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elia-the-bibliophile · 28 days

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Sad, Beautiful, Tragic (Max Verstappen x Female Reader)

Genre: Angst Word count: 3,5k

As the sun dipped below the horizon, you found yourself standing near the open window overlooking the rolling waves of the Atlantic Ocean.

The salty breeze carried the scent of the sea through the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of sand and seaweed. Seagulls soared gracefully overhead, their cries echoing in the distance as they rode the currents above the crashing waves. The sky above was painted in hues of orange and pink, the last remnants of daylight fading into the darkness of night.

In the distance, the silhouette of lighthouses stood sentinel against the twilight, their beams cutting through the gathering dusk to guide sailors safely home. Along the shoreline, traditional clapboard houses nestled among the dunes, their weathered exteriors a testament to the passage of time. And as the waves rhythmically kissed the sandy shore, a sense of tranquility settled over the landscape, wrapping it in a blanket of serenity that whispered of secrets waiting to be discovered.

Your gaze drifted to the locket hanging around your neck, the silver chain glinting in the fading light, holding a childhood image of Max close to your heart. Its familiar weight always been a source of comfort for you.

Allowing yourself to be sweep off to a daydream, memory of him lingered like a ghost. Every time you close your eyes, you imagine the two of you having warm conversations, the words flowing effortlessly between you, as if no time had passed at all.

Reality crashed down upon you, pulling you back to the harsh truth of your separate lives. In different cities, you both woke in lonely beds.

__________________________________________

[Flashback]

The tension in the air was palpable as you and Max stood facing each other, words hanging heavy between you like a storm waiting to break.

"I just don't understand why you're always moving around," you exclaimed, frustration seeping into your voice. "We barely spend any time together anymore."

Max's jaw clenched, his gaze hardening as he spoke. "This is my life, Y/N. Racing is what I do, what I live for. You knew that when we got together. Don’t you turn this on me.”

"I know, but it's like you're always off chasing something else," you shot back, unable to hide the hurt in your voice. "I thought we were supposed to be in this together."

His eyes flashed with anger, voice rising as he lashed out. "You'll never understand what it's like to be an F1 driver. The demands, the pressure—it's not something you can just turn on and off as you please."

Your heart sank at your lover’s words, the sting of his accusation cutting deep. "So what, I'm supposed to just drop everything and follow you around like some trophy girlfriend? Is that what you want?"

Max's expression softened, regret flickering in his eyes as he reached out to touch your arm. "I didn't mean it like that, schatje. But maybe if you were more like the other girlfriends—"

Your eyes narrowed, hurt turning to anger as you pulled away from his touch. "I shouldn't have to change who I am just to fit into your new life, Max. If you can't accept me for who I am, then maybe we shouldn't be together at all."

With those words hanging between you like a chasm too wide to bridge, you turned and walked away, leaving Max to grapple with the weight of his own expectations and the reality of what it meant to truly love someone.

__________________________________________

The days that followed were filled with a heavy silence, the distance between you and Max feeling impregnable even within the confines of your shared home. Each moment seemed to stretch on endlessly, filled with the weight of unresolved tensions.

Then, one evening, as you sat alone in the living room with the cats on your lap, Max entered, his footsteps hesitant as if unsure of his welcome.

Max began softly, “Why are we so out of sync these days, schat. Godverdomme, I hate fighting with you.”

You nodded, the weight of his words settling heavily in your chest. "I don’t know, Max… It's like we're trapped in this hellish cycle we can't break."

Max approached you, his expression pleading. "Have we truly lost our way?”

Tears pricked at your eyes as you met his gaze, the pain of misunderstanding tearing at your heart. "Can you just hold me right now?”

With a deep breath, Max closed the distance between you, his touch gentle as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. "Come here, mijn liefje.”

As you melted into his embrace, the weight of the world seemed to lift from your shoulders, replaced by the fragile hope of reconciliation. In the quiet sanctuary of your home, you dared to think that things are going to get better.

__________________________________________

You know what they say, the golden days never last for long. And yours turn dull in the blink of an eye.

A few months passed, you couldn't escape the constant reminders of Max's growing closeness with Kelly Piquet. Their pictures seemed to be everywhere, captured in different corners of the world, each one a painful reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

Kelly's job as a model and influencer afforded her the flexibility to travel to every Grand Prix with ease, a stark contrast to your own demanding career as a business consultant in Monaco. As you scrolled through social media, the self-doubt gnawed at you. Had Max found your replacement in Kelly?

You tried to push aside the nagging thoughts, reminding yourself that trust was the foundation of any relationship. But as the whispers and rumors grew louder, fueled by the constant presence of Kelly in Max's life, your insecurities threatened to consume you. Whenever Max have his photo taken, Kelly is only a few steps behind.

You decided to click on a more recent video due to the attention it has garnered. Max’s face appeared, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

"And what about Kelly Piquet?" the interviewer asked, a knowing glint in their eye. "You two seem to have become quite close recently. Can you tell us about your newfound friendship?"

Max let out a breathy laugh, "Kelly is really fun to be around," he began. "We share a lot of the same interests, especially when it comes to racing and traveling."

You feel your throat closing up with every word he spoke, but he continues on, "She's introduced me to so many new experiences, including meeting her father, Nelson Piquet. It was an honor to spend time with him and get some feedbacks on how to better improve myself."

As the interview continued to play, each word feeling like a dagger to your heart, you couldn't bear to hear any more.

The interviewer nodded, their interest piqued by Max's genuine enthusiasm. "It sounds like you two have—,”

With a flick of your wrist, you closed the video, the screen going dark as you threw your phone across the room. Jimmy and Sassy, startled by the sudden commotion, scurried away, their tails fluffed with alarm.

Alone in the silence of your apartment, the pain and frustration boiled over, and with a scream of anguish, you unleashed the pent-up emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface.

"Fuck you, Max Verstappen!" you shouted, the words echoing off the walls as tears streamed down your face. In that moment, the weight of betrayal felt almost too much.

As the echoes of your scream faded into the stillness of the night, you collapsed onto the floor, the weight of your emotions threatening to overwhelm you. And in the darkness, with nothing but the sound of your own ragged breaths, you allowed yourself to grieve for the love you had lost.

__________________________________________

The darkness of your despair seemed to swallow you whole. The thought of even touching your phone filled you with dread, terrified of stumbling upon yet another headline or photo of Max and Kelly together.

You had moved to Monaco with hopes of being closer to Max, to build a life together. But now, it was clear that those hopes had been nothing but illusions.

With each passing moment, the love you once felt for Max began to chip away, replaced by a seething anger that burned hot. How dare he throw you away like yesterday's news, all because you no longer fit into the life of a World’s Champion?

In a moment of clarity, you made the decision to pack your bags, to leave behind the city that held nothing but painful memories and broken promises. There was no use in clinging to a love that had been so callously discarded, no future left for you in a place that only served to remind you of what you had lost and failed to keep.

As you moved through the apartment, gathering your belongings, Jimmy and Sassy followed close behind, their soft purrs and gentle nudges a silent comfort in the midst of your turmoil. It was as if they understood, as if they knew that you were leaving, and their presence offered a small solace.

Meanwhile on the other side of the globe, Max's anxiety grew with each unanswered call. Every attempt to reach out only led to the cold emptiness of voicemail, leaving him with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Scenes of your last encounter replayed in his mind, each one a painful reminder of the words left unsaid and the hurt he had caused. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, that he had pushed you away when you needed him the most.

"Come on, schat, please pick up," he repeated, the desperation evident in his voice.

Growing desperate, Max even reached out to the security of his building, hoping for any sign of your whereabouts. But their responses only deepened his fear, confirming that you hadn't been seen in days.

With a heavy heart, Max realized the gravity of his actions. He had let his own ambitions blind him to the pain he had caused you, and now, he feared it might be too late to make things right.

His hands trembled as he dialed his manager's number. "Get the jet ready for me, I need to fly back to Monaco immediately," he demanded, the urgency in his voice brooking no argument.

"Max, we're in the middle of a Grand Prix," his manager protested, the disbelief evident in his tone. "You can't just leave."

Max's jaw clenched, frustration boiling over as he shouted into the phone, "Fuck that! My girlfriend needs me."

With a determined resolve, Max hung up the phone, his mind set on one thing and one thing only: finding you and making things right. For in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not even all his titles.

__________________________________________

As Max stepped into the apartment, a sense of dread washed over him like a tidal wave. The emptiness of the space seemed to echo with the absence of your presence.

Frantically, he searched for any sign of you, his heart pounding in his chest with each passing moment. But the apartment yielded no clues, no trace of your belongings, not even a lingering scent to suggest that you had been there recently.

The reality of your absence hit him like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and reeling. The walls seemed to close in around him, suffocating him with the weight of his own regret.

"Where are you?" Max's voice echoed through the empty apartment, filled with desperation. "Please, Y/N, don't leave me like this!"

His shouts reverberated off the walls, each one a plea for your return, a desperate cry for forgiveness. But the silence that greeted him was deafening, broken only by the sound of his own ragged breaths.

"Please, liefje, I can't bear to be without you," he begged, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'll do anything to make things right, just please come back to me."

But his words hung unanswered in the air, swallowed by the vast emptiness of the apartment. And as Max sank to the floor, tears streaming down his face, he realized that he had let the love of his life slip away, and now, there was no guarantee that he would ever find his way back to her again.

Still he will try, dammit he promise he will.

Max dialed the numbers of your closest friends, his heart pounding with urgency. "Hello? It's Max," he began, his voice tight with emotion. "I am very sorry to bother you but… do you know where Y/N is? I screwed up I know but has she said anything?”

There was a hesitant pause on the other end of the line before your friend responded cautiously, "I'm sorry, Max. I can't help you with that."

Max's frustration boiled over as he pleaded, "Please… I need to know if she's okay. I need to find her."

But each conversation ended the same way, with her friends refusing to reveal anything about your whereabouts. It was as if you had disappeared without a trace, leaving Max with no leads.

As he hung up the phone for the umpteenth time, Max realized that he was truly alone in his search for you. And with each passing moment, the sense of desperation grew, driving him to the brink of madness as he searched for any clue that would lead him back to you.

Max reached a point of exhaustion so profound that his body finally succumbed, and he slipped into unconsciousness. A faint memory surfaced from the depths of his subconscious—a conversation with you, a moment frozen in time.

"If you could run away, where would you go?" he asked, the words hanging in the air between you as you lay together, your head resting against his chest.

You drew lazy circles on his skin as you pondered his question, your voice soft with contemplation. "I guess I would go to Rhode Island."

In his dreams, Max found himself transported to a tranquil beach on the shores of Rhode Island, the gentle waves lapping at his feet as the salty breeze kissed his skin. The sound of seagulls echoed in the distance, their cries a soothing melody that carried on the wind.

With a sudden jerk, Max's eyes snapped open, his heart racing with a newfound sense of clarity. Rhode Island. The words echoed in his mind.

Could it be possible? Could you have truly gone to Rhode Island?

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps caught his attention, and he looked up to see Jimmy and Sassy approaching, their usual playful demeanor replaced by a palpable sense of sadness.

Max's heart sank at the sight of his beloved cats looking so forlorn. With a heavy sigh, he reached out to them, offering a comforting touch as they nuzzled against his hand.

"I know," Max murmured. "I'm sorry I made mum leave, but I promise we'll get her back."

The cats gazed up at him with soulful eyes, as if understanding his words. In that moment, Max would do anything to bring you back home where you belonged.

__________________________________________

In the cozy living room of your temporary home in Rhode Island, you and your best friend, Lily Muni He who also happens to be the girlfriend of Alex Albon sat together, surrounded by boxes and scattered belongings as you worked to settle in. The soft glow of afternoon sunlight filtered through the windows, casting a warm ambiance over the room.

As you unpacked, Lily's presence brought a sense of comfort and familiarity, her easy smile and gentle demeanor easing the weight of your recent upheaval.

With a sigh, you set aside a box and turned to Lily. "Thank you for helping me with all of this," you said, gratitude lacing your words. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Lily smiled warmly, her eyes filled with understanding. "Of course, love. You know I'll always be here for you," she replied, her voice soft with sincerity.

Taking a seat beside you, Lily reached out to grasp your hand in hers, a gesture of solidarity and support. "I know this hasn't been easy for you," she continued, her tone gentle. "But I want you to know that you're not alone. Me and Alex are here for you, every step of the way."

Tears welled in your eyes as you felt the weight of Lily's words wash over you. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice catching with emotion.

Lily’s gaze lingers on you with sadness. "I'll miss seeing you around the paddock," she said. "It won't be the same without you there."

You smiled weakly. "I'll miss it too," you admitted. "But I think it's time for a fresh start, you know?"

She nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I get that," her tone gentle. "Just know that no matter where you go, you'll always have a home with us. Alex and I will come visit you any time we can.”

A wistful expression crossed your face. "I miss the cats," you confessed. "I know it's silly, but they were like family to me."

"It's not silly at all, Y/N” she reassured. "They were a big part of your life, and it's natural to miss them."

You offered her a small smile. "Thanks, Lil," you said, the weight of homesickness easing ever so slightly. "I just hope they're doing okay without me."

"I'm sure they miss you too," she replied. "But Jimmy and Sassy are resilient little creatures. They'll be just fine."

You let out a mirthless laugh. "If you meet him, you should ask Max to get one of those automatic food dispensers. He's away from home most of the time, and last I heard Kelly is allergic to cats."

Lily snorted at your remark, the irony of the situation not lost on either of you. Soon, giggles bubbled up between you, the tension of the moment dissipating in a shared moment of laughter.

"Solid idea," she replied. "I'll be sure to mention it to him if I get the chance."

__________________________________________

As the sun beat down on the bustling city of Doha, reporters from around the world gathered outside the Red Bull Racing garage, their cameras flashing and microphones poised. The atmosphere was electric with anticipation and concern, as whispers of Max Verstappen's mysterious disappearance spread like wildfire through the paddock.

In the heart of the chaos, a reporter with a steely gaze faced the camera, her voice cutting through the clamor of the crowd. "Good evening from Doha, where the Formula 1 world is in a state of shock and confusion," she began, her words echoing across the airwaves.

Behind her, a throng of journalists clamored for attention, shouting questions and jostling for position. Camera crews darted back and forth, capturing every moment of the unfolding drama.

"Max Verstappen, the reigning world champion, has gone MIA," the reporter continued, her brow furrowed with concern. "His absence has sent shockwaves through the paddock, leaving fans and fellow drivers alike bewildered."

As she spoke, images of Verstappen flashed across the screen, capturing his triumphant moments on the track. The tension in the air was palpable, as the world waited with bated breath for any news of the missing champion.

Inside, tension hung thick in the air as Christian Horner paced back and forth, his frustration evident in every furrow of his brow. Beside him, members of the team exchanged worried glances, whispering amongst themselves as they tried to make sense of the situation.

"We need to do damage control, and fast," Horner declared, his voice tight with urgency. "This is not how a reigning world champion should behave."

Checo spoke up with a wry smile. "We all know exactly where he went to," he remarked, his tone laced with amusement. "I'm just surprised it took him this long to grow balls."

Horner's frustration turned to bewilderment as he turned to face Checo, his expression a mixture of disbelief and exasperation. "What do you mean, Checo?" he demanded, his voice tinged with incredulity.

Kelly Piquet's sudden entrance into the garage caused heads to turn, her expression mirroring Horner's earlier demeanor. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for answers as she approached the group.

"Where is Max? What was he thinking?" she demanded, her voice tinged with exasperation.

Checo, ever the straight shooter, couldn't help but roll his eyes at Kelly's questions. "As if you don't know," he retorted, his tone tinged with sarcasm.

Kelly's eyes narrowed as she locked gazes with him, a flash of annoyance crossing her features. "What's that supposed to mean?" she shot back, her voice edged with irritation.

But before Checo could respond again, Horner stepped forward, his expression grave as he addressed Kelly. "Kelly, we're all trying to figure out what happened," he interjected, his tone firm but measured. "But right now, our priority is to handle the fallout and ensure the team's reputation remains intact."

With Max Verstappen's whereabouts now a hot topic of speculation among the media, the Red Bull Racing team faced an uphill battle to contain the fallout from their champion's sudden departure.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 drabble #f1 fandom

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shebunie · 5 months

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What if reader had a little too much sake and Mizu has to take care of them and reader goes on a tangent about how beautiful they are and how much they love her. It’s silly but I think it can be so sweet to see mizu loved like that!

𝐒𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗗𝗿𝘂𝗻𝗸!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹 𝗽𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴, 𝗮𝗹𝗰𝗼𝗵𝗼𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗶𝘁- 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮𝘁 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟵𝟯𝟳 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗜 𝗺𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗶𝗻𝗱𝘂𝗹𝗴𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗮 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗮𝗺𝘆 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻 𝗰𝘂𝘇 𝗜'𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗯𝗮𝗱

“y’know wha- i’ve alway thought you were th’prettiest person around.” you slurred. Mizu raised a skeptical eyebrow, a rare crack in her usual stoic demeanour. The dimly lit room seemed to shimmer a bit as the effects of the sake intensified for you. With an awkward stumble, you attempted to express your admiration more coherently.

Mizu couldn't deny the warmth that blossomed in her chest, touched by your tipsy admiration. “You're like a beautiful flower. A flower in a world of... water,” you stumbled over your words, your enthusiasm evident despite the alcohol-induced haze.

"Eyes, like a calm lake under the moonlight, dark hair, like the night sky. A masterpiece, Mizu," you declared with a tipsy grin.

Mizu sighed, torn between irritation and a subtle hint of amusement. She found herself caught in a situation she never anticipated – nursing a drunk companion who seemed determined to shower her with affection. As you continued your heartfelt monologue, she couldn't help but notice the sincerity behind your words.

"I never knew you had a poetic side," Mizu remarked, her eyes softening just a fraction. "But you need to sober up. That’s enough for tonight.”

Undeterred, you clumsily reached out, attempting to cup her face with unsteady hands. "No, no, stay with me please."

Mizu's stony facade wavered for a moment as she gently pushed your hands away. "You're not in your right mind. Drink some water," she suggested, trying to redirect the conversation.

But you persisted, your intoxicated enthusiasm unwavering. "Water won't change how I feel about you." Mizu, accustomed to being the strong and silent type, found herself caught off guard by your declarations. She guided you towards a glass of water, a subtle rosiness tinted her normally composed expression.

As you rambled on about love and beauty, Mizu discovered that even the most stone-cold hearts could be stirred by unexpected warmth. Between your slurred words and giggles, she discovered a deeper connection, one that went beyond the usual interactions.

The first light of dawn painted the room in soft hues, Mizu settled you into a makeshift bed, tucking you in with a care that contradicted her usual tough exterior. "Sleep it off. We can talk about this when you're sober," Mizu whispered, her fingers brushing through your hair.

The vulnerability at that moment was a shared secret, a bridge between two souls who had unexpectedly found solace amid intoxication. Eventually, as the effects of the alcohol began to wear off, you drifted into a peaceful slumber, leaving Mizu to reflect on the whimsical and endearing moments of the night.

Sitting beside your peacefully sleeping form, Mizu's eyes traced the details of your flushed face. She found herself captivated by the vulnerability in your slumber, the chaotic charm that had surfaced in your intoxicated state. For a moment, her stoic demeanour wavered as a faint smile played on her lips.

Gazing down at your exposed shoulder, Mizu felt a strange mix of emotions. She raised an arm to adjust your clothing to keep your decency. Until a hand grasped hers, Mizu froze, your fingers gently closed around hers. The warmth of your touch sent a subtle shiver down her spine, and for a moment, she hesitated. Her stoic façade wavered as she met your gaze, searching for any sign that your mumbled words held a deeper meaning.

A soft smile played on your lips as you stirred, your eyes half-lidded and filled with a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity. "I love you so much, you'll stay with me right?" you repeated, the question carrying an unexpected weight.

Mizu's blue eyes, usually as serene as a still pond, betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. She considered the unspoken implications of your words, the subtle shift in the air that seemed to hold the promise of something more intimate.

A moment of silence lingered between you, the room bathed in the soft hues of dawn. Then, Mizu nodded, her fingers gently intertwining with yours. "I'll stay," she replied, her voice a whispered assurance that held a depth beyond the surface.

As you settled back into a peaceful slumber, Mizu remained seated by your side. The room, once filled with the remnants of drunken revelry, now transformed into a sanctuary of quiet intimacy. The dawn light painted soft patterns on the walls, casting a warm glow on both of you.

Mizu found herself studying the contours of your face with a newfound tenderness. The lines that had surfaced in your sleep added a layer of authenticity to the moment. It was as if the sake-induced confessions had paved the way for a connection that transcended the usual boundaries.

Unspoken emotions lingered in the air, and Mizu couldn't help but acknowledge the subtle shift in the dynamic. The touch of your hand had breached the walls she had carefully erected, inviting a closeness that went beyond the camaraderie.

In the quiet intimacy of that morning, Mizu realized that sometimes, unexpected moments held the power to rewrite the scripts of our lives. As the sun rose higher in the sky, casting a warm embrace over the room, Mizu committed herself to staying by your side, not just in the aftermath of a drunk night but in the unfolding chapters of a story that seemed destined to be written in shared glances, whispered words, and the gentle entwining of fingers.

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mooshywrites · 3 months

Note

If requests are still open: may we have hcs about how the bg3 boys react to bard!Tav serenading them? I just think it would be so cute

A/N ~ I love this idea so much, I just know it deserves frantic bard writing ;-;

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Serenade

Gn!Reader x BG3 men

Masterlist

Art commissions

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Astarion ~

Astarion thought bards were utterly useless until he met you. He had never put that much stock into music either. But the day you sat in front of the campfire with him, plucking your lute to all of the songs you knew, his heart melted.

As the soft melody of your voice filled the air, Astarion found himself captivated by the enchanting sound. His skeptical gaze softened, replaced by a glimmer of curiosity and wonder. The flickering flames of the campfire danced to the rhythm of your fingertips, casting mystical shadows upon the surrounding trees.

Lost in the embrace of your music, Astarion closed his eyes and let himself drive sea. Your voice, like silk, wove together tales of love and heroism. With each note that danced upon the night breeze, he felt a newfound appreciation for the artistry that had eluded him for so long.

Unbeknownst to you, Astarion’s icy exterior began to slowly thaw beneath the warmth of your melodic gift. The walls he had built around himself slowly crumbled, revealing vulnerabilities long buried within.

As the lullaby reached a gentle conclusion, a momentary silence settled over the campsite. Astarion opened his he’s, finding himself gazing into the depths of your own. In that instant, he saw a reflection of his own longings and desires. The connection between you, forged through the simplicity of this moment, was as delicate as a spiders web.

Without breaking eye contact, the pale elf reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. In that simple touch, a current passed between you, a sliver of magic that pulsed through your veins.

Wordlessly, Astarion leaned closer, his breath mingling with yours. Time slowed to a standstill as the world around you faded into insignificance. The flickering flames cast their golden glow hook. Your faces, illuminating the unspoken words hanging in the air.

And then, with a emotion in his voice that you had never heard before, Astarion whispered,

“Play for me again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Gale ~

Gale always knew there was a magical quality to music. He saw you as a mirror image of himself, being hopelessly in love with a type of magic that would never love you back with the same intensity.

Though he’d never admit it to you, he silently hoped every evening that you would unwind by playing a song. As dusk began to fall, the sunset painting strokes of red and gold, today’s hope was no different.

You sat by the edge of your tent, your fingers absentmindedly plucking at your lyre as you tried to think of a song to sing. You caught Gale’s eye and smiled, his gaze finally giving you inspiration to play.

Your fingers began to dance effortlessly across the strings of the lyre, coaxing out a gentle melody that floated on the evening breeze. The magic of your music filled the air, intertwining with the vibrant colors of the sunset as they painted the sky. Gale watched enraptured, his eyes never leaving you.

As Gale watched on, the wizard felt a deep longing stir within him, a longing for something he couldn't quite put into words. In that moment, he realized that his admiration for you went far beyond your musical prowess.

Unable to resist any longer, Gale rose from his seat and made his way toward you. As he approached, the song you played seemed to weave its way into his very being, tugging at the strings of his heart.

You looked up as Gale drew nearer, a soft smile gracing your lips. The notes from your lyre seemed to synchronize perfectly with the rhythm of his footsteps, as if they were guiding him towards you. The music wrapped around him like a warm embrace, filling him with a sense of belonging he had never experienced before.

Finally, Gale stood before you, his eyes shimmering with a mixture of vulnerability and admiration. You hesitated your playing for just a moment before Gale’s broke out in a grin.

“Surely you weren’t singing about a special someone, were you?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Halsin ~

Halsin was probably your favorite person to play music for as of late. When he had first joined your camp, he only sat and watched when you brought out your guitar. It seemed to you that he was lost in his own mind most of the time, not allowing himself even the smallest of happy moments.

When you finally where able to heal the deep scars of the shadow curse, Halsin’s tune changed dramatically. Suddenly he was sat by you in the camp at all times, asking about what instruments you could play, requesting certain songs, trying to sing along to your gentle melodies.

What he loved most of all, however, was challenging you. He loved to see how quickly you could create a song. How easily you could string a line of lyrics about any topic under the sun. Tonight, he had a very simple ask.

Sing something that reminds you of the beauty of nature.

You could tell by the look in his eyes, the shyness in his tone, that his question had much deeper meaning to him than just that of a pretty song. No, he wanted to connect with you on a deeper level but couldn’t think of a way to make it meaningful for you both.

Despite all of that, you decided to indulge him.

As the moon cast its gentle glow over the camp, you took a deep breath and let your fingers dance across the strings of your lute. The melody flowed effortlessly from your fingertips, each note carrying the essence of nature's beauty.

You sang of sweeping meadows bathed in sunlight, where wildflowers bloomed in a riot of colors. You spoke of ancient forests, their branches intertwined like lovers, whispering secrets to the wind. Your voice soared, echoing through the night, as you conjured images of cascading waterfalls and shimmering lakes that reflected the starry sky above.

Halsin closed his eyes, completely absorbed in the enchantment of your song. It was more than just music to him; it was a bridge connecting his wounded soul to the world around him. As you sang, his spirits lifted, his heart opening up like a flower basking in the warmth of the sun.

When your song reached its final notes, there was a moment of comfortable emptiness. Halsin opened his eyes and looked at you, a soft smile playing on his lips. The silence that followed your song was filled with the lingering echoes of your melody, as if the very air was reluctant to let go of the magic you had created.

And then, Halsin spoke. His voice was barely above a whisper, as if he feared that any sound would shatter the fragile connection between you both. “Thank you,” he said, his words carrying a weight of gratitude that touched your heart.

“For so long, I had forgotten the beauty that resides in nature. The curse had consumed me, turning everything around me into shadows and sorrow. But through you, I have found solace and hope once again.”

Tears glistened in his eyes as he continued, his voice trembling with emotion.

“Sing it again?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

~ Wyll ~

Wyll adored your music. It took him a few days to work up the courage, but it wasn’t long before he was asking you to sing while the two of you were dancing. His dancing lessons had started out with just him humming a simple melody, but soon, it was your voice carrying the timing of the song.

Those nights meant a lot to you, the ones where he’d sweep you into his arms, begging you to sing for him. Tonight, however, wouldn’t be one of those night. Wyll had taken a bad hit in a battle today, his injury burning every time he took a step.

He was in no shape to dance, and yet, he still found you by the stream that evening, ready to try anyways. It took a scolding and a few pleas, but he finally agreed to postponed that night’s dancing lesson, settling for hearing you play him a few songs instead.

His eyes drifted shut as you started to weave your magic tune, transporting him to a world of serenity and solace. The melody danced delicately in the air, casting a soothing spell over his weary soul. He leaned back against the moss-covered boulder, surrendering himself to the enchantment of your music.

As your fingers caressed the strings of your instrument, Wyll's mind drifted away from the pain and turmoil of battle. Images of lush meadows and cascading waterfalls began to form in his imagination, replacing the harsh reality of the war-torn realm they inhabited. He could almost feel the gentle breeze brushing against his face and hear the distant chirping of birds as they celebrated the arrival of a new day.

Lost in the ethereal sounds that resonated through the forest, Wyll's features softened, and a serene smile graced his lips. The worries and burdens that burdened him melted away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of peace. In this moment, he found solace within your music a refuge amidst chaos.

You brought him so much peace.

As the song came to an end, Wyll sighed happily, looking over to you with affection across all of his features.

“If I could only put into words as beautifully as you spin a song, I’d tell you what you meant to me.”

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edgeray · 1 month

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Vixen

(Arlecchino x Reader Blurb)

A/N: Last Arlecchino post before I go back to classes. 😿This is a hybrid au! blurb from my poll, and it's likely I won't make a oneshot out of this idea. It's still a really cute concept, so maybe I'll make another blurb of this concept or another hybrid au! idea. concept. Shoutout to @megistusdiary for this adorable idea of Artic Fox Arlecchino! (Love you CEO of Arlecchino!) For those of you guys that weren't entirely... pleased with my 'Arlecchino is not a person' blurb I offer this piece in favor of having my life spared. Future Edit: I call this a blurb, and then proceeds to write 1.4k last night from like 11pm-2am ._. I'll just dub this as a oneshot now. So literally disregard the second paragraph. Not my usual quality, but since it's long enough, it's a oneshot. Content Warning: Pretty OOC for Arlecchino, mentioned but not graphic injury, 2.2k words

Arlecchino is as beautiful as snow.

It's the first thing you've noticed when your eyes laid upon the hybrid Harbinger. Beneath the silky snow-white fur and graceful, cordial appearance, you recognize that a predator laid underneath her exterior; a feral fox ready to lash at anything that so much as touches what was deemed hers. You don't let her sleek, fluffy coat distract you from her red-crossed eyes or her black claws.

Still, it is futile to deny her beauty.

You recall your first meeting with her in Snezhnaya, trudging through its frosty forests in nearly knee-deep snow. You don't quite remember what your purpose for being there was, though you ventured out to the wilderness behind your home often with no real purpose. Snow crunching underneath your boots, you admire the pristine, white landscape that no other place in Teyvat could display.

Here, your sight is met with a frost-covered plane, a frozen river cutting between you and a forest, the silhouette of a grand mountain behind the conifers. The sun hangs low, just above the peaks of the mountain, painting the sky as a gradient of topaz oranges and honey yellows. The only noise that fills the air is the whispers of the occasional winter breeze, blowing through your hair and making you shiver. Captivated by this picturesque scene, you simply stand and observe what's around you, your stare unbreaking.

That is until your ears pick up on a noise, a soft whine in the distance. You can tell it's not human-like, more like a cry that a puppy would make, but nonetheless, you're curious. There's another similar sound, this one more faint, but you let your ears guide you to the source of the noise until you near the edge of another wooded area of the wilderness.

What your eyes set on shocks you. A relatively large white blob sits amongst red patches of snow around. Is that blood? Approaching closer, you realize it's a rather large animal with white fur, and you assume that it's a Snezhnayan Snow Wolf from its size, though it's hard to tell with its back turned away. It's struggling to stand up fully; one of its hind legs appears to be injured given how it's not putting as much weight on it when it limps through the snow. You watch it struggle a little, wary of approaching a wild animal especially one of that size before you witness it collapse. Not intent on just observing the poor creature, you walks towards it, making your presence known so as to not startle it abruptly.

It whips its head and locks eyes with you. It is then, you chillingly discern, that this is no ordinary Teyvat creature. It's bigger than what wolves can grow up to, and its ears and tails don't match that of a wolf. Its ears are shorter in height and more triangular and its tail is much thicker than the average wolf's. Notably, on its legs, the fur darkens from white to pitch black, the color encompassing its feet entirely. This is something unseen in any snow creature you've come across. But most striking of all is its gaze. Red pupils with ebony eyes matching its feet, it watches you calculatingly.

You expect it to growl or snarl or make any sort of noise a wild, cornered creature would, but you get nothing besides continued staring. It's unsettling, but it should be a good thing that it hasn't perceived you as a threat yet, right. Regardless though, you still try to verbally communicate with it.

"Hey, I'm just here to help okay? I won't hurt you. If I do, you can, I don't know, bite my face off or something?" You awkwardly reassure it as you kneel beside the animal. It simply tilts its head to lock eye contact, and you half-expect it to bite you without warning.

Although it feels pointless to talk to a wild animal, you ask, "Can I touch you?" Expectedly, there's no response, but you take it as permission. You place a tentative hand over its fur, brushing your hand through its fur. It's incredibly soft, almost like how you'd imagine what touching a cloud feels like. It's a light and immaculate coat. But you didn't come here just to pet it.

"You have a really pretty coat," you compliment the fox(? Let's stick with that for now), before your fingers trail down to where the blood originated. It's a clean, deep laceration across the length of its back leg. What could have injured it like this? There's no other marks on the leg, so it can't be a claw from another animal. This was a precise cut, something that only a human can do.

"Did someone do this to you?" You wonder out loud in a sorrowful tone. What kind of human could harm such a beautiful creature? Unbeknownst to you, its ears twitched in response.

You get to work treating the wound with the emergency equipment you always carried when you ventured. There's no resistance or protest from canine, and you question if this is really an animal you're treating. How it hadn't budged one bit as you cleaned its wound, you're not sure, but you're just glad it hasn't shown one sign of aggression towards you. If you clean it and allow the skin to heal, the cut will likely heal independently. Once you've wrapped the final bandage around its leg, you glance at the fox's eyes again.

Not even once did it stop watching you.

You try to comfort yourself from the disturbing fact by observing how cute it is and imagining what it would be like to snuggle with it. It's when you notice the sun was setting, and dusk is approaching quickly. This typically wouldn't be a problem, but as you increasingly grew worried, a distinct problem struck out. You're lost.

"Well, shit."

Guess you have to set up camp. You hate the thought of having to spend the night out here, but you have no choice. You won't be able to make out anything soon from how dark this place gets. It's not your first time doing so, but you hate it still. With the remaining minutes of sun you have left, you gather as many sticks and branches as possible before you light them with a match, creating a campfire. You lay a little close to the fox, which seems to have also decided to make the campfire its resting place for now.

You cocoon yourself with a thick blanket.

"You'll keep me safe, right...?" You ask of the fox. No response. How very assuring.

Despite the bundles of fabric purposed for helping with extreme temperatures, you find yourself still shivering. You're cold, not to the point of frostbite, but your form can't stop trembling, your teeth chattering.

"It's too fucking cold for this shit," you groan, hugging yourself for extra warmth and curling into a fetal position. As you curse yourself for getting lost, you hear a shuffle, and the crunch of snow. Before you can even search for the origins of the sound, you feel a warm, large weight against your back--it's something soft. You look over your shoulder to see white fur and then look back to where the fox was originally: it's no longer there. Instead, it's pressed against you, sharing its body warmth with you.

"Mmm... good kit," you tiredly drawl as you absorb its heat greedily, enjoying the texture of its coat. It makes falling asleep easy.

Before you drift to sleep, you swore you heard a human, feminine voice purr from behind you.

"Annoying little vixen."

When you wake up, you expect to be met with white--white snow and fur. You are only met with one of those. Your eyes adjust to the pricking sunlight that stab into your vision. Surprisingly, you're warm even with the chill that you feel cascade against your cheeks. Memories of the night prior start piecing together. You still feel the fox's presence, though, strangely, the weight behind you doesn't seem nearly as soft or large as you remember. And something is draped around your midsection. You look down, expecting to a fur-covered limb.

Instead, it's a human arm that is wraps around your form, holding flushed against a person and your heart skids to a stop. The forearm is black with gold and ebony markings on its surface, but the dark color fades into pale skin. Is this person even human? A humanoid? A hybrid? With your rising panic, you become increasingly more aware of the presence that has you encaged in their embrace. You can't turn to look who is behind you in fear of waking them up--you don't know what they'll do to you once they're awake.

The soft snoring behind your ear and the warm breath brushing against your nape makes you shiver. However, what you do notice is how warm their body is; they exude a body heat that's abnormal. Do they produce their own heat from within? You know of very little creatures that can do that, let alone humans. Maybe an external source? Like a vision?

Then a sudden thought comes to you. Has this person been... sleeping with you to keep you warm? Is this person somehow the fox you helped? Deciding to risk it, you twist your head to look over your shoulder.

Red-crossed pupils glare back at you and your entire form freezes. Faced with perhaps the most gorgeous woman ever, a pale, unblemished face framed by ivory hair and some ebony strands appear before you.

"You're awake," her gruff voice comes out and the tips of your ears burn from being caught awake.

"Y-yes," you stammer out, still trying to recover from the shock. "Thank you for keeping me warm."

She hums in response before unfurling her arm from your body and standing up. Immediately, your body misses her warmth and you shudder, wrapping the blanket around you tighter. You sit up with her and it's then that you realize that she is indeed a hybrid. The same ears from the fox last night matches those on her head, and there's a tail that swishes lightly from behind her.

You take the time to admire her clothes, the question of where she got them slipping from your mind. She dons a marble white and slate gray jacket over a corset-type shirt with black and a matching gray and wears black pants. Her outfit reminds you of similar attire to Snezynayan nobles. What is someone of her status out here? Something about her seems vaguely familiar, though you don't quite know why.

"You're the... fox from last night," you dumbly state.

"Correct."

"But you're a human now."

"Astute observation," she huffed with a bit of mockery in her voice and you chuck snow in her direction.

"I've never seen a hybrid before, cut me some slack!" You snap back in faux anger. You let out a sigh, before you flick your attention to her leg. You can't see the wound because of her leggings, but you presume that it's still there.

"Who hurt you before?" You rasp out, corner eminent in your words and expression.

"That's not of your concern," she answers in a curt manner, making you wince.

You bite your bottom lip, a bit frustrated from the quick shut refusal, but you know she shouldn't pry. For as beautiful as she is, both in her human and fox form, you know just from the unsettling... sensation she emitted that she was dangerous, not to be disturbed or poked to much. You figure you should probing her on what led to this situation.

"Can I know who you are?" You question instead.

The fox hybrid steeps in silence for a few moments. Her facial muscles softening just the bit, the red flare in her eyes glowing. Then, a crack in her hardened expression, a small smile graces her lips.

"Arlecchino."

Bonus (Content Warning: VERY Suggestive. Like the closest thing to a smut I'll get.)

"Arlecchino."

"Mmh?"

"I need to get up."

"Just a little longer, kit."

"Arle, I love you, but I will kick you."

"With what functioning legs?"

"Is this why you wanted to dick me down? So you can harass me with no consequences?"

"Exactly."

You grit your teeth, trying to peel her arms off of your bare form, but the fox hybrid persists, keeping you glued to her as she nibbles gently on the skin of your nape. To emphasize her hold, her tail curls around one of your legs, its grasp tight and ensuring you can't go anywhere.

"Annoying little vixen," you groan, pulling the covers off of the two of you.

Arlecchino purrs into your shoulder, and her hands trail from your midsection down to your hips. Her tail caresses your inner thigh and you shudder.

"Again?" You gasp in dulled surprise as you feel her rise and she flips your body over to be beneath her. One blackened claw hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers with hers and pressing your hand into the mattress behind you. The other hooks underneath one of your legs, raising the leg over her shoulder.

"Of course. After all, I need to ensure you take my kits."

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact fic #arlecchino smut #genshin arlecchino #arlecchino #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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supercutszns · 4 months

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Lowkey, I can just imagine the amount of sobbing iris daughter reader would experience once she has her own cabin and her siblings start coming. Sees her cabin for the first time? Sobbing while exploring the exterior and interior. Sees her first ever half sibling? Sobbing into their shoulder while hugging them and won’t let go. It’s probably a lot of relief to finally have that void filed

😭😭this image will not leave my head for the next few days are you kidding

finally having a space that’s HERS. a family that’s HERS. she no longer feels out of place or like she’s intruding on people’s lives because she has her own cabin that she’s been trusted to be in charge of and it’s incredibly fulfilling. she doesn’t feel different or isolated because she finds siblings that have similar abilities or perspectives as her. one of the first things she does as cabin leader is leave little paintings on their walls to decorate—rainbows and butterflies and stuff and she gets all her siblings to help and their willingness literally makes her want to cry. her apollo friends help too and she jokes that she doesn’t need to crash at their cabin to paint anymore but both cabins always intermingle anyway <3

bonus bc i’m delusional and we can pretend luke isn’t evil: he’s obviously pumped that she has her own cabin now and is the one that gives her the confidence to lead it bc he knows she’s waited for a home forever,,,, guides her through every possible scenario her brain could make up so she feels more prepared,,, she forces him to paint with her once in a week in her cabin :,)

bonus because I’M EVIL: in canon, after luke betrayed the camp and you know. died. and the iris cabin is built, she still keeps all the paintings she has of him underneath her bed, in secret. maybe she gives some to percy or annabeth so they have reminders of when he was good. and she keeps painting him for years after so she’ll never forget his face. ☹️☹️

#perrie prattles #perrie’s asks #luke castellan headcanon #luke castellan x reader

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vulturv0lans · 8 months

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If it's not too much to ask, can we have a soft dom diluc gently guiding a shy sub reader through her first time? (In desperate need of tooth rotting fluff and diluc being sweet lmaoo [with lots of praise ofc])

ok you know what anon i have been looking for something like this but i haven't found too many,,,thank you for the request!

word count: 2,960 (i got carried away again oops) tags: first time, references to diluc’s father/backstory/official manga, soft dom diluc, lots of love and affection and just overall sappy, porn with plot (lots of it), me crying (also lots of it)

m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox

the air is salty by the lake and his door rusty, yet you’re sure you’ve never need anything more.

when diluc brought you back to the winery for the first time, this was not what he had in mind. he had simply wanted to show you more, parts of him he had long hidden beneath the layers of his clothing and layers of walls he built up. but you are his lover now. you meet the maids that have been with him since he was a child, browse through the volumes that his father left behind, breathe the same air that he has always breathed inside the estate.

he was not planning to take you right there, on the four posted bed he claims but seldom occupies, on the second floor of the winery.

diluc was hesitant at first, leading you into the one place he holds closest to his heart. the master bedroom has not seen a visitor in ages. even the maids rarely enter except when they are asked to, because within these gilded walls and draped curtains is where diluc can truly feel at ease, no “mondstadt wine tycoon” or “master of dawn winery” or even “darknight hero” attached.

and before your eyes, he feels just as bare.

you had taken a seat at the edge of his mattress, arms supporting your weight as your eyes take in the surroundings. the wallpaper is a dark crimson red, damask patterns painted in black. the thick velvet of the curtains match the crimson in colour, yet the light seeping through the fabric and reflecting off of the golden tassels that touch the floor. the furnishings are simple, the large room otherwise empty save for a mirror, a wardrobe, a fireplace, and a desk filled with books.

yet it’s the paintings on the walls that catch your eye. one of them can easily be discerned as an exterior sketch of dawn winery, its signature red roofs a stark contrast to the rows of green underneath. off on the other wall is a portrait. a tall, greying man poses in the middle with two younger boys to either side of him, one with hair as blue as the twilight skies, and the other with hair red as blazing fire.

diluc follows your gaze to the painting, and suddenly the room feels too hot. before he can open his mouth to change the topic, you have already turned to him with an inquisitive look in your eye, and his heart softens. he cannot say no to you.

“that’s your father, isn’t it?”

he nods, choosing to offer no further explanation.

“what was he like?”

your voice is gentle, yet he is still taken aback. seldom anyone wants to know what crepus was like as a person, beyond just his title and position. for a few moments diluc is silent, pondering his answer. how could he summarize the greatest man he’s ever known into a couple simple sentences?

“he was kind. and very, very brave.” he says at last, “he made me the man that i am today.”

“i’m sure he was a great father,” you say quietly, not wanting to press further. diluc must have his reasons behind not wanting to tell the full story yet, and you’ll give him time. as much time as he needs.

“he was.”

when he looks at you again, your frame so small against the posts on his bed, he feels an unnameable emotion surging through him. you’re studying the painting with such an intense focus, as if trying to hear the voice of a man you’ve never met, trying to understand what others fail to even notice.

and in that moment, diluc is sure he has never been more in love.

he closes the distance between you in two quick strides, and you look up at him in surprise. he intertwines your fingers before pulling you up to your feet, your body pressing flush against his as you find your balance.

“can i kiss you?”

you smile at his question. diluc, ever the gentleman. even several months into your relationship he still asks for permission, and still kisses you like it was the first time.

it’s your turn to close the gap between you now, lips meeting his in a soft kiss. his hands find their way down the small of your back, then up your spine before settling on your cheeks, fingers tangled in your hair as he pulls you even closer, until you can feel every beat of his heart on your skin.

“i love you.” he whispers against your lips when he finally breaks the kiss for air.

“i love you, too,” you echo, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him again, hands clutching his arms for support. diluc feels his skin burn wherever your hands have been, and his love and tenderness suddenly becomes something more.

deepening the kiss, he backs you up until your legs hit the edge of the bed, before your entire person falls backwards into the plush mattress. you pull him down with you, until barely any space is left between his large frame and your own, smaller one.

he smooths out the stray baby hairs on your forehead before resting his against it, eyes searching yours for any signs of discomfort. you both know where this is leading, but diluc wants to be certain, absolutely certain that you're okay with this.

"are you sure?"

you nod before you have time to think. this is a step you're willing to take, and there's no one else you'd rather share it with. even so, small bubbles of anxiety rise from your stomach. will it hurt? will you be able to enjoy this? will he be satisfied, even with your lack of experience?

if diluc could hear your thoughts right now, he would be quick in dismissing them as the most preposterous ones he's ever heard. it would pain him to know that you’d ever fear of not satisfying him, even when he would put you and your pleasures before so much as thinking about himself.

you could never disappoint him, this he knows.

his lips find yours again and your doubts dissipate like the dark clouds after a storm. wandering hands begin unbuttoning and untying every piece of fabric in your way, desperate to reduce the layers keeping you from feeling his bare skin. your clothing clatter as they fall to the ground, diluc barely separating from you to discard his shirt before lowering back down to kiss you, not wanting to part from you for a second longer than necessary.

he's hungry for more, for you.

your hands find purchase on his toned arms, his skin almost too warm under your fingertips. he mumbles something that remotely resembles "off" into your mouth, and you comply almost too quickly, lifting your arms so he could take off your shirt and your bra.

diluc forces himself to hold back when your skin is fully exposed to him. lips glistening and chest heaving, you have never looked more beautiful to him, and he makes sure you know it. dipping his head to your neck, he trails a line of hot kisses down to your breasts, words of praise between every kiss permanently etched into your skin.

"you're breathtaking."

your face heats up as he slots himself in between your legs, hand lowering to your waist. your heart beats too loudly now, focus glued to his fingers hooking into your belt loops before quickly undoing the button on your pants. fiery eyes, hooded by lust and desire, search for confirmation, and you grant it. how could you not, when you burn for him so much?

diluc can’t help but groan out when your bottom half becomes exposed. his attention is quickly taken away by the thin material of your panties, damp and clinging to the wetness pooling between your legs, and he feels the sudden urge to bury his face there.

he runs a finger down your clothed folds and you jump, legs clamping together to relieve some of the pressure. with a hand on your knee, he holds your legs open to allow himself better access to where you need him the most. gently, he moves the soaked panties to the side, and the man fully has to sit back on his heels to drink in the sight before his eyes.

you’re so pretty, so sweet, so vulnerable for him, legs spread and pussy glistening with your arousal, all for him and him only.

he curses under his breath, heart swelling at how lucky he feels to be the one admiring your naked form. ignoring the increasingly uncomfortable bulge in his pants, he dives in like a man starved, flattening his tongue against your pussy to get his first real taste of you.

your back arches off the bed at the sudden contact, diluc’s moan of satisfaction sending delicious vibrations into the deepest parts of your body. his tongue works fast magic on your cunt, licking and sucking and kissing like you’re a five course meal, the slurping sounds in perfect harmony with your soft pants of pleasure.

“fuck, you taste so good, baby.”

the satin of his bedsheet is wrinkled and twisted in your palms as you grip onto it, diluc’s hands quickly reaching up to find yours, your fingers interlacing as he eats you out, the moment so intimate that for a moment you forget the vulgarity of it all and just enjoy being so close to him, physically and emotionally.

you’re growing close, and diluc knows it. despite his pussydrunk state, he forces himself to pull away, his chin now coated with your wetness, before shifting his body up to kiss you again. you moan into his mouth as you taste yourself, obediently granting access to his tongue when it swipes across your bottom lip. the room feels ten degrees hotter and it becomes harder and harder to breathe, until your need for oxygen finally overpowers your desire for him.

diluc’s eyes are alert when you gently push on his chest, his first thought being he’s done something you did not like. gently cradling his face in your hands, you say with a blissful smile the words he’s been longing to hear for so long.

“i need you, diluc.”

his last line of defense snaps and he lets his primal instincts take over, quickly ridding himself of his pants and undergarments before settling you against the plush pillows.

“are you absolutely sure-”

“yes.” you cut him off before he can finish, and diluc‘s ever-present confidence begins to waver. he needs this to be perfect for you.

swallowing thickly, he lines himself up at your entrance. you mirror his gulp as you notice for the first time how big he is, thick and girthy against your tiny hole.

“tell me if it hurts, please,” he asks, so much genuine guilt in his voice that you can’t refuse him an answer.

you yelp in pain when he starts to push in, his body immediately tensing up. only when you repeatedly reaffirm that you’re okay does he continue, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones and whispering apologies and affirmations into your skin as he slowly sinks into you, until he’s completely buried inside you.

“you’re doing so good baby, yeah? that’s it.”

he stills for a moment to let you adjust. but selfishly he wishes to revel in your tightness and warmth for a little longer, your walls so snug against his cock like they were made just for him. he already can’t get enough, and he hasn’t even started moving yet.

you’re the one to initiate the kiss this time, silently giving him permission to move. his thrusts are slow and steady, the tip of his cock dragging against every nerve ending inside you, sending electric sparks throughout your body.

“so tight for me,” he grunts as he picks up his pace, trying to control his movements as to not hurt you, even though a part of him wants to slam into you and fuck you until you’re reduce to a babbling mess begging for his cock. but one look at your face and he feels immediate guilt at his sinful thoughts. you’re so innocent beneath him, bottom lip caught between your teeth and your face scrunched up in pleasure.

he can’t ruin you yet.

soft moans tumble past your parted lips as he reaches down to rub fast circles on your clit. every last cell in your body feels like it’s on fire, the pleasure amplified tenfold from being in the presence of your lover, better than your own fingers could ever satisfy yourself.

you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him in even further, and diluc’s honour is reduced to barely hanging on by a thread.

“you’re taking me so good. so good for me.” he praises and you feel yourself gush around him, his words turning you on even further. it seems your earlier doubts were unnecessary, after all. you grow bolder, reaching up to dig your nails into his back, leaving red marks that claimed him as yours.

the stinging pain from your nails scratching against his skin sends diluc into another wave of euphoria, and he can’t hold himself back much longer. with a low grunt, he pins your wrists down above your head, dark eyes studying the microscopic changes in your expression as your hands are suddenly rendered useless, held down so submissively and at his mercy.

his eyes are fixated on the round of your breasts, bouncing so deliciously to the rhythm of his thrusts. a sudden clench of your cunt almost sends him collapsing on top of you, the tight grip he had maintained on your wrists now faltering from the feeling of your tight walls squeezing him. he curses, the profanity soon turning into praise again at how good you’re taking him, how pretty you looks, and how much he loves you, his words almost doing more to build the knot in your stomach than his steady, deep thrusts.

he leans back to sit on his heels as he lets go of your wrists, moving to hold your legs above his shoulders. you cry out when his cock hits your most sensitive spot from the new position, the sheets once again wrinkled under your tight grip now that your hands are free once again.

“fuck y/n, i’m so close.”

you lift your hips to meet his thrusts half way, all the thoughts in your head replaced by your blinding desire for your release. diluc shifts his weight to hold your thighs open instead, leaning down so he can be close to you before he reaches his impending high. he wants to hold you, to hear you, to see you chase after your high.

your moans and cries are growing more frequent, each more high pitched than the last. they are music to diluc’s ears, music reserved only for him to hear, his own low grunts a perfect harmony.

“i’m so close- gonna cum- please-” you babble, tears dotting your lashes, and diluc has never seen a more beautiful sight.

the sudden warmth of his hand on your neck makes you jump. he doesn’t close his fingers around your throat (though you secretly wished he would), instead his touch is fleeting before moving to cup your face. you lean into him almost immediately, his thumb wiping the tears that escaped, down the smooth skin of your cheeks, and across your bottom lip. he’s hovering so close to you that you can see every freckle on his skin, lips mere centimetres from yours that his every exhale becomes your next inhale, so intimate that you find it hard to believe that he’s kissing you so sweetly while maintaining a relentless pace.

he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he can’t hold back.

“cum for me,” he breathes into your parted lips, “i want to hear you.”

and you don’t need to be told twice. with a loud cry of his name you come undone around him, your slick quickly forming a ring of white at the base of his cock as he rides out your high, his pace becoming erratic and sloppy at the vice-like grip of your cunt.

“fuck,” he lets out a deep grunt as you repeatedly clench around him, the sound resonating from deep within his chest. his hands pat around the bed looking for yours, and soon after he locks your fingers together again he cums too, head buried in your shoulder and his cock shooting hot ropes into you, painting your walls white.

your legs are shaking as you come down from your high, your pussy so sensitive to any tiny movements that you almost cum again when he tries to pull out from you. the satin beneath you is soaked with a mix of both your essence, drops of white leaking from your sobbing hole when diluc finally pulls out.

he admires you in your post-orgasm glow, and not just at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and your pussy now moulded to the shape of him. it’s as if a soft silk has been draped over you, painting your features in glorious moonlight.

“you’re so beautiful.”

he breaks the silence that has enveloped you both while your breathing returned to normal.

you still find it foreign, the feeling of his compliments even as you’re spread out naked under him. as if sensing your disbelief, diluc repeats his words again, this time between wet kisses on your collarbone, etching his love for you into your body.

“so. beautiful,” he whispers into your skin, his heart swelling, “and all mine.”

note. me and who WHEN >:( also i hope you enjoy my subtle taylor swift reference at the beginning hehe m.list | diluc m.list | rules | inbox ♡

#luna writes ☽#genshin impact #genshin smut #diluc smut #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr smut #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc ragnvindr #diluc

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haydenigmatic · 11 months

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You are the King’s third child, a Princess/Prince third in line to the throne of the eight kingdoms,Third in line to the throne, you have nothing to worry about , well of course you have your lessons but not as extensive as your brothers because your older brother is the heir and even if something happened to him, there is your other big brother.

Maybe you will be a pawn for your father in a marriage alliance, However, who knows what the future holds, something or someone could ensure that your dynasty will be nothing more than dust and you will have to fight for the throne as the heir apparent, or maybe you won’t have to fight at all…

DEMO ✸ MOODBOARDS ✸ ASK ME ANYTHING YOU WANT ✸ FORUM ✸ PLAYLISTS ✸

RO's intro post: ✸ Aurelia/n✸Damon✸Doria/n✸Hanniel✸

✸ Jasira✸ Nesrin ✸ Odette ✸ Sorin ✸ Verena ✸

Play as a Princess/Prince of a powerful dynasty.

Variety of dialogue depending on your gender

Find love among nine characters of whom two are gender selectable

Manipulate, or genuinely care for your people

Bond with creatures that used to be extinct

Blurry the line between good and bad

Form alliances to win the crown

Do anything to survive at court

♢ Lady/Lord Aurelia/Aurelian Mezzei (She/her - He/him) 2 years older than MC

Aurelia/n is a proud and skilled adventurer with a free-spirited nature, always yearning for new experiences and the freedom of the open road. Beneath their composed exterior, they possess a kind heart and a rational mind, but can become a formidable force when provoked.

"The world is a tapestry, woven with threads of wonder and complexity. With each step, I strive to unravel its mysteries and add my own vibrant colors."

♢ Lady/Lord Doria/Dorian Muriel (She/her - He/him) 3 years older than MC

Doria/n is a complex and enigmatic individual, shrouded in a veil of cynicism and guardedness. Their ruthless actions and lack of remorse paint them as a hardened figure, while their hidden heart of gold and capacity for loyalty reveal a deeper layer beneath the surface. They navigate life with a cautious scepticism, harbouring deep-seated wounds and a relentless desire for self-preservation.

"There's no room for sentimentality or second chances in my life. Once you cross me, there's no going back."

♢ Hanniel (Connell) Almlinger (He/him) 4 years older than MC

Hanniel is a chivalrous and principled knight, driven by a strong sense of justice and an unwavering dedication to doing what is right. Despite the shame he feels as a bastard, he possesses a warm and compassionate heart, and his experiences have shaped him into a resilient and empathetic individual.

"The measure of a person's worth is not determined by their birthright, but by the content of their character."

♢ Lord Damon Lavone (He/him) 4 years older than MC

Damon is a charismatic and ambitious knight, driven by a relentless pursuit of glory and recognition. His privileged background as the heir to the second wealthiest man in The Eight Kingdoms, combined with his natural talent and captivating presence, has made him a captivating legend and a force to be reckoned with. Beneath his confident exterior lies a fiercely loyal and protective nature, willing to go to great lengths for the ones he loves.

"To be ordinary is a fate worse than death. I was destined for greatness, and I will leave my mark on this world. Remember my name, for it will be whispered in awe and reverence."

♢ Lady Jasira Oursbar (She/her) 2 years older than MC

Jasira is a fiercely independent and outspoken individual, unafraid to challenge societal expectations and fight for what she believes in. As the daughter of a northern duke, she defies the traditional role of a lady, embodying strength, determination, and a rebellious spirit. With a background rooted in nobility, Jasira carries a deep sense of loyalty and a strong connection to her heritage, guiding her actions and shaping her unwavering pursuit of justice.

"I'd rather live a life of freedom and danger than one of safety and confinement."

♢ Lady Nesrin Parovus (She/her) 1 year older than MC

Nesrin is a cunning and intelligent individual, skilled in the art of manipulation and strategic thinking. Born into nobility as the daughter of one of the seven dukes, she exudes grace and elegance while harbouring a hidden depth of ambition and determination. With her background of privilege and a mind shaped by political intrigue, Nesrin is a formidable force, always three steps ahead in the game of power.

"There's nothing more satisfying than outmaneuvering someone who thought they had the upper hand."

♢ Lady Odette Lavone (She/her) 1 year younger than MC

Odette is a compassionate and idealistic individual, driven by a strong sense of empathy and a desire for justice. With her noble background as the daughter of one of the seven dukes, she possesses elegance and grace, often regarded as the epitome of a court lady. Her genuine kindness and unwavering devotion make her a steadfast ally and a beacon of hope in a complex and sometimes treacherous world.

"Love is not just a fleeting emotion; it is a profound connection that binds us together. With each beat of my heart, I choose to love fiercely, fiercely enough to change the world."

♢ Sorin of Soirsa (She/her) 2 years older than MC

Sorin is a resilient and resourceful individual, shaped by a challenging past as an orphan and a former courtesan. With a guarded demeanour and an independent spirit, she navigates the world with a keen intellect and a knack for survival. Beneath her tough exterior lies a tender heart yearning for connection, a hidden vulnerability that only a select few are privileged to witness.

"Life may have dealt me a difficult hand, but I'll play it with audacious grace, turning adversity into art."

♢ Lady Verena Sarpe (She/her) Same age as MC

Verena is a captivating and ambitious noblewoman, known for her seductive allure and calculated strategies. Born into a distinguished family, she carries the weight of her tarnished reputation and navigates the intricate web of political power with cunning and determination. Behind her enchanting facade lies a complex soul yearning for genuine love, battling her own insecurities and the shadows of her past.

"Love is a delicate dance, and I have perfected the steps. But be warned, for the fire that burns within me is as treacherous as it is enchanting."

#interactive fiction #cog #if game #choice of games #interactive novel #if wip #interactive story #intro post #dashingdon #choicescript #hosted games #interactive game #romance #fantasy #medieval fantasy #IF #tbotd #cyoa #The Blood of the Dragon

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prickly-paprikash · 5 months

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There are two ways I see that SpyxFamily can go with the Authens.

Ever since we've been introduced to the world of SxF, last names have always been an indicator of who exactly it is we're dealing with.

The Forgers are literally a Forged Family. No-brainer.

Yor and Yuri Briar: both beautiful people but with sharp thorns to protect themselves and one another. Their coloring and their characters are related to Roses and Yor is literally Thorn Princess.

Fiona Frost: Ice Cold. Frosty Exterior. Snow Queen. Warm and melty and obsessed on the inside.

Franky Franklin: Frank, honest and blunt. He's always up-front with Twilight since the beginning. Franklin also comes from the word francos meaning 'free'. He's a free agent, allied with Twilight but not with WISE, since he is an Ostanian. He's also the first true free-thinker, holding no allegiance to any state but cares genuinely for the people around him.

The Desmonds: meaning South Munster, one of the provinces of Munster. While it doesn't necessarily have a defined meaning, it is said that the lucky number of this name is 11, and Damian is ranked 11th amongst 228 students for the exams. Neat.

So Authens, right? Sigmund and Barbara Authen. If Loid, Yor, Anya and Bond are a forged family, then Siggy and Barbs are an authentic one from the getgo. Ever since the introduction of these two, everyone has both been over-the-moon and skeptical. It's nice to add new members to the family in this show. It's nice to see a foil (and an insight into the future for them) to Yor and Loid, where the elderly couple are genuine in their love, while Twilight and Thorn Princess still struggle with what exactly their fake relationship entails. Sigmund and Barbara trust one another completely, while the Spy and the Assassin still have ways to go on that front.

Now, Anya is being tutored by Sigmund, a former University Professor, Lecturer and Neurologist. Similar to Loid in a way, who moonlights as a Psychiatrist. The Authens aren't just being shown as a "what could be" for Loid and Yor as a couple, but as parents and mentors as well as seen in this chapter.

Both Loid and Sigmund get into Spy Wars for the sake of educating their students. The difference however lies in the way they go about it.

Loid reads and watches the entirety of Spy Wars to show that he is a good father with a pulse on what his daughter likes, as well as an avenue for him to teach Anya since she responds well to the show. But Loid only memorizes the show and tries to brute force (relatively speaking) Anya's education with it.

Like... making a fake episode of the show just to try and make Anya interested in her studies.

Sigmund on the other hand really sparks a love and understanding for the material itself.

Loid tries to force Anya to see the value in education through cold logic and goal-oriented thinking. Anya should study to Prevent War from erupting between Ostania and Westalis. Sigmund guides Anya into seeing the worth of education by itself. The joys in learning for learning's sake. Loid tries a surface level approach, where Bondman's adventures are hamfisted edu-tainment. He thinks that since Anya likes Bondman, she'll be tricked into learning by using Spy Wars as a coat of paint to mask a really boring lecture.

Sigmud correctly identifies what Anya loves about the story itself, and then uses those elements to relate to classical language.

Loid and Yor are committed to their duties, but it doesn't necessarily bring them joy. To keep children safe and happy, Twilight will lie and Thorn Princess will kill, but their personal satisfaction isn't something they bother about. Sigmund, on the other hand loved his job. He loves teaching. He loves the altruistic element to it—cultivating minds, helping them along to their full potential, but he also has a personal joy in teaching.

Another thing is that Loid loves his family, but doesn't know he does and can't spit it out. He can come off stoic and cold. Sigmund readily shows his appreciation for his wife and for his new student Anya.

What troubles me now is what happens next.

Authen does mean authentic. I have no doubt that Sigmund authentically loves his wife. His love for his research is also authentic. His passion for teaching is authentic. His admiration for Anya is authentic.

But what's the context of this authenticity?

See, the first route is that Sigmund really is just a good guy. A simple, kind, brilliant man who probably had a hand in building Project Apple from the ground up with the goal of improving people's minds, starting with dogs. Maybe it was co-opted by corrupt officials, twisting it into a monstrous organization willing to harm children and animals to realize their goals for a powerful human weapon. A weapon that became Anya Forger. Sigmund and Barbara leave, aid in the war effort for civilians and victims, and make a life for themselves in Berlint. I do believe this might be the likelier option.

But what if the contrast between the Forgers and the Authens is taken to the extreme?

The second route takes advantage of the inherent and subtle darkness in SpyxFam. This manga is just a bundle of gooey joy, but that happiness successfully hides the brutal truth of the world. Every character in this show is touched by war.

Anya and Bond are intended as living weapons. We tend to forget about this since Anya is a goblin child and Bond is floofy goofball.

Twilight and Yor are orphans of war, turned into the most powerful soldiers on each side. We forget this since both are idiots when it comes to anything each other and their family.

Handler is a level-headed badass who radiates older sister vibes for everyone who works under her, and she genuinely cares for her agents. She's also a depressed wreck who barely functions outside of work and constantly relives the loss of her husband and daughter.

The Blackbells? Posh rich folk, right? But their money comes from warmongering. Martha, the kindly mother-figure/butler/security for Becky? A veteran of war. The seamstress who is fond of Yor? Most likely an anti-authoritarian activist, since Loid clocked her immediately as being arrested for political activity. Maybe a former Red Circus member. Bazooka Bill? Funny kid who hit puberty way too early and has a hilarious deep voice. He's also being groomed to be a venerated soldier at the age of six by his father, who has most likely committed war crimes.

SpyxFamily is genuine in its joyful moments. But it barely hides the darkness that constantly lingers. War is a shadow that haunts these bright pages, and it always recontextualizes the zany adventures our family goes on.

What if the Authens are like that?

Everything about them is authentic. But they're also twisted. An authentic love for neuro science can lead to an obsessive march towards human weaponry. An authentic desire for world peace can mean that the end justifies the means, even if that means a telepath that could, theoretically dominate an entire nation. An authentic love for his wife could lead him to hiding everything from her.

What if Sigmund Authen is authentic in every aspect of himself, and is still a man with a dark agenda? That would perfectly contrast Loid, a man who has faked every single element of himself down to his own name and identity, but has never once strayed from his goal of ensuring a bright future for the strangers around him?

What I'm saying is that it'd be really cool if Twilight, a living lie made human who will commit to any deception for the sake of children's safety and happiness would be heavily contrasted by Sigmund Authen, a man who lives so authentically to his creed that he is willing to put children in harm's way for the sake of World Peace?

With the upcoming chapters clearly focusing on Anya and her past, wouldn't it be cool to celebrate Spy x Family hitting 100 chapters by revealing more and more of its dark, haunting, war-torn world after more than a hundred chapters of Spy Family antics?

Uh... Anyway, here's Comedy by Gen Hoshino.

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visit-new-york · 8 months

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The Chrysler Building's significance extends beyond its status as an architectural masterpiece. It has woven itself into the very fabric of New York City, becoming an emblem of the city's resilience, ambition, and unwavering commitment to progress. In the midst of the Great Depression, the Chrysler Building emerged as a symbol of hope, a tangible representation of the city's determination to rise above adversity. It became a testament to the indomitable spirit of both its creators and the people of New York.

Throughout its storied history, the Chrysler Building has been a guiding light for New Yorkers and visitors alike. Its spire, which once served as a prominent beacon for aviators, now symbolizes a guiding star for those navigating the bustling streets and bustling ambitions of the city below. Whether viewed from a distance or experienced up close, the Chrysler Building's allure is magnetic, drawing the eyes and hearts of all who encounter it.

As Manhattan's skyline continues to evolve, the Chrysler Building stands as a reminder of the city's architectural heritage. While it may no longer hold the title of the tallest building in New York, its timeless elegance and unique design continue to inspire architects and developers to push the boundaries of innovation. The Chrysler Building serves as a bridge between the past and the future, showcasing the enduring beauty of Art Deco while encouraging new visions of urban design.

In the fast-paced world of the 21st century, the Chrysler Building remains a living work of art. It invites us to slow down, look up, and appreciate the craftsmanship and artistry that went into its creation. Its lobby, with its richly detailed murals and intricate design elements, is a testament to the dedication of those who built it. The building itself is a canvas upon which history, culture, and human ingenuity have been painted.

For those fortunate enough to visit New York City, a trip to the Chrysler Building is a must. While the interior may not be as accessible as its exterior, the opportunity to stand in the shadow of this architectural marvel and take in its breathtaking design is an experience like no other. The Chrysler Building is a living testament to the power of architecture to inspire and uplift the human spirit.

In the ever-changing landscape of New York City, the Chrysler Building stands as an enduring symbol of beauty, aspiration, and the relentless pursuit of excellence. It has the rare ability to grab the attention of anyone who encounters it, whether in person or through the pages of history. As a shimmering icon of Art Deco elegance, the Chrysler Building will continue to enchant, inspire, and remind us of the limitless possibilities that can be achieved when vision, determination, and creativity come together in perfect harmony. In the midst of the city's ceaseless energy and ambition, the Chrysler Building remains an exquisite reminder of the enduring magic of New York.

#Chrysler Building #new york city #new york #new-york #newyork #nyc #ny #manhattan #urban #city #usa #United States #buildings #travel #journey #outdoors #street #architecture #visit-new-york.tumblr.com

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tarotwithavi · 2 years

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The destined one for you

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

1-2-3

How to pick a pile? : close your eyes and take a deep breath. Ask your guides to show you the right pile for you and then open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is your pile.

Paid services

Masterlist

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 1

Your destined one is someone who likes to have things their own way. They have a very bossy energy around them and likes to use authority. They might have a somewhat scary looking resting face but is nice when you get to know them . They are a family oriented person and always put their family before anything else and would do anything for their family. They might have one or two pet dogs. They are always ready to fight others who insult them or their family. Probably an earth sign. They might have Aquarius or Capricorn as their rising. They don't like when people try to put them down and won't ever let people tell them what to do. They have a very unique way of talking , like once you get comfortable with them or they get comfortable with you, they'll make you laugh even at the smallest things. It's like the way they talk is very funny and the words they use. They are like a complete child with the people they love and always need attention from them. Lol that's cute. And also they are very very possessive. They don't like when people take what's theirs. It's okay as long as they don't see you as their property.

Messages that might resonate : counterparts, city life, a white dog, right handed or their hands are very beautiful, a little older than you, dark skinned /tanned, athletic and adventurous, number 3 or March month.

Masterlist

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 2

Alright! So what I'm getting is that they are into the occult or a very spiritual person. They have a lot of knowledge about various things and are always curious. I'm getting that they might be from a different place than you. Like a different state, city or even country or continent lol. They are also very cunning and can be manipulative when needed. Though they might have confidence problems or just in need of a trustworthy person. They have a hard time trusting people. I'm getting that you might meet them in a hospital or a place for treating people. Could be a public place for some. They are a workaholic or just have a lot of burden on them. They might be the only child and if not them the oldest child in their family. They try to come off as reserved and cold hearted but on the inside they're very emotional. But not overly emotional . I'm getting that they'll definitely pamper you a lot and they also need a lot of pampering. They need like , NEED words or encouragement like "you're doing great " and "I'm proud of you". They are also very attractive and might be very popular. They have a lot of energy 💀 like always running, doing something weird with you.

Messages that might resonate : Pisces, Leo, Taurus, moon 🌙 , B, J, E, L, U, R , hard exterior soft interior, gold, a lot of yellow, blue and vertebrates

Masterlist

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 3

Alright, so first thing first they are very hardworking. They might come from a poor family but they have worked very hard to achieve what they have right now. They don't like asking people for help and have a hard time believing that they can't always be in the first place. They are also very artistic like they could sing, draw, paint or do something creative. They like spending their time alone. And simply they don't care about their surroundings like the world could be collapsing but They wouldn't give a fuck ( sorry for cussing) . They can stay calm even in a chaotic situation. They like doing a lot of things at once . They don't like inequality and are very law abiding. They always treat people equally and don't like when people discriminate or judge others. They can speak a lot of languages and know about a lot of things. This is definitely a Soulmate / twinflame relationship. You two mirror each other and can have a lot of things in common. Even right now as I'm describing them you can feel like I'm describing you. Also they require a lot of rest as they are always tired. And I'm also getting that some of you are going to meet them soon. Like in the next month. You can meet them near a lake, river or on the beach. Somewhere there is a lot of water.

Messages that might resonate : Sagittarius, 222 , disquiet, security, fire sign and air sign, cyan / blue, church, red clothes, a fish , pink palms, dove.

Masterlist

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Please ignore if you see any possible typos :)

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nayziiz · 27 days

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Speed | CS55

Summary: In a chance encounter at a gas station, a mysterious woman on a Yamaha YZF R6 catches the attention of Carlos, a charming Ferrari driver. Little did they know the journey they would both go on.

Warning: Smut, fluff

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x OC (Lola)

Masterlist

Chapter 3

As Carlos expertly parked the Ferrari right in front of the restaurant, Lola couldn't help but notice the large reserved sign that stood prominently in their designated spot. It was a subtle yet unmistakable indication of the evening's extravagance, a gesture that left her momentarily awestruck.

As Carlos stepped out of the car and came around to her side, offering his hand with a warm smile, Lola felt a rush of gratitude wash over her. Taking his hand, she allowed herself to be guided to the front door, the soft glow of the restaurant's exterior casting an enchanting aura over the scene.

With each step they took, Lola couldn't shake the feeling of anticipation building within her. This was no ordinary dinner—it was a night of luxury and indulgence, a world apart from her usual haunts. And as they reached the entrance, she finally understood what Carlos had meant when he said it was a fancy restaurant.

Stepping inside, Lola found herself enveloped in an atmosphere of opulence and grandeur, the elegant décor and soft lighting creating a sense of intimacy and sophistication that took her breath away. She had never been here before, nor had she ever been anywhere remotely as fancy. In that moment, she realised just how out of her element she was.

But as she glanced up at Carlos, his hand still clasped firmly in hers, she felt a sense of reassurance wash over her. Despite the lavish surroundings, he made her feel grounded and at ease, his presence a comforting anchor in the sea of luxury that surrounded them. Lola was a simple girl in many respects. His Ferrari may have caught her eye, but lavish things were never her end-all or be-all.

As Carlos pulled out her chair with practised elegance, Lola couldn't help but feel a flutter of appreciation at his gentlemanly gesture. Taking her seat, she offered him a grateful smile as he pushed her chair in, his warm gaze lingering on her as she settled into her seat.

As she removed her jacket, revealing the sleeveless top she wore underneath, Lola caught a flicker of surprise in Carlos's eyes. She couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered on her pale skin, a hint of curiosity dancing in the depths of his eyes.

For a moment, Lola felt self-conscious under his scrutiny. She was used to the curious glances and whispered assumptions that often accompanied her appearance. But as she met Carlos's gaze head-on, she felt a sense of defiance rise within her. She was who she was, and she refused to apologise for it. To her surprise, Carlos's next words caught her off guard.

“I was almost expecting tattoos.” He admitted, his tone tinged with curiosity and genuine interest.

Lola's lips curved into a wry smile at his observation. It wasn't the first time she had been mistaken for someone with inked arms, but she couldn't fault Carlos for his assumption. After all, appearances could be deceiving.

But as she glanced down at her unblemished skin, she felt a sense of pride swell within her. Her arms were a canvas waiting to be painted with the colours of her choosing—a blank slate upon which she could write her own story.

“I guess I'm full of surprises.” She replied with a playful glint in her eyes, her words carrying a hint of mischief as she met Carlos's gaze. “You sure know how to treat a girl.”

Carlos's smile faltered for a moment at Lola's comment, a pang of guilt tugging at his conscience. If only she knew the truth—that his busy schedule often left him with little time for anything beyond work, let alone finding someone to share a meal with.

As he watched her peruse the menu, a wave of admiration washed over him. Despite her initial hesitancy, Lola had agreed to go on this date with him, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for her willingness to give him a chance.

But beneath her flirtatious exterior, Carlos sensed Lola's underlying hesitation, her guarded demeanour a stark reminder of the walls she had built around her heart. And as he met her gaze, he knew that he had to tread carefully if he wanted to earn her trust.

“I'm glad you think so.” Carlos replied with a soft smile, his voice laced with sincerity.

After a few quiet moments, Carlos attempted to divert the conversation to a different topic.

“I wasn’t sure if you had any dietary preferences, so I thought this place might work well.” Carlos explained. Lola's smile widened at Carlos's explanation, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“That's... very considerate.” She replied, her voice soft with appreciation as she watched him study the menu.

As she observed him, Lola couldn't help but sense the undercurrent of nervousness that seemed to linger beneath his confident facade. It was a stark contrast to the boyish charm he had exuded the day before, and she found herself feeling strangely drawn to this new side of him—the vulnerable, uncertain Carlos who stood before her now.

Taking a moment to collect his thoughts, Carlos closed the menu and set it aside, his movements deliberate as he met Lola's gaze.

Lola pondered the menu for a moment, her gaze flickering over the tantalising array of options before her. With so many delicious choices, she found herself feeling indecisive, unsure of what to order.

“What're you having?” She wondered, turning to Carlos for guidance.

Carlos considered the menu thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the descriptions of each dish with keen interest.

“I was thinking the Fillet Moutarde.” He replied, his voice laced with anticipation as he met Lola's gaze.

“I think I’ll have…the pork belly.” She eventually told him and placed the menu on his. Carlos nodded in understanding as Lola made her decision, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“The pork belly sounds delicious too.” He remarked, his tone warm and encouraging as he reached for her menu.

As he glanced over the menu once more, Carlos couldn't help but notice Lola's hesitation. He sensed her uncertainty, her desire to make a good impression despite feeling out of her element. And although he admired her willingness to try new things, he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt at the realisation of just how stark the differences between them truly were.

“Good evening, sir. Good evening, madam. Can I offer you our wine list?” The waiter asked as he glanced between the pair.

“Good evening.” Carlos greeted the waiter with a polite nod, his gaze briefly meeting Lola's before returning to the waiter. “Thank you, but we won't be needing the wine list tonight. Perhaps just two glasses of Coke, please?”

Lola's heart skipped a beat as Carlos declined the wine list, a surge of gratitude washing over her. She appreciated his consideration. The waiter nodded understandingly and retreated with a polite smile, leaving Carlos and Lola alone once more.

Lola's chuckle bubbled up uncontrollably as Carlos made his suggestion, her amusement dancing in the air between them like a playful melody. The waiter nodded in acknowledgment before hurrying off to fulfil their request for sodas.

“Coke?” Lola asked, her chuckle finally escaping her lips in a soft, melodic sound. Carlos flashed her a sheepish grin.

“Well, I don't drink and drive.” He assured her with a playful twinkle in his eyes. Lola's laughter subsided, replaced by a thoughtful expression as she considered his question.

“Mmh, I see. I don't really drink, at all, actually.” She confessed, her tone laced with honesty. Carlos arched an eyebrow in curiosity, his interest piqued by her revelation.

“Is that more of a health reason?” He wondered, his voice gentle and probing. Lola hesitated for a moment, considering her response carefully.

“Partly.” She admitted with a shrug. “I crashed my bike on my way home from a party back when I was at university. Ended up breaking my ankle, so I just never had a drink after that again. It usually takes just one small mistake and the next thing you know, everything is upside down.”

Carlos listened intently as Lola shared her story, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and admiration for her resilience. His gaze softened as he absorbed her words, a newfound understanding dawning within him. Lola's experience had left a lasting impression on her, shaping her choices and guiding her decisions in ways he could only begin to comprehend.

“And yet you still get on the bike.” Carlos countered, his tone filled with admiration for her courage. Lola nodded, a smile playing at the corners of her lips.

“There's something uniquely satisfying about controlling a powerful machine, especially when every ride is different and unpredictable.” She added, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

As Carlos listened to her, he couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with Lola. He too had experienced the thrill of controlling a powerful machine, the rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he pushed himself to the limit on the racetrack.

But despite his success in the world of Formula 1, there was still a part of him that yearned for something more—for the exhilaration of the unknown, the thrill of the chase. And as he looked into Lola's eyes, he couldn't help but feel a sense of longing stir within him. For in her, he saw a kindred spirit—a fellow seeker of adventure, a lover of the open road.

As the waiter interrupted their conversation to take their orders and serve them their Cokes, Carlos couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment at the interruption. He was eager to learn more about Lola—to unravel the layers of complexity that lay beneath her outward appearance.

“So, what is it that you do when you're not out riding?” Carlos wondered, his curiosity piqued as he met Lola's gaze. Lola smiled warmly at his question, her eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief.

“I work in software development, so I help create apps and programs.” She answered, her voice tinged with pride. Carlos's eyebrows shot up in surprise, impressed by Lola's profession.

“Wow, not just pretty, but smart too.” He mumbled, completely enthralled by the woman sitting across from him.

Lola chuckled at his remark, a blush creeping into her cheeks at the unexpected compliment. She had always prided herself on her intelligence and hard work, but to hear it acknowledged by someone like Carlos was truly flattering.

Carlos had been out of the dating scene for what felt like an eternity. Sure, there had been a few attempts here and there—dates set up by his fellow drivers, Lando and Charles—but none of the girls had ever captured his interest quite like Lola did. From the moment he first laid eyes on her, he knew there was something special about her—something that set her apart from the rest.

As he sat across from her now, Carlos couldn't help but feel a sense of nervousness wash over him—a feeling he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was a different kind of adrenaline, one that left him feeling more on edge than he ever did preparing for a race. But despite the nerves, there was also a sense of excitement—a thrill that coursed through his veins with every word she spoke.

He found himself mesmerised by the movement of her lips as she talked, the pale pink colour matching her complexion perfectly. It was a small detail, but one that left a lasting impression on him—a reminder of just how captivated he was by her presence.

As he listened to her speak, Carlos couldn't help but marvel at the way she lit up the room with her laughter and enthusiasm. There was a warmth and sincerity to her words that drew him in, leaving him hanging on her every word.

As Lola spoke, she couldn't help but notice the intensity of Carlos's gaze, his eyes seemingly fixated on her lips as they moved with each word she uttered. It was a subtle yet unmistakable gesture—one that left her feeling both flustered and intrigued.

For Lola, this wasn't just any ordinary date. It had been a while since she had ventured into the world of dating, and she found herself feeling equally unsure about how to navigate the conversation and experience. But despite her nerves, there was also a sense of excitement bubbling within her—a feeling she couldn't quite shake.

As she spoke, Lola couldn't help but feel a surge of self-consciousness wash over her, wondering if Carlos could sense her uncertainty. But as she met his gaze, she found herself drawn to the warmth and sincerity reflected in his eyes—a silent reassurance that she wasn't alone in this.

With each passing moment, Lola felt herself growing more comfortable in Carlos's presence, her laughter and enthusiasm flowing more freely as they shared stories and exchanged banter.

“Tell me what you do for work.” Lola insisted as she took a bite of her pork belly.

Lola's curiosity was piqued as she took a bite of her pork belly, her gaze fixed on Carlos as she awaited his response. She had sensed a hint of mystery surrounding his occupation, and she was eager to unravel the enigma that lay beneath.

“Well... It's, uhm, a bit difficult to describe without sounding crazy.” Carlos began, his voice tinged with a sense of hesitation. Lola's interest only grew as she leaned in slightly, her attention fully captured by his words.

“I drive for a living. Essentially, it's just one car, really, but it gets upgraded all the time and I kind of have to see what works and what doesn't.” He continued, his words coming out in a rush as he struggled to articulate the complexities of his profession. Lola furrowed her brow in confusion, trying to make sense of his vague description.

“Like a mechanic, then?” She countered, her curiosity getting the better of her. Carlos nodded slowly, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I suppose in a way, yeah.” He admitted. “I work with the mechanics to make the car perform better.”

“That's so interesting.” Lola nodded, her eyes alight with curiosity as she absorbed Carlos's explanation. “And, you said you drive a Ferrari because you work for Ferrari?”

Carlos nodded in affirmation, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“Yeah. But, I've worked for McLaren and Renault previously as well.” He added, his tone tinged with a hint of pride. Lola's interest only grew as she listened to Carlos's words, her mind buzzing with questions.

“How did you get into the whole car industry?” She continued, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“My father was a professional rally driver... I guess he still is.” Carlos chuckled, a fond smile gracing his lips as he reminisced about his childhood. “And I was just always around that space, so it just felt like a natural career path.”

Lola nodded in understanding, her gaze softening as she listened to Carlos's words. She could sense the deep connection he had to the world of racing, the influence of his father shaping his passion and driving him to pursue his dreams.

As they continued to savour their meals, Lola found herself lost in thought, reflecting on Carlos's words. Although she had been hesitant at first, her meal was delicious, each bite a symphony of flavours that danced across her palate.

Glancing over at Carlos's plate, she couldn't help but feel a pang of envy at the sight of his meal. It looked ten times more appealing than hers, each dish expertly crafted and artfully presented.

“Would you reconsider taking me for that ride?” Carlos wondered, breaking the silence after a few moments, his voice filled with a hint of anticipation.

“On the bike?” Lola asked, her eyes widening in surprise as she almost choked slightly on her food at his unexpected request.

“Yeah, on your Yamaha XYZ.” Carlos chuckled again, a playful glint in his eyes as he purposely named it incorrectly. Lola couldn't help but playfully roll her eyes at him before breaking into a smile.

“Have you ever been a passenger on a bike before?” She asked, her curiosity piqued as she met his gaze. Carlos shook his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

“When I was a kid.” He informed her, his tone laced with amusement. Lola laughed at his response, the sound melodic and infectious.

“Alright, we'll just go through some basics before we ride anywhere.” She replied, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

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

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos @notyouraveragemochii @heyheyheyggg

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girl-next-door-writes · 5 months

Text

Now and Then

Characters: Mycroft Holmes x reader

Summary: A bustling airport lounge had Mycroft contemplating the future and what his life could become with you.

Word Count: 1383 word

Prompt: Airport. Seeing them with kids/baby. Making you taste test. “You know you’re stuck with me, right?”

A/N: This is the penultimate part of my Build-A-Festive-Fics so thank you to the utterly brilliant @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek who put these prompts together for the lovely Mr Holmes. This can be seen as a second part to my first Build-A-Festive-Fic is you like.

********************************************************************

Another year, another airport. There were times Mycroft wondered if it wouldn’t be more economical to invest in a private jet. The airport lounge at Christmas was a festive oasis amidst the hustle and bustle of holiday travel. As travellers awaited their flights, the lounge became a haven of seasonal cheer and comfort. Twinkling lights adorn every available surface, casting a warm and inviting glow throughout the space. Garlands of pine and red ribbon drape elegantly over counters and railings, infusing the air with the nostalgic scent of Christmas.

A towering Christmas tree, adorned with an eclectic mix of ornaments, took centre stage, its branches sparkling with lights and reflecting the colours of the season. Beneath the tree, carefully wrapped presents create a sense of anticipation, adding to the overall festive ambiance. Soft instrumental renditions of classic holiday tunes play in the background, creating a melodic backdrop that adds to the joyful atmosphere.

Mycroft lingered by the bar, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he observed you near the resplendent Christmas tree. You stood with a small girl in your arms, enthusiastically pointing out the various types of decorations that adorned its branches. There was a warmth in your interactions that tugged at his heart, an ache that had become all too familiar in recent times. The sight of you with the child painted a poignant picture of familial bliss, a scene that both touched and unsettled him in equal measure.

Sherlock's deep voice sliced through Mycroft's contemplative silence, injecting a note of teasing smugness. "Thinking about the future, brother mine?"

"I was simply observing," Mycroft replied, his tone steady, though a subtle softness lingered beneath his composed exterior.

Sherlock, ever perceptive, leaned into the banter. "Observing the love of your life holding a small child and absolutely not wondering about what that might look like if you had one of your own."

Mycroft's lips tightened imperceptibly, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise impassive features. "It had not even crossed my mind," he declared with a carefully measured hum, attempting to deflect the conversation away from the unspoken thoughts that lingered in the recesses of his mind. Yet, a keen observer might catch the hint of vulnerability in his eyes, betraying the depth of emotion stirred by the scene before him.

In the quiet recesses of his mind, Mycroft found himself entertaining the notion of what life might be like with a little one in tow. The prospect of sharing knowledge, moulding a young mind, and experiencing the unpredictable chaos that parenthood promised had begun to weave itself into the fabric of his contemplations. An unexpected warmth enveloped him at the mental image of guiding a curious mind through life's intricacies, embracing the potential chaos as a welcomed disruption to his meticulously ordered existence.

Despite these musings, Mycroft had yet to broach the subject with you. The various paths to parenthood lingered unspoken, a myriad of possibilities silently contemplated but carefully kept in the realm of his private reflections. Whether through traditional means, adoption, or other avenues, the desire for a family remained a quietly nurtured aspiration within Mycroft's heart.

Sherlock chuckled knowingly, taking a sip of his drink. "You may fool the entire everyone else, brother, but you can't fool me. You're a romantic at heart, even if you hide it beneath layers of bureaucracy. You are not the Iceman you once were."

Mycroft shot him a stern look, but Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow in response. The truth was, Mycroft Holmes, the enigmatic and powerful government official, had a softer side that few were privy to. The prospect of family, of a life beyond the intricacies of political manoeuvring and clandestine operations, was something he couldn't help but entertain since you had entered his life.

As you approached with Rosie and John, Mycroft smoothly shifted the conversation. "And what have you been conspiring about over there?" he asked, his tone impeccably composed.

You grinned, the little one in your arms giggling. "We were just discussing the best strategy for decorating the tree. It seems you have a budding interior designer on your hands, John. She has very definite ideas about what belongs on a tree."

Mycroft's gaze softened as he looked at the two of you, a twinge of warmth in his eyes. "Indeed, it appears so. Perhaps we should let our young prodigy take the lead in the decorations next year."

Sherlock smirked, detecting the subtle shift in Mycroft's demeanour. "I never thought I'd see the day when my brother willingly allowed his home to be decorated for the festive season. It seems we have a Christmas miracle."

Your laughter echoed through the air as you handed little Rosie over to John, a sense of warmth lingering in the atmosphere. Placing a gentle hand on Mycroft's arm, you remarked, "It's a season of surprises, after all."

Meanwhile, Rosie, in her father's arms, couldn't contain her curiosity, her tiny hands reaching for the enticing display of sugar cookies on the bar. Without hesitation, you purchased one, starting to unwrap it before a thoughtful pause crossed your face.

"Oh, do you think these might be a little too sweet for her? Mycroft, darling, can you try a bit?" You turned to him, holding out the cookie, expecting him to automatically acquiesce.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow, a mild protest forming on his lips. "Me?"

With a playful grin, you teased, "Well, you are the one with the sweet tooth."

The accusation, albeit light-hearted, was one Mycroft couldn't deny. With a small sigh of mock frustration, he broke off a corner of Rudolph's ear and placed it into his mouth. Chewing thoughtfully, he declared, "Not as sugary as one might think, given the season."

John accepted the cookie gratefully, making his way to an empty table where Rosie eagerly indulged in the festive treat. As you and Sherlock observed the adorable scene, Mycroft slyly purchased a couple of cookies for himself, slipping them discreetly into his jacket pocket.

Sherlock sauntered over to join John and Rosie, his penchant for imparting unconventional knowledge evident as he began explaining to the small child the reasons why Rudolph might be a female reindeer rather than male. Mycroft, standing nearby, couldn't help but wear a bemused expression as he watched his eccentric brother engage with the little girl.

"Your brother is infuriating, but he is surprisingly good with children." You mused, leaning against Mycroft and letting your arm slip around his waist.

"Unnervingly so," Mycroft replied, his attention momentarily divided, a faint frown forming on his usually composed features.

Sensing a slight distraction in Mycroft's demeanour, you decided to break the quiet moment with a question, hoping to offer some reassurance. "You know you're stuck with me, right?"

The unexpected inquiry caught him off guard, and Mycroft looked down at you, raising an eyebrow. "I am not 'stuck' with you; that would imply I am unhappy with the arrangement. I rather fear it is you who is 'stuck'."

Your laughter filled the air, and Mycroft couldn't help but allow a small, fond smile to grace his lips. The banter, the shared moments, and the ease with which you complemented each other had become an integral part of his life—a fact he wouldn't trade for anything.

Your words carried a tender sincerity that caused a subtle shift in Mycroft's usually composed countenance. The glint in your eyes hinted at a depth of understanding that made him wonder if you had somehow glimpsed his recent musings.

"I think you would be a rather brilliant father, just so you know," you declared nonchalantly, your eyes twinkling with genuine affection.

Mycroft, momentarily caught off guard by the heartfelt compliment, allowed a softness to touch his features. "Perhaps that is a discussion for the New Year. Right now, we have to sit through an eight-hour plane journey with a toddler."

His attention returned to Rosie, who was thoroughly engrossed in creating a masterpiece on Sherlock's shirt with crumbled cookie and icing. The amusing chaos brought a small smile to Mycroft's face, a silent acknowledgment of the unpredictable joys that parenthood might bring.

"First things first," you agreed, acknowledging the immediate reality of the plane journey ahead and the shared journeys which might present themselves in the not too distant future.

#Mycroft Holmes #Mycroft Holmes x reader #Build A Festive Fic #gndw fic

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adore-laur · 6 months

Text

CLOUD NINE

— a swoonworthy sequel to pink velvet 💍

——

Lake Como is an area with timeless appeal that seizes the eyes of every wanderer roaming the enticing paradise of solitude. Rolling vineyards weave throughout the countryside, with snow-capped mountains rising above the clouds. Romanesque cathedrals and theaters overlook the grand lake beautifully shaped by glacial movements. Opulent gardens of cascading wisteria and olive groves blossom across the region, decorating the premises of historical villas and estates.

It's bliss for the second time.

It also happens to be one of the most desired places in Italy for wedding venues, which is why you're currently driving through the captivating village of Bellagio with Harry the evening before the big day. A year has passed since you were in Salerno together for your third anniversary. A year since he proposed on the secluded beach he rented out for you, bent down on one knee with shaky hands holding a pink velvet ring box that encapsulated evermore.

Now you're back and ready to marry the man who has one hand on the steering wheel of the vintage car and the other resting on your thigh.

Bellagio, which juts into Lake Como, greets you with cobblestone streets hugged by dainty shops and restaurants. Stucco and terracotta houses painted with pastel colors sit with their wooden shutters open, plants on their balconies and ivy climbing their walls. Everything is perfectly placed and flourishing under the European sky.

A boat launch is where both of you are headed since the sun will be setting soon, and being on the lake is where tourists say it is the most idyllic place to admire. You're going to rent a private speed boat for two hours to wind down and spend time together on the alpine waters before being the center of attention tomorrow.

The narrow backroads lead to the pier, where many boats are docked. Harry has brought a comically large backpack filled with various snacks, books, and other items to keep busy while on the lake. He's currently humming along to a solemn Italian waltz statically playing through the car's antique radio speakers. His hair whips in the wind, and golden hour light dances across his face.

"I know you're looking at me," he says, gently squeezing your thigh.

You snap out of your trance and lean over the console to pertly kiss his dimple. "You're just really... bello? Is that how you say pretty?"

His cheeks flush an endearing shade of pink. "Bello, yeah," he murmurs with a shy smile. "Thank you, baby."

After another few peaceful minutes of driving, Harry pulls into a parking lot by the docks. The piers bob in the shallow water. The lake is even more stunning up close, with delicate ripples and a mountainous backdrop that resembles a contemporary impressionist painting.

As you gaze upon the elegant villas sitting along the coastal cliffs, the passenger door swings open, a gentlemen-like gesture Harry always does no matter the countless times you've told him you're entirely capable. You sling your tote bag over your shoulder and pick up Harry's backpack, which is crammed in the space behind the seats. You hand it to him and then interlock your fingers with his before walking to the launch. Luxurious boats rock in the water; their exteriors are glossy and classic, and their interiors are more modern with white leather seats.

"Ciao, siamo qui per il noleggio di due ore," Harry greets the group of men standing on the pier with cigars poking from their lips.

They all smile and wave the both of you over. Harry initiates a foreign conversation with them that you can't understand, save for a few fleeting words. Eventually, one of them claps their hands together and leads you to a speed boat. As the other men remove the ropes that secure it, Harry reaches his hand out to help you step on. He then guides you to the driver's seat, sitting down and settling you on his lap as he sticks the key into the ignition.

"Ready, cipollino?" he asks, recalling the nickname he gave you last year while tipsy under a streetlight. His hand rests on the curve of your back as the engine rumbles to life.

"Yeah," you reply with an eager nod. "And stop calling me that!"

"What should I call you, then?"

"Your wife."

"Not yet, darling." He kisses your neck and then looks behind him, giving the men a thumbs-up.

They return his gesture, and he doesn't waste any more time as he pushes the throttle forward, making the boat lurch. With your legs draped over his, the village becomes farther away. Sailboats and ferries float on the water, and Italian flags are proudly attached to them.

The speed creates swells of water that refreshingly spray your skin as you lean your cheek against the top of Harry's head. He steers with one hand as the other reaches down to unzip his backpack. He sifts through the belongings, eventually taking out a container of mixed cheese cubes he bought a couple of days ago when he went shopping at a local food market.

"Close your eyes and guess," he says over the gusty breeze, hiding the container behind his back.

You close them and open your mouth so he can feed you. You hear him snap the container's top off and then feel a cheese cube on your tongue. You chew it, humming thoughtfully while you figure out the distinct flavor.

"Provolone. That's too easy," you say after swallowing. "Give me another one."

A second piece is given; this time, it's a uniquely rich flavor you've never tasted. You decide to just guess fancy names you've heard in passing. "Um, mascarpone? No, wait. Gorgonzola?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I have no bloody clue what it is." You laugh and open your eyes, but Harry quickly covers them with his large hand. "One more," he murmurs cutely.

Parting your lips again, you wait for another piece of unknown cheese. However, a pair of soft lips capture your mouth instead. You feel Harry smirk against it, causing you to tilt your head with a bright smile.

"Was that too cheesy?" he asks, playfully tickling your ribs before cutting the engine so the boat can drift. "Eh? Get it?"

You drape your arms over his broad shoulders. "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

He scoffs under his breath. "What do you mean? I come up with these killer jokes on the spot."

"Oh yeah?" you challenge, calling his bluff. "Tell me another one."

Harry pouts his lips and thinks. "Let's see. Give me a second; I have loads of good ones." You giggle into his neck as he struggles. "'Kay, I've got it. Why does water never laugh at jokes?"

"I don't know. Why?"

He cradles your head and whispers in your ear, "It isn't a fan of dry humor."

You lean back and narrow your eyes at him. "That was terrible."

He pretends to throw you overboard, leaving you squealing and holding on tight to his shirt. "Sii gentile."

The following two hours are spent cruising around the lake, pointing out extravagant architecture, and reading the several translated Italian romance novels you bought from an independent bookstore. The mountains are hazy due to the clouds drifting past the jagged crests. The faraway sounds of ferry horns and coos from the wading birds provide a serene atmosphere. You don't plan to remove yourself from Harry's lap anytime soon since his calm breathing and affectionate kisses against your skin make you fall into a blissful reverie.

It doesn't feel like the wedding is tomorrow. The reality hasn't quite hit you yet; you've always felt like it's been some unreachable day that won't ever happen. But now, you sense the forthcoming nerves and anticipation somewhere deep in your bones.

Only one more sunrise until he's eternally yours.

Once the sun has plunged below the horizon and left a blended tangerine and turquoise sky in its wake, Harry lets you take control of the steering wheel to drive the boat back to the docks. You successfully station it between two narrow piers. The men that had previously helped get up from their chairs and come over with rope. Harry takes the key out of the ignition, puts his backpack on, and then grabs your hand and ushers you to land.

"Grazie per la vostra generosità," he tells them with a hand on his heart. "Buonanotte."

"Sei il benvenuto," replies one of the men with a kind bow. "Guidare sicuri."

The both of you smile and walk to the parking lot, getting back in the car.

"That was so relaxing," you say as you slightly recline the seat and sigh happily.

"Mm-hmm." Harry rubs his full stomach and yawns. "Definitely gonna sleep like a baby tonight."

"Really? I think I'll be up all night with anxiety."

"Why? Getting cold feet already?"

"No, just nerves," you say. "It's a life-changing event we've been planning for so long."

His thumb strokes the back of your hand as he starts driving. "I don't know about you, but I'm pretty confident I made the right choice in marrying you."

"I'm not doubting that. I just—"

"I know, love," he interrupts softly. "I'll probably be a jittery mess tomorrow if it makes you feel any better."

You give him a reassuring glance before closing your eyes while he takes the backroads that lead to the villa. The windows are rolled down, warm air envelops your face, and the smell of bread makes you hungry again. Harry will often read random names of restaurants and shops that he passes or quietly hiccup from all the food he ate earlier.

Just as everything becomes background noise, you suddenly feel the car slow down and jerk to a stop. You open your eyes and see that you're on a flat bridge made of grey cobblestone that connects the downtown area to a dirt path lined with cottages. You look over at Harry and find him staring at you with an indecipherable expression, his mouth downturned and his eyes dancing between yours.

"I think there's something wrong with the car," he says.

"What?"

"It just stopped." He scratches his jaw and sighs. I'm pressing on the gas, but it's not moving."

You blink in confusion. "The car is in park, Harry.

"No, I think the car just broke down. Stay here. Let me check under the hood."

"Just put it in drive. Nothing's wrong with it."

Harry ignores you and opens the door, getting out and slowly walking to the front. His hands place themselves on his hips as he bends his knees and studies the car like he knows what he's doing. He definitely does not.

"Hey!" he calls out, pointing a finger somewhere next to you. "It's a little chilly out. Do you mind grabbing my suit jacket from under my seat?"

Suit jacket? What is he talking about? You turn your head and reach under the driver's seat to blindly grab the jacket he apparently brought along. You feel a soft material against your fingertips, and you pick it up and set it on your lap. Sure enough, it's a suit jacket that's neatly folded and the color of a robin's egg. You've never seen it before, and you don't know when he could have possibly bought it since you've been inseparable since arriving in Italy.

You hold it up, and Harry grins, shuffling over to the passenger window. You notice that the stripes on his button-up perfectly match the jacket. Interesting.

"Grazie," he says nonchalantly, taking it from you and putting it on. "Fits like a glove. Speaking of..."

You cross your arms over the window and rest your chin on them. "You're acting really suspicious right now, and I suggest you tell me what's going on before I cancel the wedding."

Harry simply laughs and heads over to the hood. You watch as he reaches into his suit pocket, pulling out a pair of white gloves made of lace.

Now you're concerned.

He gazes up at you from under his eyelashes and smirks, putting on the gloves like he's about to perform surgery. "What?" he asks while straightening his collar. "I don't want to get my hands dirty."

You shake your head in disbelief. "Where did you even get those?"

He ignores you once again and pulls out his phone. He types something briefly and then holds it against his ear. "Towing company," he mouths to you, pointing at his phone with a wink.

You're speechless as you sit in the car, wondering what he mysteriously has up his sleeve. You're not stupid; there's obviously something going on because the car clearly has not broken down, and he's calling a towing company for some reason.

During the short conversation, you listen to him speak Italian in a low murmur, and before you know it, he's hanging up and strolling toward the metal railing of the bridge. He puts his hands in his pockets and paces back and forth, looking up at the peach-colored sky and then out at the sapphire-blue water.

As you're about to step out and join whatever he's doing, you hear distant music start playing. You look out the window and see a group of people walking in your direction, all holding instruments such as mandolins, horns, and accordions. Harry is also walking your way in your peripheral vision, a cheeky expression on his face.

You don't know where to look, but your ears recognize the familiar tune of "That's Amore" by Dean Martin when the group starts singing. Harry quickly rounds to the front of the car and does a clumsy spin, then leans his body and elbow on the hood, lifting one foot up as he begins mouthing along to the lyrics with a satisfied smile.

"Dance with me, amante."

You let out a shocked laugh and join him. "Did you plan all this?"

He daintily sticks out his gloved hand for you to take. "I might have researched Italian wedding traditions a while ago. One of them involves serenading the bride from outside her window, but... I put my own twist on it, I guess. The car didn't actually break down."

You hum against his chest as he begins swaying you. "Yeah, I caught onto that pretty quickly."

"I'm a shit liar," he mumbles into your hair, giving you a twirl. "Anyway, the bride is supposed to lower down a basket of bread, cheese, and prosciutto to accept the marriage." His hand leaves your waist to dig into his pocket. "And my darling, I just happen to have some leftover cheese cubes. Would you be so kind as to do the honors?"

He pulls out a small bag with only three pieces of cheese left. He takes one out and holds it gently between his fingertips. You take it and dramatically clear your throat. "Harry Styles, I accept this marriage. I cannot wait until tomorrow."

Grabbing your wrist, he pops the cheese into his mouth, grinning widely as he chews. "I accept your acceptance."

You continue slow dancing on the bridge as the song crescendos, the singers happily crooning the love-filled lyrics while you're pressed close to Harry.

Tomorrow can't come soon enough.

——

White silk with a subtle hue of lavender feels cool against your skin, the thin fabric of your dress lightly blowing in the breeze.

Harry is right around the corner, probably fidgeting with his fingers behind his back, toeing the ground, and ensuring his outfit is wrinkle-free. You can almost feel his energy, along with the collection of yours and Harry's close family and friends who flew out for the wedding. You hear them distantly chatter as they wait for your arrival.

Deep breaths are the only kind you've been taking all day, and you're surprised the pendant of your necklace isn't shaking from how hard and fast your heart is pounding. You haven't seen Harry since you fell asleep next to him last night, knowing he planned to sneakily slip out of the villa to get ready with his groomsmen early in the morning.

It's evening, so a golden tint casts over everything. The private ceremony occurs outside the lakeside courtyard, surrounded by lush gardens and pathways shaded by trees. The white aisle is rolled out, and a tall, flowered arch can be seen from where you stand behind the trimmed hedges. Stone statues guard the premises, some with moss and chipped bodies.

As you focus on a yellow butterfly that lands on a blade of grass, you suddenly hear the ceremonial music begin playing. Someone behind you squeezes your shoulders and gently pushes you, whispering encouraging words in your ear. You're too distracted by the movement of your dress to comprehend them as you begin walking down the aisle.

Watch your step.

One foot in front of the other.

Don't trip.

Yet when you finally turn the corner, keeping your eyes on the ground is impossible. It's as if everything happens in slow motion. You hear excited gasps and violins in your ears, but your eyes are the strongest sense at the moment. They naturally gravitate upwards to find Harry. He's wearing all silk, just like the both of you planned, along with the same hue of lavender threaded into the fabric. Silk trousers with a silk dress shirt tucked into them and white suspenders over it. A couple buttons are undone.

He's so stupidly handsome.

Once your gaze meets his, matching smiles of pure love take over both of your faces. His is a dimpled one that leaves you breathless, and yours is a gentle one that makes his tears spill over.

You see him roll his trembling lips in, looking down with a soft laugh and sniffle. When you reach him, you accept his bouquet of flowers and stand face-to-face with him for the first time today.

"You look gorgeous," he whispers while shaking his head in awe.

"You look pretty," you whisper back.

He bites the inside of his cheek and glances down at your lips. "I want to kiss you, but I can't."

You laugh and look at the officiant when he raises his hands. "Welcome, everyone," he says. You may be seated."

Everyone sits, and you exhale a long breath. You feel Harry squeeze your hands as the officiant drones on about the joining of the couple and what lifelong commitment means. You're not listening, too lost in Harry's teary eyes as they roam your face and dress.

"Is the bride ready to say her vows?"

You snap your head to the side and nod, a little embarrassed that you zoned out during what were probably important and sentimental words.

You release Harry's hands and take the folded note from your bra, making the crowd laugh. Harry rolls his eyes with a smirk. As you smooth the paper's creases, you feel your throat bob with emotion, thinking about how you poured every bit of your soul into the inked words you wrote for him.

Inhaling deeply, you swallow the lump in your throat. "Harry," you say with a tender squeeze of his sweaty hand, "you are someone who I believe comes into people's lives with a purpose. You came into mine when I wasn't looking for love, but you swept me off my feet with your kindness and attentive nature. I'm so in love with you, truly. When your eyes crinkle with laughter or when you remember intricate details about me. I even love the annoying things, like how you really love peas or how you have to turn the radio down when the roads are busy so you can concentrate. Everything you do and say is beautiful. Your presence is graceful and warm. I'm so thankful I get to be around it for the rest of my life. I love you and promise to do so through every moment, whether rain or shine. Ti amo."

When you finish, your cheeks are damp with tears as the crowd claps. Harry looks past you, quickly wiping under his eyes.

"And would the groom like to say his vows?" asks the officiant.

"Yeah, one second," Harry says as he tilts his head and blinks back tears. He looks back down and takes his vows out from his sock.

"Ew," you say.

"Shush," he says with a smirk. "Okay, um... I'm going to try to get through this without completely losing it." He clears his throat. "So, I wrote this last night when you were sleeping. I wasn't procrastinating; I just wanted to write it when my emotions were high."

He unfolds the paper and straightens his posture. "I love you so much. You know it. Everyone knows it. You've had me whipped since I met you, and I swear it's only gotten worse over the years. I told you when I proposed that I was weak for you. Well, I still am. Always will be. Because I hang onto every word you speak, and my heart beats like a madman every time you look at me. The tremendous love you give me is something I don't deserve. It keeps me going, and the fact that I get to feel it for a lifetime makes me the happiest man in the world. Ti amo forever."

You let out a soft sob and dab under your eyes with your knuckle so your makeup doesn't smear. You secretly give Harry the middle finger for making you cry, and he gives one back, making your family and friends cackle.

"Now for the rings." The officiant hands both of you your designated bands and then looks at you first. "Does the bride take the groom to be her lawfully wedded husband?"

You slide the gold band onto Harry's ring finger, his hand shaking. "Lo voglio."

He seems surprised by your unexpected Italian, raising his eyebrows.

"And does the groom take the bride as his lawfully wedded wife?"

Harry slides your ring on. "Lo voglio," he repeats confidently.

"Then it is my delight and honor to now pronounce you husband and wife," concludes the officiant. "Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Mr. and Mrs. Styles!"

Everyone stands and cheers, hollering in celebration. Harry spreads his arms and pumps his fists with a wide smile.

"Can I kiss him?" you ask impatiently.

The officiant laughs and nods. "Yes, you may kiss the groom."

You immediately grab Harry's cheeks and slot your mouth over his, feeling his arms tightly wrap around your waist as he dips you toward the ground. The crowd whoops, and camera shutters click, capturing the official moment.

"Mrs. Styles," Harry murmurs against your lips, kissing them repeatedly until they ache.

You grab his hand to walk down the aisle together, waving and smiling at your families as they throw white flower petals in your path. There's a green convertible parked at the end, a getaway car of sorts, for you and Harry to take to the reception. It has a wreath hung across the trunk and bottles of alcohol and bread in a basket on the console. Harry opens the door for you as family and friends gather around, taking pictures and chatting to one another.

"Wait, we have to change into our outfits before we get there," you say abruptly as he begins slowly driving away. "We didn't think this through."

When you and Harry were planning the wedding, you agreed that you should both change into comfortable party outfits for the reception so it would be easier to move around and dance. Outfits the others hadn't seen yet were picked out and secretly packed in separate suitcases.

You took a risk with yours, to say the least.

"No," he gasps dramatically. "What are we possibly going to do? Bloody hell, we'll have to change in the woods!"

You smack his arm. "Shut up, I'm serious! I've been waiting all year to show you my outfit. We have to stop somewhere."

"Love, we can just change in the bathrooms once we get there."

"Fine. Hurry up, though. I'm excited."

He rolls his eyes and presses on the gas pedal harder.

After about ten minutes, you arrive at the outdoor reception area, which has circular tables and chairs on the lawn with a dance floor in the middle. String lights decorate the low-hanging trees, and some people are already gathered with flutes of champagne and plates of appetizers in their hands.

Harry parks the car and grabs your suitcases, sneakily going around the back of the old-fashioned estate that the venue is a part of. A security guard, wearing sunglasses and an earpiece, stands straight as a pin in front of the fancy double doors.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry says, never letting go of your hand. "Where's the nearest bathroom?"

He clears his throat and looks him up and down suspiciously. "Take the first left. The door is the fourth one on your right."

"Thank you!" you call out from behind since Harry is already dragging you down the porcelain hallway.

Once you reach the bathrooms, Harry enters one stall while you go in the other. You're both breathing heavily and giggling as you unclasp your suitcases and pull out your outfits.

Yours is a rose gold mesh bodycon dress decorated with rhinestones that came with long, matching gloves. Your beige underwear and bra will be visible under it, but that's the intended purpose. You also bought a faux fur boa scarf to hook around your elbows. You unzip your wedding dress and slip on the other one, then walk out of the stall with your empty suitcase.

Harry walks out a minute later, and your knees weaken. He's wearing a suit jacket and trousers with no shirt underneath. What's even more incredible is that the color of the sequined material is almost the exact shade of what you're wearing.

"Shut up," Harry says with a laugh of disbelief. "No way we picked the same color."

All you can respond with is: "Your tits are out."

He looks down at them. "Yeah... I suppose they are."

"You look so hot."

"So do you." He runs his hands from your waist down to your ass. "You look dazzling, Mrs. fuckin' Styles."

"Don't start anything," you warn, gripping the lapels of his suit. "We need to say hello to everyone."

He smirks. "It's crazy that we thought of the same color. I was going to buy a white vest and matching pants, but something told me to get this instead."

"That just means you have good fashion intuition."

"No, I think it means we're soulmates."

You kiss him. "That, too. C'mon, let's go before people get bored."

The reception commences, and hugs and well wishes are all around as you and Harry wander the lawn hand in hand. The weather is perfect, and the sun isn't too sweltering because of the breeze from the nearby lake.

Hours pass, the moon is out, and string lights twinkle around the venue. The dance floor has been open for a while, everyone a little tipsy and sweaty as they dance with each other. You've already done the first dance with Harry, swaying to "Moonlight Serenade" by Frank Sinatra as he whispered sweet nothings with his forehead pressed against yours.

After another slow song ends and couples find other people to dance with, "Careless Whisper" starts playing. Harry borderline screeches in your face while shaking your shoulders.

When the bridge plays, he gets down on his knees before you and belts the lyrics, hair falling in his face as his outfit shimmers from the strobe lights. You put the fur boa around his neck and pull him closer. His hands run up the length of your legs, eventually reaching your hands as you help him.

"My pants just ripped!" he yells over the music.

"Seriously?!" you yell back with wide eyes.

He tilts his head back and laughs with his hands resting on his exposed stomach. You immediately spot the small, ripped seam on his right thigh and begin laughing along with him. It's not even that funny, but cloud nine lifts you too high to care.

The party goes on, and people slowly leave as midnight nears. Soon enough, it's just you and Harry left as the music volume lowers and the chairs start being put away. You eventually stumble with flushed cheeks and giddy smiles to the sleek black limo waiting at the front of the estate.

"Where am I taking the happy couple?" asks the driver.

"Villa Balbiano, please," Harry replies. "And turn the music up loud, yeah? Apologies in advance."

The both of you clamber into the back of the limo, immediately putting the partition up. You straddle Harry's parted thighs as he begins massaging your breasts. "Take your bra off. Let me see your tits under this dress."

You unclip your bra, sliding it off and tossing it to the side. Harry kneads your ass and tilts his head back against the headrest, the veins in his perspiring neck becoming noticeable.

"I'm so gone for you," he says, biting your thumb as if restraining himself from doing a more provocative act.

"That's sweet." You climb off his lap and sit beside him, putting your seatbelt on. "But you'll have to wait."

His jaw clenches in annoyance, and you grin. You love giving him whiplash.

The ride to the villa is short but filled with tension. Harry broodingly looks out the window when the driver pulls into the gravel driveway, his right hand gripping the edge of the seat, his thighs tense.

Once the car is parked, Harry kindly squeezes the driver's shoulder, opens the door, and gets out. In an instant, your door is opened, and you're suddenly scooped up and thrown over Harry's shoulder as he walks up the driveway toward the arched doors. He navigates through the spacious rooms and up the grand staircase in complete silence.

You know what you're in for.

Harry tosses you on the king-size bed and crawls over you, placing his forearms on either side of your body. His cross necklace dangles over you, which is ironic considering how he's looking at you right now.

"Gonna let me fuck my wife, or do I have to wait for that too?" he asks lowly, leaving open-mouthed kisses to your breasts and keeping eye contact with you.

You bite your lip and slide the straps of your dress down, quickly slipping it off. Harry then grabs your wrist and uses his teeth to take one of your gloves, biting the fabric at the top of your fingertips. They're long and tight, so he struggles, huffing and closing his eyes in disappointment.

"This is supposed to be sexy. Stop making fun of me," Harry says with a defeated laugh, taking the route of just yanking them off and throwing them on the floor.

"I didn't say anything," you say, covering your mouth so you don't let a laugh escape. "And those are really expensive, Harry!"

He just shushes you and takes your underwear off. He then buries his face into your inner thigh as you spread your legs open. You're already wet, your warm arousal sticking to your skin. He laps some of it up and rumbles a groan.

"Will you let your husband take care of you tonight? Hmm? Tell me."

"God, Harry." You whine when his nose nudges your aching clit. "Yes. Please."

"So polite for me." He teasingly licks the inside of you with one stroke of his tongue, but it's not enough. "Such a good girl that was dressed like a filthy slut tonight."

"Says you," you reply breathlessly. "You had your tits out all night while you danced with my grandma."

Harry hums a laugh and pushes his nose forward, making you wrap your legs around his waist and arch your back on the bed. He lets out a long moan, beginning to unapologetically lick every last slick drop of arousal that seems to keep pouring out. His hands grip your thighs so tight you're positive there will be bruises left from his rings.

His quiet moans and suckling are muffled by his face pressed right up against your pussy, his hair tickling the bottom of your stomach as his head tilts with each new angle he tries. Your mouth is parted open, desperate whimpers leaving it as your hands tug at his curls.

You know he won't use his fingers, always keen on making you come with just one method. You feel dizzy from the tingling sensation in your thighs and core, your orgasm knotting with a deep ache.

"I'm gonna come," you tell him, digging your heel into his back. "Harry, I'm gonna... I feel it. I can't hold it."

What he does next is heaven. Without moving his head or stopping his tongue, he lifts his hand and presses his large palm down on your lower stomach, massaging it in small circles to help coax the swelling pleasure out. Just as you feel as though you're about to burst, he removes his tongue and lifts his head.

"No, no, no," you say, jerking your hips up.

"Hey, look at me," Harry demands, his lips swollen and glistening. "What's wrong? Am I being mean?"

"I hate you."

"That's no way to talk to your husband, now is it?" He unbuttons his trousers and takes them off, along with his boxers. "What makes you think I'm not going to stuff you full right now with my cock? Or is that not what you want?"

You catch your breath and swallow, your throat terribly dry. "No, I want it. I do."

Harry squeezes his throbbing cock and hovers over you with one hand placed next to your head, his arm bulging and sheened with sweat. It isn't going to take long for you to come undone.

"Yeah?" He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom from the drawer. "You like it when I'm that deep inside you?" he asks, tearing the package open.

"It's my favorite part."

He rolls the condom on and kisses your knee. "Is that what you want?" His voice is now soft as he strokes strands of hair from your face. "You want me to be nice and give you what you want?"

"I know you like it too," you whisper. "Don't even try to lie."

He smirks while running his tongue across his teeth. "And how would you know that?"

"Because you always put your hand right here" — you grab his hand and gently place it below your navel — "to feel it. Your eyes roll back every time. I love it."

His nostrils flare. "You love watching me? How did I not know this about my wife?"

"You're too fucking gone for me to notice," you say, repeating his words from earlier.

He nearly growls, lining himself up with your entrance before thrusting in with no warning. You gasp, holding onto his shoulders as he rocks inside of you, his cock burning past your walls. The headboard hits the wall with each of his powerful thrusts, and you moan pitifully when he goes long and deep. One of his hands holds onto the top of the headboard, and his other holds your limp hand on the sheets.

"So tight," Harry breathes out. "How do you fit all of me, huh? You're so tight and pretty."

Your legs ache as they bend from the force he pounds into you with. He sloppily kisses your lips, teeth knocking against yours and pleading moans escaping into your mouth. His scruff rubs against your face as he continues thrusting faster and faster until the knot forms again, this time stronger than before. You can feel him in the pit of your stomach, leaving you breathless and crazed when his abs move against the slight bulge that forms there.

"There we go," he praises. "That's it, baby. Is that what you needed?"

After another couple of thrusts and encouragements from him, you arch and release while gripping his hand and looking into his eyes. Harry comes at the same time, rutting his hips into yours as he shudders with a deep, guttural moan against your neck.

He hums, pulling out and cradling your cheeks. "You good?"

You nod, watching him quickly discard the condom and flop on top of your heaving body. Everything feels hot, sweat dripping down your hairline and Harry's skin sticking to yours.

"Thank you," you say hoarsely.

"For what, giving you an orgasm?" he asks with a laugh.

"For everything," you reply, running your fingers through his damp hair. "I always feel like I'm floating around you."

"I'm your cloud."

"That oddly makes sense. How do you say that in Italian?"

He starts giggling into your chest, dimples carving his flushed cheeks. "Nube."

You scoff. "Did you just call me a noob?"

His head whips up as he says, "No. Nube means cloud in Italian."

"Nube… that's funny." The both of you start silently laughing at each other, slowly coming down from the high.

"Shit," Harry exhales. "Someone left us some wine."

You turn your head to where he's looking and see a wine bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag on the dresser. There's also a little note attached to it.

Harry gets out of bed and walks over to it with his ass on full display, making you start giggling again. He grabs the wine and gets under the sheets, weaving his legs with yours.

You take it from him, popping the cork and raising the bottle. "Cheers to us. Ti amo forever, nube."

He grabs your hand and kisses the ring on your finger. "Ti amo, Mrs. Styles."

You take a swig, letting the crisp sweetness coat your throat before Harry has some.

You've come to realize that bliss can be tangible. Silk sheets and red wine. Heated skin and purposeful touches. Soft eyes and kisses just because. If you could, you would bottle this moment up to drink, letting the liquified love permanently stain your soul.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles #adore-laur #cloud nine

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