oh, you mean when I said I love you?” you replied with a grin, clearly enjoying his reaction.

Megumi groaned, pressing a hand to his temple. “Yes. That.”

You laughed softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But it’s true, Megu!” you said, your voice softer now. “I do love you, truly! And I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you over and over again.”

He was silent for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest as your words settled over him like the softest blanket. Finally, he glanced down at you, his blue–green gaze steady despite the pink still dusting his cheeks.

“…I know.” he said quietly, his voice barely audible.

And though he didn’t say it back to you, overwhelmed by the wonders of those words on his soul, you knew that look in his eyes. That look of love, that wonder in the blue–green that said those words without leaving his lips.

It was all in his eyes that said everything you needed to hear. He struggles. But he hopes one day, he could say it to you without the struggle.

You smiled to yourself, your gloves gone. You let your warm fingers still intertwine with his as the train rocked gently beneath you. He squeezed it even more and that had made you smile even more as you looked at him.

You hummed and leaned your head against his shoulder. His breath hitches before a moment later, his head resting on your own. You giggled at that.

Tonight was perfect, you thought. Just the two of you, wrapped in warmth, as the world outside continued its quiet, snowy journey. And all you could see was the tenderness of all those shades of blue. That’s what it felt like when you were with him.

Everything was worth it. The cold was worth it. And so was the parting and the waiting. As long as you get to be with him and have this feeling of blue. As long as you could see those blues in his eyes.

Everything was worth it. Everything was worth experiencing. And you knew from the depths of his heart that he felt the same way too. Blue was the wonder of being with you. And he loves it too.

══════════════════

epilogue

Later that night when you reached your house, the warmth of the entryway light spilling into the snowy night, you turned to Megumi with a thoughtful smile. He noticed the way your bright eyes sparkled.

It was a sign you were about to say something that might throw him off. He was familiar with that look since you were in middle school. But every time, he finds himself learning the depths of that mischief in your eyes.

“So…” you began, glancing up at him with a hint of mischief. “Do you want to stay over tonight?”

Fushiguro Megumi nearly tripped over his own feet. His handsome face turned a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, and he froze in place, his free hand holding your bag for you. You can see easily that he was clutching it nervously.

“W-What?” he stammered, his voice cracking slightly. “Why—what—why would you even—?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, watching him flounder. “It’s late, Megu!” you said, your tone as calm and reasonable as ever. “The buses aren’t running anymore, and so are the trains, you know! I’d feel bad making you walk all the way back to the dorms in this cold.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you held up a hand, cutting him off before he could get a word in. You already knew that you had a card up your sleeve. You grinned at him and giggled, taking out your phone from your coat pocket and showing it to him.

“And before you say anything about it being improper or whatever.” you added with a knowing grin, “I already asked Gojo–san if it was okay.”

Megumi’s face somehow turned even redder, and his hand shot to his temple like he was trying to ward off a headache. He looked at your phone for a moment.“You asked Gojo?”

You nodded, looking far too pleased with yourself. “Yup! He said, and I quote, ‘As long as you don’t let Megumi brood in a corner all night, I’m fine with it! Take care of my precious son, daughter in law!’”

Fushiguro Megumi groaned, running a hand down his face. What did Gojo mean precious son? And what did Gojo mean about daughter in law? That was just….

Megumi didn’t know what to do anymore. He can’t even believe Gojo gave his number to you. He couldn’t help but feel his face echo a look of a son embarrassed by his overbearing father.

“Why would you even tell him that? Now he’s never going to let me live this down.”

You laughed, tugging gently on his hand to lead him inside. “Oh, come on. He didn’t care at all. Besides I had to, he’s your guardian! He said he’d rather you stayed somewhere warm and safe than out in the cold. Besides, it’s not like we haven’t hung out late before. We’d have sleep overs before too.”

“That’s different.” he muttered, still flustered as you closed the door behind him.

“How is it different?” you teased, tilting your head at him.

He hesitated, glancing at you and then away, his ears burning. “It just… is. I just…..”

You rolled your bright doe eyes playfully and reached up to unwrap your scarf—now his own scarf—from around his neck. “Relax, Megu. It’s not a big deal. You can have the couch if it makes you feel better. Or the guest room. I don’t think my mom will mind when she comes back! She loves you too!”

He sighed, letting you take the scarf off but avoiding your gaze. “Fine, fine.” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “I’ll….I’ll sleep here tonight.”

You grinned, your victory clear. “Come on, I think I still have some of your old clothes I took from you. I’m sure they still fit you.”

“You never returned that hoodie I used to like.”

You raised a teasing brow at him. “Do you want it back?”

“No.” He says back to you, and looks at his own scarf on your neck too. “You can keep the scarf too.”

“Good. Now come on, I’ll make some hot chocolate. Consider it a bonus birthday gift.”

As you walked toward the kitchen, Fushiguro Megumi stood there for a moment as he watched you start humming, looking for the cocoa. He let out a quiet sigh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself.

He was definitely going to hear about this from Gojo Satoru later, but for now, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was with you. And that was more than enough for him to not care about the world outside.

219 notes · View notes

glamourscat · 1 month ago

Text

⋆｡°✩ Songs I associate with the BLLK characters

౨ৎ CHIGIRI, BACHIRA, SHIDOU, RIN, KAISER, ISAGI, CHARLES, REO+NAGI, REO+CHIGIRI

CHIGIRI

boys don’t cry, by the cure

The song highlights the complexity of male invulnerability. With the song protagonist full on refusing to admit he has tears in his eyes. It’s reminds me of him for his struggles in admitting he needed help and how he hid his feelings after breaking his ACL. We saw the way he shut off, almost losing his drive and passion in football.

BACHIRA

dancing with myself, by Gen X

The song explores the complicated and bittersweet duality of being human and thus the connection we form. It’s about feeling alone in a crowded room, being on a crowded dance floor and yet being alone. Letting the world rush and move past you; while you have this profound sense of isolation within you. It’s about people who end up dancing with their own reflections, while struggling to deal with their own internal loneliness. Need to say more?

SHIDOU

dahlia by X Japan

A song about the inner turmoils we face as human beings, while we search the meaning of life, facing the pain that it brings during the journey. Both the beauty and the struggle that comes with life

“Time after time, you ask the night sky the reason why you were born… The river of undying tears shines like silver… Blowing in the cold wind, the birds are unable to fly… I embrace each dream, beneath the sky at dawn… Destiny, Alive Heaven, Love, Innocence, Always, Destroy, Aftermath, Hell, Life, Infinite”

REO AND CHIGIRI’s friendship

chiquitita by ABBA

However you wish to see Nagi and Reo’s dynamic, I personally see them as lovers. Maybe I will do a separate post about it. The song is a message of comfort for a heartbroken friend, giving hope for better days. It says heartaches come and go, leaving scars, but you’ll dance again and the pain will end eventually.

“You're enchained by your own sorrow In your eyes there is no hope for tomorrow How i hate to see you like this There is no way you can deny it I can see that you're oh so sad, so quiet”

REO AND NAGI

the winner take it all by ABBA (I’m sorry but they literally fit in so many abba songs 😭)

A cry out about the difficulty of breaking up with someone. One person is clinging to the relationship, finding it difficult to let go, whilst the other can easily move on. Must I say more?

ISAGI

vienna by Billy Joel

Is no secret that Isagi has done huge steps in blue lock. But is also true that at times, he faced harsh realities and self doubt. Resulting him into rushing head first, to not feel like he was “being left behind”. Vienna, is a song about patience, self discovery and the passage of time. Exploring the importance of taking life at your own pace, rather than rushing because of societal expectations in order to grow.

CHARLES

alright by supergrass

This song is literally the embodiment of the spirit of youth. Being free to hang out, being free and silly. It captures Charles free like personality, with that “explosive” and almost child like aspect he has

KAISER

lose yourself by Eminem

The courage; despite all of the odds being against you, to push forward and to be determined to make it. Eminem talks about his broken family life, abuse and neglected from his mother, the struggles of growing up poor but still having the strength to push forward. To grab that one life time chance and to make it yours, turn the game in your favour

RIN

strappati lungo i bordi by Giancane

The song, main theme of the Italian hit animated series “tear along the dotted line”, highlights many themes. Some in particular reflect with Rin. It’s a song that heavy focuses on internal struggles. Like Rin, who is left stranded after everything that happened with Sae, he is trying to understand who he is and who he wants to be. Yet, he is torn between his insecurities, the pressure of having to excel and the need to prove something to Sae. The song expresses the conflict and the journey that comes with growth, but also the sense of being left behind while everyone moves forward.

pt2? :)

149 notes · View notes

m0chis-cafe · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! This is my first time making a request, if it's okay, can I get a reader with Lillia, Rook, Vil and Leona who has recently been suffering from insomnia and anxiety about returning home (comfort in the end) Please? 😔🎀

i absolutely love this, i get horrible insomia. i gotchu♡

(edit: i ended up focusing on one more than the other in some, but both are mentioned. hope u still like it *mwah*)

reader suffering from insomnia and anxiety about returning home.. ⋆⑅˚₊

word count: 1.5k

warnings: mentioning of anxiety, and panic attacks (there will be major comfort though), sitting in laps, kissing, joking to help, mentioning of what happens in each of the characters books (i hope yall have read em before but js in case)

characters: leona, rook, vil, and lilia

leona kingscholar🦁

you paced the botanical gardens on campus, hands tangling in your hair s you thoughts went a million miles a second..

how am i going to get home?

how is my family.. god i miss them..

if im forced to stay here.. how do i even pass these crazy magic classes?

do the people here ive come to know even want me here or are they forced to cause i cant leave..

every new thought was another anxiety that just caused your breath to quicken. your thoughts were flooded with negatives.. if you had magic this is what youd assume a magic blot would feel like.. so much negative emotions piling into you all at once.

you eventually sat below a tree, knees curled to your chest as you tried to calm yourself down. it didnt help that you hadent slept in days, insomnia only getting worse since coming to nightraven.

yet no matter what you did your breaths wouldnt calm, your hands kept shaking, and you couldnt hear or see straight. you almost jumped right out of your skin as you felt hands grab your own that covered your face. looking up you saw brown hair and ears.. leona?

his voice made its way to you eventually, "herbavore? herbavore.. seriously c'mon your worrying me. ruggie said you ran off but i didnt think itd be this bad." he mumbled to himself before his hands slipped dwon to your biceps, "hey, listen to me." he spoke firmly.

your eyes eventually meet him, your breaths calmling slightly at his presence. taking large breaths through your lips as you looked up at him, arms shaking in his hold. "dont fall out on me now, we need you." he spoke lowly as he scopped you up with ease, placing you betwen his legs, "your alright now herbivore, whatevers going on in that head of yours, its gonna be alright, yea?" he placed a kiss on your forhead allowng you time to breath normally.

when your breaths calmed and body began to calm, you sighed and leaned more into his body, "thank you.. leona". he chuckled deeply, sloching more down the tree, letting you fall into his chest. "its fine kid, just glad your fine. did something happen?". your eyes widened before spilling, explaining your thoughts to him slowly, anxious to be a burden. when you ended he rolled his eyes and strted laughing.. at you?..

huh?

"you seriously think anyone here doesnt want you here? i think at this point those first years would fall apart without you, and as for finding your way home, crawley better. or ill personally kick his ass, alright herbavore?" you simply nodded your head and leaned into him smiling, "your really not as bad as they say you are.."

vil schoenheit🧺

vi had become obsessed with training for the dance competittion, day after day everyone was practicing for hours every day. you tried to be nothin bt supportive but your insomnia had only gotten worse with the recent stress of the compettition..

what will happen if we dont win?

everyone else looks so tired..

god im so tired.. when was the last time i slept multiple hours?

i wish i could just go home already..

you guys had gotten the first brea of the day, you sat against the wall between kalim and ace as they yapped about how excited they were to preform next week. listening to them had you distracted, your eyes fluttering closed.

a hand was placed on your shoulder, looking up you saw jamil crouched in front of you, "are you alright? you look terrible prefect" you heard ace and kalim repremand him for being so blunt, but you just shook your head trying to wake up, "im fine jamil.. just tired, thank you though"

he looked skeptical but quickly turned to make sure kalim was drinking water and taking a proper break. ace mumbled something under his breath that you barley couldnt catch before he stood up and walked towards vil who was with rook and epel, who were talking across the room.

you saw vil look down at ace with his arms crossed, he glanced at you as ace pointed a finger to you. vil abandoned his conversation with epel and rook, shooing away the others around you, "why wouldnt you say that you havent been sleeping, thats not proper conditions for you to be proforming in prefect."

"im fine vil-", he rolled his eyes and cut you off, "you look anything but, stand" he reached a hand down to you, pulling you up from the ground. your head swam with spots when you rose too quickly, stumbling into vil.

he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you up, "poision.. is somethng truley wrong?" you looked up at him, eyes wide as he read you like a book. he quickly took your hand and dragged you out of the practice room and into the lounge at pomefiore.

he sat you down in one of the chairs and crouched in fron tof you, holding your face in his hands, "speak to me.." you sighed before explaining what had been happening, the stresses and not sleeping, the thoughts of never being able to go home.

he sighed and stood, sitting beside you and tugging you into his side, "i wish you would speak up when this happens, you know that id never wish to add to your burdens." he placed a kiss to your forhead before continuing, "we will find a way for you to go home, no matter how bitter sweet itll be, i do hope we find a way for you to go back and forth.. we would all miss you terribly here.. especially me." at his words you sighed and relaxed into his side, "ill find a way back, i could never just leave you guys.. especially you.

rook hunt🪶

you thought itd be easy to hide your emotions recently, but knowing rook he proably could already see through your mind..

i hope i can go home soon..

i wonder if time has passed back home and if my family is worried about me..

i need to stop stresing, i havent slept at all recently

these magic classes are getting harder with the lack of magic

you thought you kept a pretty good mask on arround others, yet as soon as you were walking from potions alone with rook he spoke up, "mon cheri.. have you been sleeping enough? your beauty is as blinding as always, alas you seem more tired than usual."

you shouldve known better than to try to keep something from him, he finds out everything sooner rathar than latter, "im alright, just worried about getting home, i guess its been affecting my sleep.."

"well theres no use in worrying cheri! i garuntee they will find a way to send you home! with that said i think a long rest for you is in place." he spoke cherfully as he laced your hands together and dragged you to pomefiore, you smiled at his actions and followed along.. he always here to look after me

lilia vanrough🦇

after dealing with blots from every other house, you thought hanging around diasmonia would be calming. yet as you sat in the lounge with silver, sebek, lilia, and malleus your thought still didnt stop running..

whos going to over-blot next?

will the next one be more powerful.. maybe too powerful..

i didnt have these struggles at home

even my sleep scheduals gotten worse.. late nights staying up with lilia and idia playing games have become much more often an occurance

im supposed to be relaxing, just breath..

your mind spaced out as you looked at the floor in front of you while stuck in thought. your hands tangled into your blazer sleeves as your breath quickened, your vision began to see spots before you felt a hand rest on top of your own in your lap.

"prefect, is something the matter?" your head snapped up and saw lilia who was sat beside you, a concerned look for once took over his boyish grin, "your not looking too good.. are you ill?" he placed a hand on you forhead attempting to asses if you were running a fever.

"im alright.. just missing home" you mumbled, offering him a small smile as you placed your head on his shoulder. he sighed, raisng your hand to press a kiss on the back of your hand, "well find a way for you to go back, i promise it my dear."

he wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you to lean more into him, "in the mean time, you havent been sleeping and its clear, get some rest prefect" his boyish grin returned as he pecked your cheek. he was right.. everything was gonna be ok.

you finally felt comfortble enough to fall into a deep sleep against him, with grim curled up into your lap mumbling about his dreams of tuna. surronded by people you became found of over you stay at nightraven, it wouldnt be bad to stay here, but you knew that there would be a way home.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #leona kingsholar x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #rook hunt #rook x reader #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge #lilia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #mochiscafe<3

215 notes · View notes

misspygmypie · 4 months ago

Text

The Promise

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Noah, Lando Norris x reader Words: 1910 Request: Hello. Lando and Reader having a fight and Lando leaves for a race weekend but reader actually thinks he's going to leave them and tries to hide her crying from Noah but he sees and calls Lando scared he's leaving them making him fly straight back after the race to reassure that he is at leaving his family. Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando and Y/N had always been known for their supportive relationship but as the current Formula 1 season ramped up the pressure started to show.

The days leading up to the next race weekend had been some of the busiest for Lando. With meetings, media obligations and endless preparations he barely had time to catch his breath.

Y/N had been supportive but clearly feeling the strain, especially with a six month old that needed all of her attention she was in desperate need of support. But instead their evenings together were now filled with quiet tension rather than shared moments of joy.

One evening when Lando was scheduled to leave for the next Grand Prix soon Y/N brought up the plans for their last few hours together. “I was hoping we could spend some time with each other before you leave,” she said softly as they sat in their living room. “Maybe a quiet dinner or just a night in? We could get a babysitter for Noah and Maebry.”

Lando, his mind still swirling with the demands of the upcoming race, responded with a distracted sigh. “I really can’t, Y/N. There’s so much to do. The team is depending on me and I need to be focused. This race is crucial.”

“Every weekend is crucial, Lando,” Y/N’s eyes flashed with frustration. “It feels like we’re just drifting apart. We barely see each other and now you’re going to be gone again.”

“You know how important this is! I’ve got a job to do and it’s not like I can just skip race preparations because you’re feeling left out!”

The argument escalated quickly. Emotions flared as Lando accused Y/N of not understanding the demands of his career, while Y/N felt neglected and undervalued. Their emotions got more tense by the minute and soon harsh words were exchanged.

In the heat of the moment Lando decided he needed space. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he said tensly. He packed his bags, his mind racing with the pressures of the upcoming Grand Prix and the unresolved tension with his wife.

Y/N watched him, feeling both sad and angry. “Is this really how you want to handle this? Just walking away?”

Lando paused for a moment, his hand resting on his suitcase. He looked back at her, his expression exhausted. “I don’t know how else to handle it right now. I can’t stay here and argue. I need to focus on the race. Maybe it’s better if we talk when I get back.”

With that Lando finished packing and headed out. Y/N, feeling powerless and desolate, stood by the door, her heart heavy while she watched him drive away.

Y/N paced the living room, her heart racing with a fear that felt all too familiar. The memories of the argument with Lando replayed in her mind. She couldn’t shake the nagging worry that he might not come back, just like Noah’s biological father had done after their last fight. The way he had walked out on them when Noah was just two months old without looking back.

She wasn’t just scared for herself but for Noah too, fearing that the stability and love they had come to rely on might disappear, leaving them both alone once more.

After bringing the kids to bed Y/N retreated to her own bedroom, shutting the door behind her as tears began to flow uncontrollably. She sank onto the bed, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her fears. The thought of Lando not returning gnawed at her, past betrayals and broken promises fueling her anxiety.

Unbeknownst to her Noah, unable to sleep, had wandered down the hallway and stood quietly by the door, listening to his mother’s muffled sobs. His small frame tensed as he heard her crying, his young heart aching with a growing sadness, sensing that something was terribly wrong.

The weekend dragged on for Y/N and Noah. Despite Y/N’s best efforts to keep things normal Lando’s absence was deeply felt. Y/N was preoccupied with her own emotions and the recent argument with Lando, making it challenging to fully address Noah’s growing distress.

The next day, while Y/N was busy in the kitchen, Noah quietly went into his room a few minutes after he had watched his dad on the TV finish practice for the day. Having secretly grabbed his mom's phone, he dialed Lando’s number, his small fingers shaking as he pressed each digit, just how his parents had shown him for emergencies. The phone rang several times before Lando answered.

“Hello?” Lando’s voice came through, busy with the race weekend’s chaos and the exhaustion after the practice session he had just finished.

“Daddy?” Noah’s voice was small and choked with emotion.

“Noah! What’s wrong?” Lando asked, his concern immediate as he recognized his son's voice instead of Y/N’s as expected and he listened to the trembling voice on the other end.

Noah’s tears began to flow freely. “I’m scared, daddy. What if you don’t come back? What if you leave us like… like the other daddy did?”

Lando’s heart instantly ached hearing the raw fear in Noah’s voice. He quickly moved into a private area and sat down, focusing entirely on his son. “Oh, Noah, I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way. I promise I’m not going anywhere. I love you, mommy and Mae very much and I’m coming home soon.”

Noah’s crying intensified. “But what if you don’t come back? I heard mommy crying last night! What if you just stay there forever?!”

Lando felt a sharp pang of guilt and sadness. “Noah, listen to me. I’m finishing up here and then I’m coming home. I’m always thinking about you and mommy and your sister. I would never leave you! I promise I’ll be back soon and we’re going to have so much fun together.”

Noah’s sobs were interrupted by hiccups. “Really? You promise you won’t leave us?”

“I promise,” Lando said firmly. “I love you so much. Just remember, even when I’m not there, I’m always with you in my heart.”

Noah took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Okay, daddy. I love you!”

“I love you too, Noah. Be good for mommy and I’ll see you soon,” Lando said softly.

The call ended and Lando sat quietly, overwhelmed by the emotional weight of Noah’s fears and his own guilt. The pre-race tension seemed insignificant compared to the worry he felt for his family.

Unaware of the conversation that had just taken place Y/N continued her evening routine. When Noah rejoined her in the kitchen he was quieter but seemed somewhat reassured. Y/N noticed the change but was unsure of the source of his sudden calmness.

After dinner she put Maebry and then Noah to bed, her mind still occupied with the issues between her and Lando. When she turned to leave the room Noah’s voice called out softly.

“Mommy, can I tell you something?”

Y/N sat down on the edge of his bed. “Of course, sweetie. What’s up?”

Noah looked up at her, his small face still a bit flushed from his tears. “I talked to daddy. He said he’s coming home soon. And, mommy… I heard you and daddy talking and you crying last night. I was scared.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She reached out to hold Noah’s hand and took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her composure. “I’m so sorry you heard me, Noah. I was just having a hard time. But Daddy and I love you very much and we’re going to be okay. We’re all going to work things out.”

Noah nodded, seeming comforted by her words. “Okay, mommy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Noah,” Y/N said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. She stayed with him a little longer until he fell asleep, the weight of the most recent events still heavy on her shoulders.

As Y/N left Noah’s room she felt relieved but also sad. The phone call had provided some comfort for Noah but it also highlighted the emotional distance that had grown between her and Lando. Y/N knew they had some work to do when Lando returned. For now she focused on holding her family together, hoping that soon they would rebuild their connection.

________

After the race, despite the adrenaline and excitement of the weekend, Lando’s mind was consumed by worry. He couldn’t shake the image of Noah’s fearful face and the distress in his voice. The thought of his family struggling while he was miles away drove him to a resolute decision.

When the final checkered flag fell and the race weekend concluded, Lando made a swift choice. He bypassed the traditional post-race interviews and celebrations, driven by a singular focus: getting home as quickly as possible. His team understood his urgency after he briefly explained the situation and provided the necessary support.

Lando rushed to the airport and managed to catch the earliest available flight home, the hours stretching endlessly as he anxiously waited to be back home l with his family. The flight was a blur, his mind fixed on being with Y/N, Noah and Maebry.

It was late into the night when he finally arrived at home. Y/N was in the living room, feeling the weight of the past few days and the tension of the argument with Lando. The apartment was quiet except for the soft sounds of the city outside.

The front door creaked open and Y/N looked up, startled. Her eyes widened as she saw Lando standing in the doorway, looking both exhausted and determined.

“Lando?” she asked, relieved.

Lando stepped inside, his expression earnest. “I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead. I just needed to come back as soon as I could.”

Y/N rushed to him, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re here. You really came back!”

Lando enveloped her in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry for everything. I heard how upset Noah was and he told me how he heard you crying and I couldn’t stand being away any longer. I needed to be here to make things right.”

Y/N clung to him, her tears falling freely. “It’s been so hard! We missed you so much.”

As they held each other they heard a small, hesitant voice from the hallway. Noah had woken up from the commotion, his eyes puffy from sleep. He peeked around the corner, looking at Lando with a mix of apprehension and hope.

“Daddy?” Noah’s voice was barely a whisper.

Lando dropped to his knees, opening his arms wide. “Hey, buddy. I’m home. I’m really sorry for scaring you. I love you so much and I’m not going anywhere.”

Noah ran into Lando’s arms, relieved as he hugged his father tightly. “Daddy, you came back!"

“I did,” Lando said, holding Noah close. “I’m here now. We’re all going to be okay.”

The tension and worry of the past days began to lift, Lando’s presence providing the comfort and reassurance they all needed.

After Noah was back in bed Lando and Y/N settled in the living room. They spoke quietly, sharing their feelings and discussing the issues that had come up. While the road to resolving their issues would take time, the commitment to being present and supportive was a crucial step forward.

________

AN: Anon, I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya

#lando imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando angst #lando x noah #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando x reader

353 notes · View notes

suplicyy · 3 months ago

Note

i don’t want to disturb you butttt could you write some headcannons about kuroo? i really like the way you picture him and you’re one of the few haykiuu writers still writing.

like ANYTHING literally, i like so much your way of writing for himm

Boyfriend headcanons

Kuroo Tetsurou X Reader

— Summary: Some headcanons about what he would be like in a relationship.

— Tags/Genre: Gn!Reader | Fluff

— Warnings: None!

Upon realizing his crush on you, Kuroo would definitely try to befriend you (if you weren't so close/didn't know each other).

He would like to know everything about you, so he can surprise you with souvenirs from your favorite media, or a bag with your favorite snacks, or even start watching a series just so he can talk to you about it.

And I feel like he would be embarrassed to be alone with you, so he would always try to drag Kenma along when you guys went to do anything together.

When you started dating, he would be very respectful of your personal space, so at the beginning of the relationship he wouldn't do anything until he was sure that you would like it too, even if it was just a simple intertwining of hands or a kiss.

If you weren't part of any club yet, Kuroo would definitely try to convince you to be the manager of the volleyball club.

Besides you being a great help to the club in general, he would love to see you getting along with his teammates.

But we all know that the real reason Kuroo asked you to be the manager of the volleyball team is that he would love to have your support and company while he plays.

His love languages would be acts of service, giving gifts and words of affirmation.

As time goes by, Kuroo could already be considered a member of your family, as he goes to your house whenever he has the opportunity. And he loves helping you with anything you need.

Before the thought of washing the dishes even crosses your mind, Kuroo is already at the sink washing everything for you; Do you have any questions about your homework? He almost immediately becomes your private tutor.

And as much as he loves being a gentleman with you, that wouldn't stop him from teasing you a little.

He would get a lot of enjoyment out of seeing your annoyed expression when he made a sarcastic comment at you.

But of course he would never cross the line with you!!! The last thing he wants to do is hurt you in any way.

He loves to spoil you, whether it's helping you with basic tasks, or with all kinds of gifts you can imagine, or even the sweetest words you'll hear, he only wants the best of the best for his beloved.

And he genuinely imagines himself by your side in the future, buying a house or apartment together, sharing routines, getting married with you... everything he does for you is from the purest of hearts, hoping that one day this thought will become reality...👁👁

— A/N: I think this turned out a little shorter than I expected, but I really couldn't think of anything else to write here.😓

And great news, I'm opening requests again!! I was trying to write some stuff on my own, but I can't finish any of them (help....😭). So I'll open them again to see if I can write better, but it might also take a while for them to come out since my pace is a bit slow.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #hq #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu x gn!reader #hq x gn!reader #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo x reader

253 notes · View notes

hotchfiles · 11 months ago

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ [BEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN] ❞

request by lovely detailing anon pairing: spencer reid x reader. summary: a date for your brother's wedding brings you more than you could ever hope for. content warnings: i think none, but feel free to tell me! very fluffy stuff ahead though. word count: 1,1k+

the first thing you told your mother when she began yapping about how you needed a date for the wedding was that she didn't need to worry, you got your girls! surely one of them would have an eligible bachelor to accompany you. you had the girls from work, two from college and even your sister-in-law could definitely help you out without the obnoxious interference of your mother.

sadly enough, as the ceremony got closer and closer the more spectacularly did the blind dates fail you. you insisted with the bau girls you did not want anyone from the bureau, emily tried with an old friend who worked in politics. completely boring and in severe need of a model trophy wife his parents approved of.

pen tried to set you up with some guy she met doing theater, he was fascinated by your job. too fascinated, like you were some character of a play that he needed to analyze, and if that wasn't bad enough, the ones you were set up by your civilian girls weren't any better, they were in fact worse. trembling the moment you told them you were an agent.

"i'm going alone, won't tell my mom that though." you finish the conversation leaving the reports from the last case on your desk. i'ts saturday morning and fortunately, you were back in time for your brother's wedding, no chance to skip it and blame it on work for this and already running back to the elevator, asking spencer to hold the doors for you.

"i can be your date, for the wedding, i mean." his voice sounds almost nonchalant, if not for a bit higher in pitch. you feel your face warm up at the idea, surely if you had enough courage in your personal life as you showed in the field, you would've asked him months before, but apparently fate was on your side.

"really? i don't want to disturb you, i—" you shake your head softly, trying to be less avoidant, you wanted him to go, he offered to go. "i would really like that, actually."

"i'm happy to. this way you're at least guaranteed someone who isn't afraid of fbi female agents." the way his shoulders shrug up and his nose moves in a soft crunch makes your heart swell. "historically bridesmaids were to dress the same as the bride to deceive evil spirits—" he's interrupted by the elevator doors opening, but you both keep the same pace as you leave the building, wanting to keep talking to each other. "though surely you won't be dressing in white, what color are you wearing should i match my tie to it?"

"that's very thoughtful, spen." too thoughtful even, you might just swoon if you don't control yourself. "it's black tie required for bridal party dates actually, is that okay?"

"i can arrange that." even if he didn't have a black tie attire at home already, which he did, spencer would rent one if he had to, he wouldn't be happy about it, but he would do whatever necessary.

his eyes glance from your dress to your fidgeting fingers a few times before speaking up. "you're nervous." he knows that's not the first thing he should be saying after seeing you all dressed up, but he can't help it.

"oh—sorry, i'm just worried about my family meeting you." you didn't even think about your choice of words, not paying attention to the way it made spencer flinch, his smile falling instantly.

"do you want me to be less... me? i can try." eyes widened up, you shake your head quickly, hands going to his chest in what you believed was a comforting manner.

"i want them to be less... them. you're great, perfect even. they can be kind of rude, that's all." perfect even. his smile quickly comes back to his face, placing his own hands over yours with a squeeze.

"unrelated but, you look great, perfect even." his repeating of your words makes you laugh, spinning around to show him the full look before thanking him. he looks stunning, dashing even, but you feel like the way your eyes can't look away from him for long might show him that.

you were right to be worried about your family, a bunch of drunk alpha males who didn't believe the work you did in the fbi weren't the most friendly bunch to spencer, but he had his fun responding to their jabs with knowledge and sarcasm, checking your reactions every time and always getting a laugh in response.

your mother seemed to like him though, saying you two were a great match, which you tried to deny, shrug it off since you two were just friends and you somehow knew your mom would like anyone you took as long as you didn't show up alone again to a family event.

as he held you close to dance, spinning you around and making you dizzy from all the champagne, and as his hands stopped at your hips to look at you, you wished to yourself you truly were a great match, and that he felt it as much as you, and the saw it as much your family saw it.

by the end of the night he was the one holding your heels, your bag and your scarf while calling a taxi to the venue to pick you both up. happily laying your head on his shoulder the whole way back to your apartment.

spencer had to accompany you back into your place, he wasn't about to leave you by the building's entrance or the elevator, it was only reasonable to help you all the way through.

for you, it was only reasonable to ask him to spend the night, your couch was comfortable enough especially after a whole night of dancing and walking around trying to keep up with you. it was only reasonable for him to accept it.

"hey spen..." you had gone to your bedroom to find anything comfortable for him to wear, coming back only minutes later, still dressed up. "thanks for today, i had a great time." you say handing him the pijama bottoms you thought could fit him.

"i always have a great time with you." his hands brush lightly against yours and you feel a shiver down your spine, gluing your eyes to his in hopes he felt it too.

in a second he's placing his hands on your neck, kissing you with lust of at least months of yearning, taking your breath away and making you enjoy the lack of oxygen and control. you don't even have to think about reciprocating it, no hesitance, like you have been always at the ready for it and you bite his lower lip the second he tries to pull away.

"i always have a great time with you too." you whisper waiting to have an even greater time with him, the smirk on his lips showing you he hoped for the same.

#lari writes sometimes #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer x reader #reid x reader #reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #reid imagine #reid scenario #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fluff

440 notes · View notes

littlemissmiller · 2 months ago

Text

Bird in a Cage

Part 4: Under His Spell

Pairing: dark!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

Summary: You’ve been Coriolanus’s guest for a while now, yet you still feel drawn to him rather than wanting to escape. One evening after you express how much you miss your family, Coriolanus decides to get your mind off things and shows off his lab.

Word count: 3.4k

Warning: 21+ (use of drugs), mentions of smut, non-con, degeneration, nicknames(slut, good girl), mentions of oral (f! receiving), use of aphrodisiacs, stalking, possession, dark themes, toxic themes, kidnapping

A/N: omg…I can’t believe i’m back to posting. i can’t believe y’all are still reading and some have been waiting a while for an update on anything so…here. this series is will be finished first before i get to Summer Highs and everything else i promised. it’s been such a struggle since i last put anything out, and im still working on feeling mentally better, but i do want to get back into writing. i hope you guys enjoy this and my suggestions are still open. i’m also welcoming any ideas for Summer Highs or a Joel fic and i may start writing for Nicholas Alexander Chavez 👀 so stayed tuned ♥︎

P.S. this was inspired by the Michael’s crafts white Halloween decor so iykyk

Series Masterlist

༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚

After that morning, you felt different. Different about him and to a certain extent, the circumstances that brought you here.

Over the next two weeks, you slowly give up on your plans to escape. Seeing as you were under constant guard and his own watchful eye, escape felt impossible and eventually your family had been told that President Snow was hosting people near his palace as The Games approach. And somehow his web of lies worked. You still hadn’t seen them and you were starting to miss them dearly.

Coriolanus notices and does his absolute best to distract you. He sets up modeling gigs for you during most of the week, then he starts to pamper you. Every night treating you to the most scrumptious meals and the most relaxing baths. He starts to dress you more often, making sure to adorn you in the finest silk, cashmere, cotton and jewelry Panem has. He makes sure you get plenty of sleep and makes sure that the modeling gigs keep you front and center in the fashion magazines. This is all you could have dreamed of. You fall under his spell, yet the idea of freedom lingers in your mind. At the same time, it seems to miraculously fade away the moment he lays you down on his bed. In addition to luxurious treatment, Coriolanus knew how to take a woman to bed. His tongue was a drug, his mouth, a vice. He would lay you on your back, spread your legs and spend hours pleasing you. He loves your taste. Slightly bitter, but oh so sweet. He would take his time, dancing his tongue against your folds and diving into your cunt. He loves to make you moan and squeal.

Coriolanus always makes sure you let it out. He wants the whole palace to hear how good he makes you feel. He would hold you down, sometimes tie your wrists to the bed. He loves the power he holds over you, and loves seeing you bare on his bed. And you were starting to look forward to him inviting you into his room every evening. Your core was always throbbing for him, wanting to feel his full length buried deep inside you. He loved to feel your tight warmth, he loved how you clenched and gripped him. He loved how your face scrunched up, distorted from feeling so good. He would sometimes plunge a finger or two into your mouth, making you suck on them while he picks up the pace. His hips slamming into you as he commanded you to degrade yourself.

“Tell me you’re a good little slut.”

“I’m a good little slut, sir.”

He liked when you called him that. Even though he told you to call him Coriolanus, in the bedroom he required Mr. President or Sir.

“Tell me how good it feels.”

“Your cock feels so good Mr. President. So so good”

“Good girl”

One night at dinner, you stare thoughtfully at the young blonde and take small sips of your Gazpacho. Coriolanus notices and stops eating. You raise and eyebrow at him.

“Sir…?” You question. He looks up at you. “Coriolanus.” You correct yourself and he smiles

“What’s wrong my dear?”

“N-n-nothing is wrong. I just have something on my mind”

“Well…tell me.” He demands

“It’s just…it’s been a while since I’ve seen my family…I’ve been missing them.”

“I bet you have, but my darling…” he holds out his hand and you take it “Not quite yet…” he tells you, giving you a playful smile.

“When though…I feel like they must be worried about me and I just want- “

Coriolanus’s face drops and he gives you a stern look, squeezing your hand. You whine at the pain.

“Watch it, my dear…you are getting ahead of yourself now. You have been so good for me. Do not mess it up.”

“But I just want- “

“It’s not about what you want. Don’t you understand?”

Your heart sinks and eyes well with tears. You want to cry but won’t in front of him. You won’t show that weakness. You collect yourself quickly and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ll be able to see them again. When I think you’re ready. Am I clear?”

You nod your head and look down in your lap. He clears his throat, and you look back up at him.

“I said, am I clear?”

“Yes sir” you quip up.

“Good girl. I have something to show you after dinner.”

“I look forward to it” you tremble slightly as you say it.

After dinner, he stands up and walks next to you, holding out his hand.

“I want you to follow me.”

You nod and obey. He holds your hand, guides you up and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a silk black blindfold and smiles. Without a word, you turn around and he places it over your eyes.

“I’ve noticed how your eyes wander whenever we walk through the palace. I’ve seen eyes like that before. And they always leave me. Or try to. I’m not ready to let you go quite yet and I really don’t want to have to punish you if you have any ideas.”

“I-“

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I can tell you’re wanting to settle in. But I see your eyes. And how they linger and plot.”

“I-I’m sorry…it’s just my family, my life, everything has slipped away from me.”

Then you feel his firm grip wrap under your chin. He pulls you against his chest and nestles his face in the crook of your neck. He places a delicate kiss under your chin then whispers in your ear.

“My darling, I know you surely miss the life you had, but have I not shown you enough of what this life offers. Are you not satisfied with what I’ve given you? What more I could give. I’ll always take care of you. Don’t you want that?”

You sigh and nod almost unconsciously. You’re completely under his trance.

“Good. Now come with me.”

He takes your hand, guiding you through the palace. You intensely listen to the clapping of your collective footsteps as you pace down the hall. After a few moments the air grows cold and quiet. You hear an old iron door creek open, then slam shut as you both walk inside. Coriolanus steps behind you and takes off your blindfold. You blink and look around. The room is ghostly white, as if it’s been draped in old sheets. A chill crawls down your spine and Coriolanus soaks in your look of terror and confusion. As you look around the room, you notice a variety of statues and decor. It almost looks like it could be a dungeon or a crypt.

“What is this place?”

“This is my lab. I’m quite fond of experimenting.”

“Experimenting?”

“A habit from my school days. I used to study under Dr. Volumnia Gaul. She would always have something new she was working on. Especially during the Hunger Games season.”

“Oh-“ you gasp

He pauses and watches you as you walk around the room. You are immediately drawn to the back where a tall statue of a woman sitting, draped in a veil, and holding a skull. You recognize the stone as marble, feeling haunted by its stillness. At the base lies a bouquet of faded pink flowers, not quite as white as the ones in the garden. These flowers almost look dead, but still have a bit of life left. Next to her, a row of glass cabinets. You glance at them and inside is a variety of test tubes, flasks, and cylinders. Upon a closer look, some of the test tubes are filled up with what appears to be crystals, rocks, some mushrooms, butterfly wings, spider legs, and other dead bugs. You grimace and look away. Next to the tubes are a variety of silver tools hung up on the wall. A variety of scissors, knives, and scapulas, which are all polished and reflect back at you.

You turn around and look at the other side of the room. Another statue stands tall. Another veiled woman, like a bride, holding out her own stone bouquet. At her base, a skull with a snake weaving out of the eye socket and through the mouth. Feeling slightly terrified, you look away and immediately your eyes fall upon the shelves littered with small animal bones, skulls, more jars of dead insects, gems, jewelry, and coins. Everything seems to have its place. Then you glance over to Coriolanus, standing as still as the statues. He watches you intensely with a sly smile across his face.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Without a word, he walks over to one of his glass cases and opens it. He pulls out a small vial filled with a dark red liquid.

“I have a new concoction. I made my first sample yesterday.” He holds the vial up delicately in his hand.

Your eyes widen and you give him a puzzling look.

“What is it?”

“Well based on the ingredients, a wave of euphoria, a calming sensation throughout your whole body. Similar to the chocolate I gave you, but more long lasting and with a bit more visuals…”

“Visuals?” You question

“Yes, normal everyday things may look more interesting, more intense. You’ll be fine of course. I’ll be hear, watching after you.”

“W-why do you want me to try?”

“Because, I think you’d like this. It heightens your sensations in a way I think will be good for you….”

“So you’re using me as a test subject.”

“No. I always try it on myself first if I can, and then…I like to share.”

“And what happens if I say…no…” you hesitate

He looks at you with confusion, striding over to you. His eyes never leave your own as a chill creeps down your spine. He pauses, his face inches away from your own. He tucks a hair behind your ear and kisses you gently. He pulls back, hand caressing your chin.

“Then you say no…” he kisses you again quickly. He holds the vial up to you, looking at it like it’s a delicious treat. You look at him then the vial. In a moment of pure impulse, you take it from his fingers. He abruptly turns to face you, and you make full eye contact with him, sipping the red liquid. The taste is so strong, and warm. As it slides down your throat it almost burns your esophagus like acid and you hold back a cough. He gazes upon you in awe, smirking at you, eyeing you

“Good girl”

“H-how long until the effects kick in?”

“About thirty to forty five minutes. We will stay here for now.”

You nod and slowly lean into his lips. This time you kiss him. It’s slow, graceful, and unexpected. Coriolanus revels in it, he loves that you are starting to love him back. He chuckles to himself and pulls back.

“I love when you kiss me and mean it. I love that you want me.”

“It comforts me in a way. To have formed a relationship with you. Even though you…you..”

“Stole you away?” He finishes your sentence

You nod and look away. He grabs your chin and forces you to look at him.

“But you’ve seen what I can offer you. Haven’t you. You can’t resist it. You can’t resist me. Can you?”

You nod slowly as he captures your lips in a fierce manner. You can barely breathe as his lips move against yours. You welcome it all the same. His aggression. His passion. He wants to consume you. Own you. And he does.

“You love it…don’t you..”

“Y-Y-yes, this has truly been the most luxurious and cared for I’ve felt in my life.”

“Good, as it should be.” He resumes his lips, consuming your own. You and him stay like this for a while. Passionately clinging to each other's lips. His hands move to clutch your hips and he eventually pulls back again to look at you.

“How do you feel?”

You take a moment to look at your surroundings. Things feel normal. Until they don’t. The room looks different. The lights feel more intense, and then when you stare too long, things begin to swirl. Only slightly. Only enough to make you intrigued by what was seemingly normal surroundings. Everything has become the most interesting thing that you could look at right now. As you continue to look around the room, looking at the various glass cabinets, lab experiments, everything, even the statues, seems to move. As if they are growing and swirling in the space around you. Time feels like it slows down and your immediate reaction is to smile at it all. Something about the way the room moves makes you giggle, and feel light.

“Good” you nod

“You’re starting to feel the effects aren’t you”

“I-I think so yes…”

“Good. It made me feel curious. Do you feel curious?”

You nod and he grabs your chin again.

“Speak up”

“Yes, Coriolanus, it makes me feel good. I feel curious as well.”

“Let me give you a tour of the lab now that you’re in the right mindset.”

He takes your hand and walks you around his lab. He tells you about the various experiments, tools, and ingredients that he uses. Even in this state, you can see how passionate he is. How much he enjoys talking about this side of himself, sharing it with you specifically. And just as he told you, you do find yourself curious in a new way under the influence of the concoction. Everything that you observe feels as though it has its own personality and yet somehow it’s all connected to the other experiments and the whole room. You can’t really explain it.

Then he takes you over to another set of cabinets. Only this time. They are locked behind an iron cage, painted white to match everything else in the room. He pulls a key from his pocket. Coriolanus unlocks the cabinet and behind the doors are rows and rows of vials similar to the one that he showed you, except each one is labeled differently. They are all different colors as well, ranging from red to purple to green and even midnight black. Yet, one vial sticks out to you in particular. It’s as clear as the glass that contains it and for a second, you’re not even sure that there’s anything in it. Upon further inspection, you can see the rim of liquid that fills to the top just below the cork. It intrigues and entices you. You wonder what it is. Coriolanus, picks up on your curiosity.

“I called that one liquid death”

“Liquid death?” you ask

“Yes, it took me a while to finally come up with the perfect concoction, especially to make it appear as it does. I wanted to make something that was hidden in plain sight so that when one's… enemies need to be… eliminated… They would never know what is coming. So, I was able to create a tasteless, colorless, concoction that can take ones…problems out in an instant.” He explains

You look at him with a hit of fear, then you smile and giggle.

“That’s so smart, Coriolanus.” But you only half mean it

He smiles back, giddy at your excitement. Meanwhile, in the back of your mind the sound of freedom rings again. This could be your answer. You could poison him and be free. How would you get to it though, how would you get back here without him knowing? And how would you get the key to the lab? Is it the same key as the one to open this cabinet? Your thoughts shift as he takes your hand again leading you out of the room. He locks up the cabinet quickly. You still feel the effects of the concoction he gave and as he pulls you away you look back one last time at the lab. You look at the silver key, in his hand, but only for a brief moment before he stops to stand in front of you. He pulls the blindfold out of his pocket and wraps it around your eyes as he slips the key into his pocket. You try to commit the key to memory, the shine, the shape. It’s the same one he used for the cabinet, and he uses it now to close up the lab.

“Let’s go to the garden. I think you’ll like it under this state.”

When you arrive at the garden, he takes the blindfold off and you feel the cool air hit your face. You look out onto the familiar white roses. As you walk around, taking a closer look, they appear to swirl and dance. You let out a small laugh of disbelief and amazement.

“You like it?” He asks

You nod and he takes your hand. He guides you around and even though you’ve become quite familiar, it feels like a whole new experience.

“So how long will the effects last?” You ask

“About another hour, then you’ll feel normal, well almost normal.”

“What does that mean?” You question

“Well, when I took it I felt…needy for you after.”

“Needy for me?”

“Mhmm…but you were modeling so I didn’t want to bother you.”

“Oh…” you say plainly

“So..” he kisses your knuckles. “I do hope you will join me in my bedroom tonight.”

And just like that he switches the flip. You blush, and feel vulnerable to his charm. You let out a soft, innocent. laugh and look away.

“I thought that was a given”

“Well my dear, I hope you know, you always have a choice. And it seems like you keep choosing me…”

You gaze back up at him, smiling slightly. You lean up and kiss him. This time you make it soft and sweet. You slowly move your lips against his, letting him savor you. His hands move to your waist and pull you closer to him. After one last soft kiss he leans back and sighs.

“You’re so much different than the others. You want to escape, but don’t. Yet, you don’t praise me in the way the others conceded. And even then, some part of you cares about me. Do you realize how perfect you are?”

“I-I don’t think I’m perfect.”

“You are for me…I always wanted to find someone who could challenge me in a way. You are so curious to me. Do you know how many times the girls I’ve had stay here, try to run away the next day. Or how many times they gave in, thinking that I would choose them and let them have their lives back. But you, you just wait, wait to see what my next move will be and you’ve grown to become fond of me.”

He kisses your cheek.

“I know you do want your life back, I know this isn’t how you envisioned yourself, but it’s growing on you. I can see.”

“You are much kinder than I would have thought given how you…”

“Like to take what isn’t mine.” He finishes your sentence

You nod. He brushes your hair behind your ear and smiles. He gives you a quick kiss, then steps back to look at you fully.

“So, as I said, I hope to see you in my chambers tonight.”

He squeezes your hand and walks away. As he does, you watch him. When he returns inside, two guards come out. They stay at the top of the stairs, yet you know they aren’t just guarding the building. You sigh and look around at the garden.

Everything is still swirling and swimming around you. You glance up at the stars and gasp. The twinkling lights look as if they glitter in the sky. You are in awe and aren’t sure how long you stand to look, but eventually you get cold and tired. As you walk in, the effect of the concoction begins to wear off and you feel less sleepy than you expect. Instead, just as Coriolanus predicted, you get extremely needy. You haven’t felt this on edge in years and you Immediately think of Coriolanus's tongue soaking your pussy. As you make your way inside, the guards stop you.

“Do you wish to sleep in your chamber’s or the President’s tonight?”

“President Snow’s” you answer simply.

꧁🝮꧂

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

119 notes · View notes