#there is a building tension your honour

[wuwaworld]

Mortefi x Reader (One-Shot)

— wishing to be in the front lines against the evil forces, you applied for submission to be a soldier. by some luck, you passed the test. now, how will you tell this to your co-worker.. whom you've found endearing despite the everyday banter? can you really leave the safety net of the Academy?

tw: Mortefi as a menace, idiots in love, prob ooc Mortefi, vague spoilers(?) (for those players who aren't that far into the quest/knowledge on wuwa yet, like me lol)

chaotically rewritten.

forgive the man's bluntness, but Mortefi doesn't really understand how you're fretting over something quite simple.

it started with fleeting glances throughout the whole Academy. Mortefi notices how you hold a thick envelope, flapping its seal but never actually pulling out what's inside.

“what are you doing?” Mortefi approaches you on a random afternoon, the Academy's activities were a bit mellow today. so he guesses he could take his free time to chat with you instead.

“ah-!” you fumbled with the envelope in your hands in a panic, “you can't just surprise me like that!”

“well,” Mortefi chuckles wryly, “someone is quite in a foul mood these days.”

“whatever.” you huffed, attempting to hide the envelope away from his prying eyes. your hands discreetly placing it beneath the stacks of paperwork–

but of course, it was the reason Mortefi approached you, wasn't it?

shamelessly, he picks up the envelope from your hands, flipping the smooth material around as he checks for something relevant on its cover. Mortefi swiftly leans away when you try to pry it away. his taller stature easily raising his hand out of your reach.

“hey! give that back-” you felt quite anxious as Mortefi continued to hold the envelope. “don't you have some manners?”

“weren't you the one who said I should drop the formalities, hm?” Mortefi retorts as he leans down to your height, the envelope in his hands still out of your reach.

“now, will you tell me what this is?”

“an.. application.” you sighed, attempting to cover it up as you reach out for the envelope once more.

“about what? you're oddly being secretive.” Mortefi prods, merely raising his arms out of your reach once more.

“if you give it to me, I'll tell you.” you bargained, crossing your arms as getting the envelope back seemed futile.

“I've seen children conjour a lie better than yours.”

“ugh, you-”

Mortefi merely chuckles, his fingers playing with the paper flap. an almost unnoticable teasing smile on his lips as he taunts further.

“fine,” you huffed, “it's a test result.”

Mortefi blinks once, processing the information.

as far as he knew, you didn't had any major work this past few days. the only things you had done were signing papers and fixing broken weapons that were dropped in the Academy's door.

besides, he's the one who gives you work. so this envelope must be something personal. something a mere co-worker shouldn't pry.

“it seems I've crossed the line,” Mortefi sighs, placing the envelope back in your hands, “I apologize if I came out rude-”

before he could finish his oddly sappy apology, you covered your mouth— laughing at his somewhat sheepish expression.

“you-” you laughed, looking at him as he stood confused, “you're taking it too seriously-”

Mortefi then deadpans, crossing his arms across his chest, “ha.. you're so eccentric.” he mutters. his eyes now looking at the way your lashes flutter as your eyes closed, or how your tense body seem to ease a bit as you laughed because of him. it was him, Mortefi, who had made you this happy—

but.. you didn't have to know that.

you didn't have to know the way he hids his expression as soon as you look up to him; the endearing look he once had replaced with nonchalance. he patiently waits for you to calm down from your peals of laughter, uncaring of the odd stares around the office.

“Mortefi?” he saw the way you tilted your head, a few strands of hair framing your face as you waved your hand in front of him. how rude, he thinks.

“I can feel you heating up.. even when I'm just in front of you. are you that embarrassed?” you asked curiously, a mix of concern and teasing on your tone.

“I'm upset that you seem to shrug of my genuine concern.” Mortefi scoffs, trying to quell his raging heart beat. he crosses his arms more tightly against him as an act of defiance. but really, he was trying to hide the way his chest rapidly falls up and down, his breath quickening on the way he feels at that moment. it almost felt as if the Tacet Mark on his chest was waving along to the frequencies of his heart.

he knows what he's been feeling for you the past weeks.. but a little more denial and study on his feelings wouldn't.. hurt.. right?

“ah, my bad.” you apologized, but Mortefi knew it was merely half-meant, if the way your shoulders just seem to shrug it off.

“now, since we've been in this conversation for a while,” he starts off as he ignored the flutters in his stomach, pushing up his glasses with his finger, “what really is in that envelope?”

if your laughter was any indication, Mortefi deduces that while it is personal, it wasn't something that truly concerns you to the point you'll shut people out. he began to scrutinize the way you bit your lip in nervousness, or the fact that you seem to hold the envelope even closer to your chest. (which he hadn't noticed that you already grabbed subtly when he places his arm down.)

“well?” Mortefi tilts his head, waiting for a reply.

“I..” you sighed, looking at him straight in the eye, “I'm going to the military.”

you notice the way Mortefi merely glances at you with a look of absurdness. it had made you realize that maybe your answer was quite vague.

“I'm leaving the Academy,” you made the announcement clear, and didn't miss the way Mortefi's eyes widens a tad bit, “I applied to be a soldier on the front lines.. I want a different kind of approach in helping Jinzhou.”

“.....”

for a while, you wonder if you had somehow.. broke the ever so suave Mortefi you did. if the way he seems to heat up more..? did he became upset on your sudden announcement of looming departure?

“Sir.. Mortefi..?” you called out unsure. at the end of the day, he was still your superior– no matter how much you banter like friends.

his eyes sharply turns to you, an inquisitive look on his face. “back on formalities again?” if anything, he sounded more and more upset.

“sorry,” you sighed, your hands tentatively pulling out the thick paper from the envelope. showing him the results of your test in applying in the military.

Mortefi looks down on the paper, he glances at the words etched on it. amidst the long words and paragraphs, his eyes zoned in on a sentence.

“we are pleased to have you with us as a fellow Midnight Ranger!”

not knowing his inner building turmoil, you looked down on your feet as you spoke, “I didn't know how to tell you.. the higher-ups already gave me an approval to leave the Academy within a week or two.”

the bustling sounds of the place were the only white noise. you watched as Mortefi stood in front of you, a thoughtful, yet unreadable expression on his face as he stares at the papers. flipping the page every now and then.

“Mortefi...?”

“is that all?” said man merely hums, as if his odd attitude previously was an illusion, “I should probably give you a newly made weapon to help you before you depart.”

“oh.. are you not upset?” you questioned, taking the papers back.

“should I be?” Mortefi smirks, a knowing look on his face, “should I not be proud that you're broadening your minisicule horizons?”

“you-!” you balked, watching as he continues to tease you relentlessly... before cutting him off with a, “gosh, Mortefi. at least take it seriously!”

“what's there to treat in such manner?”

“I.. uh..” you paused, gears slowly aligning in your head.

in a matter of seconds, you felt yourself heat up. a mad blush painting your cheeks as you hid your face behind the envelope. Mortefi was right, why should he treat it so seriously? in fact, he should be somewhat supportive as your co-worker, even amidst the bittersweet departing.

then why is it that you feel.. mad.. or upset.. at his lack of.. elaborative response?

“are you upset?” Mortefi taunts, giving you the taste of your own medicine from earlier as he leans his body to your height.

“nothing,” you tried to shrug off, your feet taking a few steps back as you looked away.

“if this is about your late announcent to me as your superior, then yes.” he teases, as he morphs his expression into a mocking anger.

“in the end of all this though,” Mortefi gestures to the envelope, “I commend your bravery on stepping in this hectic journey.”

“...thank you, Mortefi.” you feel the way your cheeks even grew more a deep red, and as you look up, you were surprised to see a soft look on his face. almost as if..

no, you can't assume something so serious like that.

..yet you can't ignore the tension, the way he continues to check on you at work even when he wasn't required to. the way Mortefi nags the mess on your office that you left previously on a chaotic overtime at work. yet you find your desk a tad bit cleaner than before as you went back after lunch. which he hasn't done with other colleagues, merely staring at another's messy office place in disgust.

you can't and won't ignore the whispers of the people in the Academy on how you two seem too close to be mere co-workers. on how he asks for your opinion regarding a prototype he has made, even if the both of you knew he already had the answer with how genious he is.

there was no movement from both sides. though Mortefi was a straightforward man, he can even hesitate on something as delicate as love.

while there were no clear answers, like a new problem that was put on hold to be solved— the both of you know the way you feel with each other without words. it's only up to time and fate as to when the answer would unravel.

until then, this distance seems enough for now.

“fine, since you've done this much for me,” Mortefi mutters, looking in your eyes with a somewhat fond look, “go ahead, tell me the wildest inventions you can think of, and watch me make them happen for you.”

the man took a step forward, and boldly places a hand on your shoulder. his thumb brushing against the fabric of your clothes leisurely,

“after all, I can't let my co-worker leave the Academy empty handed now, hm?”

[fangswbenefits]

Suit Up

Summary: Miguel craves to mark you as his, but he’ll have to start slow… so he offers to build you a custom suit. For now.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed Miguel. Innocent and inexperienced reader. Pining. Sexual tension and frustration. Masturbation. Breeding kink.

* ˚ ✦ Part 1 (you don’t have to read it to enjoy this one)

Miguel had decided he was going to build you a suit.

Not just a regular one, but an extension of his own.

He craved to have you for himself, and to have others know that. But he’d have to play his cards right. This level of obsession could easily scare someone off at first.

Especially you.

His sweet, sweet girl.

So he settled for this: building you a custom digital suit to match his.

Slowly, but surely you’d start to connect yourself to him more often.

Or so he hoped.

He found you in his lab early in the morning, sitting by the desk while taking your sweet time with a slice of watermelon.

“Good morning.”

As expected, you jolted in your seat, turning to face him.

A few droplets of juice dribbled down from your lips and chin, and eventually landing on your shirt.

You offered him a messy grin, bits of watermelon all over your teeth, but the absolute innocence of that action tore straight down to his cock.

“Oh! Miguel, hi! Sorry—” your voice came out slightly muffled, as you placed the half moon slice on a plate. “This watermelon is so sweet! Want a taste?”

His brow furrowed and he halted right in front of you. “There’s…” his voice trailed off, eyes fixed on your chin.

You immediately picked up on the implication and wiped the sugary liquid from your skin with a napkin, bringing a few fingers to your lips as well.

Miguel cursed inwardly and wondered if you were truly unaware of how suggestive all of this looked.

He slapped that thought away. No. You were too innocent for that. Your words and actions held no second meaning.

You were genuinely so fucking clueless that it only served to fuel his obsession with you.

His cock gave him a warning twitch.

He was all too familiar with those by now.

Would you be this messy while sucking him off? Would you not be able to keep it all in and eventually swallow?

He’d be fine with you not swallowing it all at first. After all, he did cum a lot. It would probably be overwhelming for someone as innocent and inexperienced as you.

“Miguel?”

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts at once. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry for making a mess,” you said, hurriedly cleaning the desk.

There was no doubt you’d be the death of him.

Apologising for making a mess…

“Don’t worry about that,” he managed to say flatly. “I’m sure it tasted really good.”

You then smiled once more and let out a cock-twitching groan. “Oh, yes! But… why did you want me in here my casuals today?”

Right.

He moved to tap the hovering screens in front of him. “I was thinking you suit might need an upgrade.”

“What? But I built this one myself… what’s wrong with it?” you whined softly, sticking your bottom lip out.

His cock twitched again.

“I know, I know,” he reassured you with extreme ease. “But I’ve been working on a prototype of my digital suit and would like for you to test it out.”

A blatant lie.

He had just decided this the night before, after that post nut clarity had hit him hard.

How else would he mark you without you even realising?

You blinked a few times, having to tilt your head up to stare at him, and it was enough to flare his imagination.

“Really?” the excitement in your voice was palpable and he felt a sudden rush of satisfaction. “That… that would be an honour, Miguel!”

His fingers tapped through multiple files. “You’ve been helping me out a lot in the lab lately. It’s only fair that I show my appreciation.”

Your gaze wavered momentarily, broken by his genuine praise, and Miguel nearlt bit his lip from this sight alone.

“I do it willingly, Miguel. I love learning new things from you,” your eyes were back on his, and you were bearing a warm smile. “You’re a great teacher!”

He tried hard to tear his gaze away from your lips, and offered a mere nod.

You deserved more than a nod.

And your eagerness to learn from him made him feel swollen with pride. An ego booster.

It was quite addicting.

He’d teach you so much more if you’d let him. He’d teach you how to embrace your pleasure and use it for him only. Oh, how he’d enjoy teaching you how to suck his cock, or how to use your words to turn him on.

Fuck.

He would teach you all he knew.

You’d have all of him.

But he wanted you to want him the way he wanted you. No. He needed you to need him. To crave and yearn and feel the unfair ropes of despair tighten around you.

“I’ll just need your measurements,” he said, fetching a couple of measuring bands from a top shelf. “These will measure every tiny detail, so the fit is as suitable as possible.”

You nodded eagerly, lips slightly parted. He moved to grab each wrist, closing the metallic band around each wrist.

“Feet up,” he asked, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray his true feelings.

You lifted one leg after the other, and he carefully clasped them around your ankles, the feel of your warm skin and proximity nearly having him bite his own lip.

“Wait, do I have be naked?”

The question caught him completely off guard and he straightened up at once. “What?”

Miguel felt more blood rushing downwards and was grateful his own suit was able to keep most of his strained erection from sight.

You broke into a nervous laugh. “Oh — I mean… you’re naked under your suit, right?”

He nodded. “Your suit becomes an extension of yourself and it should feel like a second layer of skin,” he added, extending one arm out, and allowed you to see the digital layer of fabric quickly retracting from the tips of his fingers all the way down his naked torso.

The reaction was immediate.

Your eyes landed on him for only a split second, before looking away.

For the second time that day, Miguel’s ego soared to incredibly dangerous heights.

You looked so innocent and sheepish, not daring to gaze at his incredible physique once again.

He wouldn’t hold that against you, though. You’d have plenty of time to gawk at his body once he managed to break into your mind, and make you his.

“It feels more comfortable this way,” he added reassuringly, as his suit promptly covered his exposed skin once again.

You turned to look at him again. “Oh! So I don’t actually have to be naked,” you giggled in relief.

“No,” Not for this, he wanted to add.

The height difference was starting to take a toll on his ability to focus. Having you sitting on that chair, perfectly levelled to engange in a more suggestive scenario, was enough to feel the blood boil in his veins.

He needed more.

He needed to touch you.

“Let’s boot the measuring analysis program,” Miguel took your hand in his and helped you on your feet. “I need you to stand still.”

He needed so much more than that from you, but he’d have to settle for silent agony for now.

You were visibly excited, barely able to contain yourself as a smile settled on your face, and he felt the sudden urge to praise you for being so eager and such a tease.

He tapped a few commands on his watch, and came to stand behind you, careful not to stand too close, or you’d notice his hard cock.

“Do you trust me?”

You shouldn’t…

You turned your head to the side to look into his crimson eyes, confusion twisting your face. “Of course I do, Miguel.”

… because he wouldn’t.

He rolled his fingers along the hem of your shirt, slowly rolling it upwards. His heart went into overdrive instantly and he could feel the first droplets of precum dripping down his cock.

You flinched once his knuckles brushed against your skin.

“Are you okay?” he asked, halting at once.

You nodded and giggled lighty. “That tickles.”

His sweet girl…

How was he supposed to endure burying himself inside you inch by inch when he couldn’t barely keep his composure now?

Once the shirt was resting under your breasts, he moved one hand to grip it gently from behind, effectively tightening the fabric flat over you. From where he stood, he could see your bra’s outline and how your breasts heaved with each breath you took.

This was driving him mad.

Your cleavage was so inviting and he had to take a step back, ensuring his erection wouldn’t accidentally brush against your ass.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take this off?” you asked.

You were so fucking sweet and innocent, and he wanted nothing more than to rip all of your clothes apart.

“Just let the program scan your body,” he said, voice strained and breath coming out in shallow pants. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes,” you immediately replied.

Such a good girl for him… his sweet girl…

He would want to ask that same question the day he got to teach you how to suck his cock.

You’d struggle at first.

But he’d be patient.

He’d probably need to come up with a serum to inject himself with to keep from exploding right away, and he couldn’t have that.

You would need proper guidance, wouldn’t you? How he’d love to have you on your knees, mouth dropped open and receptive.

His other hand was now pressed flat against your tummy and he nearly bucked his hips in response.

Careful, Miguel, he scolded himself.

Was this too much?

In reality, he didn’t need to be doing any of this for measurements, but he couldn’t help himself.

He needed you closer.

He needed to feel you shudder against his touch.

He needed you to need him.

You gasped softly once he started to moved his hand down ever so slightly, fingers nearly touching the waisgband of your pants.

“Ticklish?” he asked in a low voice.

You hummed, bucking your hips into him with a faint giggle, and he felt his cock into contact with your ass.

Oh, fuck.

He had to let go of you right away, flinching back.

You turned to eye him, worry plastered all of your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” he said right away, more precum droplets spilling out. “I think the analysis is complete,” he cleared his throat and turned his back to her, looking down to his bulge.

He wish he could set his cock free.

No.

He wish you would offer to set his cock free.

He wanted you to know and see how much his body craved yours.

“Miguel, are you okay?” you asked tenderly, moving to stand by his side, brushing his tense bicep. “We can finish this some other time.”

Was it really possible for someone to be this clueless? Was your inexperience that blinding? Hadn’t you felt his erection?

Against his will, he nodded.

He needed you gone right away.

He had to get off urgently.

“You’re overworking yourself again…”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

How he’d love to make you his and have you take care of him.

Your hand squeezed his muscles gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

Please, touch me… “No. I’ll just finish the suit and have you test it out soon.”

Your hand dropped.

Maybe if he asked you to let him fuck your hand, you’d let him. Maybe.

He’d settle for you watching him jerk off to you, at this point.

“Can I pick the colours?” you then beamed, glancing up at the orange screens. “Can I? Please?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” you chirped happily, swiping across the customisation menu on the screen.

Miguel paced quickly into a storage room to his left, groaning into the back of his hand.

In no time, he had the front part of his lower half of his suit vanish, cock springing free, fully coated with precum.

He let out a strained and breathy sigh of absolute relief.

“Ay, Miguel…” he muttered to himself, realising just how badly this obsession had gotten.

His cock twitched, sending strand of precum to dangle from the tip.

From this angle, he could see your back, shirt still nicely tucked under your breasts, revealing so much of your skin to him.

That would do.

For now.

Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he set a slow pace at first, testing out his limit.

Dangerously close.

It was unfair that you were so close, yet so far. You were completely unaware of your effect on him.

Faint anger took over him.

You should be the one to bring him relief.

This was all on you… his sweet, innocent, inexperienced girl.

The pace quickened and he felt his fangs extending in anticipation.

You were bending over the desk, lifting your ass just enough for his mind to have imagining himself ramming into your from the back.

You’d love that position. Maybe not at first, but he’d teach you to enjoy thoroughly.

Being rawed and bred. You’d be a loving mother, wouldn’t you? You’d let him breed you over and over again, because you were just nice like that.

So eager to please.

He wished you’d bend over a little more, so he could fully immerse himself in his lust.

Feeling one fang dig into his lower lip, Miguel wondered how long it would take to draw blood, considering how hard it was for him to suppress his groans.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from you and his desire nearly pained him, because his hand would never be as tight as you, and it would never feel like you.

But he had to get rid of this now.

He had to complete your suit and mark you as his.

Everyone in Nueva York and across other universes would know you were his.

They would know not to cross you, for his wrath would be unmatched.

The sweet tingles of an orgasm soon engulfed him whole, and he threw his head back and fluttered his eyes shut, relying on his mind to keep your alive as he fucked himself for you.

Just you.

His sweet girl.

Just his.

He squeezed the first spurts of warm cum with his fingers, allowing himself go roll his hips in a broken rhythm.

The metallic taste of blood pooled in his tongue and he knew his fang has dug too deep, but he didn’t care.

He would break himself for you.

And you would, too.

You just didn’t know it yet.

Part 3

Masterlist

[earthtooz]

baby, would i still be your lover?

fluff with angst, 1k words, gn!reader celebrates their bday bc it's my bday today, reader likes pearls, childhood friends to lovers (?), ooc!al-haitham, conflict and resolving it, al-haitham's grandmother is featured.

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's friendship is... unusual.

Having known him since childhood, you cannot say that he has changed much over the years. When your parents brought him to his grandmother's house to hopefully give the young boy a chance to socialise with something other than academic journals, befriending him was not easy.

He dodged all conversation you tried to make, ignored all attempts you made to play tag with him, completely evaded your childlike innocence. He always was more mature than everyone else his age, or rather, always acted like it.

Most unusually, he had an uncanny streak of pushing everyone out of his life, and you were not immune to the imaginary lashes he strikes, eventually removing yourself from his life too out of frustration.

At seventeen, when an unforeseen tension had lodged itself between you and al-Haitham, it deteriorated your friendship. One day, he had taken his opinions too far and sharpened his words too much, you left the House of Daena tearful and too wounded to see him for a while. It creates a distance between you two, one that lasts for three years.

At twenty, you visit al-Haitham's grandmother for the last time, and she makes you promise something. She pleads you to take care of her grandson, that for years, he has been hoping for the rekindling of your friendship, and she asks of you to make his wish come to fruition.

You reach out to him a month later on impulse. He invites you to dinner and drinks at Lambad's Tavern, and for the preceding week, it mentally drains you to think about being alone with him again.

He is already there when you arrive, sitting with crossed legs and arms at an empty booth. Showing up later than him gives you time to admire how he has grown. Now freshly turned twenty-one, time has served him well. He has grown into his sharp, taut features, and the way his grey hair falls accommodates his features well, and his build is impressive for a scholar. You've heard from others that he's graduated with the highest honours, and has already been offered a job at the Akademiya.

When the conversation begins, you're relieved to find out that nothing has changed from when you were both seventeen and fumbling teenagers.

As the only person who has stayed in his life since his youth, there is a bond that somehow cannot be severed. You apologise for what happened at seventeen, he does too.

As dinner passes, one thing becomes abundantly clear: al-Haitham does not need someone to 'take care of him' like his grandmother asked. What he did need, however, was his childhood friend that always knew how to push his buttons, and perhaps that was your way of 'caring' for him.

"Y/n." al-Haitham's broad figure looms over your desk, causing you to pause the scribble of words and numbers that you were in the midst of writing. "With your birthday coming in less than a month, I went to review our personal channel for gifts you'd like."

"Have you now?" You rest your chin on your hand, looking up at him through your lashes.

He completely ignores your question. "A sango pearl necklace? From Watatsumi Island? Is that your only desire?"

"I am easy to please," you shrug.

"Perhaps you misunderstand me. Is there no other gift that you'd appreciate?"

"Is a pearl necklace not possible?"

"One from Fontaine would be more achievable. Watatsumi Island, however, given our geographical distance and the fact that Inazuma is only just beginning to open up its transnational-"

"-So it's not possible? Even for the Grand Sage?"

"Acting Grand Sage, and whilst it is not impossible, I came to review with you possible alternatives for gift ideas that would provide the same marginal benefit."

"I suppose I could think of something else," you tap your chin. "One day I'll get my hands on those pearls, do you see the way they shine so clearly? You could use them just to fix your makeup! Cold to the touch and a clearer reflection are what make pearls high quality."

"How fascinating," he responds flatly and you pout. "In other news, it's lunch time now, and you promised you'd pay for my next meal at Lambad's."

You huff, compiling your papers together and clipping them together. "I was hoping you'd forget."

(As always, when the meal is said and done, he doesn't actually allow you to pay.)

A month later, when the clock strikes midnight on the day of your birthday, there is a series of knocks at your door. Unsurprisingly, you're greeted by al-Haitham's handsome face, now softer without the makeup he wears to enhance his features, but still beautiful nonetheless.

In his hands, he holds a gift.

"Happy birthday, Y/n." He declares, straight to the point, and hands you the box. "I hope it is to your liking."

The unassuming packaging only adds to your shocked delight when you see the contents inside.

"Sango pearls, from Watatsumi Island! You got me a necklace and bracelet set!" You squeal in pure excitement, treating the jewellery like fragile little things when you feel them. Cold to the touch, and you can see your reflection in them.

Pride shines in his eyes and a small smile pulls at his lips. He doesn't say anything except watch you freak out, satisfied with the hoops he had to jump through for this present.

"al-Haitham, I am so happy I could kiss you."

"I'd be happy to oblige."

The best way to describe yours and al-Haitham's relationship is unusual. You would do anything to get on his last nerve (without overstepping), and he would do anything for you.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[astrocafecoffee]

Synastry observation ( part 1) 🎐

✨ For entertainment purposes only, enjoy ✨

Let's go!

🍓 Eros conjunct karma :

intense attraction with karmic undertones, powerful sexual chemistry, higher purpose in terms of fulfilling karmic contracts or agreements made in past live.

🍓 Boda in 10th house overlays:

Partnership/ marriage with this person is somehow in public eye. Your person's connections or involvement in certain industry may open up career opportunities or avenues for professional growth for you.

🍓 Anteros ( 1943) conjunct Boda and briede asteroid:

Anteros is related to unrequited love. This alignment invites both partners to confront any unresolved issues stemming from past experiences of unrequited love, fostering open communication and understanding to heal emotional wounds and strengthen bond between them. Both partners may share a vision of building a life together.

🍓 Boda conjunct saturn :

Long term planning and future goals within the relationship. Strong desire for stability and permanence , especially in the context of partnership/ marriage.

🍓 POF in 10th house overlays:

Again public attention/ growth opportunities in career after you marry/ date that person.

🍓 IC in 1st house overlay:

This person's home and family dynamics play a significant role in shaping your perception of self. You may find that your own identity is intertwined with their family background or domestic environment in some way.

🍓 MC in 7th house overlays :

Same , public recognition in the relationship.

🍓 Amor (1221) conjunct nn :

Profound soul connection between both of you. This relationship may have been destined or fated to occur in this lifetime. Meant to meet. Amor's influence indicates a deep and unconditional love between both of you. Soulmate indicator.

🍓 Union ( 1585) conjunct moon :

Strong emphasis on empathy, compassion and understanding within your relationship. This partnership feels like home to both of you.

🍓 stellium in 6th house:

It's so underrated, 6th house stellium is in important in romantic synastry , as your partner may encourage you to adapt healthy habits in your daily life.

🍓 Juno conjunct Jupiter:

Marriage placement., As in Roman mythology juno is considered as the wife of Jupiter ( the Roman equivalent of Zeus in Greek mythology) .

🍓 Born ( 13954) conjunct nn :

Fated encounter. You are meant to support each other on your respective paths of growth and evolution.

🍓 lisitsa ( 8064) conjunct juno:

Again fated , long-term commitment/ marriage., Karmic bond.

🍓 Bacchus ( 2063)conjunct Bacchus:

Strong mutual attraction between partners, often characterized by a magnetic pull and deep appreciation for each other's physicality.

🍓 Pythia(432) in 7th house synastry :

Intuitive fated connection. They may share common interest in mystical or esoteric subjects and may engage in spiritual practices together to deepen their bond and connection.

🍓 Pythia conjunct Hera ( 103) :

Divinely guided relationship, this conjunction suggests this is a relationship that honours tradition and values long term commitment. Both individuals may feel a strong sense of loyalty and dedication to each other.

🍓 Moon in 4th house synastry:

Deep emotional connection, moon person feels comfortable and secure when with the house person, perhaps tapping into a sense of familiarity and safety reminiscent of their own childhood environment.

🍓 Juno conjunct Chiron :

Both individuals may share similar wounds or vulnerabilities in the realm of partnership. They may understand each other's pain and struggles on a deep level , which can foster empathy and compassion within the relationship ( healing through partnership)

🍓 Groom(5129) square briede(19029) :

Despite the challenges/ disagreements/ conflicting desires this aspect presents an opportunity for growth and understanding within the relationship. By addressing and working through the areas and conflict or tension, the couple can deepen their connection and strengthen their partnership over time.

🍓 Karma (3811) conjunct descendant:

Both the individuals may feel a strong sense of destiny or fate drawing them together in a partnership or relationship. They might believe that their meeting was predestined or that they have important karmic lessons to learn from each other.

🍓 Moon conjunct saturn:

This aspect can indicate a strong sense of responsibility and commitment between the individuals. But there may be a tendency for both individuals to hold back their feelings or to approach emotional matters with caution and reserve.

🍓 Groom in 1st house synastry:

It suggests that your partner may identify strongly with the role of the groom or husband in your relationship.they may see themselves as a partner who takes on traditional husbandly roles or embodies qualities that you associate with the concept of a groom.

🍓 Cupido (763) conjunct nn :

Fated , strong emotional alignment, transformative and potentially life changing love connection/ karmic lessons in love.

🍓 Sappho (80) in 12th house synastry:

Intuitive understanding or unspoken connection between partners, there may be a sense of yearning or longing for an idealised romantic Union that exists beyond the constrains of the physical world.

🍓 Lust(4386) on 1st house synastry:

Passionate and dynamic connection between partners characterized by intense physical attraction ,sexual energy, and a strong focus on the physical aspects of the relationship.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

( post based on poll)

End......

Thank you!!

~piko 🌹

[difficultdomains]

i‘m drunk and at a party rn but hEAR ME tf out cause all i can coherently think about rn is going to a party with geto.

even tho you arrive together, you‘re quickly pulled apart in different directions because there are just too many people you haven‘t seen in a while, too many new faces to meet and befriend.

you bump into each other occasionally, sneaking glances and smiles or even a fleeting hand on your waist as he squeezes past you through the crowd with his friends. you wink at him once from across the room and he swears he can instantly feel the heat creeping down his cheekbones (he’ll blame it on the whiskey highball he‘s drinking tho if anyone is quick enough to notice).

and when the night slowly starts fizzling out, your alcohol-fueled elation mellows down and your social battery comes dangerously close to being depleted, you know exactly where to find him. sprawled out on a couch in a slightly calmer area, thighs parted and relaxed, one arm resting lazily on the backrest. you can‘t help the heart eyes you shoot him when you spot him sitting there, with a couple more stray hairs having escaped his half-up half-down hairdo. he pats his thigh when you approach and you are quick to oblige, pulling him closer to whisper „you ready to leave?“ in his ear, your question being immediately met with enthusiastic nods.

he insists on the both of you saying your goodbyes to everyone, too polite to pull an irish exit on your friends. and when you‘re done, you stumble out into the cold, catching an uber home.

it doesn‘t take long until you fall into bed together, hair untied and skincare done, tangled up in the sheets you giggle and laugh inbetween kisses and recollections of the night‘s events. when you tell him how you saw one of the guys fall asleep during some random drinking game, a laugh so sweet escapes him, it makes you wish you could hear it again and again and again.

it also doesn‘t take long until your words run dry and your lightweight kisses sharpen into nips and bites, the flush on your faces no longer just caused by the residual alcohol coursing through your veins but rather by the precise, well-rehearsed motions of your hands. one slow pull here, one lazy push there and finally the fabric of his sweats and your sleep shorts is no longer separating you from each other. the pace he sets is slow, languid, bordering on sleepy - eyelids heavy from exhaustion and pleasure. your nails dig into the soft shirt he‘s still wearing, gasps and pants intermingling between your lips until the tension you‘re both feeling builds and snaps like a rubber band.

after that, you don‘t just fall asleep, you black out, body heat ramped up enough for your sheets to be crumpled and hanging down the edge of the bed instead of wrapped around the both of you.

a/n: i am no longer drunk or at that party lmao but i found this in my drafts this morning - so to honour drunk me‘s dedication to sitting in a corner for 10 mins and writing this down, i‘m posting it in its og form

[itskattkm]

The air in my lungs

Chapter 5

Cairo Sweet x Fem Reader

Summary: A stroke of fate changes you and leads you into the arms of Cairo Sweet. Will she be your downfall or save you?

Warnings: 18+, SMUT AHEAD! Grief, loss of a parent, Injuries, Smoking, Trauma, anxiety, sexual content, student x teacher mentioned, harm, blackmailing, bad grammar

A/N: Based and inspired by Millers Girl. Mr. Miller himself isn’t really present but will be mentioned. Hope you guys enjoy.

Masterlist | previous chapter | Next chapter

When Cairo was home she was lying in her her empty bathtub full of pillows standing a few meters away from her bed.

She watched a spider crawling on the ceiling and couldn’t stop thinking about your lips. Everytime she closed her eyes she sighed and felt her own lips tingling. Reminding her self how soft and good your lips felt while you were sharing the rest of the smoke and tasting each other’s mouth. She touched her neck, still feeling your firm grip around it. Oh how bad she wanted to be caressed by you, kissed by you on places she was feeling the need of being touched. She wanted to feel your lips on her chest… no. If she would be honest with herself, she wanted to feel your lips down there. She could feel her clit throbbing and pulse while she started to think about it with her eyes still closed.

She was lying in the bathtub only wearing her oversized shirt. She began to caress her tight with her fingertips. Feeling a tingle coming from her clit. Her slip getting soaked already when she imagined your lips tracing kisses down her inner tights before you would kiss her cunt deeply. The way you would probably tease her with your tongue while doing a slow and long lick through her pussy. She began to breath heavy, considering if she should touch herself or not. Craving for you to touch her and please her. But you weren’t here… and she couldn’t help herself anymore and needed to release some of the tension that was build up over the last two days and the short moment between you two in the woods.

So she took a deep breath and leaned her head back before slipping her hand into her slip. She was surprised by her own wetness. She usually never masturbated. Sure she touched her self once… out of curiosity and to help her writing about the ‚experience‘. But never did she felt the urge before to mover her fingers into her throbbing cunt because she felt the need to. The urge to. And that because of you. A classmate. A girl named y/n. She felt slightly hurt in her honour If she could say it like that. She was to pride to admit such things.

But here she was. Circling her one finger around her clit while thinking it would have been you. You lying on top of her. She wanted to feel your bodyweight on hers. Oh how bad she wanted you and couldn’t have you. She thought frustrated while she started to lose control, so she just went for it. She pushed her finger into the soaked cunt, she gasped. Feeling her hips bucking up out of Intension. She was shocked about the fact how tight she was. That was your fault. And that made her breath heavier. She felt mad. Mad because you did this to her and didn’t seemed to care about it. It should have been your finger instead of her own. Moving in till she met her knuckles. It felt like it wasn’t enough. She wasn’t sure if she could feel the pleasure of a orgasm by herself. The anger began to rise inside of her. She was breathing loud now while moving her finger slightly faster in and out. But it wasn’t enough. She didn’t felt satisfied at all. She stopped moving abrupt. She opened her eyes. She wanted to see your face… wanted to look into your eyes. Instead she saw the dark wooden ceiling. The spider she saw before was now gone.

She pulled her finger out and sat up. Her chest rising and her heart pushing hard against her chest. It was like her heart was screaming and trying to escape the jail made of bones, flesh, blood and skin.

She was holding herself up on the edge of the bathtub. Her gaze fell towards her hand she had been using, only to see the spider crawling along the edge. She was deep in thoughts when suddenly the ring of the doorbell was getting her out of it. She got up fast and cleaned her self before going down all the way through the mansion to open the door for…

“Winnie?” She said surprised. Her friend grinning wide while popping the lollipop she was licking on. Her long brown waved hair falling all over her shoulders. Cairo sighed loud and looked cold at Winnie saying “Can you help me?” Cairo asked, her hunger for y/n making her impatient now. “I… really need you to help me right now…” Cairo said with a little desperation in her voice now. She wasn’t going to tell that she, well… some sort of tried or, no she indeed was masturbating but without the luck of being pleased by that. She didn’t wanted to tell Winnie. She would probably laugh at her or even worse… would see what kind of a weak mess Cairo was. Because of you.

“Why? What Happened? Oh! And how were things with Y/n?” Asked Winnie wit a dirty grin and entered Cairos mansion.

“Terrible.” Cairo whispered, having lost all her patience now and feeling her hunger for you growing. “I want to see her again but I don’t know how to make her come back to me.” Cairo said in a little desperation now. “Please… I don’t know what to do. I have this feeling. I can’t tell if it’s love or just pure lust. I just want her to come back to me.” Cairo said, now with a little bit of panic in her voice. “I really need you to help me now, Winnie.”

There was something in Cairos eyes that made feel Winnie slightly scared. Wich only told her that her best friend was being dead serious. “Damn… what happened?” She asked attentive while following her upstairs to her bedroom. “She just left me now!” Cairo said. “She said I said the wrong thing and then she just left.” Cairo said, her hunger for you becoming really hard to control now. “I really don’t know what to do.” Cairo said with a little anger at y/n inside her and desperation in her voice. “Does she know how hungry I am for her?” Cairo asked now in a very low, hungry and desperate voice. “I want to be with her right now. Please, Winnie. I need her.”

Winnie sat down pretty speechless on the edge of Cairos bed and watched her. This was a whole different Cairo she was used to “please from the begging… I don’t understand what you’re talking about” she said in a calm tone since Cairo was pretty loaded.

Cairo sighed a little and told Winnie her whole story, even going into details such as her crush on you and the cigarettes of course. And she told Winnie how she wanted you so badly and couldn’t do anything about it anymore. “I’m so hungry for her.” Cairo said with a trembling voice now. “Winnie, please. Is there any way to get her back?” Cairo asked, feeling scared right now. “I really don’t want her to leave me like this.”

Winnie looked speechless at Cairo

“Fuck y/n really knows what shes doing… and your stupid ass said seriously ‘But I need those cigarettes’? Girl you better say the right thing next time. Do you even understand the hints she was giving you?” Said Winnie and made a bit of fun of Cairo before glaring at her for being so stupid.

“I… I don’t know. I… I just wanted to say something so she didn’t find me easy. That’s why I talked about the cigarettes.” Cairo said while looking a little ashamed on her face. Did you hate her now? Was y/n angry with her? Cairo wished she could have just said the right thing. But she was so hungry over you at this point that she felt like she couldn’t think straight anymore.

Winnie looked at her with a tilted head

“The cigarettes gave you what you wanted… that was y/n…. But she also tried to use them to get you girl! When she said you need a diffrent addiction she was talking about herself!” She sighed dramatically and shook her head

So many hints. So many signs and Cairo was messing it up pretty good. Cairo felt her heart skipping a beat with everything Winnie was saying right now. Was she really that stupid? She couldn’t believe how she missed this. But yet, she was so surprised that she could have missed y/n intentions behind those words. “Wait… so y/n likes me back?” Cairo asked now in a very excited way. “Please tell me it’s true… please. Cause I defiantly have a crush on her and didn’t dared to do anything.”

“She’s flirting so hard with you girl… crush or smash, I don’t know but she wants you. And you better act right the next time! Screw those fucking cigarettes said Winnie while she was the one who made Cairo even a smoker. “So She’s indeed flirting with me??” Cairo asked, her body feeling so excited and her mind feeling so confused right now. But that made this hunger she felt inside her for y/n grow so much more. Cairo knew she wanted y/n now, she knew she had to fight back her desires and take you right now with a clear mind. But how could she achieve that if she couldn’t really tell what you wanted right now? “But what do you mean with “Act right”? Y/n knows I like cigarettes for sure…”Cairo said, her mind now going crazy over wanting you so badly.

“Next time you’ll understand. And you better get laid by that hot girl with her scars on the back… I want some dirty tea next time” Winnie said serious. “I will…” Cairo whispered, feeling her body become more excited now. She felt so stupid that she had missed those hints you gave her. All this time she was so confused and overwhelmed because there was way too much tension. “I’m gonna have to use everything to get her next time.” Cairo said with a teasing smile now. “I’m gonna get my sweet dirty tea next time Winnie.”

The next day it was raining pretty heavy, there was also a thunder making the earth tremble. Hot summer thunderstorms. She loved it. The rain was heavy and loud. Watched it from the canopy she was standing under, at the back of the school. Leaned on the building, watching steam rising from the concrete. Showing how hot it was and how the nature tried to cool down itself. She was taking a deep hint on her cigarette, like always she was the first one at the schools land. She watched some teachers parking their cars before disappearing in the building. Her body began to relax. Her mind felt lighter than the last few hours.

But the more she thought about calming down she felt her anxiety grow more and more now, especially due to the rain and thunder. The idea that you could find her anytime was scary, but also so desirable at the same time. “I really want my sweet y/n.” Cairo whispered, her body not able to hold it anymore now. As she smoked her cigarette, she was able to feel her anxiety calm down a little, however, it now became a different kind of anxiety. What if you saw her again? What if y/n thought she was stupid and hated her now for what she said?

“I love rain…” Cairo almost twitched when she recognized you in the corner of her eyes. “I rather enjoy it from home…” you added without looking at her, instead you watched the rain. Cairo’s heart skipped a beat. “Y/n…” Cairo whispered while her eyes grew wide, her body becoming so excited that you still cared about her somehow. She wasn’t angry at you, that’s what all this fear inside her had caused her to think. But now this was all gone, and she didn’t want to waste a single second to have you with her right now. “Y/n…” Cairo said calmly now, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes while trying to collect herself now. “I need you y/n.” Cairo whispered, her body growing so hungry for you.

A smile appeared on your lips, you leaned on the wall right beside her and watched her fingers, eyes fixated on the cigarette between her fingers. Cairo looked down at her cigarette with a little smile on her face now as she looked at you. She let the cigarette fall down now and stomped on it with her foot to turn it off. She wanted to kiss y/n so badly right now, but she also felt like it might be a little too intense now. It was still early in the morning and Cairo wanted to show you a different side of her first. But that didn’t stop the hunger from growing inside her right now of course which she couldn’t hide.

“And..?” You whispered looking at the destroyed cigarette under Cairos foot. “And….” Cairo whispered, not wanting to say it just yet. It was too early for this, at least that was what she tried telling herself now. But you were looking at her with such desire and lust in the eyes, which made it almost impossible for her to say no. Suddenly she took your hand and looked at you with the deepest desire she had ever felt even. “I want you. So badly. Right now.” Cairo whispered, her body feeling so craving for you now.

“Good answer” you whispered low and pushed her quickly against the wall before kissing her hard. Feeling goosebumps all over your body. While your body couldn’t decide if it felt hot or cold now. Cairo felt her body turn so hot with just a single touch of your lips on hers, it was insane. It almost felt like her whole heart was burning inside her. All other feelings disappeared right now and she wanted you more than anything. “I need you y/n. I need this.” Cairo whispered in the middle of the kiss and pulled you closer to her, wanting to feel your body against her body as much as possible now.

“Come with me” you whispered heavy against her lips and took Cairos hand while walking towards your car. It was Parked near the woods. Following you to your car, her heart pounded hard now. She couldn’t believe that she was finally gonna taste you, to feel your lips and your body. Cairo could barely contain her emotions from just feeling your fingers on hers. “I… am just so hungry for you.” Cairo whispered in your ear now, her voice low and quiet as her eyes looked into y/n. “Can we go somewhere private y/n? Can I finally see you in a place where nobody will notice?” Cairo asked with a teasing tone while also being so incredibly excited right now.

You both were getting soaked by the rain while running towards y/n car. You couldn’t help but smile a bit cheeky when she said she was hungry for you… and the fact that she wanted to be alone with you now? You felt your heart racing like crazy. You couldn’t believe that you were having all those crazy moments with Cairo Sweet. And what was about to come would be unforgettable.

You opened the passenger door for Cairo so she could sit down in your car. The rain felt so good on your body. Even tho you were already completely wet, it cooled down your body and made the moment feel so much more intense. When you sat down in the car and looked at her you recognized that the windows of your car had been already completely steamed by the hot air.

“My place or yours?” You asked with a soft tone. Looking at her with admiration. You couldn’t enjoy her beauty after swimming class a two days ago. So you took your time. Watching the raindrops falling from her wet hair, sliding down along her beautiful face. That sharp jaw you wanted to place soft kisses on. Her long lashes making her dark eyes almost look like they were black. Your mind was drifting off, getting lost in her beauty. “Y-your place?” Cairo whispered with her voice shaking, her heart beating so fast right now. Her body felt so hot from just seeing you. She wanted you to touch her so badly. But she felt so nervous now that she was about to see you in a private place. “I… I can’t really have anyone come home right now.” Cairo said while blushing a little, her body feeling so hot right now. But she couldn’t wait anymore. “let’s go to your place.” Cairo whispered seductively.

You nodded and turned on the car to drive back home. You were starting to feel nervous for like the really first time now. You can’t remeber feeling like that for a long time. After the accident and your new way of living you stopped caring about many things. You became numb to a few things which made it easier for you to have fun and worry less. But Cairo Sweet. Let’s say you didn’t though that bold move of you back then, who was supposed to just caught her of guard and make her realize that you wouldn’t allow her or anyone else to be mean to you… yeah… that changed a few things. Before the accident you always thought she was beautiful and somehow cute but she used to scare you also. But that one interaction? The kiss that was coming from you… just to make a statement? You couldn’t stop thinking about it. You couldn’t ignore what you felt deep down. You couldn’t ignore that you enjoyed the teasing and flirting you both had. You couldn’t ignore the fact that you liked being around her. After a 15 minute drive that was quiet and slightly awkward, you made it to your home. You parked in the Garage, getting out of the car and opened the door for Cairo.

“My dad is working till 3 pm so we have the whole day for us…” you said quite shy now while taking Cairos hand and leading her through the small house you lived in. It was initiated pretty modern but also cozy, but you were sure it couldn’t be compared to the big mansion Cairo lived in. You walked slowly upstairs with her, walking past family photos that were hanging on the wall.

Soon you reached the second floor and opened the door to your bedroom, hearing a strong thunder outside, followed by a lightning. What a dramatic entrance you thought nervous. You let go of Cairos hand and let her check out your bedroom while closing the door behind you. Your bedroom was cold. Thank god Cairo thought cause the heat wave outside was getting dangerous. The blinds were down while your window was opened. The thunderstorm started to create a cold breeze wich was floating through your bedroom now. Making both of you feel somehow relieved. You turned on the small lamp on your drawer since the dark clouds outside made it pretty dark in here.

Cairo couldn't wait right now. There was nothing she wanted more in her whole life than to have you right now. Being with you alone in that cozy bedroom made her anxiety grew more and more right now. What if your Dad would came home suddenly? But that didn't matter. She trusted your words and got lost in the details in your bedroom. It was pretty clean and basic. Only two Posters of your favorite movies were on the wall, framed. Another frame with many Polaroids of you and your family? Friends? She felt somehow safe and comfortable in your bedroom. Sure you didn’t lived in a mansion like her. Her bathroom alone had the size of your bedroom. But it was enough. For people with a well amount of money it was a big bedroom. She couldn’t help and look at the Polaroids, you had a few with your mother, she assumed. Your mother that died, in a car crash you barely survived and took scars from it as Cairo remembered. She felt somehow different now. She couldn’t quite explain it.

“I… kinda have a thing for Polaroids” you said in such a soft and kind tone that Cairo could feel that you were smiling without even looking at you. Cairo moved her head to the side. Y/n standing beside her and looking at the frame full of Polaroids. “It’s like holding memories in your han-“ you both stoped mid sentence. Looking at each other and smiling shyly.

“Exactly” you whispered and looked at Cairo with admiration. You swallowed hard before moving your hand up to her face, you hesitated, feeling nervous, but you kept going and moved a wet hair strand out of her face, before fixing her bags so gently, you barely touched her. There was a smile on Cairos lips you haven’t seen before. It wasn’t lust… it wasn’t desire. It was something diffrent. Something way more intimate than you could ever imagined.

You caressed her cheek with your fingertips. Seeing the reflection of the dimmed light from your lamp in her eyes. Both of you were soaked. Even tho the water cooled you both down… you wanted to get rid of them. You slowly moved your fingertips down her neck, towards her collarbone before helping her to take of her black sweatshirt. Now her upper body was exposed and you could see her beautiful light skin, wich only emphasized the black laced bra she was wearing.

Your eyes were watching every inch of Cairo Sweets beautiful body. Cairo felt so happy, you were taking care of her so slowly and gently. Her stomach was jumping as you started to take off her sweatshirt. She felt so incredibly hungry for you right now and so close to you like never before. Carefully you touched her stomach. Your hand moving slowly in a sensual way around her waist. Feeling how cooled down her skin was because of the rain. You pulled her closer and felt her nose brushing yours while you kept looking down.

“Is this okay my dear?” You whispered and moved your hand a bit lower. Your finger moving under the band of her shorts. Cairo nodded, making your noses brush again while whispering “yes”. The next moment Cairos shorts fell to the ground, her hands made her way towards your hips. She moved her hands under your white shirt, taking it off while you tried to get rid of your hot pants. The moment you both were only standing in front of each other in underwear you leaned in and placed your lips softly on her neck. Your hands resting on her hips. Holding her firm.

"Please y/n... I need you." Cairo whispered now, as her body was craving you like nothing else now. Her body was so hungry for you. Cairo's stomach was jumping inside her now. She couldn't wait. Every time you kissed Cairo's neck, or even just touched her now, Cairo started to feel her blood boil even more. It started to get hot in your room now. The thunder was still growling while a slight breeze flew by through your opened window. This was beyond her imagination. It didn’t quite felt like lust and desire anymore. It felt diffrent, somehow way more intimate that she could ever imagined or write down. She just wanted you to do whatever you wanted with her right now. She wanted to get lost in you.

In a wave of passion that flood through your body you picked her up. Holding tight on her tights wich made Cairo wrap her legs around your hips. Since she was almost a head smaller then you it was pretty easy to hold her like that. You breathed heavy against her neck before laying her down in your bed. Your lips meeting hers immediately. You never though that being close to someone like that would make you feels so good in so many ways. Your arms were resting beside her shoulders while you held yourself up, above her body. Kissing her with heavy breaths. Feeling the sensation of her soft wet lips touching yours again and again.

Cairo Sweet was indeed sweet, a drug you came addicted to, the first time your lips met hers.

She couldn't believe this. She's never felt this way before. She laid down on your bed with a soft sigh as you kissed her deeply like this. Cairo was so eager now, her hunger for you was bigger than anything else. You could do anything you wanted with Cairo now, and she definitely wanted you to make her feel everything she's ever needed in her life right now. She didn’t had to write about it anymore or dream about it… trying to please her self while her thoughts were by you. She had you now. You were right here and gave her what she needed… what she was carving for since the first time your lips met hers.

She began to feel the weight of your body on top of hers. One of your hands moving around her neck while kissing her so slow and sensual it made loose Cairo her mind.

Your mouth opened and she felt your hot breath against her lips while you made your lips brush hers. You were asking for her permission and she gave you that by opening her mouth. You kissed her passionately. Your tongue exploring her mouth. Cairo moaned slightly and reflected your movements.

Cairo felt her body grow more and more excited with every touch from you now. Cairo was so ready for y/n now. She wanted you to take her in anyway you wanted right now. She didn't mind letting you decide how her body should be explored as you had always seemed so confident and so beautiful even before this. "Please y/n... take me. I am so ready for you. Take me however you want me right now." Cairo begged, her eyes full of desire for you at this point. Her clit was throbbing so hard at this point. She couldn’t even compare it to the way she felt yesterday in her bedroom.

“Is this your first time?” You whispered after breaking the kiss and looking into her eyes.

Cairo began to feel nervous at this point but she decided to be honest "Yes y/n" she whispered softly with her eyes locked with yours. "I've never had anyone touch me like this. I want you to be my first." Cairo admitted with a lot of desire and love? for you in her voice right now. I nodded quietly before kissing her slowly and sensual. Cairo's eyes filled with anxiety now as she felt your lips going down on her neck. She felt it everywhere on her body. She felt like she couldn't wait anymore now. "Y/n..." Cairo whispered, feeling somehow scared?

“It’s okay…” you whispered soothing into her ear before kissing her cheek soft, placing down kisses along her jaw. While your hand caressed the side of her body. Their body’s were still wet from the rain. The skin of each other felt cold, but they also felt the heat rising their body’s were producing. Y/n hands moved so smooth along Cairos wet tights while kissing her chest.

So soft… so gently. This was beyond what Cairo had imagined. She wasn’t even thinking about the hard stuff she was used to write. This was so much better. It felt so much more intense. The way you caressed her tight made her almost shiver. Her clit was still throbbing and pulsing like crazy.

In a smooth way you had put the fabric of Cairos slip between your fingers, pulling it slowly down. You sat up, on your knees in front of her. Cairo raised her legs slightly so you could take her slip off easily. While doing that your eyes lingered on her reaction. You saw her breathing heavy but she still seemed so calm. There was a light in her eyes you could get lost in forever. Her lips looked slightly wet, just by looking at them you felt your own tingling.

The moment you removed her slip and let it fall beside your bed you had put your hands on her slightly closed legs. Cairo was watching every move of your hands, so she didn’t even noticed that you watched her face expression instead. Slowly you moved your hands up to her knees. You could see her pupils getting bigger the moment you opened her legs just to place your body between them. You could swear she gasped but Cairo Sweet was also pretty good in hiding her expressions. You held back a smirk before reaching for a blanket and putting it above the both of you.

Another growl came from the thunder outside. The light of the lightning strikes through your bedroom, when you leaned over Cairo and your eyes met hers. You had goosebumps now. The cold was noticeable. But the heat of our body’s was even more present.

You brushed your nose slightly against Cairos

Whispering “relax my dear” before kissing her cheek gently, then her jaw and then her neck. You had found your favorite spot, Cairos neck. It was so soft and warm. You could feel her pulse when your lips touched it. With pure love you kissed her neck slow, your tongue meeting her skin. Love. So that was the word that came now into your mind? You sighed into too her neck in pleasure. Giving her hot open mouthed kisses, biting her slight when it was getting to much for yourself.

A moan escaped Cairo and her heart began beating as even harder now as you took care of her like this. She felt so warm all of the sudden, and even though she was only in her bra, she didn't felt cold at all anymore. She could enjoy you touching her like this without having to worry about anything else. You were everything she could want, everything she could dream of and more right now. She wanted you so badly that she could feel her chest trembling under your touch. "Y/n... I'm yours. I want to be yours completely." Cairo whispered with a hoarse voice while kissing you deeply back.

You then kissed her gently and whispered into her ear “you’ll be my first too” before kissing her chest and moving down to her breasts.

Cairo's eyes widened once she heard y/n words. "R-really y/n?" Cairo asked while her eyes grew wider now. If you were actually being serious right now, that made everything the two of them were gonna do now even more real and even more exciting. But Cairo also felt so incredibly safe right now. You had taken care of her, and now you were gonna be her first. Cairo knew exactly what was gonna happen now, but couldn't contain her excitement that y/n was actually gonna be her first. And she will be yours. “Thank you…” Cairo whispered almost not audible.

“No… I need to thank you” you whispered and bit slight into her breast that was covered in the thin black laced bra she was wearing. A slight moan escaped her,

“Thank you… for making me feel alive again”. You whispered husky

And then Cairo began to remembered about the awful car crash you barely survived. About your dead mother and about the scars on your back. Cairo's heart was beating hard once you mentioned that she had made you feel alive again. "I've never felt this way before y/n. You are my everything right now." Cairo whispered while letting you feel her love for you and making you feel like they were the only two people in this world right now. She wanted you to feel so safe right now, she wanted you to know how important being safe and loved was to her right now. "Let's do this y/n... make me yours." Cairo whispered with a soft smile, not wanting this moment to end anytime soon at all.

You looked up at her and stopped kissing her covered breast. Your eyes met hers. You looked at her and felt like melting right in her arms. You felt so good… so safe… so comfortable. Cairo moved slightly before looking at you with her head tilted. One hand rested on your back while the other moved with her fingers through your hair. Moving it to the side so she could appreciate your face. She was holding your hair between her fingers and caressed the scalp of your head. Your eyes wandered to the hand she had on your back. Where she was caressing one of your scars along your left shoulder blade. You began to have goosebumps. Feeling so relaxed and somehow loved?

You slowly looked back to Cairo, she had a tiny smile. Almost invisible but you saw it in the way the corners of her mouth moved up.

You immediately moved back up and kissed her hard. Making her gasp for air. Cairo felt her whole body shaking right now, unable to contain herself anymore as your hand moved slowly down her stomach, coming closer to her lower part of the body.

You breathed heavy against her lips while she moved her arms around your back. Holding you close. Your fingers slid slowly between her folds. You slightly bit your own lip, feeling how soaked she was already. Making your self feel turned on as well. “please..." Cairo whispered now, her eyes growing even wider now as you began to move your fingers in circles around her throbbing clit. A moan escaped Cairo and you decided to not play around for long. You went for it. Your fingertip teasing her wet cunt. Making you breath harder and burry your face in Cairos neck. "Y/n... I'm... I'm... gonna explode." Cairo said, her breath becoming more and more rapid. You smiled into the crook of her neck and kissed her before biting slight into her skin while moving your finger slowly inside her. You felt her nails in your back and breathed even heavier “so tight…” you whispered. You couldn’t help it.

It was turning you on in so many ways and the fact you were doing this with Cairo Sweet. The moment those words left your lips you could feel Cairos walls around your finger getting even tighter if this was even possible. You went deeper and deeper penetrating her with the full size of your finger. But you were craving for more. You began to move your finger slowly in and out. Feeling Cairo getting more and more aroused with every move. She started breathing heavier. Almost panting.

You kissed soft her pulse before asking

“Are you okay?” To check on her. She moaned a quiet “yes” with a slight pitched voice when you moved your finger back inside of her slowly. She was gripping your biceps tight. “Tell me if it hurts” you whispered seductive before adding another finger. She was so tight you struggled to penetrate her almost. But she was so soaked in her wetness… it made it easier than it should have. Cairo didn't even react to the feeling right now right away as she was still trying to contain how good this was feeling in general. She was so hungry for you. And now she could finally, finally have you and make herself feel pleasure like never before. After a few moments though her body reacted and Cairo started breathing loud. Her grip tightened around your bicep.

“Did it hurt?” You asked softly and stopped moving deeper. "Yes... but a good feeling of pain." Cairo explained now as she looked at you with a lot of affection in her eyes. "I feel so good right now y/n. You're so amazing." Cairo whispered now with so much passion in her voice. You couldn’t help but smiled and kissed her cheek before keep going deeper very slow, so Cairo could get used to it while your fingers stretched her out. Cairo's body felt so good right now during this whole process as she couldn't contain herself anymore. Every move you made on her felt incredible. She's never felt this way before and wanted to keep this feeling forever. Your lips on her neck made her feel so safe at the same time and she's glad you were her first, taking advantage of her virginity. Everything you were doing right now, everything you did to Cairo, felt so perfect.

The moment your fingers were fully inside her, a moan escaped her. You weren’t moving anymore. You gave her time to get used to it. Cairo was breathing heavy. Her back slightly arched when her walls tightened around your fingers the minute you moved them slight. She gave you a quiet nod, signaling you that she was ready.

Your breath started getting heavier and heavier while Cairo's eyes slowly closed. Every move you made now seemed to affect Cairo so deeply that she couldn’t take it anymore. "Y/n... I... I-" she couldn’t end her sentence. Moaning loud when you held her hip tight with your free hand and then began to move in a slow pace while moving fully inside her till your knuckles touched her cunt.

Cairo's eyes were closed and she let herself be controlled by your moves right now. This was so good right now, being in control now of her body and her own thoughts while you did most of the action. She wanted you to take care of her right now, and you were doing a really good job at doing exactly that right now.

Your tongue moved along her pulse, placing kisses on her throat and chest while you pushed your fingers faster into her cunt. Feeling her wetness dripping down your knuckles at this point.

Your breath was getting harder and harder with every move you did now while Cairo kept moaning in pleasure while this all happened. She enjoyed this moment so deeply right now and just wanted this moment to go on forever. She literally couldn't contain her reactions anymore. She sighed deeply, feeling so satisfied and happy right now. She was feeling this feeling so deeply in her body right now. "Y/n... you're so good y/n." Cairo whispered this time.

You began to be more passionately. Your lips moving along every spot you could find. Kissing her. Tasting her skin. You were moving your fingers so fast that you felt yourself getting wet at the sensation how Cairos walls clenched around you. Getting tighter you assumed she would be getting close. Cairo's eyes were growing bigger now as her breath grew heavier and her face's temperature became even hotter. "Ohh... y/n." Cairo whispered now while her voice was growing softer over time right now. She could feel her body reaching its peak right now and you began to go even faster. "Y/n, you're gonna make me-..." Cairo whispered but couldn’t end her sentence she her voice broke off. But you knew exactly what she was talking about and it made you go a bit rougher now. “That’s what I want my dear” you whispered husky into her ear.

Your pace grew even faster and so turned your touch rougher, Cairo began to hold on very tight to the bed now. "Y/n..." Cairo whispered, not being able to say anything else right now anymore. "I... I'm...." Cairo stopped talking for a moment. The moment she managed to get enough air she said "I... I'm close y/n..." Cairo whispered once again, feeling her peak so close right now as her words are growing quieter and quieter now.

Cairo grew silent and couldn't say anything anymore. She could feel her mind going blank right now as she felt her orgasm coming over her now. She felt all of the sensations inside of her grow so intense and beautiful, she felt like she was gonna explode right now. She couldn't get a word out right now... but she didn't need to anymore. Cairo felt her whole body shaking and trembling right now. She arched her back. Only your name on her mind. She moaned, calling out your name “y/n…” she groaned and felt her chest rising up and down like crazy.

You felt how she tightened around your fingers. Her cum dripping down your knuckles, covered your hand in it.

You slowed your pace, breathing heavy against her neck while riding out her orgasm before you pulled out your fingers slowly.

As soon as you did that, you rested your forehead on Cairos. Both of you breathing in heavy the air of each other. Cairo moved her hands around your back. Feeling the scars under her hands, caressing them gently while kissing you softly on the lips.

Your breathing began to steady “Your mine now” you whispered, your lips brushing hers. Cairo couldn't help but smile a bit now while thinking about the fact that y/n finally said to her that she was only hers now. She loved every single part of this moment right now. "I'm yours now. I'll never let go of you now y/n." Cairo whispered while her body was calming down from her orgasm now, feeling the best she ever felt before. Cairo and you made out until both finally felt the need to take a rest in each other’s arms. Cairo herself felt so good with you next to her, with her fingers tangled in your hair, with the feeling of your body next to her. She felt safe in this moment with you by her side. She nuggled up into your body, placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder and couldn't help but close her eyes in this moment, as her body was also feeling tired from everything that you both had just done.

[libraryofloveletters]

chapter two: disaster and despair

Chalres Leclerc x Fem!Reader + Carlos Sainz Jr x Fem!Reader

Warnings: carlos isn't fucking around, charles is soooo oblivious, flirting, sexual tension, rupert and lorenzo are a bit sus of carlos's actions, monaco was good to charles for once, alcohol and the consumption of, clubbing, insta is for fuckboys and cheaters apparently, lying, cheating on established relationship, allusions to smut and a bit of rivalry from carlos's end.

Word Count: 3.4k

Author's Note: in honour of Carlos's win today, have the 2nd chapter :) this one's juicy, it's a bit fast paced I won't lie but I hope y'all like it :))

Call My Name Masterlist

---

Monaco; glamour and extravaganza are the first words in your mind.

To most people, Monaco was just a luxurious place to visit and to F1 fans, it's another track on the calendar but to Charles, it was home.

A proud Monegasque; born and raised.

When he asked you to join him for the race that weekend, you booked the next available flight out. Unfortunately for you, you weren't a native to Monaco like your darling lover, but now that you two were a couple, you found yourself there a lot more and you've grown to love the place.

It was race day, Charles's fingers interlocked with yours as you two headed into the paddock, the flashing cameras in your face, fans shouting for your boyfriend. You smiled, taking in all the craziness as Charles walked you into the direction of the Ferrari hospitality building.

You had barely stepped into the building when someone called out, "good morning love birds." Carlos smiles at the two of you, pulling Charles into a half hug when he grabs his hand.

Charles pulls away from his friend, giggling as he does most times; seems that Carlos has that effect on everyone, not just you.

Speaking of Carlos; his hand rests on your hip, smiling at you as he leans in to hug you. His large hand slides from your hip to your back, touching just where the cut out was in the back of your dress - something you're certain wasn't a mistake on his part.

"You look beautiful," he whispers to you before kissing your cheek quickly.

Charles thinks nothing of it, smiling at you two before his hand replaces Carlos'. "Ready ?" He asks you, and Carlos. The three of you head towards the garage for the boys to do their morning check.

You had wandered off while they were busy. Seeing that it's his home race, his mother and his brothers were there. You had joined them above the Ferrari garage for a bit, you finally got to chat with Pascale since you arrived in Monaco a few days ago. Charles had been on the go since you arrived, him being the star driver of the weekend - a little term you came up with for home race drivers. He dragged you along with him, not allowing you a moment of rest since.

Charles was starting P4 this weekend, a good position to be. Everyone knows that where you place in qualifying determines your whole race here; there are very few chances to overtake in Monaco, the track was too narrow and the corners were quick and tight.

You were certain you'd be on edge the entire time he was out there, you were every time but today, the pressure was unbearable.

Not only was this his home race but he was in a position to win or at least get onto the podium.

He'd do anything to get up on that podium - especially this weekend.

About an hour to lights out, Charles comes looking for you guys to let you know that he'll be getting ready for his race if you want to head down.

His mother says the garage makes her head spin, so she'll stay upstairs and you offer to keep her company, but she tells you to go ahead and join the boys.

Charles has just returned to the garage when you make it downstairs, he and his brothers were taking a picture together as the mechanics and engineers did their final checks. Lorenzo was the brother closest to where you stood, with Charles in the middle and Arthur to the other side.

"Come here," Lorenzo waves you over and you shake your head.

"I don't want to intrude."

"You're not," he says, leaning over to grab your arm. He pulls you to his side, his arm over your shoulder when your boyfriend looks over at you and smiles. "You're a part of the family, y/n."

Joris smiles, telling the four of you to get a little closer and he takes a picture.

Lorenzo and Arthur step out of the frame, letting Charles pull you into his side. Your arms wrapped around your boyfriend when you lean into his side. Charles drops his head, his cheek pressed to the top of your head and the two of you smile at the camera.

You lean up, your hand pressed to his cheek when you kiss him. "Good luck," you whispered to him and he smiled, his hand giving your wrist a squeeze.

"Thank you, amour."

"Be safe, okay?"

"Always," he nods, giving you another quick kiss before you let him go, watching as he finds Andrea to get ready for his race.

You reach for your phone but you realize you've left it upstairs with Pascale. Charles was busy with his race prep so you figured you can sneak away and get back before he leaves the garage.

You had barely made it down the hallway, about to turn the corner when someone grabs your arm. You look over your shoulder to find Carlos.

"Hi," you smiled, "everything okay?"

He nods, "I saw you and Charles over there," he nudges your shoulder, your cheeks red. "It was nothing, just a kiss." You brush him off, your arm pulled from his grasp.

"Well, if it's nothing, do I get one as well?"

"Get... what?"

Carlos's eyes meet yours, there's something wicked written across his face and you can't quite place his intentions as of yet. The next words out his mouth do it for him; "a kiss."

"What-" you pause, jaw hanging open slightly as you stare at your boyfriend's teammate. "No," you shook your head, "not like that at least." You chuckled, trying to brush him off.

He was one thing, if not insistent. "Then how?" He raises a brow, waiting for you to answer him.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. You have three options; one, walk away and pretend like this never happened. Two, tell Charles that Carlos asked you for a kiss or three, kiss him.

You lean into the man, your hand wrapped around his bicep when you press a kiss to his cheek. Your red lipgloss leaves behind a sticky kiss shaped mark on his tanned skin.

"Good luck," you say to him, taking a step back before walking off.

The man smiles, watching as you disappear around the corner before returning to the garage. "Where'd you go?" was the first thing Rupert asked when he saw him appear again.

His friend holds his chin, turning him towards the light. "Is that lipgloss?" Rupert asks another question and Carlos swats the man's hand away.

"Stop being nosey."

--

Monaco was good to your boyfriend, he managed to move up one place on the grid and finish in P3 - it's not a win but it's a podium at home and he was over the moon about that.

Someone turns their camera to catch the sight of you and the Leclerc brothers on the pit fence, screaming and cheering for Charles as he crosses the finish line. All of you go running, waiting to see him when he gets out of the car.

Charles, as expected, comes running as soon as he jumps out, jumping into the sea of red, a million arms wrapped around their driver. He makes his way through the crowd, hugging his brothers before he finally makes it to you.

He wraps his arms around you and you smile, your hand holding his helmet before pressing a kiss to the side of it. "I'm so proud of you!" You tell him, his visor open so you can see the crinkles by his eyes, the man grinning before giving you another squeeze and letting go.

The podium was Lewis in P1, Max in P2 and Charles in P3. It was a good day to be the top three teams.

Your boyfriend's teammate, on the other hand, didn't have such a good race. On lap 31, they decided to call him into the pits at the last moment, he tried to get into the pit lane and Lando was coming in at the same time. Unfortunately, the two of them attempted to get into the pit lane at the same time and they had a collision. Both drivers were okay but it wasn't a shocker that at least one Ferrari had a DNF this weekend.

They were still Ferrari after all.

You can't possibly lie and say you didn't feel bad for Carlos, because you did, but Charles on podium at home outshines whatever Carlos was feeling at the moment, and whatever you were feeling towards him.

Despite his DNF, Carlos did come down and join the team as they watched the podium celebrations. You were towards the front with Lorenzo and Arthur as well as a few of Charles's mechanics. Charles had a big smile on his face as he looked towards the sea of red, towards his team, his family and his girlfriend.

You were pushed up against the barricade so you take a step back and you glance over your shoulder to make sure you weren't stepping on anyone, but you find that Carlos was standing behind you; of course he was.

As much as Charles might've been oblivious to the fact, you weren't.

Carlos was making sure his presence was known, that you knew he was right there.

You smile at him, turning your attention back to the podium as they hand out the trophies. Carlos' hand rests on your hip when he steps a bit closer, you're sure it was just for a moment to steady himself with all the pushing but then it stays there; firm and warm and large.

He squeezes your hip and you slowly take a step away from him; not because you didn't like the feeling because.. god, you knew you did but simply because you knew this was wrong.

A shoulder brushes against yours; Lorenzo looks to his left and sees the look on your face.

"Are you okay?" He asks, shifting to give you some more space.

You nod, "fine." You smiled, looking up at the podium, taking a photo of your boyfriend.

Lorenzo glances behind you to find his brother's teammate there. Carlos smiles at him, nodding towards the older Leclerc. Lorenzo mirrors the action. Carlos's hand had already slipped from your hip, right before Lorenzo turned back to see him there.

All of you are focused on the podium, the drivers covering each other in champagne and Charles turns towards the crowd, spraying the gold coloured liquid towards the sea of people.

---

The club was packed; as it always was in Monaco but especially on a race weekend.

Your boyfriend had his arm over your shoulder, the two of your swaying side to side as he shouted something to his brother in French.

Andrea, Arthur, Lorenzo, Joris and a few other friends of Charles had joined him in celebrating his podium finish.

Charles had also invited Carlos to join you guys at the club but he politely declined, saying that he was tired and that he hopes that you all have fun anyways. Your boyfriend nodded along with what his teammate said, on a high already and he made him promise to join him next time. Carlos assures him that he will, sending him on his way.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you tell Charles and he nods. "Be careful!" He shouts, letting you go as he dances his way over to his little brother.

You shake your head, smiling as you head towards the bathroom. You make a quick check of your hair and your makeup; it was boiling in there, people packed together and you felt as if you were melting.

The phone buzzes in your pocket as you make your way towards the bar. You ordered a drink, reaching for your phone to check what it was. There's a message from Instagram.

carlossainz55: How’s the club? 

You replied to him, it was innocent enough. 

youruser: Good! Wish you were here, you’d be having fun with us! 

carlossainz55: I wish you were here too. 

You paused when you reread the message a few times. 

youruser: What do you mean? 

You typed out quickly, waiting for his answer. It came just as quickly. 

carlossainz55: I see the way you look at me, y/n. I know you see how I look at you as well. You’re a smart girl. 

youruser: I am. 

It takes Carlos a few minutes to reply, you had washed down his previous comments with a shot of tequila.

carlossainz55: Hotel De Paris. Room 321 

youruser: What am I supposed to do with this? 

carlossainz55: Whatever you want. 

Leaning against the counter, it takes you a few moments to gather your thoughts. Someone calls for you, "miss?" The voice comes from behind you, the bartender has picked up your empty shot glass. "Anything else?"

"One more please," you smiled at him.

"Name? For the tab?"

"Leclerc," you smiled once more. The bartender fills another glass, the clear liquid spills over the brim of the small glass when he sets it down.

You pick it up, downing the shot. The tequila burns on the way down, Carlos's message replaying in your head over and over again. You find yourself walking in the direction of your boyfriend, hugging him from behind.

Charles turns, "you okay?" He asked, grinning at you. You nod, smiling at him. It was just after 3:30 in the morning and you were exhausted. Between race day and the partying, you were ready to head home.

"I think I'm gonna head back to yours," you tell him and he nods, "do you want me to come with you?"

"No no," you smiled, a hand on his chest when you kissed him. "You stay and have fun, I'll see you when you get home."

"Text me when you get home, then." He smiles, kissing you once again before you head down, walking out of the club.

You hail a cab, getting into the back and the man asks; "where to?"

It was quiet, the man glanced back to make sure you haven't fallen asleep back there. "Miss," he calls yet again, "where to ?"

If you were a good girlfriend, you would have given him Charles's address but you were young and foolish, you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself if you don't explore whatever this thing with Carlos could be.

Even if it's simply just a hello.

"Hotel De Paris, please." You tell him, picking at your nail polish when he drives off.

It's quiet, the man doesn't speak nor do you, simply thanking you when you pay him, tipping him a little extra as you were fighting with your own moral compass.

It's now 4am, the man at the front desk smiles at you as you pass by. You return the smile, stepping into the elevator. Charles would still be at the club for at least another 2 hours, you had time.

The 3rd floor button lights up when you press it.

This was wrong, you really shouldn't be here; ding. The elevator doors open and you step off of it. It takes all of you not to turn around and get back on it. There's a sign in front of you; 301 - 315 to the left, 316 - 325 to the right.

You turn to the right, counting the numbers as you passed them.

316 - 317- 318 - 319 - 320.

321.

Standing in front of the door; you still have a chance to get away but you don't. You knock on the wooden door and the sudden urge to throw up was all you could think of.

Maybe you can still get away.

Turn around, y/n. Run - run as fast as your feet can take you. You shouldn't be there.

It's too late, you don't turn fast enough and the door opens. Carlos smiles at you, leaning on the wooden door.

His shorts hung off his hips, minus a shirt and you'd say you weren't staring but you were. Eyes trailing over his bare body, counting the indents as you went lower. You'd never admit it to anyone but how you wished his shorts weren't in the way right now.

"Hi," you whisper, not even sure if the word came out of your mouth.

"You came," he says, smiling; there it is again, that mischievous look on his face.

You nod. "I did."

"Where is he?" He looks at you - he being Charles. You point behind you, as if he was there. "You know.. the club."

"Good," he smiles, stepping aside. "Are you going to stand out here all night or come in?"

You step past him, pushing your better judgment out of the window the moment the door shuts. You make it about half way into the room before you pause, turning around to face him.

"I'm really sorry about your race, you deserved to be up there too. Or at least be in the points."

Carlos shrugs, "that's life, corazón."

He steps closer to you and everything in your head is screaming; red flag!! run!! don't stay! go away! in big red, bold letters and yet, you stood across from the man.

"Is he expecting you anytime soon?" Carlos asks you, his hand cupping your jaw.

"I told him I would see him when he gets home. Why?"

"Then I have time," he pulls you flush against him.

You shouldn't. Wrong doesn't even begin to cover what was about to happen in this room. You shouldn't even be in this stupid room, with this stupidly handsome man.

Carlos's lips ghost over yours, ever so soft and you can't help it. You had a feeling - you promised yourself - this was never going to happen again and it might even ruin your relationship but god, how you wanted him.

"We can't," your hand wraps around his wrist.

He nods, "I know.. but you want to."

"I do."

"Then that's enough."

When Carlos kissed you, it's like nothing you had ever experienced before. You had never been kissed like that in your life; it was drawing, like he had a hold over you, kept pulling you back in until you had nothing left to give.

And frankly, you'd give him anything he wanted.

Everything about him was intoxicating. From the taste of his lips to the stubble on his cheeks scratching against yours. You needed him in a way that was indescribable.

Carlos wasn't sure what came over him.. well, he knew exactly what it was.

He wanted you to be his and even if it took a hundred years, you'd be his. He'd make sure of it.

You're everything he could have ever wanted. Your hands are everywhere, feeling all over him and he didn't care if your mouth was already on his, he wanted more. He wanted everything you could give him and he'd take it.

Carlos was greedy in that way. He doesn't stop to think how this would hurt you or your relationship.

In a some sort of fucked up way, he thought this was fair.

Charles gets to be the star boy for the team and he couldn't deny it longer. As much as he smiles and laughs with the media, everyone, including him, knows Charles will always be the focus of the team.

He wasn't going to let him have you as well.

He didn't care if he never won another race in his life; you were his prize.

Your purse tossed on the floor when he picks you up, your legs wrapped around him as Carlos gets on the bed with you.

You hadn't noticed that your phone fell out of your purse, too caught up with the man in front of you to notice your phone buzzing on the floor.

From Charles: did you get home okay?

--

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[undiscovered-horizon]

Hello Sofia! My name is Aleksandra! Just wanted to send a request of Zoro x reader where reader has just joined the crew she is a witch and very strong, sweet, but could be intense (in a good way) as well as mysterious everyone in the crew absolutely loves her but it takes time for Zoro to completely trust her so he keeps his eye on her causing them both to have some tension some days they are arguing over tiny situations some days they are sitting alone together laughing and smiling at one another with feelings building up that they have yet to understand even though they are confused with their feelings their connection runs deeply to the point it drives them insane everyone else in the crew see's this (Besides our dear Luffy.) They try to get them to open up but it's hopeless at times. I was thinking Zoro gets a deep cut during a fight and Reader helps him with his wound this is where they are able to share their feelings and once they deeply kiss they understand how they feel from there.

I hope this is a good one to do! Thank you!✨🌻✨

I would love to be tagged at!💜 @shewalksinanotherworld

This took a little bit longer and I have nothing to say for myself except that my executive function does not, in fact, function. Enjoy! @shewalksinanotherworld Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

"The way to a man's heart" - Zoro x Reader

[graphic descriptions of open wounds]

Somebody once said that love and hate are two sides of the same coin - a token of devotion. Like tides of two seas that create storms and whirlpools upon meeting, it is often impossible to determine where one ends and the other begins. Perhaps, these waters have never differed as they are two ends of one river. Both lovers and enemies alike make up the first row of the funeral cortege.

And just like those seas, no matter whether they are the same or two different bodies, Zoro and you seem to be ebbing and flowing across love and hate. Flipping the coin of dedication each day to see where your tense relationship will take you. Sometimes more than once a day, when mere hours separate passionate fights from merry laughter.

But speaking of turning tides and seamlessly flowing waters, wouldn't the seas know each other far too well? What constitutes oceans of hate was once the pond of love. Conversely, the waters of affection had once flown as tides of enmity. If the answer is yes, it would explain quite a lot about the rather inexplicable connection you share with the swordsman. Sometimes not a word has to be spoken but a fleeting gaze exchange for either of you to know perfectly well what the other has on their mind.

To be fair, it's hard for you to put your finger on the why - Why are you and Zoro so strange with each other? The most plausible explanation would probably be his stubborn distrust. He's a very guarded person which, by itself, is not unfathomable considering his journey and livelihood. But it is absolutely tedious when he sticks to his guns against all available evidence. Weeks went by when Zoro was the only crewmember who perceived you in different shades of suspicion, even after witnessing you put your life on the line for your mutual friends. His stubbornness was frustrating, so you gave him as good as you got and well... Here we are, wading in the murky waters of passion, both pleasant and adverse.

However, you'll be wading much different waters, those flowing in the Styx River, if you don't escape now. The Indigo Cross pirates are a little too close behind you. You can almost feel their breaths on your neck as they scream about revenge, bloodshed and defending their captain's honour. Yes, about that... It wasn't exactly Luffy's fault that the man he told to apologize to the tavern waitress was the world's most narcissistic pirate. Alas, the damage is done and so is your chance at a peaceful shore leave.

The Merry Go is but a few meters away. You just have to get to the gangway and run up the stairs so fast your mother would go bald from stress. Just two things, right?

Your foot gets caught the between rotting planks of the pier. The unforeseen obstacle in your escape startles you, giving you barely any time to shield your face from the painful impact of the ground.

"Shit!" you groan to yourself, yanking your foot.

Zoro yells out your name. In long strides, he catches up with you. He manages to rip away one of the mould-covered planks. Despite your foot being set free, the man lifts you to stand on your own.

"You go, I'll hold them back," he orders you as he nudges you in the direction of the ship. Before you can defy him, Zoro is already running towards the oncoming wave of looking-for-a-scrap pirates.

Time seems to slow down as you watch a spear, its polished head shining in the sunlight, fly through the air and pierce Zoro's chest. He stumbles backwards and falls on one knee. With a roar of agony, the swordsman grabs the long shaft of the weapon. A loud snap fills the air as he breaks the wood off. Then, like a phoenix rising from the ashes,, Zoro stands up. Although his legs tremble slightly, he still lifts his swords and fights off the Indigo pirates. Some seem to drop their weapons in surrender, seeing that not even death can grasp this demon of a man.

You want to call for him but Sanji firmly grabs your arm and pulls you on board. "Come on, he can handle himself."

Having hidden on the lower deck, you're not sure what happened on the shore and onboard the ship until you saw none other but Roronoa Zoro, stumbling down the stairs and almost falling on the floor. Luffy, Usopp and even Sanji yell and nag at him to get his wound looked at while Nami keeps calling him different variations of "stupid" but Zoro only curses at them and tells a less savoury "Leave me alone".

Maybe thirty minutes pass by until the emotions die down or are at least well hidden. Your four friends sit around the kitchen, all strangely silent. They all give you a curious look when you let out a heavy sigh and march towards Zoro's room. He's going to die one day, obviously, but it's not going to be today. And definitely not because he put your safety before his own. What kind of rom-com death would that be?

Zoro is facing you with his back when you swing the door open without even knocking first. You seem to have interrupted his rather poor attempt at bandaging the hole in his chest. He looks over his shoulder, his face bearing an expression of annoyance.

"What do you want?"

You toss a handful of medical supplies on top of the chest with his belongings. The fresh dressings, a small bottle of alcohol, a needle and a thread tell quite the story, lying next to the bloodied head of a spear with splinters coming out of where the long shaft should be. It's still hardly believable what he did back there.

"When you get an infection, you green-haired idiot," you speak with your hands crossed on your chest. It's clear as day - you're pissed off, "it will be Sanji spoon-feeding you. I'm sure you'll be having the time of your life then."

Your sarcastic remark doesn't seem to phase him. The wrinkle between Zoro's eyebrows only gets deeper.

"I'm fine. I've been worse," he says with an exasperated sigh. "Just piss off," the man groans in a low voice.

Maybe if he wasn't already injured, you'd punch him straight in the jaw. "Stop being a stubborn ass," you raise your voice, "and let me help you."

Zoro rolls his eyes dramatically. Making a show of his discontentment, he sits on the edge of his hammock. If he was just a few yours younger maybe he'd stomp his feet too, as befits a toddler he seems to have chosen to act like.

Minutes go by in silence as you clean the deep would and do your best suturing it. Meanwhile, Zoro doesn't even wince. He's perfectly calm and collected, almost as though his soul has left his body and gone for a stroll.

By the looks of it, you haven't stitched wounds many times and Sanji would probably be better at this, with his experienced hands and all, but that would require Zoro to be either already dead or at least unconscious. There's no other way he'd willingly let those slimy fingers touch him.

“They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach," you say under your breath as you tighten the knot on the last suture. The last thing you want is the deep wound reopening. "I guess going through his ribs works too.”

"A lot more efficient." The swordsman chuckles but his laughter soon turns into winces and groans. Although he's not going to bleed to death anymore, the rather large hole in his chest is this painful and not something to trifle with.

"A spear nearly pierced right through you and you're having a laugh?" You nod with approval. He's impressed you, you have to give him that. "Roronoa Zoro, you command respect."

A silence falls between you again as you put back the collection of medical supplies you've managed to find aboard. Little do you know, Zoro's watchful gaze doesn't leave you. He seems to be intensely thinking about something.

"Thanks," he finally spits out. "I would rather die than let Sanji spoon-feed me."

It's not the wraith of death that scared him into letting you patch him up - it was the cook in a striped shirt. Really? Roronoa Zoro is a lot of things but "ordinary" or "predictable" is not one of them.

You burst into laughter. "Unfortunately," you manage to breathe out, "I would have loved to see that."

He shakes his head in disapproval but his lips are curved into a grin. "I hate you."

"No, you don't, big guy," you answer as you playfully poke his arm. It's still covered in dried blood and sweat.

His dark eyes stare into yours with a strange glint to them. It's almost like amusement but not entirely - it's deeper, much deeper. "Yeah, I don't," he whispers.

Everything happens so fast: Zoro grabs your neck and pulls you flush against himself, crashing his lips against yours. Involuntarily you yelp, which elicits a chuckle from the man. On one hand, you're surprised with his sudden declaration of passion but on the other hand, you're relieved. Of course, you have joked that Zoro must be in love with you to be so annoying most of the time but rarely did you consider it a real possibility. He just... didn't seem like a man who loves, only desires. But now, when he's kissing you so desperately and eagerly, you feel stupid for ever thinking such thoughts. As his hand roams your body, you begin to wonder whether all of this has always been this funny - every one of your friends already knew the feelings you had for each other, except the two of you. Something so obvious it's easily overlooked.

It makes you think that he was, actually, scared of losing but not his life. He was scared of losing someone.

[youaintnothinbuta]

Please please please do a Colt Seavers x reader where they get married im in NEED to marry him sm he's so malewife <3

“This is it.” — Colt Seavers x reader

Summary: colt and you have the most perfect wedding, exactly the way you dreamed it would go <3

Pairing: colt seavers x reader

Word count: 1.1K

Warnings: none!! Wedding Fluff <3 sorry if there’s typos

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You stand against the corner of the old castle-esque building, the sun casting comforting warmth over the meticulously tended gardens surrounding you. Your heart races as you press your back against the cool stone, gripping Colt's hand tightly. He’s just on the other side of the corner, you can’t see each other, but his strong, confident presence is relieving.

“I can’t believe it,” you say softly, squeezing his hand.

“I know, darlin',” Colt replies, his voice rich and steady. “This is it.”

“Don’t you dare pull some crazy stunt on me.” You laugh, the sound bubbling up from deep within you, easing some of the tension in your chest.

He laughs, “I promise, baby.”

Just then, your best friend and maid of honour, Emily, approaches, her dress swishing softly as she walks. “Alright, you two,” she says with a grin. “It’s time. Colt, you head to the altar. It’s almost showtime.”

“See you soon, beautiful. I love you,” Colt says, giving your hand one last squeeze before letting go. The absence of his touch feels strange and momentarily unsettling, but you take a deep breath, grounding yourself.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice barely a whisper.

Once he’s gone, Emily turns to you, her eyes shining with excitement. “Ready to do this?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you say, a smile spreading across your face.

Your father appears then, his eyes misty with pride and emotion. He offers you his arm, and you take it. “You look amazing,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead gently.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion.

“Let’s go give Colt a run for his money, huh?”

You laugh softly as you both step forward, and the double doors of the church open wide. The soft strains of the wedding march fill the air, and you see Colt standing at the altar, his eyes locked onto yours. He looks incredibly handsome in his suit. The moment he sees you, a visible shift happens. His strong features soften, and his eyes well up with tears. By the time you’re halfway down the aisle, those tears have spilled over, streaming down his cheeks. Your eyes blur with tears too, watching as he brings his hand over his mouth to stifle a cry.

You can’t feel the ground beneath you. You body is heavy, you move in slow motion against, hyper aware of all the eyes on you, yet the only thing in focus is Colt. When you reach him, your father places your hand in Colt’s and steps back, tearing up at the sight of you.

“Hi,” he whispers, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re perfect.”

The intensity of the moment hits you, and you feel a tear slip down your cheek as you whisper-laugh, “Hi.”

He reaches up to gently brush it away, his touch tender. The ceremony proceeds, a blur of words and emotions, but every moment is etched in your heart. When it’s time to say your vows, Colt is up first, his voice earnest as he speaks to you.

When the officiant finally pronounces you husband and wife, Colt holds you, one hand on your waist, the other on your back. He dips you, placing a gentle, passionate kiss on your lips.

The reception had been everything you’d dreamed of—laughter, dancing, and love filling every corner of the grand hall. But now, the lights are dimming, and the music has faded into a soft murmur as the last guests say their goodbyes. You stand by the door, your arm looped through Colt's, watching your families exchange hugs and parting words.

“Take care of each other,” your mom says, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears as she hugs you tightly.

“We always have, Mom,” you assure her, squeezing her back before turning to Colt’s parents. They embrace you warmly, their approval and happiness evident.

As the last of the well-wishers leave, Colt looks down at you, his eyes filled with tenderness. “Ready to go, Mrs. Seavers?”

A thrill runs through you, at the sound of your new name.

“Almost,” you say, glancing around the now-empty room. “Let’s just have one more moment here. Just us.”

Colt nods, understanding. He leads you to the center of the room where earlier you’d shared your first dance as husband and wife. The remnants of the celebration—a few scattered petals, empty chairs, and half-finished glasses of champagne—create a quiet, intimate atmosphere.

Without a word, Colt pulls you into his arms. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he begins to sway gently. There’s no music now, just the sound of your footsteps and the faint hum of the night outside.

“Today was perfect,” you murmur, closing your eyes and losing yourself in the feel of his arms around you.

“It was,” he agrees softly. “But this—just you and me—this is what I’ll remember most.”

You smile against his chest, your heart swelling with love. "Me too. This is all I’ve ever wanted."

The two of you continue to sway, the room silent except for the rustle of your dress and his suit.

Colt tilts your chin up, his eyes searching yours. “I promise to make every day feel like today,” he says, his voice wet with honesty.

It’s dark, but he can see your bright smile. He leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. When he pulls back, you’re both smiling, your foreheads resting together.

“Let’s go, Colt.”

The night is still and full of promise as Colt opens the car door for you, and you slip inside. As he joins you and starts the engine, you take his hand, feeling the warmth and strength of his grip. He turns to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Wanna do some doughnuts?” he asks, a playful smile spreading across his face.

You laugh, shaking your head. Why aren’t you surprised? “Sure.”

With a grin, Colt revs the engine, and the his truck roars. The two of you share a quick, exhilarated glance before he maneuvers the car into an empty section of the parking lot. Then, with his stunt man expertise, he whips the steering wheel, and the car spins in tight circles, the tires screeching against the pavement.

You’re both laughing now, the rush of adrenaline making the moment even more thrilling. The night sky spins above you, the stars blurring into streaks of light as he wraps his free arm around you, holding you to his side.

When he finally brings the car to a stop, you’re both breathless, your cheeks flushed with excitement. Colt turns to you, his eyes shining. “I love you,” he says, his smile shining through his tone.

“I love you too,” you reply, leaning over to kiss him.

[foli-vora]

Congrats on 3k, lovely!!!!

Can I have “you know where to find me.” with Dave York?

Pls turn my pelvis into dust. Your Dave is AMAZING.

My love. Thank you for your never ending support and love. I am honoured you enjoy my Dave! I apologise for the delay, and I hope you enjoy! ❤️

A sidenote: Yes, I'm slowly making my way through these requests. Yes, they are incredibly late. Yes, we're ignoring the fact I'm well over 3k now LMAO.

your taste i crave

dave york x f!reader

word count: 1.3k warnings: SMUT 18+ ONLY. semi public sex/workplace sex, rough unprotected p in v, brief talk of choking, vague descriptions of toy use, use of tie as a gag, creampie, oral sex (f), cum eating, a brief thigh nibble, dave's messy idc

The edge of the copier is harsh where it digs into your stomach, but you can’t find it in you to care—not when he’s moving like this, not when his hands are locked on your hips, keeping you at his complete mercy as he takes what he wants.

He’s so fucking rough, and if you didn’t have the tight pull of his work tie around your mouth and making words practically impossible, you’re absolutely positive you’d be begging him for more.

You don’t think it will ever be enough.

Instead, all that falls from your parted, restrained lips are muffled whines and broken moans when he hits that spot that’s almost too far. It sends a jolt of pain through your system, rocketing up your spine and bringing your body harder against the machine in an effort to escape the intense sensation, but it’s quickly replaced with more heat, more need.

He merely drags you back against him each and every time, his neatly trimmed nails pressing indents into the fleshy skin of your waist as he moves behind you with tightly restrained grunts, the slap of his hips meeting your ass echoing in the small copy room.

Despite the time of day, with most of the office having enough and retreating home, there’s not much time left.

Beyond the dizzying, overwhelming feel of him rutting into you without abandon; cock so fucking solid, so goddamn thick; and bringing a flood of tears to your lash line, you know it can’t last—not like it usually does.

He’d still want to go back to work—most likely for the rest of the evening, the strict borderline obsession with his career rendering him unable to leave the mountains of work flooding his desk.

So there’s no room for build up here. No time for teasing. No long, blissful drawn out torture of him bringing you to the edge only to stop at its peak again and again.

This is about release. This is about working and relieving the tension that had been slowly building across his broad shoulders with every bullshit thing that had happened today and granting him a clearer head for the hours left at the office. This is about him, and you’re only too happy to oblige.

“Might—fuck… might have to–to make this a regular work thing,” he grits out, hand curling around the back of your blouse and tugging roughly at it until your back is pressing against his chest.

The silk collar of it cuts into the soft flesh of your throat, and you want to ask for more.

Maybe his hand? His long thick fingers curling around the width of it and giving it that perfect squeeze that borders on too much but is always just enough.

Maybe his belt? The worn, cared for leather smooth against your skin as it tightens and tightens, slowly pushing your lungs to the max until you’re weeping from the irresistible assault of sensations.

The gag wound tight around your mouth makes it impossible to get the words out, and his mouth latches onto the curve of your shoulder, nipping and biting at the skin until it feels raw. You stretch out for more, his lips soon running hungrily along the expanse of your throat.

Close.

He’s getting close.

You know it, you can feel it.

You can feel it in the way his already bruising grip tightens just that little more. You can feel it in the way his breath starts to catch where it ghosts your skin, sticking in his throat and coming out in shorter pants as he chases the promise of that sweet, sweet high.

You can’t speak, can’t utter a single fucking word to coax him along. You can’t beg for him to keep going, to finish right where he is and fill you to the fucking brim so you can take a part of him home.

He goes wild for your shaky home videos, the smooth finish of your vibrator glistening with the remnants of his cum sliding down the silicon as you fuck yourself with his name on your lips in the cosy comfort of your bedroom.

A mantra of his name fills your mind.

Dave, Dave, Dave.

You want him to hear it, you want him to know that it’s only him that could do this, only him that could use you like this. You love it, crave it.

That familiar tingle runs along your spine in anticipation, your body aching for just that little bit more, your clit throbbing in need of desperate attention to get you just over that line right alongside him—

The groan that falls from his throat is utter filth, hoarse and throaty, and one of your favourite fucking sounds he makes. He slams his hips upwards one more time, forcing the head of his cock right up against your soft cervix as he starts to cum, and you’re left to do nothing but whine into the now damp material of his tie, barely aware of the tear that leaks from the corner of your eye.

He takes a long moment to recover, sweat slicked face hidden in your shoulder as his chest heaves against your back. The tie loosens from around your mouth and falls to rest at the base of your throat, leaving a mess of saliva coating your lips and chin which you try to wipe away as cleanly as possible with the back of your hand.

Too soon, he starts to pull away, guiding his softening cock from your tender, weeping cunt with a low hiss of ‘fuck’ before you hear the rustle of his slacks and the smooth pull of his zipper.

You take that as your silent cue, twisting and bending as well as you could on shaky legs to retrieve the damp panties still tangled around your ankles and attempt to drag them back up into place.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks gruffly, tugging the thin lace out from your fingers and letting them drop to your feet once more. “Who said I was finished with you?”

“But—”

There’s no time to argue.

He works quickly, dropping to his knees and gripping the underside of your ass enough to spread you open before pressing forward eagerly. The thick, firm feel of his tongue swipes through the mess he had made, forcing its way along your wet folds before pushing into your throbbing cunt.

You manage to smother the yelp of surprise with a quick slap of your hand over your mouth, half wishing he had left the gag in place if he wasn’t done with you. Maybe he’s trying to test you, or maybe he just doesn’t give a shit about being quiet anymore.

God, it’s risky.

It’s so fucking risky, it’s so fucking good—

He holds you tightly, winding an arm around the front of you to pull you harder against his face as he practically devours you from behind, eagerly coaxing more of his cum and your arousal into his mouth with feral curls and flicks of his tongue.

Your knees threaten to give out when he finally moves away from your entrance and finds your clit, smoothing over the swollen nerve with alternating quick, light flutters and firm, wide rolls. He falls into his pace easily, rekindling the heat in the pit of your stomach in a way only he knows how and you’re desperate to find something to anchor yourself with.

“Y-yeah,” you breathe brokenly, hands clutching the machine for life and eyes rolling with the fresh waves of pleasure as you can’t help but start to rock back against his face, focusing on the feel of his slick tongue sliding back and forward over your previously neglected clit, “maybe we could make this a… a r-regular work thing.”

He hums into you, breaking away with an obscene wet smack of his lips before nipping at the inside of your thigh playfully.

“You know where to find me, pretty girl. Bend over, give it to me.”

-

tags: @maievdenoir, @javier-pena, @lv7867, @dihra-vesa, @katronautt, @radiowallet, @januarystears, @missminkylove, @beskarprincessjenny, @mswarriorbabe80, @danidrabbles, @amneris21, @eri16, @absurdthirst, @hnt-escape, @acourtofsnakes, @ezrasbirdie, @mstgsmy66, @lovesbiggerthanpride, @coaaster, @sherala007, @greeneyedblondie44, @wyn-n-tonic, @you-got-me-starry-eyed, @shirks-all-responsibilities, @withasideofmeg, @harriedandharassed, @andruxx, @buckybarneshairpullingkink, @spideysimpossiblegirl, @prostitute-robot-from-the-future, @tanzthompson, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @hope-for-the-best-98, @fangirl-316, @christina-loves, @jediknight122, @hallway5, @xoxabs88xox, @nicolethered, @churchill356, @massivecolorspygiant, @just-here-for-the-moment, @gracie7209, @pinkie289, @lavenderluna10, @goodgriefitsawildworld

[shibaraki]

THE WHITE RABBIT ┊ GOJO SATORU

synopsis: you’ve been instructed to begin making appearances at the pleasure district. choosing the right man to flaunt was imperative for your family's image. who better to pick than the top courtesan?

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (called ‘angel’ toward the end), strangers to lovers, courtesan gojo (no curses au), sex work, alcohol consumption, inspired by edo period japan, sexual tension, mutual attraction, reader is a customer from a well known family, feelings realisation, other characters present, fluff + angst, loss of virginity (reader), body worship, finger sucking, bathing, vaginal oral sex + fingering (reader receiving), unprotected vaginal sex (pull out method), hopeful ending 

wc: 14k+

The dense woodland that lies between the main city and the Pleasure district appeared unearthly in the late evening. If you looked up toward the capillaries of the canopy, you’d find the trees would breathe even on a windless night. East and West, spindling arms of cedar seemed to reach for you. 

It unsettled you. The atmosphere felt polarised, as if it were drawing your rickshaw in and manipulating your direction despite having entered willingly. You thought this might be what it’s like to cross from one plane to another, a coniferous bridge between worlds. 

Such a description was befitting of your destination. The Pleasure district truly was another world in its entirety — a place wherein the rules of the mainland could not reach. A creature that laid its own law and shaped you to its own customs. You could no longer put it off. You were of an appropriate age, and it was your turn to enter the beast. 

The maw is bright where the clearing breaks, illuminated by hues of orange and red. Carmine wood with slightly curved pillars, before you stands a grand archway nestled between two walls built to encase the district. 

Large hand painted lanterns light up the wide open road as you are carried through the swelling crowds. Patrons part around your intrusion as they turn to stare, curious about who you might be. You knew that both the private escort pulling your rickshaw and the expensive fabric fashioned elegantly around your shoulders would be enough to display your family's social standing.

Still, the attention and judgement is stifling. You distract yourself with focus on the establishments lining either side of the street; the air is imbued with an amalgam of sweet scents, thick enough to feel it on the roof of your tongue as you breathe. People with delicately painted faces adorned in jewels call out to you from the balconies, the distinct and striking pluck of a shamisen ringing in your ears.

Logically this place was a place of business, yet the innocent, naive part of you felt guilt simply for ignoring their greetings. But you could not stop to contemplate their suitability or good looks, for your family had already arranged a banquet with the finest house in the district — the Michizane house.

As the rickshaw comes to a slow stop you feel tension return to your chest, wrung tight like cloth. The teahouse appears to be two stories high and quite large when compared to its neighbouring buildings. Decorating the outer walls are intricate patterns of wood lattice, the wide open entrance lit up with an inviting glow. Waiting by the door is the owner, a striking man by the name of Nanami Kento.

He steps forward and bows deeply in greeting, peering up from behind the thin frame of his glasses to where you are perched as he straightens. Not a blonde hair out of place. “It is a pleasure to meet you, and an honour to host your banquet at my establishment,” he says. His words are dipped in a rich timbre that settles warm in your bones. 

Insecure of your inexperience, you try to steel yourself as you reply, “I’m grateful for your time, Nanami-san”.

If he senses your nervousness he doesn’t mention it, rather he extends his arm to assist you down from your seat. In doing so you take a moment to contemplate his garments — he wears a grey toned hakama over his pale blue kimono with a matching haori, embellished with the teahouse crest. 

You take his open hand, habitually tugging the silk of your own kimono closer to your skin. Nanami casts his eyes toward the floor as you descend out of respect for your modesty, and while you felt it wasn’t required it was appreciated all the same. 

“I’ll be waiting for your return,” your long employed escort, Norimitsu, lowers his head to bid you goodbye. Having known the man for most of your life, it comforted you that he wouldn’t stray too far. 

Nanami remains stoic as he leads you into the teahouse. There are various open rooms housing guests of all class and background, conversation and laughter easily heard through paper thin walls. You are beckoned through a teal-dyed curtain, through which you find a large sliding door. He smoothly pulls it open for you, revealing a large parlour. You take note of the hearth built into the floor, and the small alcove of hanging scrolls that houses a single sword stand, displaying a katana. At the further end of the room, three screen doors have been tucked away to connect the space to a modest pond garden. 

“I trust it is to your liking?” 

You startle, glancing back at Nanami to find him at respectable distance. “It’s wonderful,” you answer at the end of an exhale, feeling like you had stepped into a dream. There are already a few attendants present, one knelt by your assigned seat on one side of the low tea table in preparation. 

A delicate sound reverberates through the room, and your gaze is drawn to a young man draped in a green kimono so dark that it is almost black. There are subtle gold finishes along the square sleeves, and gold flowers embroidered into his obi. Laid out in front of him is a wooden koto. 

“Please take your seat. These young men will tend to you as you wait for the Courtesan to arrive,” Nanami startles you out of your reverie, inclining his head forward as another gentle strum of music dances through the quiet. You overturn your hand to clutch the inside of your sleeve, embarrassed to have been distracted. 

“Will they take long?” you ask. 

Nanami’s expression shifts with his exasperation, nudging the frame of his glasses back up the bridge of his nose as it wrinkles. “Courtesans of The Michizane House are skilled. Their beauty is venerated and they are praised country wide for trysts with virtue and vice,” he regards you with an almost apologetic look, “what they do not excel in is punctuality”. 

You can’t help but smile at his tone. It sounds like he knows them well, as if they are children he were lovingly admonishing. “You’re well acquainted with them?”

“Unfortunately,” he meets your eyes and when the light refracts in his irises, you notice they’re the colour of earth. “Though my personal relationship with them is no reflection on their ability to service you. They are regarded highly for a reason”. 

“As is expected. In a place like this, personal and business affairs are kept separate for a reason,” you muse softly. A sudden blanket of exhaustion rests itself on your shoulders, reminded that you were here for duty and not pleasure. “I’ll take my seat. Thank you for your hospitality, Nanami-san”. 

You take your seat in silence, knees sinking into the plush silk pillow as you greet the waiting attendant. On the opposite side of the table there are three other cushions lined up and equally distanced, indicating the number of Courtesan you would be meeting with. For a patron of high standing such as yourself, a banquet was custom. Money opened many doors and the House Managers knew that well — thus you were afforded much more freedom for choice, their top earners given to you on a silver platter.

But even so, the district was fickle for tradition and rules. During the banquet you weren’t to interact casually with the Courtesans, as it was their duty to appeal to you without bias. It could be through seduction, art, music and dance; each one given an equal chance to advertise themselves in whatever manner they saw fit. 

After deciding your final pick you would meet with them a second time at the Michizane house, only in the company of their personal attendants. An opportunity to get to know one another better and cautiously test the waters. If the chosen Courtesan was not to your liking you would still be able to send for another and there would be no quarrel. 

The third visit would be your consummation. Visiting with a Courtesan three times meant solidifying your relationship, and it would be forbidden to take another. You’d heard from many that taking a partner of the night was to be treated as seriously as a marriage, some even went as far as incorporating the exchange of nuptial cups. It was supposed to be romantic, if not slightly archaic. A beautiful lie. 

You knew too well that you were not here for pleasure, but still you yearned for love, just as any other person does.

Behind you is the gentle sound of running water in the gardens, but you are taken by the koto player's song, and the fluency at which he plays it. Three ivy picks adorn his right hand, plucking with plectra on the thumb, middle and index fingers. His left hand presses and pulls the silk string behind the bridge, adding enchanting bends and vibrato to the melody.  

“His name is Fushiguro Megumi,” the boy to your side murmurs, “here. This will help you relax”. You flinch as a ceramic sake cup is suddenly offered to you, reflexively taking it with a small bow that leaves your attendant bemused. 

Bringing it towards your lips, you inhale the slightly sweet aroma before tipping the cup into your mouth, finding it a little dry on your palate. “Thank you,” you tell him. “And what is your name?”

There's a minute tilt to his head as he answers, one of confusion. With the movement, his dark hair curtains his cheek and somehow it makes him look even younger. “My name is Yoshino Junpei. I am a trainee at the Michizane House,” he replies. 

“Oh?” you smile as his chest puffs with pride at your apparent surprise, “you must show a lot of promise then”. 

“Thank you!” you think he might start to shake with excitement, a glimmer in his eyes that was not there before. He bows deeply, fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his yukata. As his back straightens he continues, “But it is not just me. Fushiguro is also a Courtesan in training”. 

You glance towards the trainee in question. He too is dark haired and pale skinned. If he sat still you thought he might look like a porcelain doll. His eyes remain closed as his fingers spin a saccharine harmony, though you can see there are smatterings of red across his cheeks. He must’ve overheard you. 

“Then I would say The Michizane House has a keen eye,” you say. Junpei smiles, his mouth strained at the corners with careful hands reaching for your empty cup. 

“I just thought it important to let you know… as trainees we cannot be chosen to service you”. 

You nod sagely. Of course you had known that before your arrival, yet as you process his words and the implication hung between them, you feel your composure slip. “Oh—! Junpei, I never intended to pursue either of you. I was only appreciating his music”. 

Your voice is low, hushed as not to embarrass the other boy any further. Junpei’s eyes widened like a fawn faced with an arrow, the bottle of rice wine almost slipping from his grasp. “Forgive me, I misunderstood and spoke out of turn I— I understand if you’d like to request another—”

Irrespective of etiquette, you cover his hands with your own to still the trembling. “There is nothing to forgive. You were informing me so that I wouldn’t get hurt, were you not?”

He inhales deeply, the air bloating his lungs, exhaling the anxiety from his limbs. Junpei bows again once you release him. “You’re a truly kind person,” he rasps. 

“As are you,” you offer him a gentle smile, hoping he wouldn’t see the fraying edges. Seeing him so frightened at the thought of displeasing you was unsettling. You knew that it could be difficult for those working in the district, but having been sheltered most of your life you never quite understood the consequences. 

Realising the sudden silence, you meet Megumi’s pensive stare across the room. His arms are held in suspension, anticipating your anger. “I assure you everything is alright,” you steady your voice in hopes he’ll hear the sincerity, “please do continue”. 

His eyes narrow in fleeting suspicion. Gradually the melody bleeds back into the room, and Junpei returns to serving your drinks. This song is different, you note. It is light and hopeful yet poignant. 

Yes, to have these two young men punished for such meaningless offences would be abhorrent. 

There is movement in your periphery, low humming voices behind the screen door. You see multiple silhouettes through the lattice frames as Nanami moves into view, the pinch in his mouth smoothing when he sees you’re watching. 

“The Michizane House is at your service”. 

You knew to expect something unearthly, yet nothing could prepare you for the picture the Courtesans painted as they entered the parlour. 

The first is a kind faced man introduced as courtesan Okkotsu Yuta. His robe is a gold silk with a pale obi, over top he wears a moss coloured uchikake made of tulle that has been painstakingly dotted with camellia blooms. His hair is dark and neatly parted to loosely frame his face; the only jewels he wears are around his wrists and neck. At first glance he seems young, but his eyes tell otherwise. 

“Come, Rika,” he calls softly. 

A small girl trails behind him, timid as she greets you but confident in her given task; once Yuta is seated she hastily kneels beside him to straighten the fabric pooling around him and makes quick work of pouring his drink. 

As he introduces the next Courtesan — referred to as Choso, a name quite peculiar to you — Nanami is forced to move slightly back in order to make room for his frame. He’s broad, bigger than most men you had seen, though you could attribute that to the mountain of garments he wore. Light ripples on the sheen black kimono, glowing along the painted gold floral prints. Dotted across the fabric are embroidered chrysanthemum blooms; the obi is hefty where it is tied to his front, and you thought it looked as if he were holding a bouquet 

You have no doubt his hair is long. It must’ve taken an impressive amount of time to comb and style it — parted into two sections and held either side of his crown with black cloth, ornamental hairpins with cascading red beads passing through each bun. 

Forged from left cheek to right, curving seamlessly over the bridge of his nose, is a line of black paint. An innate part of you flares in alarm as he seeks out your furtive gaze in passing, like you were some sort of prey animal. 

What fractures his stoic demeanour are the children at his side in simple black robes, identical in height and appearance. The only thing setting them apart was the elaborate lines painted on one of the boys' faces to match with his elder. They press their small hands flat to their obi’s and bow in a deep but clumsy manner. 

“Hi, I’m Yuji! It’s nice to meet you!”

“I’m Sukuna, we’re honoured to join you”.

Their voices overlap yet their greetings are given out of sync. You clasp your sleeve against your palm to cover your mouth, repressing a grin as Sukuna’s eyes narrow towards his unassuming twin. Not wanting them to be scolded, you quickly incline your head forward. 

“Thank you for being in attendance,” you reply. Choso visibly softens, immediately understanding your show of kindness, and extends both arms to cradle the back of their heads. In doing so he encourages them forward toward his seat.  

It’s quite brotherly of him, you think. Children are sometimes abandoned or sold to houses in the district, so you wondered if he had mentored them himself. It would explain his fondness for them. 

Finally, a man in a cascading layer of pale blue over pink. Gojo Satoru approaches gracefully and you are reminded of a crane. Fine silks hug his body and ripple as he moves, slender and beautiful, wading through pond water and rain. The ornaments tucked into his moon white hair sway with every step, creating hypnotic little sounds that announce his presence to the path he is walking on. 

He regards you with bright mirth, as if he can hear your thoughts, and perches himself on the rouge cushion directly opposite. Again, you cannot help but compare him to a doll, held together by silk and string. You thought you might tap a finger to his porcelain cheek and find it hollow. 

With the best earners now present, the banquet finally begins. An opulent spread of food is set along the tables and bottles are replenished. Lower ranking Geisha are in attendance to provide entertainment as you gauge one another. While his own attendant is tasked with providing music, Satoru beckons one of the smaller pink haired boys to his side. Yuji, you remember. You can tell that he is much more free spirited than his twin brother. There’s a youthful air about him that makes you want to pinch his cheeks. 

Choso doesn’t seem angered by it, casting a glance toward the pair but making no move to rein him back to his side. With unspoken permission, Yuji shines under the responsibility of pouring Satoru’s drink. You can’t help but watch with an endeared smile as his tongue peaks out from the corner of his mouth in concentration, slowly tipping his elbow up to fill the cup. 

Amused by the boy, you almost miss the palpable shift in atmosphere. Looking up, you find Satoru scrutinising your reactions, haunted eyes filled with unexpected curiosity. Even at this distance, you feel it on your face like spring. 

Naturally, both in asking and in passing, you had heard much about Gojo Satoru. He was renowned for his services and heartbreak in the district, and has been permanently moored to the spot of best earner. Not only was he a perfect picture of decadence, he was also skilled in conversation and the arts — a beautiful man that wielded both sword and fan. 

Your family had personally suggested him to you, while still offering their approval for any of the top three; and you were more than qualified to choose any of them. Yet being in their presence now, choosing Gojo felt daunting. Quixotic. As if, despite all his previous conquests, your inexperienced hands might finally be the ones to sully him. 

Lost in thought, you have been staring back at him far too long. His lips are salmon pink, a reflective sheen to them. They curve into a pleased smirk, like you were a naive lamb leading itself into a wolf's mouth. 

Your brows pinch then, eyes averted to Junpei’s pale hands where he steadily refills your drink. It is swallowed in full, the initial sting diffusing into a muted warmth throughout your body, and he doesn’t comment on the cup's emptiness only moments later. 

In part, Satoru’s flagrant arrogance mystified you. It was difficult to tell whether he was peacocking to impress you, or if he really was confident that you’d pick him. Frustratingly, his assumptions weren’t baseless. 

You’re aware the others are more than suitable. Okkotsu Yuta was known for being gentle and firm. Authoritative, but in a way that puts your mind at rest. For one night, his fantasy could cast off the things that plagued you, leaving you adrift and carried by the tide’s cupped hands. Thinking was not something you need worry about. 

Informants spoke of his popularity with newcomers. First timers. You understood why they’d choose him — Yuta appeared to have an uncanny command over his expression, always kind, surrounded by an air of empathy. It is present even now, as he watches Rika perform her dance. Eyes fond, following the practised flicks of her fan as the melody clothes her. 

Choso was venerated as something of a romantic, and adored by experienced customers. His large, oppressive demeanour played well into the guise of gentle giant. He was shamelessly attentive and passionate with his servicing. This kindness was different to that of Yuta’s. It was the type anyone could fall in love with, which admittedly frightened you. 

The way Gojo Satoru carries himself is different from his peers. Selection banquets provided a short window in time to leave behind a lasting impression. Unable to yet get close, Courtesans played to the best of their strengths in the hopes of planting a seed into their clients' hearts. 

Such intentions were clear when looking at Gojo. He is carefully carved porcelain. Everything about him has been curated to serve a purpose. It seemed to you that even his garments were worn not just because of their elegance, but because they were so distinctly reflections of his mouth and his eyes.

Highly experienced, widely recommended, and dutiful at maintaining professional lines. Satoru’s prestige allowed him more freedom than his fellow Courtesans. Having earned so much for the district, Gojo was able to reject clientele if he so wished, and he often ended relationships if they began to cross boundaries. Knowing he could outright refuse you — and at the very least, hold you to account — without concern of backlash, eased some of your anxieties. 

You surmised that he would be the safest option. In choosing Gojo Satoru, you might further elevate your family's standing without worry of developing unwanted feelings. Perhaps, in knowing the background you came from, he had already come to such a conclusion himself. 

Still, his confidence grated on you. 

The evening grows older, and along with it your own gusto. Limbs heavy, capillaries filled with wet sand. Alcohol has heated you from the inside out, just enough that it is a little easier to smile sincerely. Nanami returns during the late hour, as the banquet naturally comes to an end. You cannot deny it had been a success; food and sake always did taste better in company, twice as much when married with mellow ballads and delightful performances.

Custom dictates you should not exchange words directly before the second meeting. These men were products for you to choose from. Still, you make sure to hold their line of sight while bidding them a proper goodbye. One by one, their svelte bodies bend forward into a respectful bow, and you are reminded again of your place in this pocket of the world. 

Nanami escorts you to your carriage, undereyes faintly darker than they had been earlier. You can respect that through his fatigue, the man maintains perfect posture and conduct. Norimitsu awaits by the entrance, having bided his time circling the district. 

In leaving the teahouse that night with a dull ache in your knees, you continue to recall the delicate echo of Gojo’s hair ornament. 

The days are long, longer than usual. You assist in the family business as always, but restlessness threads its way into your musculature, and you can’t seem to get anything done to completion. A letter confirming your choice of Courtesan had been sent the morning after your return, and you would attend a second meeting by the weeks end. 

You endure their lighthearted teasing with a strained smile. “The men must’ve made quite an impression,” they said. “Especially that Gojo Satoru. I’ve heard he’s a sight to behold”. 

You’d heard a lot, too. Plenty. Too much. The ornate bells had followed you all the way to your hometown. Gojo, Gojo, Gojo. Gaggles of women and men had approached you, hoping for details about him as if he were a creature tied to myth. 

While it was tiresome, you couldn’t begrudge them. Gojo was not a man many could afford. Their best bet would be to attend a procession, if only to see him from afar. Untouchable. The thought weighs heavily as you watch the anxious curl of your fingers in your lap. 

The Michizane House comes into view, your body rolling with the movement of the carriage as it cradles you. Taking up much of the forked road ahead, you think the building elegantly traditional in a way that the others aren’t. Yaga, the manager, is awaiting your arrival. Known for his philosophy of letting things speak for themselves, his property is clearly not exempt from such beliefs. 

Lined with rouge lanterns, a dream of autumn-tide. It’s inviting and promises warmth, not at all salacious, almost palatial in appearance. Men and women draped in gorgeous raiment call out to passers by kindly, knelt behind iron bars, displayed for selection in latticed parlours.  

Norimitsu is escorting you a second time. While still young, he’s tall and thick shouldered with a round belly. You knew him jovial, as something of an older brother, but to others he came across as the type of man you wouldn’t want to anger — hence why he was designated as your guard. 

“Are you looking forward to seeing him?” 

No more than you are looking forward to attending to your duties the next morning. Above all, this was work. Or so you tell yourself. 

As if he’d read your thoughts, over the bustling crowds you hear, “I do hope you’ll at least try to enjoy your night”.

Presumptively, “I expect Gojo won’t make it so easy”. 

Norimitsu chuckles as you come to a steady halt, then circling the rickshaw to assist you down. Tabi clad feet kick away any stray rocks in your path, and you step down with bated breath. 

Your escort bows as Yaga announces his presence, stepping out into the road to formally greet you. It drew some attention — the manager of The Michizane House was not often seen by any average customer. “I’ll be waiting,” he tells you. 

The pip of anxiety in your chest does take root, lissome branches curling around each individual rib. Yaga is not very personable; that’s your first lesson learnt. Rumour has it that he enjoys making dolls in his free hours. You suspect such gossip is only humorous due to the man’s rough exterior. 

“We are honoured to service you at The Michizane House,” he politely recites. You nod shortly on the end of an exhale. Alongside his love of craft sits the love for his employees. At the very least, you knew that Yaga treated the Courtesan well. 

The atmosphere changes the further into the maze you go. Tobacco, sake and sex permeates the air. Drunken laughter dissolves into quiet groans, sounds muffled behind cupped hands, a sharp slap of skin meeting skin. A fog follows — clientele chain smoking between rounds, faint grey clouds seeping beneath screen doors.

While the houses found success in abiding by their traditional values, some boundaries were a tangible, malleable concept in the district as long as money was involved. Desire could be stretched, moulded into whichever form you wanted. Here, within reason, you could do as you pleased. A mandated space to revel in your desires; scratch the itch away from the rigidity of civilised society. 

In hindsight, choosing the Courtesan had been the easier part of the arrangement. While Gojo would be there to fill silences and guide the conversation, deftly covering for whatever social qualities you so clearly lacked, that would only be enough for tonight. You ought to decide upon your own itch. 

Come the third meeting, how could Gojo Satoru sate your hunger? 

“Satoru’s private quarters are just up ahead. He will be joining you shortly,” Yaga continues as he guides you out onto the veranda, where there is a beautiful garden; bamboo hedges and interwoven bushes, a winding road of pale sand lining a miniature pond. There are stones left hollow, dwarfed peach trees and azaleas. You inhale with relief as your lungs are cleared by the crisp night air.

Gradually, the awkward thud of your shoes against wood is overlapped by another’s more practised, commanding footsteps. Each step is accompanied by the quiet tinkling of a bell. A Geisha, presumably, that you’ve yet to meet walks out into your intended path, their presence overwhelming. 

Yaga regards them cordially, “Maki”. 

Long, regal fabrics that dance in lavish shades of indigo and gold. The very cosmos stitched into their clothing. Maki. They bow and the moonlight reflects around the crown of their head, highlighting a jewelled comb tucked neatly into a bun — a style common amongst well ranking women. 

“Yaga-sama,” comes the formal reply. You stiffen when her golden eyes sweep over your form. She’s notably tall, and you felt she would still tower over you even in the absence of the Okobo strapped to her feet. Maki bows to you wordlessly, then returns to her pace. The small bell housed in the hollow of her shoes begins to sing. Thud, chime, thud, chime. 

As she passes with a sidelong glance, a stream of moonlight illuminates her face. Handsomely pretty, you think. Her features are distinctive, angular. There is a fleeting thought that she reminds you of Megumi. 

You remain close to Yaga’s heel as you enter another part of the house. The screen doors are painted entirely opaque, and there are less patrons here. While these quarters appeared to be far more private, still you hear the muffled, unmistakable, sound of sex from the end of the hall. 

“Here,” Yaga’s voice snaps you out of your nervous reverie as his arm extends to open one of the rooms. It is atleast a good distance away from the other… occupants. 

Sliding the screen across, a well sized room is revealed. Pale tatami flooring, dark knotted wood panelling. There is a low table and cushions set out beside the far alcove, where you might ponder the two decorative scrolls that hang there. At the foot is a small ceramic bowl, already cradling a lit stick of incense. 

What truly demands your attention is the large wall mounted byobu, kept on the far side of the room over a large futon. It is a quiet depiction of nature, polychrome and laden with silk brocades. To the South are a small herd of rabbits, prancing through a mountainous valley adorned with blushing maple trees. North are a flock of cranes, wings spread as they glide across the skies.  

You wondered how often Gojo would find himself looking at it. Did it provide comfort, or did it leave him wistful? 

“Please be seated and make yourself comfortable. The attendants won’t be long,” Yaga gestures towards the tatami with calloused fingers, “rest assured, The Michizane House will accommodate you well”. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” you reply, the words rolling off the tongue with ease. Formality is what you know best. Chin tucked to sternum in a placid bow, you first rush to remove your geta before entering the room on socked feet. 

The screen behind slides shut and you are left with silence. Suddenly your obi feels too constricting, and the silk of your kimono weighs heavily across your shoulders. Approaching the low table, you clutch at drapes of fabric as you kneel to be seated. This would be your final moment of respite for the remainder of the night, and yet all you can think of is how you are now set in motion towards inexorable change. 

There is a restrained knock from the door. Giving your permission, it slides open with a soft hiss to reveal the young man that you know to be named Megumi. This time he adorns deep purple, a garden of peonies both red and pink sewn into his sleeves. Balanced atop one of his pale hands is a tray of cups and sake. He bows forward, a single amethyst peony hairpin tucked behind his ear. 

Tucked at his side and falling short at the hip, is one of the twins. His clothes are slightly disheveled, as expected of a child his age, but it’s well hidden by the violet geometric pattern. Cheeks as pink as his hair, you’re presented with a wide beam. 

“Hi!” he chirps. Yuji, then.

Megumi lightly knocks his knuckles atop the boy’s crown in admonishment. As Yuji reaches to protect his head from a second strike, the trail of his sleeves pool into the crook of his arms. 

“That was mean!”

Lacking discretion, though not without trying, the older attendant mutters, “Don’t act so familiar with the customers. Greet them properly”. 

Yuji looks at you, visibly mustering up a sense of professionalism. He forces his mouth thin, and an unsettlingly placid sheen coats his once bright eyes. His head bows forward, still gracelessly. “Good evening. We are hon— honoured to serve you”. 

You become aware of the dead weight of your robes around your shoulders. A prickling of discomfort under your skin. He’s just a baby, after all. 

Kindly, you answer, “I’m honoured to be here”. 

In return, you are given a toothy grin. The two step further into the room and begin their preparations without instruction. Megumi sets the tray down on the low table, so careful that it barely makes a sound. Yuji rearranges the remaining cushions, one moved suspiciously close and the others appropriately spaced. 

Whenever Satoru arrives, a bright spark follows. There’s something different about him this time. His exuberance tempered, but still crisp; again, you are reminded of the breaking of spring. It rolls into the ambiance, and you find yourself irritatingly giddy. 

“You’re here,” he says. Tonight he’s wearing a simple, light blue yukata dotted with little white rabbits. It drapes effortlessly on his frame, loose around his shoulders and partially open at the chest to reveal a toned expanse of pale skin. 

Yuji and Megumi scramble to his attendance, while you are struck by just how relaxed he is. You can’t look away from him. There is a clink to your left, the neck of a small sake bottle meeting the rim of your cup. “…I am here,” comes your careful reply. “Thank you for accepting my letter, and for joining me”. 

He smiles at that. It is unexpected and entirely genuine. Satoru actually looks at home here. There’s still a professional air to him as he settles beside you, tactile in his touch and deliberate with his words; you parse through them but find no smarm, only that he feels warmer. 

Stilted conversation is not a thing of this world. Where words fail you, he is there to pick up the slack, peeling back the layers of your life with unassuming questions. The year you were born and the zodiac that comes with it, where you grew up, what business your family dabbled in, if you had siblings to care for — you, pleasantly light from the sake, breathing in tones of sandalwood, answer a little too freely. 

Satoru hums as though he were feigning thought. “I have no blood siblings, but I’d say that our precious Megumi here—” he reaches out to the boy with lithe fingers and tousles Megumi’s hair out of place “—is quite like a little brother to me”. 

The younger man cringes away from his touch looking suitably disgruntled. His features are sharp, but still soft in a way that betrays his youth. Yuji laughs. 

“I’ve been wondering, why is it that the other attendants make an effort to match clothing with their Courtesans, but you and Megumi don’t?” you ask, absentmindedly toying with the sleeve of your kimono. 

Satoru observes you for a moment, guileful eyes dragging from the nervous tick to your own, searching for something unbeknownst to you. You fear you might’ve offended him, but then, “Megumi dislikes the things I wear. He calls them ostentatious”. 

Satoru’s mouth twists into a childish pout as he pointedly glares at the boy in question, and for a short breath the faultless mask is gone, “He doesn’t even know what that word means”. 

Megumi snorts and quickly schools his expression, blank faced when he meets Satoru’s gaze, “I’d like to see you spell it”. 

“Oh? Trying to embarrass me infront of a customer?” If he’s attempting to scold his attendant, then he’s failing spectacularly. Voice saccharine, cloying in his throat as he tries not to laugh, Satoru says, “Yaga will have you out on the street”. 

“I wish he would”. 

You watch their interactions from behind the lip of your sake cup. The taste is sweet, fitting for the moment. Skin warming, it sits well in your stomach and has a pleasant buzz thrumming through your veins. “Are they always like this?” you whisper. Yuji nods with his whole body. 

“Don’t misunderstand,” Satoru smiles down at the two of you, his big hand reaching to cradle Megumi’s head once again. His attendant’s glare visibly softens and allows it. “We squabble like any other family”. 

The word ‘family’ stands out in your mind like a stray thread. You pick at it, tentatively, “Is it possible you have blood relatives here? I saw another Geisha here who looked quite like you, Megumi”.  

“You must’ve met Maki-san,” the younger man replies. There’s an obvious glimmer of respect at mention of her and for reasons you can’t place, it saddens you. “We share descendants. She is a distant cousin”. 

“Curious that you both ended up at the same house”. 

Satoru quietly sips his sake, licking at the inner corner of his mouth as he looks to Megumi, seeking permission to speak. Even more curious for a high ranking Courtesan. Megumi nods in silent acquiescence, and you halt when their collective attention turns on you. 

As your cup is refilled, Satoru weaves a sullen tale of a small dark haired boy born to a wanted man and a runaway Geisha. Though riddled with illness and partly malnourished from her time in the district, his stouthearted mother carried him fully to term before passing after childbirth. Left with an infant, his lover's debt and a target on his back, the man snuck his son into the district where he wouldn’t be touched and sold him to the Michizane house. 

“That boy was our Megumi. I saw his potential and took him under my wing. The rest you can guess,” he concludes fondly, though there is a tightness by his eyes. You wonder whether Satoru struggles to balance his gratitude and his guilt. 

Incognisant of the troubled atmosphere, Yuji claps his chubby hands together. Appled cheeks strain where his grin stretches wide. “It’s just like me and Sukuna-nii!” 

Megumi huffs and reaches over to pinch the swell between his fingers. The sleeve of his yukata hangs over the low table, slipping up his forearm to reveal a pale sleuth of skin. “Worm. Our stories are nothing alike”.

“No,” Satoru hums thoughtfully. “Yuji and Sukuna were left outside in a rice sack like a couple of drowned kittens”. 

Megumi shakes his cheek, and it draws the younger boy's lip up to reveal his pink gums before letting go. You listen, horrified, as Yuji giggles. “S’cause they thought Sukuna-nii was cursed. But he’s just really cranky!” 

“Is that right?” you faltered. Satoru takes your unease as a sign to lean in closer, shoulders brushing. 

“Yeah. But it’s okay, ‘cause he’s my cool big brother. Choso too! He looks a bit scary, but he takes real good care of us”.

“You really love your brothers, don’t you?”

“Choso plays temari with us in the gardens when he doesn’t have customers,” Yuji flashes the charming gap between his front teeth as he rubs at his sore cheek, earthen eyes squinted with happiness. “If you spent the night with him, I bet he would play temari with you too!”

Satoru’s hand crosses your line of sight as he reaches out to poke at the young boy's waist, dainty bangles slipping down his wrist. “What’s this, kid? I didn’t invite you here so your brother could gain favour with my customer,” he bemoans, pinching and prodding at baby fat beneath the fabric. 

Yuji stutters into peals of laughter at his theatrics, his arms folded close to protect his stomach. It’s obvious that Satoru does it to prevent Yuji from worrying — to let him act out, as a child should. The sound is so joyful it’s contagious, and the corners of your mouth curve into a helpless smile. 

None of this had been what you expected. The many whispers you’d heard before tonight tell you clearly that this second meeting is an unconventional one. You figured the younger ones were invited to set your mind to rest; not once did Satoru make a pass in their presence. As the evening wore on you felt your inhibitions slip further, anxieties along with them, and enjoyed yourself as though you were in the company of good — albeit, touchy — friends. 

Eventually, the attendants are given leave. Megumi bows deeply, Yuji mirroring him, but then you are thrown an easy wave before the shoji doors slide shut. With no boisterousness to fill the silence, you and Satoru sit quietly and listen as their light footfalls gradually disappear. 

Then, Satoru reaches for your sake cup. Stifling heat flushes through you in anticipation of what he might do. Your tongue peeks out to wet your bottom lip as he brings it to your mouth. “Here,” he murmurs. “Let me”. 

Hand poised by your cheek, you hold the decorative beads pinned behind your ear back while you bend to take a sip. The weight of his stare is unnerving, and inexplicably tempting. You release a pleased little noise at the woody aroma. It’s not unlike the sandalwood incense permeating the room. 

He leans into your space and you hear a shallow intake of breath. After a beat, he confides, “It’s my favourite”. 

You’re immediately disappointed, then you squash it. “Well. Thank you for sharing it with me,” your reflection stares dolefully at you from the bottom of the cup. “For sharing all of this with me. It was unexpectedly… fun”. 

He pouts, and doesn’t miss the way your eyes fall to his mouth. ”I’m not at the top without reason”. 

Sensing Satoru’s mischief, you hasten to deflect from your obvious slip up. “It’s a compliment! I just meant that this was different from what I was expecting”. 

“In a good way?” he coaxed. 

“Yes,” comes your ginger reply. You spare him an equally cautious glance. “I appreciate you letting them stay so long. I’m aware you didn’t have to”. 

After a long silence, Satoru sighs. “Admittedly this isn’t how I usually do things. But I knew I needed to take a different approach tonight”. 

“And what approach is that?” 

“To be myself,” his eyes sweep over your form. “Can I touch you?”

You startle. “That—! We aren’t supposed to be intimate until the third meeting”. 

“Not like that,” he reassures, the corners of his mouth slightly downturned as he fights a smirk. “Though it’s interesting that you would immediately assume something dirty”. 

“We’re in a pleasure district. What else would I assume?” you argued, directing a glare to your lap, “I just didn’t want to overstep house rules”. 

Satoru clicks his tongue, and the sound ricochets throughout your chest. If you had feathers they might’ve been on end, inflamed and splayed out in defense. 

“Are you determined to make this difficult for yourself?” his tone lowers, a warm and playful lilt to it that pulls the breath from your lungs; As if he was actually enjoying his time with you, despite how intransigent you were being about it all. The back and forth was unexpectedly natural, and you think, in part, that is what startled you. “I’m supposed to be seducing you, you know”.

Satoru moves impossibly closer, thighs pressing together. You pull your kimono tighter, feeling exposed under his scrutiny, “And you plan on doing that by aggravating me?” 

“No,” he draws the word out, ducking forward to meet your eyes. “You’re skittish. I thought I might hold you, that’s all”. 

“You want to… hug me?” 

“Hold,” he emphasises. “There’s not a romantic bone in your body, is there?”

Nettled, you lift your chin to glare at him, “I was under the impression you didn’t have any either”.

“You wound me,” he seems all too pleased by your sudden childishness. “Come here, then. Let me show you the difference”. 

You hesitate as his body turns toward you, arms raised a fraction and waiting for your consent. His kimono has loosened further, revealing the defined planes of his stomach. 

Closing the distance, you are pulled into his depths. Tense still, but as promised, Satoru does nothing besides embrace you. Heat seeps through silk garments, an arm secure and branding around your waist while a hand brushes reassuring strokes along your back. Tucked against his chest, soft redolence of floral spice coils around your nose and fills your throat like air. 

With eyes closed, you listen to the pitter patter behind his ribs. His pulse is unexpectedly quick. 

“Are you nervous?” 

It’s surprising that you would be the one to ask. He hums pleasantly. “I wouldn’t call it nervous,” one by one, lissome fingers ascend the length of your spine, “if there’s one thing I know, it’s that the body is always honest”. 

Satoru’s words are flint struck against steel, blood warm and rushing to fill the capillaries as you suppress a shudder. He cradles you securely and gently, as one might hold something precious to them, and your body is alight with it. Lured into a false sense of safety, surrounded by free spirited little white rabbits lovingly sewn into cloth. 

You think you might be one of them now, too. Prey. Lured into the jaws of a man that has eaten his fill many times before — you taste good, but you’re no different. You’re just a rabbit. 

He laughs at your awkwardness and it reverberates, tapering off into a long hum, “Breathe. Stop being so stubborn and let yourself enjoy this”. 

Exhaling at his instruction, you grimace through the obvious quiver and peer up at him. His features are sharper from this angle, cut deep by the shadows. He’s beautiful. A paste of clays moulded into porcelain with smithsonite irises. It isn’t a wonder why people flock to purchase his time — he’s a spectacle.

“Can I ask you something?” 

Then his eyes smile, wrinkling at the corners. It reminds you that he is human. “You don’t need my permission,” he assured. 

I do, you think. 

“Do you believe in love?”

You ache when he laughs again. This particular grin looks brittle up close, and there is a pervading sense of loneliness in it that you can’t shake. “Love is what I sell. Does that answer your question?” 

“Is it?” you ask, lips pressing into a flat line. You were bored of being spoon fed fairytales. “What you sell is short-lived desire”. 

He quietens, regarding you for a moment with dim eyes and you worry that you’ve been cruel. Amidst the silence you think he might be asking you the same thing — is it?

“Well, there’s no shortage of desire,” he says, though mostly to himself. The comment is wary, as if he’d fought something and lost, but his self assured veil is fixed. “They come here to fulfil a dream, one that I can give them. Same as you”.

Just another rabbit. You weren’t sure whether it was his lack of flaw or the idea of him treating you as any other customer that left such an unpleasant taste in your mouth. 

“I think you’ve mistaken me,” you reply curtly.  

“I don’t think I have,” he murmurs, reaching down to smooth over the curve of your cheek, speaking with amused cadence, “you only loathe that choosing me makes you exactly like everyone else”. 

“Gods. You are so—!”

Satoru intrudes into your space until his nose bumps precariously against the skin beneath your eye, practically gleaming with expectant amusement, “—Loveable?” 

Your fingers curl tight into his kimono, lest they find themselves around the pale column of his throat. “Irritating,” you fumed, reflexively pouting. 

“Yet here you are”. The pad of his index finger then presses to your jutted lower lip. He hums, seemingly incognisant of the way your entire body has frozen. “I think you like it,” he says, his voice warm and amused. “I think you like me”. 

“I don’t,” you reply. Too quickly. 

He laughs, “Then I’ll get you to like me over time. Think of it like slowly boiling a frog”. 

“That’s an awful idiom to use. What happened to supposedly trying to seduce me?”

Slowly, his finger skims over your cheek to the shell of your ear. You hold your breath. Close enough to count each white eyelash, to see the individual shadows they cast. He follows the curve with lidded eyes. Over the lobe to your jaw, down to the small gland in your throat, pulse quickening under his touch. 

“Hm, I don’t know,” he plucks your wrist from your lap and brings it to his lips. “It seems to me that it’s working”. 

Rocked by the intimacy, your tight fisted hand unfurls. Satoru watches intently. He begins at your inner wrist with a feather light peck, his lips softer than your imagination allowed, leaving behind a warm impression on your skin. 

He carries on over to the heel, then another, deliberate where he kisses your heart line. You remind yourself to breathe and the exhale comes like a tremor as he nuzzles into the shallow of your palm. Pink lips drag along your thumb, pressing a kiss to the pad with a fleeting dip of tongue, searing against the whorls and lines. 

The air is electric. Satoru repeats the motions for every one of your fingers, his gaze never wavering from yours. There’s heat spreading down your neck, prickling along your spine, pooling in your belly. His mouth quirks, equal parts knowing and amused. 

“What do you think?” he speaks with warm, alluring cadence. There’s a desperate lilt to it that you like. It sounds as though he were just as affected by this as you. “Will you choose me again?” 

That evening with Satoru left you feeling like a convalescent child. Fatigued, indulging in familiar home comforts. It wasn’t anything he did; not delivering gentle touches, nor his well practised whispers. More it was your own reactions — jittery and diffident as a newborn foal — that plagued you on sleepless nights. 

You realise that at some point a subconscious part of your being began to seek his approval in some way. To experience his pleasure, aside from yours. Not only in spite of proving yourself worthy company, but because you— 

A long groan builds in your chest, heels pressed harshly into your eye sockets. This is the exact opposite of what you thought would happen. 

—You truly did come to like him. Selfish as it may be, you wanted him to think of you while you were away, just as you thought of him. 

Gojo Satoru had crawled into your skin; made a home between your fourth and fifth rib. Your family are ecstatic, enthused by the arrival of a letter with his name inscribed on paper in heavy strokes. You tuck it away into your sleeve and read it later in the privacy of your room. 

He asks that you visit again. He makes a promise to kiss more than just your hand, if you permit it. You swallow thickly at the thought, the ink trembling in your grip where you hold it a few inches over open flame. How is it he beguiled you this easily? What had happened to your steadfast resolve? Diminished in a single meeting. 

You tuck the letter under your pillow with a sigh and write back. 

That fateful night begins with an awe inspiring procession stretched many metres down the main road. Your family had insisted on commissioning the event. Hand picked Michizane House attendants, all dressed to mirror one another, walk forward slowly wearing stoic expressions. Lantern bearers, apprentices and servants followed close at the Courtesan's side. 

There in the centre is Gojo Satoru, breathtakingly beautiful. His feet swooped outward in his approach and glided forward with trained precision, standing proud, tall and regal despite the many colourful, heavy robes and accessories swallowing his body. 

You stand by the shop in wonder, surrounded by the crowds reverential whispers. The passing mention of your name encourages you to stand taller, to show the same dignity and grace that Satoru has shown. His eyes stare right ahead — right at you, vivid blue and divine in the lamplight. Under all the cloth and jewellery you see vestiges of boyish excitement. He looks happy that you’re here. 

The onlookers seem to hold their breath as he closes in. Your heart beats wildly in the back of your throat, incognisant of the gentle pitter pattering rain from above. You’ve never seen anything like it. Waterfalls of red, gold, green spilling from his front. The geta on his feet are scuffed, scratch marks stark against the black. You cannot imagine the hours put into perfecting such a precise walk. 

Norimitsu hurriedly produces an umbrella and holds it above you. Shoulders already damp with rain, you didn’t mind it. Satoru peers down at you through wispy, dove feather eyelashes, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in ovation. 

You are ushered into the shop. 

The time between stepping into the genkan and being taken to Satoru’s quarters is a rush. Your new partner is taken elsewhere for assistance with removing his heavy garb. A young girl you’ve never met offers you a clean dry towel and leaves you idly waiting. 

Patting at the damp skin around your collar, you take in the surroundings. It is undoubtedly Satoru’s room, now lit only by lamplight. Golden, flickering shadows veil the space, creating a close and intimate ambiance. There is a luxurious futon in place of the low table covered in fresh bedding and pillows. You swallow at the sight of it. 

“This won’t do”. 

You yelp, covering your mouth to muffle the noise. Satoru stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, hand still holding open the screen. He steps forward and slides it closed with a quiet hiss. You take in his state of undress; a thin pale robe draped around broad shoulders, tied loosely to emphasise a tapered waist, open at the front to expose his chest. Gone are the delicate ornaments and grand fabrics spilling forth from his obi. Brought back down to earth — back to you. 

Lost in your appraisal of him, you almost miss the pinch in his brow. He cups your throat with featherlight pressure, rubbing his fingers together as he pulls away. “You’re wet,” his frown deepens briefly. You witness the moment that his thoughts connect to sex, only to smother them in favour of keeping you comfortable. 

“You can say it, you know,” you offer wryly. He blinks, and the discontent melts to give way for mirth as he realises what it is you’re referring to. 

“Well I can’t now. It loses all impact”.

Satoru takes the towel from your grasp. He hooks a finger into the fold of your kimono and you exhale, feeling knuckles brush over your breasts. “I’ll have Megumi draw you a bath. I can’t have you getting sick on our special night”. 

Right, you think. His geniality and carefree air made it so easy to forget that this was little more than a transaction. “Please. Don’t tell me you got us nuptial cups”. 

“Okay,” he chimes, flattening his palm against your chest to iron out the creases he’d left. “I won’t tell you”. 

You clutch at his wrists, swimming in the loose fabric of his sleeves, “Satoru—!”

“A hot bath should help you relax. We don’t need to jump right in,” he murmurs firmly. Voice low and quiet, a pleasant hum in your ears. His hands are splayed over your hips now, stroking in small circular motions. “I’ll be gentle. Soften you up until you’re ready for me”. 

Your nerves lessen steadily into a simmer. Amusement curls in the corner of your mouth, “A slow boil?” 

Satoru grins; small, affectionate and sincere as he leans in, brushing his nose along the underside of your jaw. You feel a warm breath ghost over your skin. “Yeah,” he says. “Like a slow boil”. 

The Michizane house was prized for more than just sex. You are pointed to a darkened, private bathroom and overwhelmed by the scent of eucalyptus. There is flora carved into the walls, topped with extravagant vermillion gables. Megumi rises from his knees, a sash drawn across his chest to keep his sleeves back, his silhouette blurred by steam. He nods as he greets you and sets a small stool over the grate. Rigid, you take in the large, kiln shaped tub.

Megumi bows, staring over your shoulder when he rises. It reminds you of the man standing patiently at your heel, maintaining a short distance as you acclimate to reality. You thank Megumi and he stoops beneath the curtains to leave. 

Anxious as you were, the bath is calling to you. Tendrils of white dance on the water's surface. Wordlessly, you start to undress, loosening your obi until the neck gapes open and pools at your shoulders. The careful press of Satoru’s hands does not startle you. He helps slide the damp material over your shoulders while you untie the cotton belt around your waist.

Your kimono flowers open. Exhilaration frissons through your body and heat gathers under his fingers. All that’s left are your thin underclothing. You tremble as you reach back to undo the final knot. Satoru peels the layer back, stripping you bare. The temperature is pleasant on your exposed skin. Bumps arise over your arms and breasts, nipples perked up, senses sharpened. You can feel his sinuous movement in the air behind you, fingertips brushing the small of your back. 

“Get in,” he quietly instructs. 

The water is perfect. You dip your toes in first. Knee bending to climb in, your thighs part as you go; Satoru takes a sharp intake of breath that sparks like flint in your belly. Slowly, you sink into the depths, muscles bled of their rigidity. You sigh and tip back to rest your head on the edge. 

“Better?”

You peek at him from beneath half lidded eyes. Satoru has taken up station by the bathtub. He looks comically large on the small stool. His arms are folded by your head, and he lowers into the cradle, cheek turned to watch your face closely. Lazily, you reach to curl a stray strand of white, gossamer hair around your index finger, saturating it with water until it holds a curl. 

“A lot better,” you admit. It’s surprising how little you care that he’s seeing you naked. Maybe it was his commitment to honouring your boundaries that made this so much easier. A supposed sexual being, an ethereal creature of the night, so deliberately keeping his gaze above your collarbones. Picture perfect obeisance. “Will you just sit there?”

Mischief returns to his eyes. “Oh? Were you expecting something?”

“Don’t tease me,” you mumble. This is all so new to you. “I just thought you might…”

When your voice weakens with uncertainty, he presses. “Might?” 

“Bathe me”. 

You see his expression light up in the dim shadows. Satoru deigns to respond, rather, he turns to grab a bowl smaller than his palm. Inside it is a bar of perfumed soap and a cloth. He scoots closer with the cloth between long fingers, disturbing the water as he soaks it. You observe, hazy, as he lathers it with soap and moves to run it over your bicep. You lift your arm out of the water in synchrony, swallowing the swell of emotion in your throat as he covers your hand and gives a deliberate squeeze. 

“Did you enjoy the parade?” he asks. The question echoes in the otherwise silent room, almost as quiet as the rippling water. You nod, too lost in the delicious pressure of his hands as he washed over your shoulders in practised, comforting motions. He huffed a laugh under his breath and continued down the planes of your back as you sat forward. 

The words are cloying on your tongue. “You looked beautiful,” you tell him. “Just watching made my feet ache. How many years did it take to learn that?”

“That’s what you were thinking about?” he needled. You shudder at the innocent pass beneath your breasts, barely hearing him. “You were supposed to be enchanted by me. Not worrying about my ankles”. 

“I was,” you insist, voice slightly slurred. The loss of tension has left you loose lipped. “You were so incredible. I could hardly believe you were walking in my direction. I can hardly believe you’re at my side now, bathing me”. 

There’s a wealth of emotion in his eyes that you aren’t privy to. Satoru hums amusedly and bends to kiss your wet shoulder. He takes a copper jug from the shelf and fills it with water, shielding your face when he pours it over you to rinse away the bubbles. Eventually, he whispers for you to get up. 

“Best get out before you prune,” he smirks. Satoru snakes an arm around your waist as you stand. Uncaring of how wet his robe would get, he balances you against his broad chest, leaving behind the wet impression of your hand. You feel something warm pressed to your temple. It is only when you are dry, wrapped in a thin robe of your own, that you realise it was another kiss.

You’re perched on your knees in the centre of his futon. Legs numb under your body, skittish heart jumping behind your ribs. You feel more naked than ever before. Somehow the suggestion of nudity is far more overwhelming than the latter. 

Satoru sets a tray of sake cups on a tray, setting it beside the futon. You are awash with relief to see that they are the house’s regular cups. He must notice, because he chuckles. 

Pouring you a shallow cup, he asks, “Have you ever bedded a man?”

There’s a tremor in your hands when you receive the sake from him. Between sips you reply, “No”. 

“Are you scared?”

There is something in his voice, in the way his demeanour shifts, in how his face softens; it alleviates the panic. The waves become bearable. You can’t find it in yourself to fear what he might think of you now, not when he’s looking at you like he loves you. 

“I’m not scared,” and it’s the truth. 

You like it when he smiles. When he finds you funny and the bridge of his nose wrinkles. It’s no wonder some guests are dragged out kicking and screaming come morning. 

“Why didn’t you choose Yuta?” Satoru splays out beside you. He lay on his hip, legs angled toward you, elbow propped up to rest his head. There is little left to the imagination. His belt hangs low, showing the firm plains of his abdomen. Your sights linger on the fair hair leading from his navel, growing thicker below the confines of his robe. 

“Yuta?” you echo. 

He nods, reaching across your lap to pick up his own cup. The sake leaves behind a sheen on his lips. You track the swipe of his tongue, leaning into his heat. 

“Yuta is widely known to be a favourite amongst newcomers. Virgins especially,” he says. Had it not been for his neutral tone, you might’ve rushed to defensiveness. Empty drink set aside, his hand waves dismissively, “Apparently I’m too intimidating”. 

“I can see why people might think that. You are sort of… otherworldly, at first glance”.

“Then why did you pick me?”

After your third night together the relationship would be sealed. You would be forbidden from accompanying another Courtesan. While it was not a traditional relationship, it still spoke of a high level of commitment and dedication to one another. Pride reared its lion head and you struggled to find the right words. Telling the truth would expose your feelings like a shorn nerve. Lying wouldn’t sit right with you.

“This isn’t one sided,” you tell him instead. “You could’ve turned me away. You chose me too. Why?”

“Because I wanted you,” he says plainly. Then, Satoru, far braver than you, takes your face into his hands, sweeping over your cheeks. You can taste his breath, sweet from the sake. “My world is all about desire and I’m no different. I want you”. 

Satoru wears the warm lamp light well. Painted in strokes over every muscle and curve, it softens him. You let him take your weight, gently guiding you as you recline against the futon; thick and plush beneath, you are ensconced with his body heat as he presses chest to chest. Your thighs part naturally to make room, hooking lazily at either side of his waist. 

His lips brush your own in a whisper of a kiss. “Wait,” you gasp, instinctively gripping his shoulders. Satoru doesn’t pull away nor does he push. As you asked, he waits. “What if I’m terrible at it?” 

Blinking slow, he rubs his nose along your cheek. Eyelashes tickle you like a moth's wing. “Sex isn’t about being perfect. It’s about being present,” your fingers slide up the back of his neck, curling into his hair. Your eyes fall closed as he tilts to kiss each eyelid. “It’s about doing what feels good and letting go. Let me take care of you”. 

Satoru’s mouth is hot and softer than any silk you’ve worn. He takes his time with you. The kiss begins tenderly — unexpectedly chaste, but never parting for long.

It touches something deep within you. The feeling intensifies as he parts the seam of your lips with his clever tongue, and when your fingers tighten at the back of his skull, he moans. You shudder under him, thighs reflexively clenching. 

His hand comes up to cradle your crown as he gently coaxes your tongue into his mouth to suck on it, the other cascading the length of your bare calf to your thigh and kneading. Squeezing. Appreciating every inch of you. Satoru slips beneath the hem of your robe. You whine, trying to follow his lead. 

“Yours first,” you pant, pawing at his clothes. Hair mussed from your hands, Satoru looms above you with kiss bitten lips pulled into a grin. You stare as he opens his robe, letting it slide naturally over his shoulders and casting it aside. 

Your hands find smooth milky skin. He settles with his arms braced either side of your head and lets you touch. Fingertips trace the lines and divots of his stomach, feeling his muscles flinch under your touch. He’s a marvel to look at. But what you like best are the noises he makes — each part of his body is a new string to pluck. 

The white hair around his cock is trim and surprisingly soft. He’s pale with a subtle curve, the tip blushing dark pink. Of course his cock would be pretty, too. He’s big. You think he is. You wouldn’t know, not really, but long enough for you to worry. 

With newfound curiosity, you trail a finger from root to crown, spreading the prespend around his slit. You wrap yourself around his length and smile when he twitches, hips involuntarily bucking into your fist. Exhaling a shaken breath, “Can I touch you, too?”

“…Okay,” you hold his gaze and let him see the need there. A part of you wanted to be looked upon as an equal, rather than a fledgling; such thoughts you know to be ridiculous. Surely the power imbalance should lie with you, and yet. 

You turn your cheek to the pillow while he parts the robe. It’s different here. Hugged by a dewy orange hue, the darkness makes the room smaller and casts your body in another light. You’re relaxed, laid flat. A shadow curves around the soft, lower part of your stomach. Your breasts lay slightly uneven, no longer held in place by a bust belt. Your legs are spread and draped around his waist, cushiony next to what looks to be cut straight from porcelain. 

“Gods. You are divine”. 

Satoru sits back on his calves, palming at your own. The oil lamplight flickers in his crystalline eyes and he looks ravenous. He’s looking at you. 

“Satoru…” You ignore the urge to cover your face as he lifts your legs to hook one over his shoulder. You are already breathing heavily and he hasn’t touched you yet. He must know. 

With reverence, Satoru turns and presses a kiss to the arch of your foot, smiling when you reflexively kick. “Ticklish?” he murmurs. The next is pressed to your ankle, drawn out and warm, holding your gaze as he does it. “How cute”. 

Your hands twist in the sheets. He continues up your calf to your knee, then further, forging a path of lascivious words between your thighs. A shudder wracks through your body at the ghost of his breath over your sex. And when he blows lightly, purposefully, you can feel how wet you are. 

“Fuck,” he breathes. So quiet it might not have been for your ears. Heat spreads under your skin. You’re equally frustrated and aroused as he continues on, abdomen flexing where he brushes a kiss to your navel. “You’re so beautiful”. 

Satoru rubs his cheek over your stomach and takes a deep, contented breath. His hands smooth along your waist, kneading and squeezing at the flesh but never enough to bruise. Your heart jumps as he cups your breasts, mouthing the valley between, gently pushing them together to flick his tongue over each nipple. Wet with spit, he blows again, smiling as your skin pebbles as though it were reaching for him. 

“You’re perfect,” he continues, returning to his place over you. There’s a dazed look in his eyes, now. The kind a man gets when he’s hungry. “I love how reactive you are. Look at you”. 

“Satoru,” your voice echoes, desperate and barely recognisable. His face is warm in your hands — there’s a ruddiness to his cheeks that is unmistakably a blush. You’ve never felt so desired. His eyes watch as you wet your lips, and you try to pull him closer. “Kiss me again”. 

“Another?” He sounds so breathless. Even so, Satoru barely yields, holding rigid over your wanting mouth. “Where, angel? Here?” He kisses the skin below your eye. “…Here?” His lips press to the line of your jaw. 

You whine. Strengthening your grip, you force him to align with you, “Here”. 

And he does, licking into your mouth in teasing, practised motions. He tastes like his favourite sake. Teeth sink into the fat of your bottom lip, pulling gently and letting go, connected by a thin string of spit. Half lidded eyes fall to the laboured rise and fall of your breasts, his fingertip circling around your pert nipple. 

“Talk to me,” he pinches the nub between his fingers. Exhaling a short moan, you push up into the touch. “I want to hear all your sweet little noises. Will you do that for me?” 

“Feels embarrassing,” you confess thickly. The vulnerability is overwhelming; your body continues to betray your true feelings with glaring clarity, all while his own remains hidden. “It’s— it’s a lot. I want you to feel good, too”.

“Good?” A fair brow arches. Satoru rolls his hips down in one smooth motion. He slides through your folds, weighty and hot. The head of his cock bumps against your clit and you both groan in synchrony. “This is what you do to me”. 

“Me?” 

“You,” he answers easily. The thick baritone of his voice quakes through you. Your pulse throbs as he reaches down to cup your pussy. “I wanna kiss you here, too. Can I?” 

The heel of his hand alleviates the ache. Your hips instinctively grind against him, pleasure gathering low in your belly. “Yes,” you nod frantically, wanting more. “Please”. 

“So well mannered,” he teases, thumbing your lower lip. The playful air has you opening your mouth, tongue pressed to skin. You feel his cock twitch. His fingers shift where they’re splayed across your cheek and he taps your jaw. “Get these nice and wet for me”. 

Satoru smooths the pad of his thumb over your tongue, learning the grooves of your teeth. Heat flushes through you. The soft wet sounds of spit pooling into your cheeks rings in your ears as he pulls back, only to slide in another. Two, his middle and index, splitting them so they frame your tongue and stretch your mouth. 

“You really are gorgeous”. 

Embarrassment floods through you, yet somehow, his earnest praise only feeds your arousal. You buck against the hand that has slowly begun to grind against your pussy. Sex is about feeling good, he’d said. It’s about letting go. 

You meet his eyes and steel your resolve. Cutting free of shame you wrap your lips around his knuckles and suck unabashedly. His lashes flutter, jaw slacking with a drawn out groan. “There you are,” he murmurs, retracting his fingers. They’re coated in saliva, glistening. 

Before you can mourn the loss they’re sliding over your clit and the complaint dies in your throat. He spreads you open. Pupils dilated and gleaming, he descends your torso and rolls his tongue forward obscenely to flick the bud of your clit between the V of his fingers. 

Your hands take root in his hair. He is undeterred by the clench of your legs either side of his head. He leans forward to consume you completely, eyes falling shut in a show of pure indulgence. Covetous, he verbalises his satisfaction with a rumbling in his chest and it vibrates against your sex. 

The beat of your heart ricochets through your stomach. Satoru’s tongue glides over you, languid and soft. Wherever a pleasured sound falls past your lips he maintains rhythm and pace. “Fuck, Satoru. That’s—” you keen when he gently sucks your clit between his lips, finger hooked and pressed to your entrance. 

Satoru’s sinks into you, a careful back and forth, relaxing the tension with his tongue as he works his way in. It's foreign. He’s bigger, longer than yours. Not unlike the reverential way he treated your mouth, he pulls out when you’re comfortable and pushes in another. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks. You blink through the warm haze. There’s a sheen of spit and arousal covering his chin. 

You shake your head no, “Feels… feels really good”. 

“It’ll feel even better soon,” he promises, maintaining a delicious rhythm. Fingers curl upwards inside of you, a come hither motion towards your belly. That intense feeling tightens and your body coils in on itself, thighs flexing against his ears with hips bucking into his hand. 

“Oh—!” He angles his head to unrelentingly flicker his tongue over your clit and your heels dig into his back. “Satoru!”

The breath is caught in your throat. From your fingers to your toes, something all consuming forces your muscles rigid and your spine arches upward like a bow as you crest. Then the air is pushed from your lungs. All at once, the sensation lessens, diffuses, and warms your body from the inside out in gentle pulses. 

You hear the fond intonation of your name. It sounds so natural in his mouth. You’re awash with afterglow. Was sex always like this? You felt as though you were floating. Releasing a satisfied sound, you slump into the futon. Satoru laughs and the room glows a little brighter. 

“Done already?” he asks, massaging your calf. There is a hint of pride in his voice. “We have all night together, you know”. 

“No,” you mumble, teeth worrying your lip as you push up onto your elbows. He’s hard, you notice. Hung heavily between your bodies. You want that power at your disposal — to render him as useless as you. “I want you to cum, too”. 

There’s a pinch in his brow. Satoru shifts with you and squeezes at the fat around your hips, “You don’t need to push yourself”. 

You try and fail to articulate it, stringing together a breathless request, “No I—I want you to cum because of me”. 

Satoru laughs and the sound dwindles into a light groan as he squeezes himself. “Angel. All of this is because of you”. 

“Then fuck me,” you say. “Properly”. 

The lamplight flickers, moving the shadows on his face. He’s gazing at you from above, big, hungry. Exhilaration frissons down your spine. Satoru manoeuvres your hips, dragging your lower half unceremoniously into his lap and slipping a spare pillow beneath you. 

When the head of his cock catches, you instinctively clench. “Breathe for me,” he coaches tenderly, and you let the tension go. The stretch is unfamiliar and uncomfortable, but as you exhale the sting lessens until there is no pain at all. Skin to skin, Satoru lingers patiently in the cradle of your hips, letting you adjust to his length. 

“Move,” you rasp. “Please”. 

He pulls out with an indelible pace. You’re still sensitive, but it feels good in an odd way. Melting into the sheets to savour the drag of his cock. Your breasts shake with every rock of his hips, blue eyes enraptured and following the movement. Bending to cage you in, Satoru captures your lips in a deep kiss, groaning loud into your mouth with his hand laid flat and pressing to your belly. 

“Taking me so well,” he rumbles. “I knew you would. Wanted you the second I saw you”. 

That sensation returns. It begins like a trickle, the heady pleasure slowly seeping and growing in intensity until it’s an enormous wave. He indulges, and you arch into his touch as he continues to transverse the length of your body to tuck into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck. Feel that?” the words press against your jugular. His hips rear back for emphasis, “You keep sucking me back in”. 

Inhibitions lost, you tether yourself to him, nails embedded in the pinked skin of his shoulders. You stutter out a warning, “Fuck, Satoru. I think— I’m going to—!”

“There you go,” he punctuates the demand with a firm thrust. Eyes squeezing shut, your arms lock around the expanse of his back, toes curling as your legs seize forcefully around his waist. More overwhelming than the first, you clench down on his cock as you’re tipped over the crest. 

Satoru carries you through it with the languid undulation of his hips, peppering kisses to your cheek. His own broken whines are hot against your skin. Your arms are limp, still clinging enough to keep him close. You don’t want to let go. 

That thought passes just as his breath hitches and he abruptly pushes up from your chest. Gripping the base of his cock he pulls out, he fucks desperately into his fist and cums over your bare stomach. Satoru exhales a long moan and the sound tapers into a sigh. 

Regaining his bearings, Satoru murmurs your name again. You watch dazedly as he lifts his head. The corner of his mouth curls up into a satiated smile as he notices you’re already looking back at him. Leaning to press a kiss to your forehead, the room falls unnaturally quiet. The dregs of afterglow slowly dissipate, and reality creeps into the forefront of your mind. 

“Are you in pain?”

There’s urgency in his expression and you realise he has sensed your change in mood. “Not…” you wriggle slightly beneath him. “Wow. No pain. I’m just a little sore”. 

“You felt incredible,” his face softens with relief and glances to where your bor bodies once connected. You grimace as he drags a finger through the cum on your belly. “Rest here. I’ll fetch something to clean us both up with and have Megumi bring some water to drink”. 

What follows is akin to a lovesick haze. A memory before you can even register it. You awake to the brilliant ochre of the morning, swaddled in thick blankets and laid next to a warm body. Satoru has you cradled to his naked chest, rising and falling with shallow breath, sleeping soundly. 

The sunlight has flooded into the room and that is enough to conclude that it is long after dawn. Your ears prick at the sound of movement in the rooms around you, and the events of last night flash unbidden through your mind. Noises like that are commonplace in a pleasure house — still, you hope nobody heard you.

Cautious as not to wake him, you lift your head to survey your surroundings. The atmosphere is so starkly different during the day. All the allure and taboo is gone. It is just a man's bedroom. The only space that truly belonged to Satoru. 

It tasted bitter in your mouth. 

“What’re you thinking about?”

Satoru had roused so easily. You wonder if he always slept so light. “I was thinking that…” you pause, giving your next words some thought. “I think you don’t… belong in this place”. 

Satoru readjusts himself and meets your gaze from above, bracing over your body with one arm. His head tilts, lazing against his shoulder as he watches you, tracing a lithe finger over the swell of your cheek. 

“Oh? What will you do?” his voice is tired, lilted as if he were mocking you. But he’s smiling, too, and it is unlike the others — soft and sad. His vulnerability leaked through the crescent-shaped indentations you’d left behind. “Will you buy my freedom and deprive my other loyal customers of their fulfilment?” 

“I don’t care about their fulfilment,” you mutter, eyes falling to the space beneath the linens where your legs are still entangled with his. He laughs. 

“You’re more selfish than I thought,” his fingertips smooth along your jaw, gently tilting your chin up and forcing you to look at him. “And then what? You’ll keep me all for yourself?” 

It reveals a lot, you think, that his first assumption is you’d still expect him to serve you somehow. All Satoru has ever done in his life is give, give, give. He was beautiful, strong and skilled, and such gifts from the Gods were obligated to be shared. 

But as he said, you are selfish. When his thumb skims along the bow of your lips, they stretch into a promising smile. “No,” you tell him. “You can go anywhere you like”. 

It’s a pleasure to watch his expression wane, the push and pull of hope and disbelief. Now, his eyes are brighter than you’ve ever seen them. “Anywhere?” he breathes. 

“Anywhere,” turning into his palm, you kiss the heel and feel a tremor rush through him. “Be whoever you want. Just Satoru”. 

A brief silence stretches thin. And then he laughs again, an abrupt sound. Satoru dips to press your foreheads together; close enough that you can see the dreamer's expression on your face reflected in his own pupils, and individually count the striking white lashes along his waterline. 

“Selfish and cruel,” he murmurs fondly. Instead of warmth, you suddenly feel cold. “Even if that were possible, I have responsibilities here. Megumi, Yuji and the others are here”. 

“But—!”

“—I have influence. High ranking customers. I keep those kids safe here, and I bring in enough money that they can enjoy their youth before they’re made to work,” he continues. As it goes on, his voice is steadily harder; the cradle along your jaw firmer. 

Brows pinched, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed forward. Your nose bumps against his cheek, lips awkwardly aligned — you let him kiss you. It’s too quick, and almost punishing. 

Pulling back, he rasps, “It is my job to sell dreams. Not yours”. 

That’s right. How could you forget?

He cups your face again, as though he didn’t want to let go. The pad of his thumb strokes over your cheek, tracing a shallow crescent shape beneath your eye. You’ve never felt so helpless.

You leave the Michizane house soon after with a smile painted on your face. It will not slip, not until later in the night. You cannot allow Yaga to question Satoru’s treatment of you. A courtesan’s duty is to appease. Norimitsu scans your body, entirely lacking subtlety, and steps forward to assist you into the rickshaw without a word. You’re thankful for it. 

When you do not return to the shop, a letter arrives. The parchment is perfumed with a comfortingly familiar scent. Satoru inscribes his longing onto the page. He’s asking if you’ll visit with him again, and in the bottom corner he has cleverly convinced Megumi and Yuji to sign their names alongside his own. Your chest tightens. 

Weak, you reach for your ink stone and brush.

Satoru sold dreams — and yours had been to be loved. You wondered if that was his dream, too.

[earlgraytay]

The Author's Darling

So I follow a lot of people who post a lot about OC/self-insert positivity. And that's genuinely great. I love people's OCs and self-inserts. But occasionally, I will see someone, in an attempt to Defend The Honour of OCs and self-inserts, defend a particular kind of writing mistake. And that pisses me off, because it does everyone a disservice.

There are plenty of people who write OCs and self-inserts who do not make this writing mistake, and equating the two is unfair to every OC writer who works hard at their craft. There are also plenty of people who write canon-character-only fanfic or original fic who do make this mistake-- and that hurts both them and their potential readers.

The mistake I'm talking about? Writing a sort of character I'm going to call an Author's Darling.

I'm going to talk about what Author's Darlings are, why they're bad, how you can avoid writing one, and what an Author's Darling isn't. I put a cut in this post, because it's long.

What is an Author's Darling?

An Author's Darling is a character who cannot fail at anything that matters to the author of their story.

What this looks like in practice depends on the author-- different authors prioritize different things. Some authors think their Darling should be stone-cold badasses and never lose a fight. other authors are fine with their Darlings getting knocked out every time they try to throw a punch, but would be very upset if their Darling got rejected romantically.

Plenty of characters succeed at most things they try. Superman wins most of the fights he takes on, but he's not necessarily a Darling. But if you look at a character and you can say, "oh, this character would never lose a fight", or "everyone loves this character and would never get mad at them"? You've got an Author's Darling on your hands.

And- especially in fandom- a character can be a Darling in the hands of one author and a perfectly fine character in the hands of another. Steve Rogers/Captain America is an example of a character who gets Darling-ified a lot. Captain America is supposed to be a shining example of The Best that humanity has to offer- he's virtuous, strong, brave, and oh so pretty. It's easy to fall into the trap of making him incapable of failing at whatever you want him to do, whether that's "punching a lot of Nazis" or "supporting Bucky in his recovery". But a lot of writers manage to thread the needle and write Cap as the lovable, flawed person he's supposed to be.

Why are Author's Darlings bad?

Well, two reasons:

Writing an Author's Darling is a really good way to give yourself writer's block, especially when it comes to the plot. If your character can't fail at anything important, this means that it's really hard to build tension. If your character is going to automatically succeed at anything that's important to the plot, all you're writing is "and then they win, and then they win, and then they win". It can get pretty monotonous pretty quickly, especially if you're writing genre fiction. You can run out of ideas, or your inner critic can go "this isn't how stories work???? the FUCK???" and block your creative flow. If your character can't fail at anything- important or not- it's hard to come up with a good story for them at all. You know how sometimes you get a character rattling around your head but you can't get a plot for them at all? One of the first steps in fixing that is making sure you're not writing an Author's Darling.

Writing an Author's Darling makes people not want to read your work. Now, look. I know everyone says "you should write for yourself, and screw anyone who says otherwise!" But let's be honest here: it sucks to spend hours working on a piece of writing, post it, and then get, like, 2 hits and no kudos, or 1 tumblr like from your friend who likes everything that crosses their dash. It's incredibly demoralizing. Author's Darlings are one of the big factors that make people stop reading a story. As soon as a reader gets the sense that the protagonist can't screw up- that they're "too perfect"- the tension in the story is gone. There's no reason for them to keep reading, because they know the character's just going to Press The Win Button And Win. So they'll click out without saying anything, and you'll wonder why no one's reading your fic.

What isn't an Author's Darling?

This section is haunted by the ghost of Mary Sue. If you're reading this list and you're new to fandom/young, you might wonder why I'm calling out certain specific things; this is a fandom war you missed, don't worry about it.

An Author's Darling is not a character of any specific gender. Male, female, and nonbinary characters can all be Author's Darlings.

An Author's Darling is not necessarily an OC. In the current fandom climate, it's way more likely that a Darling will be a 35-year-old canon male character the writer calls "babygirl".

An Author's Darling is not necessarily a self-insert, but it's really easy to make a self-insert into a Darling. There's a reason people recommend that newbie writers avoid self-inserts- it can be really hard to write a character based on yourself that screws up something important. It takes a lot of vulnerability and courage to write, and it's not something you want to show everyone.

An Author's Darling is not an "overpowered" character or a "cool" character. Your character can have sixteen katanas and do air dashes and still not be a Darling- and your character can be a powerless human in a superhero setting and be the biggest Darling to ever Darling. Having "too many" powers or standing out "too much" in the setting is often a symptom of a Darling- if you don't want your character to fail at anything important, and being The Coolest Person In The Room is important to you, you're going to make your Darling overpowered and good at everything. But it's not the thing that makes an Author's Darling bad.

An Author's Darling is not a 'perfect' character, or a character without flaws. There's a lot of overlap in the Venn diagram, don't get me wrong... but you can load up a character with "flaws" that don't matter to you. A lot of dudebro male writers, for example, will make their Darlings emotionally constipated, mean, and Bad At Relationships. These genuinely are character flaws... but these writers don't give a flying fuck about the character's relationships. They're happy to let their Darling fail at this stuff to prove he's FLAWED!!!- but try and make them write a fight scene their Darling loses, and they'll break out in hives.

Why should I care? Writing is supposed to be fun, and writing characters failing is not fun for me.

Writing is a craft. It is no different from knitting a sweater, making a stop-motion film, or trimming a bonsai. There are ways to do it well, and there are ways to do it poorly.

It can be fun and rewarding to knit a shitty sock with holes in the heel where you forgot how the pattern works and weird lumps in the calf. It is more fun and rewarding to get good enough at knitting that you knit socks you can wear.

Similarly, it can be fun and rewarding to deliberately write stories about overpowered Author's Darlings that are boring to read for anyone who isn't you. But it is more fun and rewarding to get good enough at writing that you write stories other people will want to read.

And you know, maybe you don't care about that. Everyone needs a hobby that they're bad at and have no interest in getting better at; it keeps you humble. Maybe writing is yours.

But plenty of writers do care. And tarring every writer who writes OCs and self-inserts with the same brush- the brush of "this is supposed to be fun! we're writing deliberately bad things! yay!"- is an insult to anyone who writes OCs and cares about their craft.

If you want to write well, you should be aware of what an Author's Darling is, and if possible, you should try to avoid writing them. If you don't care about writing well, that's fine- but please avoid implying that every OC or self-insert character is badly written in this particular way.

[wiz-writes]

Magic comes with a price. That is an inevitability every mage has to face. But when you lose your powers in a freak accident, you are certain that the price has been paid in full. You settle down in the peaceful countryside, far away from any conflicts or conspiracies, all the while focusing on your recovery. And for two years, your life is quiet. Until an untimely visit thrusts your fate into a stranger’s hands and you are forced to embark on one last journey to save yourself and your family. Yet the secrets you uncover might very well bring about your downfall, as well as the undoing of everyone in Waledria. The Withering approaches. Will you make it before you lose yourself?

Aesemyr: The Withering (previously named A Rhapsody in Blue) is a fantasy IF game with a focus on story and characters, with some elements of romance and adventure. It’s planned to be a two-part series.

Play as a man, woman or non-binary.

Customise your appearance and shape your personality.

Follow the teachings of a specialised Way and gain access to different skill sets.

Find romance with one of the five ROs; or choose to stay as friends.

Set off on a journey that will bring you closer to the truth about the accident that nearly cost you your life.

Unearth a secret that might mean the end of the kingdom you call home.

Be devoured from within; or fight till the last breath.

Welcome to Lyyra, a kingdom where magic means innovation. As the leading force in the acquisition of Ruun - a natural source of magical energy - Lyyra has thrived for almost a century now. Being the foundation upon which the kingdom continues to build, it comes as a great honour to be born as Ruun-touched. These so-called mages are able to manipulate and shape the magical energies that criss-cross the world around them. You are one such person. Trained by the prestigious Academy, a place of wisdom and learning, you are part of one of many teams tasked with protecting the citizens, as well as Lyyra's interests. However, when you find yourself caught in a devastating explosion, your old life is torn away from you as you are stripped of the very essence of your being - your magic. For two years, you stay in a small town called Helys, focusing on recovery and figuring out your life; that is, until the peace and quiet is interrupted by an unexpected visitor. What follows is a series of events that no one could have predicted. Your life hangs in the balance once more as you struggle on the path you were set upon by others. The secrets that come to light bring nothing but ill tidings, both for yourself and the kingdom; and as tensions rise to a boiling point, you are caught in the middle of it all with only a few trusted allies by your side. However, the worst is yet to come.

DEMO

COG FORUMS | KO-FI

Romance Options

There are altogether 5 ROs so far: one female, one male, two gender-selectable and the last one is unfortunately a bit spoilery ;)

Valia Kainen (F, 28)

You’ve known Valia for more than a decade now. Having met while studying at the Academy, she has always been a quick study and a diligent learner. Hence it is no surprise that she has risen through the ranks to the position of the Academy’s Headmistress at a much younger age than most of her predecessors. This is often attributed to both her exceptional skills and ruthlessness - her cold exterior only adding to her reputation. In spite of all that, she is mainly driven by her love for her friends and family and she makes quick work of anyone who dares hurt them.

While she’s no longer the girl you used to know, some things still remain the same; her dislike of you being one of them.

Appearance: Average height and athletic build. Shorter light brown hair that barely touches her chin. Light green eyes. Permanently set jaw and furrowed brows. A small scar across the left eyebrow. Tanned skin.

Lucenis Yu Jie Veldari (M, 32)

A popular poet and the younger brother of the current king of Lyyra, Lucenis tends to keep his distance from the affairs of the royal court. In the past year, he has seemingly withdrawn from the public eye as well, though that doesn’t appear to dim the love the general populace has for him. He is well-known for his gentle nature, soothing voice and willingness to help those in need - be it an unfortunate soul or a struggling researcher. Throughout the years, numerous rumours have emerged, about both him and his mother; none have ever been proven true.

He is a good friend of your brother and Valia, the three of them often seen together in the city.

Appearance: Tall and lean build. Long dark brown hair that reaches to his mid-back and that usually frames his face as he keeps it loose. Black eyes and warm beige skin with a sickly pallor.

Tevshedi “Tev” Zanue (F/M, 36)

Tev has been a mercenary since a young age. They have travelled around the world in search of work for many years and that has not only hardened them, but also turned them into a fierce warrior. Not too long ago, however, they left that life behind, instead applying for the position of Lucenis’ personal bodyguard. Good humoured and loyal to a fault, they often joke that they are not paid enough for keeping the man safe, especially from himself. But even so, they seem to be enjoying their new life in the royal palace, as adaptability and being able to handle unexpected situations is something they excel at.

Their amiable personality has helped them in establishing various connections among both the common folk and nobility. This has allowed them to build a vast information-gathering network without any interference.

Appearance: On the taller side with a muscular build. Short black hair, coiled. Brown eyes. Dark brown skin. Has a rather nasty scar travelling from their collarbone to their chin.

Cerin Melista (F/M, 25)

Cerin is a part-time librarian in one of the capital’s largest public libraries. At the same time, they are also finishing up their studies to officially become a professor of history at the most prestigious university in Lyyra. They are a passionate collector of ancient tomes and relics, often going to great lengths to acquire them. Despite their popularity among their students, they are usually feared or shunned by the more superstitious folk - their heterochromatic eyes being seen as an ill omen in many places. However, that doesn’t seem to dampen their spirit, their outgoing personality and boundless enthusiasm being the proof of that.

Yet there is an unsettling presence about them, something in the sharpness of their gaze, as if they can see straight into your soul.

Appearance: Average height and slim build. Shoulder-length red hair kept in a messy ponytail. Heterochromatic eyes – one is a striking blue, one hazel. A smattering of freckles across the cheeks. Fair skin.

Other characters & teammates:

MC’s twin brother (28)

Your younger twin brother, by two minutes. Raised by your father, you both joined the Academy at the age of fourteen when your magic manifested. Since then, you started growing apart as you decided to pursue different fields of study. Unlike you, he chose the path of research, rather than combat; he is quite well known in his circles, mainly for his study of Ruun in connection to translocation.

Appearance: Similar to the MC. Short hair, brushing his ears. Very dark circles underneath his eyes. Faint smile lines around his mouth.

Captain Kal Poita (42)

The captain of your team and someone you could always depend on. Your group is like a family to him and he is very protective of you all, even if it doesn’t feel like it sometimes.

Appearance: Average height, broad shouldered. Close-cropped brown hair. Light brown eyes. Tanned skin. Various small scars on his hands and arms, a scar across the corner of his mouth.

Vera Harwe (29)

Charismatic and always up to no good, Vera liked you from the moment she met you. While she regrets choosing this path in her life and often talks about retiring, she would never abandon any of you.

Appearance: Average height, lean build. Short blond hair, falling into her eyes. Light blue eyes. Fair skin.

Ash Riven (30)

Reckless and seemingly without any regard for their own life, the fun-loving Ash participates in most of Vera’s escapades; except for those that involve too many people, as they tend to shy away from larger crowds and strangers.

Appearance: Tall and lanky. Shoulder-length white hair, kept in a ponytail when needed. Stormy grey eyes. Sharp cheekbones. Very pale skin.

Delos Kyysta (29)

Delos, or “Del” as everyone calls him, is the quiet conscience of the group, with a careful and contemplative nature. Often at odds with Vera, he is all but fed up with the shenanigans his teammates think of.

Appearance: Average height, athletic build. Short curly black hair. Dark brown eyes. Olive skin.

[elficially-done-with-life]

Caring For You

Pairing: Lindir x reader

Summary: Lindir is embarrassed because he sings out of tune and seeks you out for comfort.

Warnings: sexual content (Lindir with a mommy kink)

A/N: I used the word Nana which, if I am not mistaken, is the word for mother/mommy in sindarin.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Lindir always sought you out when everything became too much for him.

You looked after the flowers in the garden of Imladris and were therefore mostly outside.

When you saw Lindir during your working hours, it was usually in the company of Elrond, which is why it always worried you when he came without him.

On this day, however, you were extremely worried. Not only did he hurry towards you alone, but he also had a look on his face that broke your heart. Your Lindir looked like he was about to burst into tears.

When he reached you, you didn't hesitate to pull him tightly into your arms. As soon as you had him pressed against you, he let out a quiet sob.

"Shhh," you said softly as you stroked his back with your hand. "What is troubling you, Meleth?"

"Lord Elrond asked me to sing for him and his guests at dinner. It was an honour, only I sang out of tune. "He buried his face in your shoulder, "Everyone, except Elrond, laughed. He finally silenced them, but I just ran away- I was to ashamed to stay longer."

You nodded. "And that is okay. If you are not comfortable, you should not stay." you whispered softly. "My dear Lindir, you did nothing wrong. The others are idiots. None of them can sing as well as my lovely husband."

But he only buried his face deeper into your shoulder.

"Come on," you whispered gently, breaking away from him a little, "let us go to our rooms for today."

He nodded slightly as you gently took his hand and pulled him with you.

Once in your room, you laid Lindir on his back on the bed while you cuddled up next to him and began to stroke his hair and look gently into his eyes. "My dear, sweet Lindir," you whispered softly and gave him a kiss on the forehead. "I'm sure it is all right."

But his eyes wandered to the side and away from yours. Worried, you stroked his cheek. "What is wrong? What do you need?"

His cheeks turned red and you knew immediately what he was going to say. "Nana?"

"Do you want Nana to take care of you?" you asked gently and gave him another kiss on the forehead while he nodded weakly. "Nana will make sure that everything will be fine," you whispered.

You gently ran your hand through his soft hair, your fingertips grazing his scalp and he trembled beneath your touch. Lindir let out a soft whimper, his eyes filled with a vulnerability that he only showed when you two were alone.

You leaned in closer, your lips a breath away from his. Your breath mingled with his. You could feel his heart racing, matching the rhythm of your own.

"Nana is going to make you feel better," you whispered softly, your voice filled with tenderness. He nodded, his cheeks still bright red. He was obviously unable to say anything.

You leaned in closer, your lips finally meeting his in a sweet and tender kiss. His lips were soft and warm, a perfect fit against your own.

As you deepened the kiss, you could feel the tension building within you.

Your hands roamed across his body, caressing his smooth skin. His breath hitched as your fingertips traced along his inner thigh, making him shiver.

You pulled away, your gaze locked with his. You could see the need burning in his eyes, his need for you to take care of him.

You leaned in again, this time trailing soft kisses down his neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "Nana." he softly moaned.

His soft whimpers became more frequent, as he sought your touch. With every brush of your fingers, the whimpers grew more desperate.

You reached down, your hands finding their way beneath his clothing. You carefully teased him, your fingertips tracing the outline of his arousal. He let out a soft gasp, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. His face was so heated, that there was no spot that wasn't red left.

As you slowly stroked him, he arched his back, pressing himself closer to you. His grip on your robes tightend, his fingers trying desperately to hold on to you.

You leaned in, your lips once again met Lindirs and stifled another whimper that escaped his mouth.

As you continued to move you hand, his whimpers turned into loud groans, his breathing becoming erratic.

Finally, Lindir reached his peak, his body tensing and shaking with pleasure. You watched his face, his eyes filled with pleasure. His voice turned into cries of pleasure, as his release washed over him.

"Nana!" he softly gasped.

You held him close, his soft body pressed against yours.

"Did I do well, Nana?" he asked, still out of breath. His eyes were only half open.

You stroked his cheek and gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead. "My perfect boy, of course you did a good job. Nana is really proud of you."

Lindir sighed relaxed, closed his eyes and lost himself in your warmth.

[blurredcolour]

I Wish You Love | Part Five

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

You and Lewis make the most of your time together before he returns to America to do his best to free himself to spend his future at your side.

Warnings: Angst, Class Divide, Discussion of Divorce, Lots of Kissing, Sexual Tension and Innuendos, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: I am a lying liar who lies - there are now six parts because Lewis and his darling do not know how to leave me alone. Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5393

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

Returning home shortly before noon the next day, you could not help the fond shake of your head to see Lewis’s borrowed car already parked at the curb outside your flat building. The lovely, impatient man was early, of course. Early enough to see you tired, sweaty, and underdressed once again. You wanted to be annoyed with him, yet you could not find it within yourself to summon any emotion other than amused affection. Stepping into the building, you were in the process of fishing your keys from your handbag when a stunningly familiar voice carrying through the door halted your movements.

“And so that was your plan all along?”

Johnny. Your twin brother, physically absent from your life, existing only in intermittent letters, for years. Much longer than the just war, with your mutual need for employment to support your father had driven you both from home in 1934. A lot was made of some sort of intuition that was supposed to exist between twins, that as they had shared a womb, they surely shared a lot more, but his return home today was a complete shock that had you frozen in place in the hall. The next words out of his mouth did nothing to encourage you to proceed inside.

“You’ve permitted a married man to seduce your daughter, your sweet pea.” He spat, an unfamiliar ugliness in his tone. The comment was certainly directed at your father, but Lewis was undoubtedly in the room, and he confirmed your supposition as he spoke up.

“I would ask you not to insult your sister’s honor, it has been, and remains, utterly unimpeachable.”

“Bloody hell you sure speak like one of them…”

“Johnathon you will mind your tongue. I understand that you have lived differently for quite some time now, but I will not tolerate that sort of language or disrespect in this home.”

Your eyes widened as you heard your father raise his voice, something that happened so infrequently that you could count the sum total of such occasions on the fingers of your own two hands.

“I am quite satisfied,” Your father continued, “with the correspondence between Captain Nixon and his solicitor. I find his intentions for your sister, my daughter, to be completely honourable and I thoroughly encourage them. She has never been happier, Johnny, and if you cannot manage to smile for her when she comes through that door any moment now then you’d better go for a walk until you find a way to.”

Tensing at the thought of your brother angrily storming out of the flat, and right into you, you crept backwards and down the hall toward the stairs leading up to the higher floors, obscuring yourself behind the landing to wait. To see if he was indeed so against the idea of you being happy with Lewis that he would rob you of a reunion with him then. You waited nearly five minutes, which felt like an eternity, until you heard Mrs. Stokes and her herd of children leaving their flat a few stories up, tromping down the staircase towards your hiding place. Johnny had remained inside, there had been no further shouting – at least none that you could hear at this distance.

Taking a fortifying breath, you pulled your keys from your handbag and headed into the apartment, smiling softly as your father and Lewis were chatting in the sitting room. “Good afternoon you two.”

“Well look at you, sis.” Johnny spoke from the doorway to the kitchen, and it was not hard to present a face of shock, for in place of a gangly sixteen-year-old boy, there was a rugged twenty-five-year-old man standing there, grinning at you.

“Johnny!?” You gasped, dropping your handbag as you rushed forward to hug him, squealing as he hauled you off your feet, his time with the 78th Infantry having made him unspeakably strong.

“Blimey you really have gone yellow haven’t you.” He teased and you smacked him affectionately as he set you back on the ground gently. “I’ve heard it goes away after a few months, don’t get your you-know-what’s in a twist.”

“Can we please stop talking about my underclothes and talk about when you got home?” You glanced at Lewis, feeling rather embarrassed to have your knickers discussed in front of him, but he was smiling warmly, unfazed.

“This morning on the first train from London. I gather we’re going out for dinner later?”

“Absolutely, I am looking forward to taking all three of you out together.” Lewis nodded firmly and you smiled at him fondly, vaguely aware of your brother’s scrutinizing gaze upon your face in your periphery.

“We were going to go out for the afternoon, but you just got back and–”

“Go on sis, I hear he’s only in town a few days and you’ll have to put up with me for a lot longer than that. Go have fun, I’ll see you for dinner.”

Hugging him tightly once more, you then kissed Lewis’s cheek quickly before going to get changed into something suitable for a drive and a picnic before the pair of you made your way out to the car, leaving your brother and father to catch up.

“You two look nothing alike you know, I’d never have guessed that you were twins…” Lewis teased as he opened the car door for you.

“That’s what fraternal means – not identical.” You shook your head fondly, hesitating a moment, an apology for your brother’s behaviour dangling on the tip of your tongue.

“Well either way, he loves you very much and that’s all I could ask for on your behalf.” He nodded, eyes widening as you grabbed his face and kissed him soundly, your heart swelling almost painfully inside your ribcage.

His hands planted on your hips, holding tightly but letting you direct the kiss, lips parting compliantly at the tentative swipe of your tongue against his bottom lip. Losing your nerve, particularly in full view of the front window of the flat, you stopped short of sliding your tongue to his, but still felt a rush of pride tingle through you at the ruddy hue to his cheeks as you pulled back from his mouth.

“I’m not entirely certain what I did to earn that but…you’re welcome.” He grinned cockily and your jaw dropped at his impertinence before you laughed brightly, shaking your head as you slid into the car, happy to leave him wondering.

Glancing at the backseat, you raised an eyebrow curiously at the picnic basket and blankets there, wondering just what Lewis had planned for the afternoon.

“No peeking.” He smirked, sliding his arm around your waist to pull you close across the bench seat once he’d started the car, pulling his hand back to shift the car into gear.

“Might I know where we are going?” You asked curiously, resting your chin on his shoulder to look at him playfully as he headed down the lane.

“I thought I might show you where I lived while I was in England – well not the actual house, we’ve given it back to the Wills family, but the town.”

“I’d like that very much.” You nodded firmly, turning to look out the windshield as he headed out on the road out of town.

“We will have to drive past Lydiard, unless you’d like me to take the long way?” He glanced at you, and you shook your head quickly.

“No, it’s alright, I suppose I will eventually pass it at some point, I’d much rather it be with you.”

His hand squeezed your knee affectionately, fingers lingering on your bare skin when he found no interfering stockings until he was forced to employ it again in changing gears as he sped up as you left Swindon behind. You had somewhat bemoaned the difficulty related to finding stockings lately, but as his fingertips idly caressed the side of your knee, suddenly you really didn’t mind very much at all.

As the pair of you drove past the tree-lined drive leading towards Lydiard House, you swallowed to see a series of guards posted at the road, finding the sight altogether unwelcoming and eliminating any last bit of nostalgia you may have felt for the place you had called home for a decade.

“I would bet it feels an awful lot like a prison for the St Johns and the rest of the staff, too.” Lewis muttered and you nodded quickly.

“I have to say I certainly do not miss working fifteen hours a day. Free time in the evenings, it’s been quite a revelation.”

Lewis grinned at you softly, squeezing his hand that had promptly returned to your knee. “I told you that you were much better suited to this life.”

“You did, yes. Thank you.” You pressed a careful kiss to his cheek, paying closer attention to your surroundings as you neared Aldbourne, a town you’d rarely had occasion to visit previously.

Lewis took you on a small tour, pointing out the Nissen huts, or Quonsets as he called them, where the enlisted men had stayed before swinging by Littlecote House where he had been billeted. He regaled you with funny stories from training and that one time his closest friend Dick had been forced to upend his mattress to get him out of bed after a very intense night of celebration. Circling back to the centre of the village, he parked in front of a small bakery, opposite the village green.

“We just need to pick up our dessert and then we’ll be ready for lunch?”

You nodded warmly, sliding out of the car with him as he led you into the shop. It smelled positively divine inside, all sorts of sweets in the display cases.

“I’m here to pick up an order for Nixon?” Lewis smiled and the girl behind the counter looked up with wide eyes.

“Leftenant! We didn’t think we’d see any of you boys back here again.” She smiled up at him brightly, fairly batting her eyelashes at him.

“Just wanted to be sure my girl had a chance to try the best lardy cake in all of England.” He smiled smoothly, looking to you warmly.

Swallowing tightly, you could not help but notice the way the girl’s face fell as he tugged you closer.

“Anything you’d think your father and brother would like as a souvenir of our travels?”

Normally you would have refused, been stubborn and reticent in the face of his generosity, but there was something about the way the girl was throwing daggers at you as she retrieved a box with his name on it from under the counter that emboldened you.

“Perhaps a few imperial cookies?” You looked up at him hopefully and he rewarded you with a quick peck to the cheek.

“A dozen of the imperial cookies as well please.”

“Of course, leftentant.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the impulse to correct her sharply as you felt rather territorial about that title – more precisely that pronunciation of that title. You waited quietly as she packed a box of the cookies and Lewis paid the total. You were more than a little relieved to say your goodbyes and leave the shop, baked goods in hand, and retrieve the picnic supplies from the car.

“Can I help you carry something?”

Lewis paused a moment before passing you the blankets, taking the boxes from the bakery and the rather heavy looking basket himself.

“You know I packed artillery shells for the past seven months, I am not helpless.” You teased as you followed him across the street onto the village green.

“Just because you can, darling, doesn’t mean you are expected to.” He replied with a smirk, waiting for you to unfurl the blankets on the ground before the pair of you settled in.

“So long as you remember that I am not helpless, Lewis.” You replied firmly, watching him unearth several packets of sandwiches, some fruit, and a bottle of lemonade from the basket along with glasses to drink from.

“I assure you I would never dream of considering you helpless. After all you rescued a drowning dog from a lake while wearing a full-length dress.” He grinned, popping the seal on the bottle to fill you a glass. “Climbed the highlands to procure me heather and grouse feathers, poured TNT and lifted artillery shells, served a certain honorable without murdering her for her deplorable behavior…” His tone had started off teasing but as he set the glass in your outstretched hand his face grew serious. “No darling, if anything I really quite admire you.”

Ducking your head shyly you took a sip of the tart liquid, enjoying the way it sparkled on your tongue. The pair of you picnicked happily in the sunshine, demolishing most of the sandwiches and fruit before Lewis unboxed the cake.

“The best in England, you say?” You grinned, peering at it curiously.

“Well, all of us in the 506th would certainly say that, but I wonder what a real Englishwoman will say.” He smirked, using a knife from the picnic basket to cut a slice, holding it out for you to take a bite.

Looking to his expectant face before glancing back down at the outstretched piece of cake, you leaned in to take a bite, holding your hand in front of your mouth as you sat up to chew thoughtfully. As the flavour of it spread across your tongue, you began to nod happily.

“Oh wow, that’s probably the best I’ve ever eaten as well.” You agreed once you swallowed your mouthful.

Lewis beamed happily before taking the next bite from the piece still in his grasp, leaning back onto his forearm lazily as you prepped another slice for yourself, trying not to spend too long drinking in the length of his body in such an enticing pose. Looking around the village square instead, you smiled.

“It’s so peaceful now, I can only imagine the havoc you all wreaked.” You laughed softly and he chuckled.

“Havoc is an excellent choice of word, darling…”

After you’d both eaten your fill, you carefully packed up the remnants into the basket, setting the bakery boxes aside to take home for your father and Johnny to have a go at them. The shadows began to creep across the grass and a glance at your utilitarian wristwatch told you it was nearly four-thirty. Lewis suddenly sat up, drawing your gaze as he fidgeted slightly before shifting closer to you.

“Darling I…know I can’t make as much of a fuss about this as I’d like to but… We’ve been talking an awful lot about the future and what it might look like, and it would be a mistake if I didn’t make it official. Or as official as I am able, at this point.”

You held your breath, focusing intently as you did your best to hear him over the rushing of blood in your ears.

“Would you do me the honor of wearing this ring as a promise of my intention to marry you?” He produced a velvet box from his pocket, opening the lid to reveal a ring very much to your taste, not too many stones, in the metal of your choice, showing just how closely he had been paying attention to your preferences yesterday.

“Lewis…” You exhaled in awe and looked to him, eyes wide with wonder. “Yes…I of course…” You smiled, finding your eyes suddenly blurred by tears as he pulled you into his warm embrace.

“I thought…you’d maybe want to wear it on your right hand and then…when I get the divorce finalized, I’ll write you right away and then you can put it on your left, like a proper engagement ring.” He murmured against your cheek, and you smiled so broadly it made your jaw ache.

“I love you so very much, Lewis Nixon.” You shifted back to kiss him warmly, sighing against his lips as his fingers slid up your neck to cup your jaw.

“I love you too, darling.” He replied once you’d parted for breath, and he plucked the ring from its box to slide it onto the fourth finger of your right hand. “This is only the beginning.”

If only you’d known how seriously Lewis would take that statement. The baked goods immediately followed by a lavish dinner went a long way to easing your brother’s concerns and then all too soon Lewis had to return to France for his boat home. It was exceedingly difficult to see him go, though it was a relief to know you that, at least this time, you were not sending him off to combat.

It was not long after his departure, however, that your father began to receive regular wire transfers to cover rent and other necessities. Your father feigned innocence, though you did not believe him for one moment, as Lewis would not have known the necessary sum otherwise. You took to a letter to chastise Lewis, albeit lovingly.

While his subsequent responses acknowledged your wishes, they also cleverly shifted the focus to seeking your approval of potential homes and venues for your inevitable nuptials. It was late January of 1946 when a large trunk arrived by courier when you finally received the news you had been long awaiting. Johnny was at work, your father at the pub. You were enjoying a rare moment at home alone after finishing work for the day, having kept a small roster of clients to accumulate pocket money to spend on previously frivolous things like skin care and hair cuts.

Signing the receipt slip, you had the delivery man set it in the living room before kneeling to open it, gasping at the neatly folded piles of clothing contained within. Laying atop were two envelopes, one letter-sized and another legal-sized. You quickly retrieved the letter, assuming it would contain the most explanation, and sliced it open with your trusty butter knife.

It was fortunate that you were the only one at home, for the childish squeal you let out as you fell onto the sofa would have been a mortifying thing for anyone else to witness. Fumbling slightly, fingers made clumsy with glee, you took the ring from your right hand and quickly slid it onto your left where it truly belonged, holding it up to admire it proudly. Glancing at the watch on the same wrist, you sat up, realizing you still had time to send your reply and grabbed your handbag and overcoat, dashing out the door and down the lane to the post office.

It took a bit of explanation from the clerk, it being your first telegram after all, but you managed to condense your words to keep the entire process affordable.

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity, with Lewis’s reply arriving by cable the next day that he would be in London mid-February. You employed the services of a local seamstress, as ordered, to have your trousseau properly fitted. Lewis proved yet again that he had paid attention, having sent a few dresses and ensembles in ivory and white to choose from – and mercifully nothing so ostentatious as a full wedding gown. You were able to give ample notice to your clients and you’d already procured a passport – thankfully you’d started that process in September of the previous year.  Using your accumulated ration coupons, you purchased a swimming costume and an irresistibly fine nightgown for your wedding night.

It felt like no time at all before the three of you were stepping into the suite at the Ritz that Lewis had reserved for you to get ready for your wedding that evening, and the rest of your family to stay the night before returning to Swindon on the morning train while the pair of you headed out on your honeymoon. You were startled to find a young woman waiting for you there.

“Good afternoon miss, sirs. My name is Sara. Mr. Nixon has sent me to assist you in getting ready. He asked me to give you this before you could protest.” She held out an envelope of telltale Ritz stationery and you took it with a fond sigh, following her into the room where the bellhop deposited your trunk.

Huffing in bemused annoyance, you quickly turned your attention back to Sara, working with her to hang up your outfit for the impending ceremony before looking over the selection of ‘decorations.’ Lewis had sent several sets of jewelry for you to choose from and after some deliberation you eventually settled on one before submitting yourself to Sara’s talents as she saw to your hair. Mercifully, all rumours had proven true, and the yellow hue had vanished from your skin and hair, returning you to your normal appearance. Your diligent use of skin care had also gone a long way to soften the callouses of your work-roughened hands and by the time Sara was through with you, you almost didn’t recognize yourself.

Stepping out to where Johnny and your father were waiting in their new suits, purchased with a hoarding of ration coupons and Johnny’s excellent wages from his new post at the Great Western Railway, the three of you gawked openly at one another.

“Well, we certainly clean up nice, aye?” Your father grinned.

“You look pretty as a picture, sis.” Johnny grinned and pulled you in for a hug just as Sara hurried out with a small bouquet of white roses.

“Don’t forget these, miss. Your car to the embassy is waiting downstairs.”

You took it carefully and smiled to her. “Thank you so very much for your assistance, Sara, I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, my pleasure miss.” She blushed prettily, bowing her head shyly. “I’ll see to it that your trunk is moved to Mr. Nixon’s suite with the rest of your luggage. Congratulations.”

You parted with your thanks before heading downstairs, trying not to roll your eyes when you found the waiting car was a Rolls Royce. You really might have to murder him at the end of that aisle. Climbing in carefully, the three of you drove to number one Grosvenor Square, the address of the American Embassy. It had been Lewis’s idea of course, and only possible given that he personally knew the ambassador Mr. Harriman.

It was his hope that it would ease your immigration to the United States, to be technically married on American soil, while still being able to have Johnny and your father in attendance. The building was rather imposing as you climbed out of the car, thanking the driver as he held the door, not at all what you would have imagined for your wedding. Then again, you’d never imagined marrying an American divorcé set to inherit a great fortune one day, either.

Surrendering your coats to one of the ambassadorial staff, you took a moment to compose yourself as Johnny stepped into the reception room, nodding to your father when you were ready before the doors were opened and you made slow progress down the aisle, allowing for the extra time it took him to manipulate his prosthetic leg with each step. You were pleased Lewis had chosen a smaller room, there were not that many people in attendance, really just the ambassador and his wife, your small family, and Lewis and yourself. But as you walked down the short aisle towards the man waiting for you in black tie with the officiant at his side you were certain nothing had ever been more perfect in your entire life.

Your father shook Lewis’s hand before giving you a quick peck on the cheek, ambling over to his chair as Lewis took your arm in turn. He leaned in to whisper warmly in your ear.

“You look incredible, darling.”

Swallowing tightly, you whispered back. “You are lucky there are too many witnesses to commit manslaughter here.”

He barely contained his laughter.

The ceremony was sweet and simple. The signing of the licence took a little extra time as you also completed your immigration application at the same time, with his excellency Mr. Harriman signing as a sponsor – a breathtaking honour which you were quite certain you would never be able to fully process. Lewis had also clearly bought the wedding bands at the same time as the engagement ring as they all looked quite smart next to one another once placed on your respective fingers.

The intensity of Lewis’s eyes on yours as the officiant pronounced you man and wife had you feeling rather apprehensive of the kiss he was about the lay on you, a kiss you were admittedly no less desperate for after nearly six months, but reticent to share in front of an audience. To your surprise, and slight disappointment, it was a soft and utterly appropriate kiss that only left you wanting more as the small group of attendees applauded your finally-accomplished-union.

Bestowing the bouquet upon the ambassador’s wife insistently, in gratitude, you finally allowed Lewis to pull you down to the separate car waiting to take the pair of you back to the hotel where the four of you would celebrate in a private dining room. The driver had barely closed the door before Lewis was pulling you close, at last delivering the thorough conquering of your mouth you had been yearning for as you clung to his coat, not wanting to ruin his styled hair.

“I have missed you far too much, darling.” He whispered against your lips as the driver pulled the car into traffic. “How will I ever repay your patience with me?”

“Do not remind me of balances and things owing, Lewis, I’m in a good mood.” You teased fondly. “You will meet my rage tomorrow when we’re stuck on a boat together for days on end. Tonight is for celebration only.”

He responded with a lopsided grin as his gaze traversed your face, expression fading slowly to one of seriousness before he kissed you fiercely once more, hands sliding dangerously close to your carefully pinned hair. You pulled back quickly with a pout.

“You can ruin that later.” You panted a little and he pressed his face against the crook of your shoulder.

“I will ruin more than your hair later.” He spoke, breath skating along your skin, making you shudder for many reasons. “Darling, are you certain this is not your murder plot unfurling right before my eyes?” He lifted his eyes to look up at you with a pained expression, your fingers reaching out to cup his cheek sympathetically as the car pulled up outside the hotel.

Summoning the strength to compose yourselves as the driver came around to open the door, you stepped out carefully and took Lewis’s arm to head inside, rather enjoying the way people glanced at the pair of you approvingly.

A small feast of beef wellington, Victoria sponge, and tea with milk and sugar – among other delights – awaited you all back at the Ritz. Lewis was barely able to keep his hands from ensnaring yours, his knee from pressing against your thigh, from feeding you bites of food proudly. He did an amiable job of getting to know Johnny better this time despite his distraction, the previous adversarial tension having evaporated from your brother with the arrival of the divorce decree several weeks ago. Lewis took great interest in Johnny’s employment and the topic of conversation devolved into a rather intense debate about railways…even as Lewis began to pull the hem of your dress higher beneath the tablecloth with tantalizingly bold fingertips. Eventually your father dragged a very stuffed and well-liquored Johnny off to bed, freeing the two of you from the obligation of entertaining them any longer at which point Lewis lifted your left hand to press a kiss to the rings on your finger.

“Well, Mrs. Nixon.”

You smiled shyly, but delightedly, to hear your new title from his lips. “Well, Mr. Nixon.”

“Fait accompli. At last.”

Nodding warmly, you leaned in to kiss him gently, giggling as he tasted of icing sugar and strawberry jam from his last bite of cake. “We should let them in here to clean up.”

“Are you propositioning me, Mrs. Nixon?” He teased as he stood, sliding his arm around your waist as you stood in turn.

“No!” You squeaked in self-defence, though you were more than a little enticed by his earlier promises from the car.

“Then allow me to proposition you, I would very much like to see what you’re wearing underneath this lovely outfit.”

“Mr. Nixon!” You feigned shock even as you pulled him out of the private dining room to head up to your shared suite.

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

Read Part Six

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

[simp-ly-writes]

A Drunk Night Turned Sober

Pairing: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader

Summary: Kyle is drunk at the bar and you bare witness to it.

Warnings: drinking, sexual tension.

A/N: (i apologize your honour- i didn't know what happened to me while writing this).

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Kyle during at least one time he is drunk at the pub comes up to you at the bar asking why you look so handsome and if you know where his partner is. You reply saying that you are married to him and he just melts on the spot; eyes wide, upper-body dropping alongside his forehead to your shoulder. You rub up and down his side as he begins to nuzzle his face more into your neck, leaving light kisses while repetitively whispering, albeit- quite loudly, how did I ever get so lucky?

You can't help but giggle at your man in his overly affectionate, intoxicated state as you turn our head to kiss the top of his, smoothing out his hair and to only then complain that his large frame is crushing your leg's blood circulation as you begin to feel a serious amount of pins and needles striking through your system.

Lets just say that gets Gaz into a cleared mental state almost instantly as he begins to worry over you and massages your legs in apology. But how could you not forgive your Sergeant instantly when his cheeks were flushed pink, his cap slightly askew over his forehead with his long-sleeves pulled up his forearms; exposing the veins in his arms to your dry throat. You down the rest of your drink before clearly meeting his eyes already awaiting yours.

I have my forgiveness waiting at home, were the last words exchanged between the two of you at the bar-top as Kyle's eyes changed their tint; darkening and you both hitched a cab back home. Your head too clouded with the feeling of his large hands grabbing at the muscles of your thighs as phantom shivers ran across your skin in the cool night air as you made your way inside the building and into bed.