#i did cut out a lot of repeating things but there's still some but i didn't wanna move too many sections around and lose the context | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noblehcart · 10 months

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Do not read unless; you're a mega nerd interested in Bulgaria in the 14th century or @malka-lisitsa

Bulgaria under Ottoman rule (1396–1878)

The fall of the last tsardom; the Tsardom of Vidin marked the end of what’s historically known as the Second Bulgarian Empire. By this, the Ottomans had subjugated and occupied Bulgaria. Even though a Polish-Hungarian army commanded by Władysław III of Poland set out to free Bulgaria and the Balkans in 1444, they were defeated in the battle of Varna from the Ottomans.

The new authorities dismantled Bulgarian institutions and merged the separate Bulgarian Church into the Ecumenical Patriarchate in Constantinople (although a small, autocephalous Bulgarian archbishopric of Ohrid survived until January 1767). Turkish authorities destroyed most of the medieval Bulgarian fortresses to prevent rebellions. Large towns and the areas where Ottoman power predominated remained severely depopulated until the 19th century.

Even though conversion to Islam was not forced on the Bulgarian people, several cases of forced Islamization were recorded such as the Pomaks who got to keep their Bulgarian language, dress and some customs that were compatible with Islam.

In the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries Bulgaria became a thriving cultural centre. The flowering of the Turnovo school of art was related to the construction of palaces and churches, to literary activity in the royal court and the monasteries, and to the development of handicrafts.

In the fourteenth century many new monasteries were built under the patronage of Ivan Alexander on the northern slopes of Stara Planina, especially in a area near the capital Tarnovo which became known as "Sveta Gora" (Holy Forest)—a name also used to refer to Mount Athos. The numerous monasteries across the Empire were the very centre of the cultural, educational and spiritual life of the Bulgarian society. After the mid fourteenth centuries, many monasteries began to build fortifications under the thread of Turk invasions, such as the famous Tower of Rely in the Rila monastery.

In the 14th century, the Ottoman Turks were a rising power in the region. In 1393 they captured Turnovo. All Bulgarian resistance to the Turks ended in 1396. Bulgaria was under Turkish rule for nearly 500 years.

The Bulgarians had to pay taxes to the Turks. They also had to surrender their sons. At intervals, the Turks would take the cream of Bulgarian boys aged 7 to 14. They were taken from their families and brought up as Muslims. They were also trained to be soldiers called Janissaries.

The Bulgarian People Under the Rule of the Ottoman Empire (15th-18th C.)

The fall of the medieval Bulgarian states under the Ottoman rule interrupted the Bulgarian people’s natural development within the framework of the European civilization. To the Bulgarians that was not just a temporary loss of their state independence as it was in the case of other European peoples which had had this bitter experience at different stages of their history.

In the course of centuries the Bulgarians were forced to live under a state and political system that was substantially different from and distinctly alien to the European civilization which had evolved on the basis of Christianity and the Christian economic, social and cultural patterns.

The intrusive nature of Islamism and its intolerance to anything that was not part of it, resulted in the continued confrontation between the Ottoman empire and Christian Europe in the l5th-l8th centuries. That fact drew an iron curtain between the Bulgarian people on the one side, and Europe and the free Slav countries on the other.

In other words, Bulgaria was separated from the progressive trends of the Renaissance and the Enlightenment as well as from the nascent modern bourgeois world.

The Bulgarians were pushed into a direction of development which had nothing in common with their seven-century history until then, history deeply connected with the natural course of the European political, economic and cultural development.

The Turkish conquerors ruthlessly destroyed all Bulgarian state and religious structures. The natural political leaders of the people in the Middle Ages, i.e. the boyars and the higher clergy, vanished from sight. That deprived the Bulgarians of both the possibility for self-organization and any chance of having foreign political allies for centuries on end.

The place allotted to the Bulgarian people in the Ottoman feudal political system entitled it to no legal, religious, national, even biological rights as Bulgarian Christians. They had all been reduced to the category of the so called rayah (meaning ‘a flock’, attributed to the non-Muslim subjects of the empire).

The peasants who represented the better half of the Bulgarian population were dispossessed of their land.

According to the Ottoman feudal system which remained effective until 1834, all of it belonged to the central power in the person of the Turkish sultan.

The Bulgarians were allowed to cultivate only some plots. Groups of rural Christian families, varying in number, were put under an obligation to give part of their income to representatives of the Muslim military, administrative and religious upper crust, as well as to fulfil various state duties.

The number of the families liable to that payment was determined according to their position in the Ottoman state, military and religious hierarchy. The establishment of that kind of intercourse in agriculture – the fundamental pillar of the economy at that time, clearly led to the total loss of motivation for any real farming or and production improvements both among the peasants and the feof-holders.

The complex and incredibly burdensome tax system forced the farmers to produce as much as needed for their families’ subsistence, while the feudals preferred to earn a lot more from looting and from the incessantly successful wars waged by the Ottoman empire in all directions until the end of the 17th century.

The Ottoman Turkish state was founded on and propped up by the dogmas of the Koran. At the beginning of the 15th century when the empire prostrated from India to Gibraltar and from the mouth of the Volga to Vienna, it proclaimed itself the supreme leader of Islam – Prophet Mohammed’s standard and sword, and a leader of the Koran-prescribed perpetual jihad (holy war) against the world of Christianity.

It went without saying that under this conception the Bulgarian Christians could not hope for any. access to even the lowest levels of statecraft. The enormous imperial bureaucratic machinery recruited its staff only from among Muslims.

The Bulgarian people was subjected to national and religious discrimination unheard of in the annals of all European history. During court proceedings, for example, a single Muslim’s testimony was more than enough to confute the evidence of dozens of Christian witnesses. The Bulgarians were not entitled to building churches, setting up their offices or even to wearing bright colors.

Of the numerous taxes (about 80 in number) the so called ‘fresh blood tax’ (a levy of Christian youths) was particularly heavy and humiliating. At regular intervals, the authorities had the healthiest male- children taken away from their parents, sent to the capital, converted into Islam and then trained in combat skills.

Raised and trained in the spirit of Islamic fanaticism, the young men were conscripted in the so called janissary corps, the imperial army of utmost belligerence known to have caused so much trouble and suffering to both the Bulgarians and Christian Europe.

The Turkish authorities exerted unabating pressure on parts of the Bulgarian people to make them convert their faith and become Muslims. That policy was meant to limit the Bulgarian ethnos parameters and to increase the Turkish population numbers. For, according to the medieval standards in that part of Europe, the affiliation of a given people was determined by the religion it followed. With a view to facilitating the assimilation process, the Turkish authorities took the Christian names of those who had converted into Islam and gave them Arab names instead.

A variety of ways and means was used in the assimilation of the Bulgarian people. Some of these were the aforementioned ‘blood tax, and the regular kidnaping of children, pretty women, girls and young men to Turkish families.

Quite frequently, whole areas were encircled by troops and their inhabitants forced to adopt Islam and new Arab names, while the objectors were ‘edifyingly’ slain. In those cases, however, the ‘new Muslims’ were allowed to go on living in the compact Bulgarian environment, i.e. as a community which retained both its language and its Bulgarian national consciousness.

The present-day Bulgarian Muslims representing about five percent of modern Bulgaria’s population, are descendants of those Mohammedanized Bulgarians, whom the Bulgarian Christians used to call pomaks (from the Bulgarian root-words macha or maka, meaning harassed or caused to suffer). And yet the thousands of Bulgarians whom Bulgaria lost once and for all were those who had been subjected to individual conversion to Islam. For, it is only natural that having fallen into a community of strangers, speaking a different language and practicing different customs and faith, they had easily and quickly been assimilated.

The genocide carried out by the Ottoman Turks during hostilities in the Bulgarian lands, at the time of uprising or riot suppression, during the frequent spells of feudal anarchy, or even of Ottoman troops move-ups from garrison stations to the battle-field, had struck heavy blows on the Bulgarian nation. The Bulgarian Christian population was treated as infidel and hostile and it was outlawed even at the time of peace. Individual and mass emigration of Bulgarians to foreign lands was another cause for no lesser losses to the Bulgarian nation. There were times when whole regions became depopulated.

During the l5th-l7th centuries the Bulgarian nation had suffered a gradual but grave biological collapse which predetermined, to a large extent, its demographic, economic, political and cultural place in the European civilization. According to some Bulgarian historians’ estimations, the beginning of the Turkish oppression in the 15th century found Bulgaria with a population of about 1.3 million. Those were the then demographic parameters of any of the large European nations, for example, the population in the present-day territories of England, France or Germany.

One hundred years later, the Bulgarians were already down to 260 000 people and remained as many in the course of two more centuries. The demographic growth was suppressed through genocide, Mohammedanization and emigration. The biological collapse of the l5th-l7th centuries had repercussions which are still being keenly felt. The Bulgarian nation, nowadays, amounts to some ten million people while its European equals in number, back in the 15th century, are now sixty to eighty million-strong.

The unbearable conditions during the Ottoman yoke could not deaden the Bulgarians’ anxiety for resistance. Deprived of social and political organizations of their own, they were unable to undertake any sizeable liberation initiatives. Thus, during the first centuries of the oppression, armed resistance was only of local and sporadic nature. The so-called haidouk movement was its most frequent manifestation. The haidouks were brave Bulgarians who took refuge in the high-mountain woods, organizing there small armed detachments and bringing them down for merciless struggle against the provincial administrators.

This guerrila-type struggle continued for centuries on end (one group destroyed was instantaneously replaced by another) and succeeded in sustaining the morale of the Bulgarians by preserving, to some extent, their properties and their honor. In some places, it even had the authorities maintain more humane relationships with the Bulgarian Christians. The haidouk movement indirectly encouraged and safeguarded other forms of resistance such as maintaining the style of life, the language, the traditions and the religion, or incompliance with forced obligations and refusal to pay heavy unjustifed tax.

Liberation uprisings were the supreme form of struggle against the oppressors. The first one broke out still in 1408. Significant uprisings, proclaiming the independence of Bulgaria, took place in 1598, 1686, 1688 and 1689. They were connected with the anti- Ottoman wars waged by the West European Catholic states with which some Bulgarian representatives, mainly merchants and both Orthodox and Catholic clergymen, had established joint venture contacts.

All insurrections were quelled and accompanied with inhuman atrocities.

The Bulgarian people were living through one of the most difficult periods in its centuries long existence.

It had been deprived of its state, its church, its intelligently and its legitimate rights. Furthermore, its survival as an ethnos had also been put at stake. Linder the heel of that powerful, ruthless and uncivilized Asiatic despotism, it lasted out but remained without any substantial material and spiritual resources needed for its further development. Thus, the Bulgarians, along with all the other European peoples which had been engulfed by the Ottoman empire, were to lag some centuries behind the attainments of present-day Europe.

The Ottoman Empire was founded in the early fourteenth century by Osman I, a prince of Asia Minor who began pushing the eastern border of the Byzantine Empire westward toward Constantinople. Present-day European Turkey and the Balkans, among the first territories conquered, were used as bases for expansion far to the West during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.

The capture of Constantinople in 1453 completed Ottoman subjugation of major Bulgarian political and cultural institutions.

Nevertheless, certain Bulgarian groups prospered in the highly ordered Ottoman system, and Bulgarian national traditions continued in rural areas. When the decline of the Ottoman Empire began about 1600, the order of local institutions gave way to arbitrary repression, which eventually generated armed opposition. Western ideas that penetrated Bulgaria during the 1700s stimulated a renewed concept of Bulgarian nationalism that eventually combined with decay in the empire to loosen Ottoman control in the nineteenth century.

Introduction of the Ottoman System

Ottoman forces captured the commercial center of Sofia in 1385. Serbia, then the strongest Christian power in the Balkans, was decisively defeated by the Ottomans at the Battle of Kosovo Polje in 1389, leaving Bulgaria divided and exposed. Within ten years, the last independent Bulgarian outpost was captured. Bulgarian resistance continued until 1453, when the capture of Constantinople gave the Ottomans a base from which to crush local uprisings. In consolidating its Balkan territories, the new Ottoman political order eliminated the entire Bulgarian state apparatus. The Ottomans also crushed the nobility as a landholding class and potential center of resistance.

The new rulers reorganized the Bulgarian church, which had existed as a separate patriarchate since 1235, making it a diocese under complete control of the Byzantine Patriarchate at Constantinople. The sultan, in turn, totally controlled the patriarchate.

The Ottomans ruled with a centralized system much different from the scattered local power centers of the Second Bulgarian Empire. The single goal of Ottoman policy in Bulgarian territory was to make all local resources available to extend the empire westward toward Vienna and across northern Africa. Landed estates were given in fiefdom to knights bound to serve the sultan. Peasants paid multiple taxes to both their masters and the government.

Territorial control also meant cultural and religious assimilation of the populace into the empire. Ottoman authorities forcibly converted the most promising Christian youths to Islam and trained them for government service. Called pomaks, such converts often received special privileges and rose to high administrative and military positions.

The Ottoman system also recognized the value of Bulgarian artisans, who were organized and given limited autonomy as a separate class. Some prosperous Bulgarian peasants and merchants became intermediaries between local Turkish authorities and the peasants.

In this capacity, these chorbadzhi (squires) were able to moderate Ottoman policy. On the negative side, the Ottoman assimilation policy also included resettlement of Balkan Slavs in Asia Minor and immigration of Turkish peasants to farm Bulgarian land. Slavs also were the victims of mass enslavement and forcible mass conversion to Islam in certain areas.

Traditional Bulgarian culture survived only in the smaller villages during the centuries of Ottoman rule. Because the administrative apparatus of the Ottoman Empire included officials of many nationalities, commerce in the polyglot empire introduced Jews, Armenians, Dalmatians, and Greeks into the chief population centers. Bulgarians in such centers were forcibly resettled as part of a policy to scatter the potentially troublesome educated classes.

The villages, however, were often ignored by the centralized Ottoman authorities, whose control over the Turkish landholders often exerted a modifying influence that worked to the advantage of the indigenous population. Village church life also felt relatively little impact from the centralized authority of the Greek Orthodox Church. Therefore, between the fourteenth and seventeenth centuries, the villages became isolated repositories of Bulgarian folk culture, religion, social institutions, and language.

#// ooc #malkalisitsa #yeah i TRIED to trim it down but its still a lot #i did cut out a lot of repeating things but there's still some but i didn't wanna move too many sections around and lose the context #so i bolded/italics stuff if you just wanna hit the highlights #and come back another time to read the deets #the 14th century was NOT a good time to be in bulgaria

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screampied · 4 months

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BAD ROMANCE! — ☆ SATOSUGU.

➤ popstar!gojo mlist.

headline. being sandwiched between a popstar and geto, his bassist best friend was almost like a fever dream. what happens when they start fighting over who can make you moan the highest note? sharing is caring…right?

word count. 5.8k (i am sorry)

warnings. fem! reader, popstar!gojo au, bassist geto, geto has a tongue piercing, threesome, double penetration, manhandling, fucking while standing, size kink, unprotected sex, implied multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, gojo slander (lol)

an. makes sense if u read the first part !! if not that’s okaaay. sry for any errorssss aha

“seriously. join…the two of you?” geto mutters with a subtle eye twitch—you stared at the lead bassist, and he briefly returned a glance. his hands were buried in his pockets, wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans and a fitted white tank underneath. geto’s hair was a tad bit ruffled with a perfect length wolf cut. “you do realize your fans have been waiting for you for over an hour.”

“oh….right, i did have a concert,” gojo nervously chuckles, running a hand down his neck. “they heard everything too. nanami’s gonna kill me. that’s fun.”

geto’s eyes dart back towards you and suddenly you feel extremely nervous. you could never ever read him, he just a blank stare plastered amongst his face.

“i don’t think we’ve officially met. wish i didn’t have to meet you half-naked but,” and you were embarrassed, feeling the tips of your ears get feverish and abnormally hot. “i’m this idiot’s bassist. suguru ge—”

“bro she didn’t ask for your life story,” gojo groans, and you let off a gasp once he lifts you up, an arm underneath you and another bringing you towards his chest. “sugupoo, you didn’t answer my question.”

“sugupo—” he furrows his eyebrows, repeating the petname. geto grumbles, “…fine, but not here. we can…go back to my hotel or something.”

this was far more than anything you could have imagined. being between two idols. more so gojo but still. you were pretty much left with shredded clothing thanks to gojo barely even an hour ago…

“is she always this sensitive to touch?” geto utters, peeling your the remains of your clothes off — which was basically just a thin robe. he was tantalizingly slow with his hands, the very pads of his fingertips ghosting against your skin made you left off a soft gasp.

“pretty much,” gojo hums, and you watch as the popstar lowers his head to kiss near your thighs. “she’s a little camera shy.”

“what does that even-”

“…nevermind.”

geto was more tame while gojo was far more eager. you make brief eye contact with geto and he leans in toward you. you were expecting him to kiss you but instead, he brings a thumb towards your lip and smiles. “you’re a lot prettier in person, assistant. what are you doing messing around with this idiot?”

“um—”

“none of your business. besides, don’t talk to my work wife like that.” gojo pouts, and he makes you face him directly.

obviously, he was being nothing but a pure tease. you feel yourself grow hot once gojo presses his lips onto yours. you could hear geto scoffing in the background.

you and gojo weren’t exactly a thing… although, maybe this “thing” was developing into some sort of fling.

you moan into his mouth, feeling gojo’s hand trail down to part against your thigh before geto pries the two of you off, only to bring you into a much more steamy kiss.

gojo’s jaw drops dramatically, a squeaky gasp leaving his lips as he watches you make out with geto.

geto was far more passionate and tender by a mile. with a soft thumb grazing beneath your chin, you let off a soft whine. tasting the sugary spiced alcohol on his tongue…..just a tang, but it was enough for you to covet more of him. more of his taste.

“this isn’t…. fair.” gojo nags, yet his body feels otherwise. seeing his bassist of a best friend kiss you deeply, touching all over your body. he started to feel himself get…aroused.

you feel a cunning smirk go against geto’s lips. with a hand gripped softly underneath your chin, he continues to stroke it soothingly.

he was so deliberate with his tongue, making sure to savour every inch of you. a groan leaves his mouth as he deepens the kiss for a brisk second. his breath was eminently lukewarm, and you don’t even recollect yourself pulling him closer to your already achey body.

“suguru, you’re beinʼ stingy,” gojo frowns, starting to think if suggesting him to tag along was a good idea… perhaps not… after all, he was the satoru gojo. he’s never been a fan of share the spotlight.

geto swiftly pulls away and his eye contact against you makes you grow hot. his eyes spoke a thousand words, dirty dirty words though. gojo lets off a vexed sigh before running a hand through his hair. “…i have an idea though.”

“what?” you and geto both speak in low unison.

the popstar has a cheeky grin on his lips before playfully rolling his eyes, tilting his head. “which can make her louder. then again, i already know i’m gonna win sooo…”

geto utters in the most sassiest tone imaginable, “please. you’d probably be the loudest out of all of us but fine.”

the thought of them both fighting over you, your client, and his best friend as well as his lead bassist.

you firmly clasped your thighs together before shyly drawing circles against the outer part of your arm. “well, he was pretty loud earlier. his fans heard him moaning all through his mic backstage and—”

“tch. shut up..” he grumbles, trying to forget that incident even happened.

gojo now decides to pulls you into sweet passionate fulfilled kiss, and it’s deep with a bit of tongue.

you were indeed basically naked with the exception of a silk sage-colored robe he bought you as a new year’s eve gift. it hung down your body perfectly, just enough to make out your skin.

geto makes you slip a whine into gojo’s mouth once he spreads your legs with one hand—you were drenched, soaked….no doubt about it. “no panties,” he mutters in a rough voice. “satoru must’ve beat me to it, hmpf.”

you started to pant the more gojo moved his tongue against yours, you could tell how needy he was. even though he already had a taste from you earlier, he wanted more. you were like some kind of candy, intoxicatingly sweetened.

he smoothly slides his tongue against your bottom lip, grunting from the leftover taste of your flavored lip gloss that was by this point smeared across your lips. whenever gojo kissed you, you had this warm burning feeling inside. it was indescribable, you knew more than anyone how unprofessional this was…yet it felt good, his touch, his taste, even his rich scent.

“what a mess. already drenched for me,” geto murmurs, and you peek an eye open to watch the bassist go down, between your legs. you sit up with gojo tilting your head to face him, thighs spread apart and you let off a moan once he starts to work his way.

slowly, geto creates tender kisses…

he creates a simple trail, all up your thighs. the softness of his lips pressing against your skin made you whine against gojo’s lips.

gojo moves your chin back to focus back towards him, and he gives your bottom lip an impish bite.

peppering the side parts of your mouth with numerous wet kisses. “mwah,” he’d coo, a teasing gesture yet the stare he gave you made you throb. “my fans heard us…heard you, y’know. how does that make you feel?”

you stare at gojo, and his eyebrows are slightly raised in curiosity. he was such a tease, wanting to know your response.

geto’s tongue licks against the inner part of your thigh and you moan. that’s when you feel a slight coldness of his tongue piercing run against your skin — it tickles but in the best way imaginable.

he starts to suck against your skin, a soft ‘pop’ skims past his lips and you whine before gojo squeezes your lips together.

“heyyy, pretty. ‘m talking to you.” he whispers, leaning in to sneak another kiss on your mouth.

“i— i liked it,” you utter, geto’s touch from underneath, a finger trailing against your skin with his tongue following shortly afterward made you pulse continuously. “knowing everyone heard me….your die-hard fans, it turned me on a little.”

“yeah? did it really?” he grins, showcasing a casual head tilt. “wow, you really are a kinky girl. but it turned me on too,” he adds, inching his face towards your neck to give it a soft suck. “hmph. next time i should probably fuck you on stage, wouldn’t that be a pretty sight,” he murmurs, his voice playfully lowering. “ooh, it’s probably all over the headlines, but eh, who gives a shit, right? not me, and definitely not her.”

you were just about to let off a mewl once gojo reached down to give your pussy a mean squeeze as soon as he referred to it as ‘her.’

he brings an additional kiss to you before you feel the warmth of geto’s breath fan against your entrance. you start to pant, feeling gojo’s hands roam and wander all against your body.

an abrupt shock surges throughout your skin from his fingertips and the silk robe you wore. gojo traced a thumb against your nipple—your overly-sensitive nipple that poked through the thin pretty fabric. you were so aroused that your mind raced just as quickly as your heartbeat did.

“fuck…dunno know what it is about you,” he murmurs, breaking away a few seconds to speak. there was a titillating bass that carried underneath gojo’s tone.

you could hear it in his voice, how pitchy and low it would get at certain times. “just lookin’ at you gets me s-so hard,” and then he swallowed for a second, departing eye contact out of sheer flusteredness and it was cute. “still a bit…sensitive from earlier though. had the audacity to keep ridin’ me after i c-came.”

“sorry.” you playfully press your lips together, glancing up at him and he grows embarrassed for a moment at remembering the pure thought.

the image of him… the satoru gojo and you, his trusty assistant — being on top of the famous well-known pop star, riding him until he whined for just you and only you.

not to mention as well as having him as an entire mess underneath you. he probably was too stubborn to realize it but you had him wrapped around your pretty little finger…

to think that was just about nearly half an hour ago. your thoughts get interrupted from feeling geto’s tongue meekly lick against your inner folds. a sharp breath elicits from your throat as you look down at him already staring at you with a smug grin.

“toru already got here too?” he whispers, ghosting a thumb against your sodden folds. his slender fingers were so long and lengthy, nails perfectly manicured, and of course, he’d have well-trimmed nails because of his status as a professional bassist.

all things considered, geto would just be godly with his fingers. it was no secret, really…

“of course i fuckin’ did.” gojo pouts, giving him a nettled glare.

geto snickers. “aw. poor girl,” and then he makes eye contact with you, smugly simpering.

geto takes a second to tie his hair back into a messy ponytail before pursing his lips to speak. “he’s a good singer, yeahhh. but he has a huge lack of skill at eating pussy. trust me.”

“shut up, man..” gojo’s eyes widen, the tips of his ears burning, it was adorable. “that’s…not true.”

it was.

“suguruuu..” you whined, not even realize how much you were desperately aching for him. the two bickering was a constant thing, but you decided to ignore it and let the lust take over.

“i’m sorry, i should be paying more attention to you,” he mutters, using a hand to shove your right thigh a few inches away.

geto promptly rolls out his tongue….slowly, pink and pretty. clean. your eyes peer at the pretty piercing that laid flat against the center part. “keep these legs spread for me. can you be a good girl ‘n do that?”

you unwittingly feel yourself pulse just from that action of him showing you a good view of his tongue. you give the bassist a pathetic eager nod, a hand running towards the roots of his hair to grip it before he grins. “good, ‘cause ‘m starved.”

“sugu, what… what am i supposed to do?” gojo huffs out.

“figure it out yourself, popstar.” geto murmurs, and a soft pout twists against gojo’s lips.

that’s when he makes you turn over to where you’re on your hands and knees—you face forward, most importantly, you face forward right against gojo’s crotch. face front and all.

he lingers near the edge of the bed, towering over you with a hungry gaze before letting off a whine.

“jus’ look at me….i can’t perform like this,” not like he was going to perform anyway…but you stare at gojo’s body. all he wore was sweats, the original partially bedazzled outfit that was actually geto’s was practically torn. “you gave me this boner, ‘s your fault ‘m all needy.”

geto interrupts the erotic atmosphere with his tongue gradually flicking against your pussy, two rough hands spread the fat of your ass and you whine at how abruptly lewd it was. “oh my g-goddd.”

gojo feels like he has competition with geto, so he frowns—the pout remaining on his pink sheeny lips before he grips ahold of your chin to make you stare straight at him whilst you’re on all fours on the cushioned mattress.

“been…been wantin’ to finally see what this pretty throat feels like,”

he sighs, and he watches as you already start to lean into his touch. you’re on the palms of your hands, back slightly arched before you pull the hem of his boxers down with your teeth. “you’re such a little... you…you know what you’re doing..”

gojo lets off a soft grunt, gripping your hair, and as you inch your face closer toward him — a few specks of his neatly scattered brush against his face. you lick against the padded fabric of his boxers, curving your tongue against the print of his bulge and he swallows thickly.

“you’re so fuckin’ nasty,” he huffs, bringing you all close to his briefs. you stare up at gojo, licking against the thin madematerial before cupping your mouth over his bulge…right near his base, in a much playful manner. “you’re—just asking to have a stuffed full mouth, huh?”

again, geto’s tongue rummaged all throughout your pussy while you absentmindly toying with gojo throws you off for a sudden concise moment.

he was just as filthy, maybe even filthier. as you propped up—you whimpered, feeling how he ran his tongue all along your sweetened labia.

your pussy pulsed against his movements, he starts to teasingly nibble on your clit before giving it a loooong suck.

“mmph.” he’d grumble, and within minutes you could tell you had him entirely drunk. his tongue was just skimming around and against your clit that forevermore clenched. before you know it, you’re starting to intensely jounce and convulse because of the stimulation.

his tongue laid flat against your pussy, the piercing that stuck against him, the slight coldness of it made you obliviously arch your back a bit more. toes of yours clenched in desire before your mouth opened at his technique.

geto was slow but sensual.

his tongue… it spiraled against your pussy in a sweet motion to make you sob out a cry.

“open that mouth,” gojo mutters, his hand still gripping your chin, and you do, parting your lips before watching him spring his dick out. it was throbbing, swollen, and not to mention quite pretty.

he wasn’t lying—you did leave him incredibly sensitive from earlier…

gojo lets off a breathless groan once he watches you kiss the tip of his cock head, which ends up turning into many kisses. his lip quivers the more time he spends staring at you. his breath becomes abnormally shaky, all because of you.

“…don’t tease me,” he whines before wrapping shuddery fingers around his fat length, giving it a few swift pumps before he starts to smear his pre-cum smothered tip all across your lips.

you give the popstar a cute, roguish glance before skimming the tip of your tongue against his frenulum.

that spot…it was that spot that always gave gojo chills. he was trying too hard to keep up a tough front. he’s suppressing his moans before he watches you sink him down inch by inch.

“mouth of yours ‘s just askin’ to be ruined,” he moans, and your eyes dart back up toward the popstar. his washboard abs tightened as he stood still, watching you lower your throat on him. you were a bit sloppy not to mention, strands of spit were already running down the side of your chin. “such a slutty assistant. unprofessional and—”

gojo shuts up the moment he feels your tongue stir leisurely against his tip, he’s halfway in before you gag. he reaches the roof of your mouth already, and you’re keeping him warm, all thanks to your throat.

“…damn girl,” he huffs, and as you’re breathing through your nose, he grabs a fistful of your hair.

with a tight pull, your eyes meet his abs again, and he was so fit. figures, he is an industrially well-trained dancer after all. gojo’s workout routine was no mystery. you throbbed a bit the more you stared at his body.

as your eyes rove, you spotted a few lipstick stains smeared all against gojo’s skin, as well as a few sharpie marks. you figured it was from one of his obsessed die-hard fans.

it was just the way his perfectly sculptured chiseled v-line presented itself. the few specks of white hairs trailing down his area further and further to where it aligns toward his happy trail…

yet, the more you stared back at the dozens of now nearly faded marks of lipstick stains scattered all over his body—you don’t know why but you felt this peculiar feeling of…jealousy.

was it jealousy?

geto continues to eat you out as you’re trapped in a dark bubble of your thoughts, and you whimper once you feel the soft padded tip of his nose slide all against your pussy.

he was quite literally nose-deep, making you extra sensitive by adding a finger to rub against your soaked folds.

his touch was fiery warm.

as you started to moderately make your lips firm. you slid your tongue out before gently rubbing it against the very underside part of his cock. gojo groans once more, face growing flustered as a hand remains at the top of your head. “such a filthy mouth,” he pants, hovering over you beside the bed.

geto’s still eating you from behind, and he starts sucking again. passionately sucking on your throbbing neglected clit. he makes it his passion to give it all sorts of uninvited attention to feel you pulse and convulse into and against his mouth.

gojo watches you start to vigorously shake and twitch from his best friend’s tongue, and he raises your chin up to look right at him.

mouth full and all, your tongue reaches the inner vein part of gojo’s lanky cock, he whines.

“s-shit,” he sibilates through gritted teeth, and that’s when he started to pivot his hips a bit. gojo thrusts into your mouth — and his moans were so pretty to listen to, he was a soprano after all.

the way his voice would effortlessly pitch all because of your tongue…he grabs your head, gently, yet with just enough pressure he makes you go back and forth, he’s stuffing your throat full of his girth, full of his inches.

you’re a mess, strings of saliva pouring down your chin and he looks down at you before nervously chuckling. “look at you. what, are you trying to say something?”

and he’s just at his limit, near the edge yet is such a brat. way too much for his own good. “don’t try to talk with y-your mouth full, princess.”

abruptly, you feel that familiar rush disrupt your thinking and you suddenly tense.

geto’s tongue slithers all against that spot, deep between your folds, and giving it a good nibble before your legs nearly give out right then and there. such whirlpools, a plethora of them came crashing down all at once before you moaned, the sensation was almost too much to bare.

“give it to me, c’mon. i wanna hear you.” geto whispers, breath wafting against your clit. glossed pink lips of his was just drenched with your slit for it’s entirety.

he merrily blows against your pussy and that was just about the last straw for you—you end up cumming, and it had your eyebrows furrowing with such pleasure.

“pft. took me longer to make her cum when i…” gojo gruffs, the same pout still pursed against his lips as he watched you riding your orgasm off against the bassist’s tongue.

covetously, he watches as your eyelids start to droop and you’re growing quite dumb.

geto’s tongue….the length of it, the piercing, it tickled against your wet entrance as well as having you spasming and craving for more.

gojo takes his dick out of your mouth hastily with a cute scowl on his lips whilst geto departs from behind you.

he has a sly grin, bringing a thumb up to the corner of his mouth before swiping your slick clean.

“jealous, ‘toru?”

“…no,” he grouches, and he definitely was. the popstar lifts you up suddenly, and your arms wrap around his neck, still panting from your recent jaw-dropping orgasmic release. “i can still do better than you, sugupoo.”

“i told you to stop calling me that.” geto chastised, standing up also. walking towards you, he ran a hand down your back and you moaned from his touch.

you bury your face into gojo’s neck, your own warm breath going back against your face. the pop star’s half-cut-sparkled open glove traces down your back before he slyly smiles. beads of sweat races down his forehead before the singer hums. “suguru. do ya think we can fuck her like this?”

“standing up?” the bassist murmurs, and they’re both grazing their hands all over your body. while gojo has you lifted up, your legs tightly wrap and lock around his waist like a vice before geto kisses the back of your neck, pitching his voice lower as he speaks to you. “what do you think? can you handle the two of us, pretty girl?”

you whine against gojo’s neck, trembling from geto’s touch behind you. how gentle he was, leaning in to suck against the tenderness part of your collarbone. “yeah,” you nod, and gojo glanced down at you with a smug grin forming on his lips. “j-just hurry up. satoru should have been performing like an hour ago.”

“damn, that’s true. i kinda forgot about that,” he timidly chortles, and he raises you up in his buff arms just a bit. “oh well. heh, i mean you…you can explain it to kento for me, yeah? i know he’s my manager but fuck, he scares me. if he’s nosy just tell him i’m uh…i got athlete's foot.”

there was a long rightfully so pause and geto’s hands remained gripped against your waist. “idiot…” he mumbles.

the moment gojo aligns himself, you intake a sharp breath — mentally preparing yourself because you were about to take not only him, but his best friend also….while standing.

“hold on to ‘toru. i’m gonna have to stretch you just a little…” geto purrs against your ear.

you made candid eye contact with gojo and he flashes a sheepish grin before planting a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“i stretched her already.” gojo shrugs.

“you did a lousy fuckin’ job then.” geto snarls, and you moan, feeling the thickness of geto go right into you with simplicity.

needless to say, it was sloppy.

your cunt squelched in utter enthusiasm as he eases his way inside of you. gojo rolls his eyes at geto’s remark, and you’re quite literally being double stuffed. they both were slow and precise with their movements and you’re just in awe, dumbfounded, stupid…

you’ve never felt so full.

both of them deep inside of you, churning up your insides at the same time. you don’t think you’ve ever been fucked like this.

not only were you being shared but doing everything while standing up—your arms pathetically wrapped around gojo’s neck, and it’s the perfect position to stare right into the pop star's eyes.

he returns the gaze, and he grows flustered, lip quivering, ears twitching, eyebrows contorting. he was trying just as much as you to not be so loud, so vocal. yet a moan slips out, and gojo’s moans never fail to be so slutty.

“think i can see why he’s so obsessed with you,” geto grunts, maintaining a firm grip against your hips. he’s taking you from behind with gojo occupied towards the front, each pretty glacé coated whimper that ran off past your lips grew shakier and shakier from the deep thrusts you were being given.

as you idly bounced against their dicks, you were again, stupid—brainless.

your mouth ends up partially opening as you’re moaning. your pussy gripped against each of them tightly. squeezing and clamping down against each of them to where you’re just so dizzy.

geto’s thick and girth, meanwhile gojo’s long and lengthy…

your ears fet like they were about to pop from the sheer sudden humidity in the room the more you bobbed and jostled against them. biting your lip to conceal an incoming moan, your eyes briefly roll backward before you suddenly feel the plump mushroom-tip of gojo’s dick fully expand and reach there.

“f-fuck, oh my g-godd,” you’d whine, rough sounds of your skin against theirs ricocheting amongst each other. such beefy bulky toned arms had you propped up in such an obscene way, you craved more. “…so deep.”

gojo leans in for a wet kiss and you kiss back, a plethora of whimpers and whines glissade right into his mouth - he swiftly swipes a tongue against yours, sloppy per usual before even he starts to moan. in such a way, you never failed to leave gojo all hot and bothered.

“you two are such sluts for each other, it’s cute..”

as the bassist teases and pokes fun, you shudder, feeling geto press up against your ass…

the stretch, the girth he had that made him thicker… it was mouthwateringly appetizing.

you found yourself practically drooling just from his dick, the way the curve of it hit that same repeated spots to make you grow dumber and dumber. you were starting to get so loopy from his best friend that you completely forgot gojo was in the picture for a quick second.

geto being abutting against you, his body heat was entirely chambré—the fabric of his leather jacket, the cold frigid zippers skin against your skin and you lean back against his chest. despite all of this, gojo’s still managing to have you being fucked upright.

your entrance was slick…damp, coated each of their cocks with your dampened arousal before your breathing starts to catch up with you.

“s-shit, ‘m not gonna last.” gojo starts, and his body language changes a bit—you study his facial expressions, the way his lips contort into a perturbed pout. skin against skin, you radiated from their heat thoroughly before geto shakes his head with a sly scoff.

“of course you’re not.” he snickers.

“s-shut up, sugupoo,” he whines, hastily his head goes back. the popstar’s hair goes all over his face, long white strands occluding his view of vision and it's sexy. the way he’d become whiney out of nowhere, pressing his lips together in utter desperation. you had him a mess, whining again and again, regardless of trying to keep up a front. “she’s gonna milk me ‘n it’s all your fault..”

you throbbed from his words, and the popstar could barely keep his eyes open. he’s so sensitive, keeping you up with his arms while geto has you from the other end, geto sighs dramatically. “here he goes.”

“you both talk too much.” you mewl, clinging onto gojo’s neck.

“no we don’t.” they both say in unison before giving each other a glare.

geto scoffs whilst gojo pokes his lip out, focusing his attention back towards you. yet the minute gojo cums, his dick ends up slipping out of you and that’s when he becomes a stuttering mess.

“s-shit,” he huffs, wrapping a hand around his base before repositioning it again. ropes of his cum start to seep out your cunt, geto watches and he’s speechless—you mewl, feeling geto run a thumb down your slit only to then smear gojo’s cum against your pussy. “so much to give you, even still.”

gojo starts whimpering. stretching such inches inside of you while geto pauses his movements. you felt warm, not to mention exceedingly full.

you were stuffed, to the utmost limit…

the two took turns with you. you were treated like a rag doll if one was to be honest. it was as if stamina didn’t exist for them. positions after positions, there’d be a point where geto’s sucking against your nipples while gojo’s slamming his hips into you with the sweetest whimpers dragging out from his pretty glossed lips.

albeit, you don’t expect geto to get whiney…

but he does.

you’d be riding him, he’s laid back against the bed with his legs openly spread and clenched. a sharp jawline points forward as he faces you forward. “fuckk, your hips are so..” he’d groan, his head goes back in desireable pleasure and you lean in to bombard the inner part of his neck with sweet kisses.

gojo’s behind you, and he finds himself getting jealous and a tad bit clingy. you moan, feeling him lick a long stripe up your neck, wanting you to pay more attention to him and not his dumb best friend.

geto’s so attractive from this perspective..

you decide to be a tease, planting a kiss near the corner of his mouth—your lips meeting his revealing dimples. “gripping me s-so good,” he groans, bringing a sharp smack to your ass for ‘encouragement.’

he craved the way you grinded against him, not too fast, not too quick…just right. your hips slid from front to back, swiveling all around him to where a whine rips from his throat. “damnnn, just like that. f-fuck me, fuck megirl...”

his voice deopped a single octave, and he even brought a hand up to his face to shield his pure embarrassment.

gojo snickers before he speaks, peppering kisses against your collarbone before peering at his best friend. “awww, look at sugupoo. all that talk ‘n he’s just as whiny as i was.”

“shut up.. fuckin’ shut…up,” he groans, his nostrils flare and you lean in to kiss geto, he kisses back, and this time it’s sloppy and less passionate. it’s rougher. the instant second his lips meet yours, a low moan from geto slips out.

he pants heavily against you, breaking away for a second to breath — his hands were pinching your waist, brushing against your tender skin before he exhales out a sigh.

geto’s hair, tied into a near ponytail had a few strands poking out, scattered all against his face. he groans, feeling your clit rub against him slowly and gradually.

perfectly aligned and lined up right, he shudders once he feels your hand roam against his body, sliding a finger down a scar near the right side of his chest.

gojo, still being sat behind you as he impatiently watched, reaches between your legs and starts to play with your pussy. you whined, feeling him start to maneuver tiny circles against your already sensitive folds before geto pulls away to breath yet again.

a pretty sheeny web of spit coats against your chin and his as you depart from one another. your lips, and his jaw tightens. “f-fuckkk, fuck me. fuck me like that, don’t s-stop.”

he found the way you mounted him in such a good angle, it makes him ten times harder. geto’s thick cock slams in and out of you to where he’s almost tasting how swollen he was. you ploddingly thrust your hips forward before geto pulls you into his chest suddenly.

“suguruuu.” you’d whinge, feeling him squeeze the fat of your ass.

“fuckk,” he raps, you could be milking me all the time instead of this—this wannabe justin bieber.”

“hey…” gojo narrows his eyes, and he catches you giggling at geto’s remark. geto peeks an eye to stare at gojo before a smile goes against his lips, soley before turning his attention back towards you.

once geto’s body relaxes, he feels the pressure rising up within him to the point of his incoming release. the fiery sensations of electricity went all through. such fiery sensations piercing, he’s bouncing his thigh in an attempt to deepen his strokes inside you to make you whine yourself.

“damn, ‘s good. s-so fuckin’ good,” he swallows, grunting once you lean in to kiss the front part of his adam’s apple. “gonna flood your pussy, you want that? want me to make a fuckin’ mess of myself?”

“y-yeah.” you breathe, nodding in contentment. “suguru please.”

geto’s vision becomes a little blurry, he’s hazy and it feels so good…your cunt’s got him on a leash.

he fell in love with the way your hips rolled against him again and again, each spank he gives your ass makes him throb. the girth he had lunging inside of you, outstretching to where it prods against your g-spot. “f-fuck.” you’d sob, slumping your head against the bassist.

once he eventually came, it was way more than gojo. more as in you’re stuffed fuller than you thought you could ever be. you pause, huffing and puffing as your ear laid flat against his bare chest. geto aches, heavily panting himself and sweat droplets raced down his v-line.

“i think i won,” gojo frowns, breaking the two of you up—you were practically limp, geto’s cum dripping out of you. you moaned, trying to recollect your breath but failing.

geto leans back, giving gojo a side eye before murmuring. “just shut up..”

“aw. poor sugu’s all d—”

gojo’s voice gets rudely interrupted by the annoying screech of your ringtone. the two of them stare at the blue light, and gojo picks it up with a curious expression.

“ooh, phone call,” and he picks it up, bringing it up to his face and raises a brow. “huh. why’s uh..” and he turns it the opposite way, “why’s fushiguro toji calling you? and heh what’s with the dumb heart by his name. isn’t he my old producer?”

geto grumbles, still silently heaving with a hand rubbing against his abdomen. “yeah, that scum who tried to take parts of our salary from that one gig we did,” and then geto darts his eyes towards you with an unreadable expression “why is he calling you?”

your stomach quite literally drops. you sat on the plump bed laid flat on your tummy. momentarily stunned for a moment. alas, you had to say something… you sat up, the phone continuing to sing in the distance before uttering.

“toji…he’s um…he’s kind of my boyfriend.”

yeah, you were fucked.

5K notes · View notes

cherry-leclerc · 6 months

Text

lolita ☆ cs55

genre: age gap (10 years), porn with plot, affairs, forbidden romance, angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature

word count: 14.9k

You were young, alluring, floating through a disastrous life with the touch of a thousand angels. Carlos was successful, irresistible and someone who often kept a distance from catastrophe. Never in a million years did he think he would have a complete moment of weakness. Especially the week of his wedding.

nsfw warning under the cut!

18+... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, riding, size kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), semi - public sex, deepthroating, praise, fingering, handjobs, lots of dirty foreplay, slapping (like once AH), a bit of edging, overstimulation, a bit of crying, sucking on fingers, squirting - i should stop now, oh god.

inspired by this and this !

STOP AND READ:

This by no means - in any shape or form - is something that should be admired or looked up to. It does deal with serious topics such as: grooming, suicide, and drugs. While the reader is of age (19), this is not my way of impulsing my own readers - especially younger ones, if by any chance they come across this - to follow this mindset. Dark themes will take place and if that is not something you are comfortable with, then that is okay, I definitely have more light hearted fics in my masterlist. “Love stories” aren’t always filled with flowers and rainbows, they can also be hurtful and confusing, often misunderstood. This is fictional. Given, this is inspired by Lolita and Blue Velvet by Lana Del Rey (*everyone cheers*) – what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending. Verses of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov are also mentioned (extremely controversial book - as it should be).

cherry here!…hi, guys! i hope you all enjoy and i’m gonna do it now: I’M SORRY.

She was as dangerous as poison could ever be - with no good intentions. She was malicious, sweet laughter that would make anyone fall in love. An Angel walking on Earth, curiously making it her playground.

He was intelligent. A man of few words, but also simply so, the seven deadly sins all wrapped up in one. Keeping a distance from things he knew would bring him no good.

But in order to understand, we would have to take you back to where it all began.

Where Paradise met Hell.

Growing up in Italy for some odd reason made you out to be the girl you were. Men there would throw themselves at any opportunity if they saw a single daisy looking girl in eyesight. At first it felt as if you were walking a tightrope; you knew it wouldn’t be the wisest idea to fall straight into their traps. Except, slowly, it made sense.

They knew how to sweet talk someone so young and naive - you’ll give them that. It only took one taste and that was the moment you knew.

You liked them older.

Men fucked in a way boys never would. Every single one would always put your needs first - but there was this one man that had you realizing how fucked up you could be in order to get what you want. That’s one prize you’d cheat to win.

And that’s a story for later.

Moving away for college was the best decision you felt you would ever make in your entire life. Given, Italy was home, but the people in it weren’t. Often, you find yourself missing your rendezvous but studying abroad in Spain wasn’t much different.

Note; you didn’t grow up with a tight knit family. Your mother was a drug addict with half of her days knocked out on the couch, your father was someone who was occasionally in the picture. He tried his best.

And your older sister, Ollie?

Well, you’d honestly forgotten you even had one.

Some may say that you’re a whore, a slut, a homewrecker, or any other Spanish slur that spits Madrid, but you never cared. You were having fun and why were you the one always being blamed? Perhaps, men, too, should think with their heads rather than their dicks.

Which is how you find yourself still repeating the familiar pattern you had started a long time ago. Riding your professor shouldn’t feel this good. Mierda, he would groan as you bounce up and down like a bunny. Mewling, you shake the feeling of remorse. Not when he felt this good.

Your phone ringing is what makes you stop, him still inside of you, twitching. Ciao? His calloused fingers would slide up to pinch your nipples as you lightly gasped.

“Tesoro! Haven’t heard your voice in so long.”

Your father’s tone makes you wince at the reminder. Occasionally, he would check up on you in a way you would assume other fathers did for their daughters. You could never hate him, though. In his own way, deep down, he still cared.

“Papi, how are you?”

Sliding off of his lap, you zip your dress back on as you pace the lecture room. Bored, he takes out his secret whiskey from under his desk. Your sister is getting married in a few weeks! I was thinking you could fly back home so you could join us. The thought alone made your stomach churn as you bit down onto your thumb. Signaling at the older man, you click your fingers, hinting for a glass of your own. He obliges, handing it to you.

“I’m busy with summer courses. Maybe I can send a gift?”

You try everything in the book in order to get out of what seems like a crappy, dull, Italian wedding. It had been ages since you last stepped foot there. In no right mind would Ollie’s wedding be the one to change that. But he says things that get to you. I haven’t seen you in years. Neither has your sister. She misses you, you know?

You bite down on a snarky remark as you down the rest of the gold liquid. Last time you spoke, she promised that you were dead to her. That she never wanted to hear from you again. In the moment, it hurt, but you grew used to the idea. And what younger sister doesn’t pick up on what older sister says? Now, you despised her as much as she did you.

“Ovviamente. I’ll be there.”

It’s hot as soon as you land. That you didn’t miss. Ale, your fathers chauffeur, picks you up with a bright smile. Saddened, it dawns on you that you hadn’t seen one of those in ages. He’s nice. Let's you sit in the passenger's seat as he introduces himself. He mentions he has 5 granddaughters and has been married for almost 50 years. It’s sweet. Makes you feel human.

Pulling into the driveway, you almost want to correct him. This isn’t my fathers house. You must be mistaken. Only, he says he isn’t. That he had recently moved into his Italian mansion a year ago. You’re skeptical for a minute, but realize you can’t be one to tell. Years have passed; things change.

Still, that didn’t stop you from gawking at the ginormous house that sits on a hill; overlooking all of Tuscany. It even had a beautiful view of the ocean. Why couldn’t you grow up with this?

“I’ll inform your father that you have arrived safely.”

Taking it all in, you slowly pace the entrance, analyzing everything in sight. The crystals hanging from the chandelier, large - expensive - portraits, shiny mirrors. Quirking your head to the side, you glide over to the golden trophy sitting in the middle of the spacious entry.

Carlos Sainz Sr. : Rally Driver of-

“That belonged to my father. He passed away a year ago.”

Startled, you grip onto the trophy tighter as you slightly jump in panic. You curse yourself for being caught as you delicately place it back down before turning your attention to the booming voice.

Instantly, you’re hit with lust. Standing in front of you is a tall man - around his 20’s, perhaps - dark brown eyes narrowed down on you like knives. Messy, untamed, brown hair. Large nose, plump lips, dark brows. His figure is something you can’t wrap your head around that even exists. Richard Mille's watch clung onto his wrist. Giorgio Armani pressed up against his chest, it almost looked as if it didn’t fit due to his rippling muscles. Woody, rich, scent filling up the room.

He was the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.

“I am so, so, sorry.”

Your voice is so soft, it has him intrigued. You wore a short pastel yellow dress that didn’t leave much to his imagination; paired with converse and tube socks. Rosy tint on your cheekbones from the humidity. Berry lips. Wide, innocent eyes. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t take his own breath away. Even though you stood far enough away, he could still smell your vanilla perfume.

Inching closer, he waves you off. “I was kidding. My father is well and alive.” You tippy toe nervously before planting your feet back down.

“That’s not a nice thing to say.”

And he’s surprised with your response. Yet, he finds himself extending his tan hand out to you. “I’m Carlos.”

Carlos. His name sounds as attractive as his appearance. Strong and sure. But also…dark. You shake his hand, legs quivering at his warm touch. Deep down, he knew how much he affected you - it’s something he’s grown quite accustomed to, having people admire his looks, but it took a lot to not show that you had the same effect on him.

“Nice to meet you, Carlos. Do you work for my father?”

Amused, he lets out a deep chuckle. Even a simple sound like that had you pressing your legs together, arousal dripping in between.

“You don’t know who I am?” You shake your head, confused. Should you? He smiles. “That’s okay. We haven’t met before…Though you should get to know me since you’re already here…”

Wait.

“You know,” he leans his head a bit, floppy hair following, “Ollie.”

No, no, no.

“It’s so nice to finally meet my fiancée’s sister.”

Foolishly, you try your best to hide your surprise. How does a man like him end up with a bratty, narcissist, like your sister?

What was so fucking special about her?

Envy fills your veins as you try to show that this hasn’t phased you. Excited cheers echo down the hallway as your father runs over, embracing you into a warm hug. You’re here! Wincing, you lean into his touch, eyes still trained on the magnetic man.

Only then, did Ollie fly down the stairs, immediately running into Carlos’ arms. Making a big deal out of it, she kisses him as she runs her hands against his chest.

“Come here, tesoro. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”

The entire time; Carlos kept his eyes trained on you.

It didn’t make sense. Part of you knows it never will. You’ve only just met him, but you can tell he must’ve been fucked in the head to willingly choose someone like Ollie. Sure, she seemed sweet and kind, but she was anything but that.

Dinner that night is carbonara. Carlos is extremely talented. He cooked this just for you. Tight lipped, you thank him, looking down at your plate to avoid his burning gaze.

“How’s school?”

Turning to your father, you remind yourself that you were here for him; because he wanted you there. That’s all that should matter. “Very good. Thank you for asking, papi.”

The sound of glass hitting the table erupts as Carlos hurriedly goes to pick it up, quickly murmuring a strong apology. His dark gaze shortly flickers past you. It leaves you squirming.

Clearing his throat, he takes a sip of his wine. “Where do you study?” Spain, you tell him as he beams. “No way. I was born and raised in Madrid. Moved to Italy a few years ago for work.” Letting out a laugh, you find the coincidence funny. He moved from Spain to Italy and you moved from Italy to Spain.

“What do you do for work?”

“He’s a Formula 1 driver. Drives for Scuderia Ferrari,” Ollie weasels in as she smirks down on you. Anger bubbles inside of her when your attention remains on the Spaniard. Drumming your fingers against the table, you lick your lips. Formula 1? He’s about to explain it all up until Ollie butts in once again. She rubs his hand, a glistening ring shining right in front of you. You physically have to force yourself to look away. “Oh, amor, she doesn’t know what that is. She’s too…young.”

You know she’s trying to make a weak point: you’re only a baby, therefore, you don’t compare to her. And yes, you are young, 19, but it was stupid of her to think that it bothered you. You tsk before leaning back against your chair.

“Of course, my mistake. I forgot I was still a pure flower instead of a wilting one.”

Ollie’s face switches to bright red as she grips onto his hand. An entertained smile slips onto his lips before flattening back out. He rubs her hand, trying to calm her down. You can’t stop the jealousy burning from within.

“I didn’t mean you, Mr. Sainz.”

The 29 year old brushed you as if nothing, a smile displayed. Eyeing you both, Ollie suddenly stands up, chair screeching. Why don’t you help me bring out the cookies I baked? Ever so gracefully, you nod. Following after her, you stop suddenly as she spins, hair slapping her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Are you here to ruin my life with your existence?”

“I might.”

Her left eye twitches as she growls angrily. If she didn’t make it this easy to tick her off, then you’d be bored, but luckily for you, it was unchallenging to get under her skin. “This is my wedding; my future husband - so don’t fuck that up like everything else you’ve ever done.”

You try to pretend as if her words didn’t affect you as you stare back blankly. Marching over to the counter, she opens up a box of cookies before sliding them onto a polished dish, leaving you standing there alone.

You thank the higher Gods for not letting you cross roads with Ollie for the next few days. Though, you’re a bit bummed out that you haven’t seen Carlos much either. Peeking out the window, you could see the way a group of workers hurried to set up for the joint bachelorette taking place later that night, right on the beach. The waves look magnificent, so without a second thought, you slip on a bikini before rushing out the door with your necessities.

Lathering a goop of coconut sunscreen, you hum softly to yourself. Weren’t you going out with your sister? Looking up, you see Carlos standing in front of you with his face slightly scrunched up from the bright sun. His cheeks looked as if they’d just been pinched. “Where to?”

He takes a seat next to you. “She said she was going out to go buy a few flowers for later. Said she would invite you.” You shake your head, already bored with the idea.

“You know her,” you tap your head, “Forgetful.”

He cocks his head to the side as he shuts his right eye for a moment. “You two don’t get along, do you?” You try making up a silly excuse. Of course we do. We’re sisters. But he’s looking right into your orbs as if he sees right past your weak attempts. “You’re right. I could be wrong.”

It stays quiet for a while - only the soft breeze being heard. You can see him from your peripheral vision; eyes shut as he takes in the moment of peace he hasn’t had since dawn. Long lashes fan his face, freckles scattered all over.

“Aren’t you too busy to be talking to me?”

“No. Plus, I should take time to get to know my future sister-in-law. Especially since I don't know anything about her even after dating her sister for 7 years.”

7 years.

Squinting at the waves, you slide your sunglasses on. “There’s not much to know, but I can try. I’m 19 years old, studying abroad in Spain, and grew up in Italy. I love the ocean, love a nice cup of hot chocolate - even though I’m allergic - so I only allow myself small sips during the winter. I like to pretend I know how to dance and I kill it in karaoke.” He laughs. You can’t dance? “Unfortunately, I can’t. Once, during my friend's wedding reception, I twirled right into her cake. I spent the entire day on supervision.”

“Dios mío…Remind me to watch out for you on our wedding day.”

Our wedding day. His words slightly sting as you pinch your nose swiftly. Standing up, you brush beads of sand off your legs. Your eyes roam the area before you find your father waving you over. “I should go,” you say as you look down at him. His brown eyes scan you before nodding and standing up. He, too, looks over to where your father waits to introduce you to a group of businessmen. He frowns and that's when you realize just how revealing your bikini might have been, only it's too late now.

“Papi always taught us to greet our elders.”

He clenches his jaw, eyes closing for a second. When his gaze meets yours, you almost choke with how dark and twisted it’s become. “Aren’t you too old to be calling him that?” Confused, you tilt your head.

“Calling him wh- Papi?”

He grinds his teeth together - and then just like that - he’s smiling again.

“Forget it. How would I know?”

Standing next to an empty table, you watch as Carlos and your sister dance along with everyone else. This party has allowed you to pick up on the fact that they seemed to be a much more important couple than you had anticipated. Everyone looked at the Spaniard as if he were a God himself - and being quite truthful - you would agree. There was nothing about him that wasn’t flawless.

Then, Ollie, just looked like any other person. Her eyes were bright, but any time anyone would walk up to him, her stare would become threatening. As if she was his owner and no one else could get close enough to breathe the same air.

Everyone here was older; that much you could tell. Attendees were accompanied by girlfriends or fiancée’s of their own. It made you feel a bit childish, since you clearly were the youngest one there. Reaching out for your margarita, you twirl the straw.

“Not having fun?”

Your attention directs itself to a dirty, blondish, brunette. He looks a bit tipsy, face flushed as he smiles sweetly. He’s tall, handsome. But not as much as Carlos.

“Max,” he introduces himself. Politely, you shake his hand. He points to the large group that dances on the sand. He lets out a croaky laugh. “They could get a bit much sometimes.” You laugh, nodding along with him. He continues talking to you. Brings up how he knows Carlos from driving with him; except he’s signed to Red Bull.

“Everyone here is invited only if they're a driver, huh?” It’s a lame joke, but he laughs and throws his head back as if it were the most fascinating thing he’s heard all night.

“It’s a small circle, but I promise, they're all nice lads.” Discreetly, he takes in your appearance. The way your black dress dances with the wind. Painted red nails glistening under the golden lights.

You were beautiful. Tragically, beautiful.

“You know the groom or the bride?”

“Bride.”

He nods, taking a sip of the beer bottle he had been nursing. You both continue your conversation for a while longer. He’s Dutch. Recently 26. You mention your headache before he brushes his fingers against your hand. Looking down, he pulls away before clearing his throat. He apologizes and asks if you would like to dance. A soft melody now plays and you find yourself taking his hand. It's big as yours disappears into it.

Almost as if he’s shy, he carefully slides his hands down to your waist. You giggle as you throw yours over his shoulders. “I hope slowing down helps get rid of your migraine. Sucks. I get lots of those during race weekends.”

“It is. Thank you for caring.”

He’s sweet. You can tell with the way he blushes when you mention the way you like his dimples. Slowly, you find yourself enjoying his company. You’re in the middle of laughing at some stupid joke he just told, when someone rudely clears their throat. Carlos’ smile appears bitter as he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry - I’ve probably killed the mood.”

“No problem, mate. We were just talking.”

He clicks his tongue before turning to you. Under his scrutiny, you feel as if you’ve just been caught smoking weed for the first time. Dazed, you hum, waiting for him to say something. You know it’s not your place to feel as if he owes you an apology, but you can’t help it.

“Ollie said it’s best if you went to bed.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. Since when does she care if I get a good night's rest? He huffs before running a hand through his hair. “She - she…Just do as you’re told, please.”

Now you’re bothered. Up until that point, you were actually having a good time. Dumbfounded, you turn to Max as he smiles understandingly. Pursing your lips, you apologize. Tippy toeing, you lean up to press a kiss against his stubble. He smiles.

“See you around?”

“See you around, Maxie.”

Walking into the lonely house, you let out a sigh as you pour yourself a cup of water. The summer heat had completely dehydrated you. You could still hear the soft beat playing from outside as you sway in the kitchen. You were upset - angry - that your sister had cut your night short. And any other time you would have put up a good fight, but thought it’d be best to not make a fool out of yourself. Especially in front of people you barely knew.

The door sliding open has you alert as you look up. Carlos silently makes his way in as he groans with exhaustion. Loopy eyes match yours as he clears his throat awkwardly. “So…What were you talking about with Max?”

“Nothing that should concern you.”

His jaw clenches, a large hand running along it. Stepping closer, he takes your cup of water before chugging it down. It leaves you hot and bothered just how close he is. It’s a mixture of salt and musk, his scent. It makes your head spin. Lazily, he takes a step back before nodding.

“Right. Have a good night.”

Carlos knew he had messed up. He had no right lying and saying Ollie had ordered for you to go to bed. That was completely him. It’s just that - seeing you with Max, laughing, smiling, made him seethe - when he knows damn well that he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend, after all.

So, he was embarrassed. He kept his distance. In his head it made sense. If you weren’t near then he wouldn’t feel the need to keep his eyes on you all the time. The house felt lonelier, colder without you sliding down the hallways. Rightfully so, you had spent your days locked up in your room. The only person that made happy was Ollie.

Either way, maybe it was for the best. He had a ton of shit to do. Starting with changing their honeymoon destination for what seemed like the millionth time that month. First, it was the Maldives, then Cancún - God - he knew that in a few hours his fiancée would come up with a new place.

“I know, I know we said that, but it’s changed.” He paces the office, stressed. “Can you please just make it fucking happen?”

“Ouch.”

Turning his attention, he sees you peeking at the entrance, phone still pressed up against his ear. Pouting, you enter, sweet aroma filling the room. Excusing himself, he ends the call. “Need anything?” He honestly cared for your response. It had been days without seeing you and he was afraid he blew it before he even had a chance to marry your sister. He told himself it was only because he cared for your relationship with Ollie. But fuck that - he knew not even you both cared that much about each other.

Shaking your head, you walk closer. “You sounded mean. Not a nice look on you, Mr. Sainz.” You’re teasing. You had to be.

“That wasn’t mean. It's called being straight forward.”

Ignoring him, you curiously eye the dark office. Books, trophies, helmets. Letting out a snort, you pick up the nearest picture frame. In it, it’s Carlos and Ollie, smiling wide. Tears brim her eyes as he looks down at her. The sight makes you want to puke.

“When was this taken?”

“The day of our engagement.”

You hum, already setting it back down. You can’t help but picture the impossible. That in the picture it was you instead of her, that you wore that diamond ring, that he looked at you.

Fuck her, honestly.

“Why’d you propose?”

He’s thrown off by your question. He’s expecting you to bring up the fact that it was a joke, but when you looked back for a response, he found himself with a dry mouth. Because I love her?

“Jesus,” you shudder, taking a seat on top of his desk. His eyes wander down your tan legs as you rest them on top of his chair. You're playing mind games - he’s well aware - and still he found himself following them. You were the worst temptation out there. It’s as if you knew the power you held. “I bet fucking her is a chore.”

Shocked at your words, he finds himself dumbstruck. He knew you two didn’t get along, but what the fuck happened for you to aim such insults?

He knows Ollie. Sure, she was a bit much at times, but she was nice. She was pretty. There was no need for your vile words.

You can tell he’s about to get defensive about her and that makes you shrink. Willing, you had handed him a reason to choose her over you.

Looking back at the picture, you purse your lips. “Sorry. That wasn't the right thing to say.”

“You should leave.”

You’re embarrassed over him kicking you out, but you knew you had crossed the line. So much for a peaceful afternoon. You comply, jumping off the desk. Not before making your way over, pressing your soft lips against his neck, which was the only place you could reach, even after tippy toeing. You felt him get stiff.

“Excuse my manners, Carlos.”

Skipping out the door, he’s left with a single thought.

He’s fucked.

The next morning, you’re forced to spend the day with your sister. Whether it was for running errands, fighting; it didn’t matter. As long as you made your father happy. All he wanted was for his girls to get along.

“Go,” Ollie growls as she hands you your bridesmaid dress. Snatching it from her, you slowly climb up the stairs to your room.

It’s a beautiful dress. Strong, dark, cherry red. Just like blood. It hugs your curves the way you’ve always thought all dresses should. For that reason, too, it made you look…older. Trying your best to get rid of the wrinkles, you smooth it down before making your way back.

Papi loves it as he starts throwing out compliments. You look beautiful, tesoro! You are a true gem. His eyes are bright and proud as you stand there with a shy smile. And though you thanked him, nothing else mattered but the man right in front of you.

The Spaniard had just gotten back from a meeting. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep the rest of the day, but as soon as he saw a balsé Ollie and an eager father-in-law, he was interested. She had told him to go relax; practically pushing him away. But as soon as you walked down those stairs, he swore his heart had never melted with such a sight.

His eyes became fixated to the point of no return. You stand there like a divine temptress. A siren who was mixed with innocence. Enough to drool over, but also, to adore from afar. Someone he could worship. If God decided this were his last day on Earth, then he would happily follow, since he finally felt as if his life were complete.

His big brown eyes are glued onto you as your father spins you. Ollie’s attention flickers between her younger sister and her fiancé. Tears fill up her eyes as she springs off the couch. You’re not bothered by it; don’t even bat an eye. That is until Carlos quickly runs off after her. That was a slap to the face as you show off a wounded smile to your father who stands there lost at the sudden commotion.

Later on that day, you find yourself trying to forget it all with watered down tequila. That’s really all you could find in such short notice. Leaning against the balcony, you study the soft waves, cold wind causing your skin to flash small goosebumps.

“Disgusting,” you mumble as you finish the rest of the alcoholic drink. Who knew a simple encounter would set you off?

“Woah there. Are you okay?”

Max cautiously steps closer as you shrug with a sigh. What was there to say? I’m a horrible person. I’m a horrible sister. And yes, we might not get along, but never in a million years did I think I would be falling in love with my future brother-in-law.

“What are you doing up so late?”

Sheepishly, he raises his cigarette. Letting out a low hum, you raise a brow. “Can I have one?” He knows he shouldn't be the one to give a teenager a form of drug, but you looked so upset, so drained, that he felt as if you needed it. Lighting it up, you bring it up to your lips as you squint at him. He laughs.

“First time?”

“No. It’s just been a while.”

You’re still not looking at him, but he notices the way you let out shaky breaths. The way you softly pinch your forearm. He frowns.

“I know we only just met, but do you want to talk about it?”

And maybe it was the gist of the moment. Or that he was being sweet - showing that he cared, but it worked because next thing you knew, you were kissing. He lets out an erotic moan with the taste of your lips. All a mix of cigarettes and tequila. This is wrong. He was friends with Carlos and you were only doing this in a moment of weakness, but you just couldn’t stop. Neither could he. Not when you tasted like a thousand crimes.

His large hands grab your ass as you gasp, brushing against his cock. He hissed as he pressed his lips much harder. Surely, you will have bruises tomorrow. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you grind against him. Clumsily, you both make your way to the couch that’s nearby. Straddling him, you continue to dry humping. Slowly, but surely, the warm sensation between your legs starts to form. Panting, you pull away as he tries to angle his face closer to yours. You smile tauntingly.

“You know what you remind me of?”

You hum, leisurely picking up your filthy actions. He bites back a smile as he grips harder onto your hips.

“A Lolita.”

A menacing smile looks down at him before you kiss down his thick neck, soft bites being left behind. You can’t recall the moment you start bouncing on his cock, or when he sprawls you open like a map, kneeling down in front of you. It’s all a haze; a delicious one, too. You’re falling like a feather from your climax when you hear a thud. Did you hear that? No, he would mumble as he peppers kisses onto your soft skin.

The tides are crashing harder now, signaling that the night was growing older. Timidly, you share a goodbye as you start to skip your way back into your room, but one last thing caught your attention.

A broken flower pot on its side and dirt trailing into the Italian home.

More days had passed since your last encounter with the devilish Spaniard. If you were ever in the same room, he wouldn’t even glance at you. He would simply just walk past by. He was mad. Upset about something. You tried to think of what it might’ve been, but when he walked into his office with an infuriated expression, you decided it was time to call a truce.

Knocking, you flinch at his sharp tone when he commands you away. Ignoring it, you still step in. Head thrown against his chair, man spreading, he has his eyes screwed shut.

“Are you okay?”

Your tone is sticky like honey. It annoys him the way it strings him in. Drumming his finger against the large chair, he angles his head to look at you. You’re almost scared to ask again, so you decide to stand still until he speaks up.

“Why’d you do it?”

Puzzled, you purse your lips, waiting for further explanation. What was he talking about? Did you do something to make him upset? The thought alone made you feel queasy. When he notices you still don’t understand, he clicks his tongue.

“Why would you fuck a friend of mine?”

Oh. Was it possible that this was something he was jealous of? Bewildered, you know you can’t deny it so you start to word-vomit. I am so sorry, Carlos. He came onto me that night - he kissed me first. I was confused. I was lured in by his words. I didn’t know what I was doing-

His eyes soften up as you try your best to break it down. But you were a liar; a good one. You knew damn well it was all you. You had kissed him first. You threw him under the bus and you knew that. Did he deserve it? No. Of course not. But you couldn't handle the Spaniard being mad at you.

He signals for you to get closer. Securely, he grasps your hand and hauls you onto his lap. It’s embarrassing how wet you’ve suddenly become; how your mind replicates a plate of jello.

“I’m sorry he made you feel like that.”

His rough fingers slide up and down your arms and even that leaves you buzzing. Suddenly, you feel feeble. You assure him that you were fine - that it was no big deal. The way he looks at you is what gives you the confidence to lean in closer. A trace of panic slashes his face for a second. He should probably stop this before anything else happens. There was nothing okay about your ass pressed up against him. Or him craving to taste your plump lips.

“He didn’t make me feel anything I haven't before.”

Your implication irks him far too much, he starts to consider this all an unhealthy encounter. He can’t stop the images of you being with other men. Someone else kissing you, pleasuring you. Whilst your words were suggestive, your features were anything but that. Wide eyes stare back at him, slightly crinkled. Moving your body, you scoot closer as if you weren't already. He growls as he pinches your hip. Then, you're kissing his neck, and he should be pushing you off, but he’s too far gone to pick up on how wrong this all was. I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Mr. Sainz. I didn’t think you would care who fucked me or not.

“I-I don’t. It’s just that you shouldn't be doing stuff like that. You’re too young for all that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” You narrow your eyes. “I’m wiser than one might think. I’m mature enough to know who can and can’t fuck me the way I like.” Your gaze focuses extra hard with your confession. As if it were meant for him.

Pressing your ass one last time against his tight pants, you leap off, giggling.

“Take care, Carlos.”

It's a business dinner, your father fills you in as you sit nearby, enjoying a bowl of ice cream, hairollers dangling around your head. Pouting, you reach up to clip one back into place. He smiles.

“You know, lots of young, talented guys are going to be here. It could be a great opportunity to meet someone.”

You make a face at his idea. “Yeah. No, thank you.” Marching over to him, you gently pat his cheek. “I’m not here to meet anyone.”

Signhing, he grabs your hands. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Are you and Carlos…” Choking on your own saliva, you push away. What? No. Of course not! Why would you even think that? He lets out a breath of relief. “It’s nothing. Ollie just brought it up, but I told her you would never actually do something like that. I know my precious girl.”

The door creaks open as Satan herself walks in, followed by an Angel. First thing you noticed are their intertwined hands. Ollie tries to be coy as she flashes the action right in front of you. She mainly greets your father as she sticks by Carlos like a piece of gum. Hello, he would say to you as you bite back a smile.

“What are we talking about?”

“Your sister might have a boyfriend by the end of the night, that's what,” your father jokes as you slap his shoulder. Boyfriend? The Spaniard’s eyes burn you, subtle threat evident. Ollie fakes a smile as she tugs him back a bit.

“Wow. You know what? That might actually be a good idea. Could help with how uptight you are. But I’m confused, boyfriend as in Max?”

Fury fills you as you shoot daggers right at her. Ollie’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction. You’re dating Max? “Of course not, papi! Ollie is just being a bitch.”

“No, no, no - I don’t think telling the truth is being a bitch. You should be happy, baby sister! You sure sounded like it when you let him fuck you out in the balcony.”

Shocked at her words, you can’t bring yourself to look at your father who stands disappointed. Ollie, that's enough, Carlos warns as he squeezes her hand. She yanks it away, jewelry clinging against each other.

“My bad. Shit, I forgot. I forgot no one knew what a slut you are. Opening your legs for any man around you. We’re lucky you’re not attracted to your own father.” She lets out a sour laugh. “Now, that would be fucked up.”

“That’s low, Ollie,” you spit, skin feeling as if it's on fire. You know where all this pent up anger is coming from, but she had no right to make up shit for fun. What kind of sister does that? Embarrassed, your eyes flicker to where Carlos stands with a hopeless expression. Licking your lips, you force yourself to walk away.

Slamming the door shut, you let out a loud scream. Why? Why was she always like this to you? A hard knock is what makes you wipe your tears away. Ollie slithers her way in. It hurt you how proud she looked. As if she had achieved something spectacular.

“The fuck - Are you crying?”

“What do you want?”

She takes a seat on your desk as she dusts off imaginary lint. “I just want to talk. The way sisters do.”

Ricocheting off the bed, you march over to her as you glare. “Sisters? No. You’re nothing of mine.” Ollie yawns as she rubs her eyes. Then, she clears her throat.

“Do you want to know why I hate you? You’re so stupid you probably don’t even know, but don’t worry - that’s what older sisters are for. I’ll explain it to you. Do you remember, Romeo?”

You do. It hits you all at once; the memories of the first man you ever slept with. He was nice - kind enough to teach you what a man likes. He had jet black hair, a smirk always lingering on his lips. He was tall and a local from where you grew up. He was the perfect experience.

But that still didn’t make any sense. What did he have to do with Ollie?

She lets out a wet laugh. Already, you can see her own tears as she tries to quickly wipe them away.

“I loved you; I did. You were my sister before my enemy. But I also loved him. He was my first love. Promised me a home high up in the hills. But do you know what it feels like to see someone you love fuck your little sister against a wall?”

We probably shouldn’t-

Don’t worry. I’ve got you. No ones going to see us. Men love a good thrill.

“You and him…”

She licks her chapped lips. “We had barely started dating.”

“I didn’t know - I swear to God, I didn’t know!”

If you had, you never would’ve looked his way. Ollie was everything to you growing up. You admired her. Loved her. That’s why it broke you when she started pushing you away as if you were some disease. Later, when your parents got a divorce, she didn’t second guess it when she made the decision to stay behind; causing you to leave with your mother. She never cared for you after that and you never knew why.

But now you did.

“I was young…Younger than I am now, how was I supposed to know?”

“Well, I’m glad we agree on something. You truly don’t know anything.” Strolling over to you, she smiles at your desperate state. “Which is why I’m not making the same mistake twice. Stay away from my husband.”

Ollie’s words felt as if they had opened up past scars. You meant what you said. Romeo would have been someone you would have disregarded if you had known the truth. But like always, you were the one with the entire blame and that you didn’t like.

Despite wearing a pretty dress - one that everyone gawked at you for - you felt ugly. Has it always been this way? Maybe it did make sense as to why she despised you. Playing with your bracelets, you try to pretend you’re interested in meeting your fathers investors. You feel completely exposed when they all stare straight at your chest area.

“How are we all doing?”

They all look up at the Spanirad as they start spitting out their congratulations for his upcoming wedding. He thanks them before checking up on you. His eyes connect with yours. Butterflies swirl inside your stomach as you smile weakly. He’s the first one to truly talk to you that night. To show he cares about your wellbeing rather than the way your dress fits you. Though, you looked stunning as always. Excusing yourself, you make your way into the kitchen, looking for something stronger.

Serving yourself a shot of vodka, you throw your head back, burning sensation sliding down your throat. Coughing, you grip onto the counter. Soft moans whisper in between the walls. You stop breathing for a minute as you try your best to identify where it might be coming from. Striding closer, you press your ear against the closet door. Fuck, a mans voice groans. This is not something you should intervene with, it's not your right, but that all changes when you hear a name that makes you burn all over again. So fucking tight, Ollie.

Pushing the door open, you see your sister banging one of your fathers investors. Ben, you think his name is. Honestly, you could care less. Briskly, she pushes her gown back down as he zips his pants. You let out a cold laugh as you clap in amusement.

“Oh, God. This is great. Amazing. You really outdid yourself, Ol.”

Stepping forwards, she grabs your arm harshly as she tugs you out. “How much did you see?”

You purse your lips as you theatrically scrunch your face up in pleasure. “Oh, Ben! Fuck me! Oh, oh, yes, baby, right there!” You bow. “That much.”

“How old are you, sweetheart?” The brunette says as he scans your body. Ollie glares at him as he steps back.

“Not a word of this to Carlos.”

“Why would I keep this a secret? He deserves to know. What do you think, Benny?”

Panicked, the older man shakes his head as his eyes plead for mercy. That’s enough. Raising your hands up in defense, you grin back at Ollie. “You’re not mentioning anything if you know what's good for you.”

“Oh, yeah?” You tilt your head back. “And what’s good for me?”

“If you tell him anything of what you just heard - saw - then I’ll just tell him how you’ve been bending over for every man in this house. Charles, Lando, Lewis, Pierre…you name it.”

“He won’t believe you…”

She laughs sinisterly. “No, I think he will. I mean…You’ve already done it before.”

“Hey,” his soft voice enters the room as you turn to look at him. The Spaniard’s eyes dance between you and your sister and Ben. “Is something wrong?”

Ollie shakes her head with a bright smile as she walks up and kisses him. You flinch. “Nothing, amor. We were just talking.” She runs her hands through his hair as his eyes remain on you.

“Are you okay?”

Nodding, you grind your teeth together. “Yes. Ollie was just introducing me to Ben.” Awkwardly, the man waves from behind you. Slowly, Carlos nods.

“Papi asked me to introduce them. You know - with the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing!”

“He was serious about tha- Oh. Okay.” He reaches down to take your sister's hand as he eyes you and Ben. “We should probably leave you two alone then.”

Hastily, you nod. “Sure.”

If you were willing to try and fix your relationship with Ollie before, then that was long gone. This is what you knew her for. A pretender. She wistfully makes everyone believe she’s some sort of saint, when really, she’s a wolf in sheep's clothing. She’s a hypocrite. She has a man that everyone desires and she does this?

You hated her.

You hated seeing the way she beams when Carlos’ mother gives her a necklace that belonged to her own mother. She didn’t deserve it. Or the way his sisters helped her slip in and out of her dress, making sure it's perfect for the big day.

Still, you try your best to be a supportive sister. Especially around the woman who raised a man like Carlos. Biting down on your lip, you take a sip of your champagne as Ollie disappears behind the curtains with the lady who is taking some last minute measurements. Reyes smiles warmly.

“We didn’t know Ollie had a younger sister.”

You smile. “Best well kept secret, right?” The older lady laughs. Your heart warms up as you notice it's the same way Carlos does. Ana and Blanca grin.

“Well, we’re glad to finally get to know you. Might I add, you’re beautiful. Those eyes!”

“Thank you,” you blush.

Ana takes a sip of her drink before clicking her fingers. “That’s what you remind me of! You - Carlos - almost have the same puppy eyes!” She turns to her mother. “Mamá! What’s that saying? Soulmates look alike…Something like that, no?”

“Be quiet, Ani,” Blanca hisses before smiling apologetically. “Excuse her - she can be a bit invasive.”

“No problem,” you reassure as you bite back a smile. Ana frowns.

“Lo siento, I don’t mean to come off as overbearing. It’s just that you do…”

Reyes clears her throat as she winks over at her daughter. “Don’t misunderstand us, please. We love Ollie, we do! It’s just…you’re different.” She examines you. “I like you.”

Their words stick with you like a post it. Do soulmates look alike? Playing with the sand, you circle your finger agonizingly slow. Why did their words matter so much to you?

“I always find you alone.”

You stick your tongue out at Carlos as he chuckles at your childish behavior. You pat the sand, inviting him to join you. What are you doing out here? You point at the ocean. “I told you it was my favorite place.”

“Ah. I see.”

You sneak in a quick look before looking straight ahead. “Nervous?”

“About?”

“Marrying a monster.”

He gives you a deadpan look, bumping his shoulder to yours. “She’s not that bad, you know.” He glances at you. “Ollie has been there for me through so much. Through my failures. Through my accomplishments. She’s the one who convinced me not to quit racing.”

“You were thinking of quitting?”

He nods. “It’s not as easy as it looks. It fucks you up mentally. But she…” He smiles. “She helped me overcome that. I thank her everyday for it.”

It’s a bittersweet feeling hearing him talk about her like that. On one hand, you’re thankful that she had made him realize that he should carry on doing what he loved. On the other, you knew her true reasons. She loved having a famous fiancé; someone she can brag out to the rest of the world.

Somewhere, far away, you hear a melody. It’s low enough that if you didn’t pay close attention, you wouldn’t catch on to it, but you did. You grab his hand, leading him to stand up. He quirks a full brow.

“Want to dance?”

“I thought you said you didn’t know how to.”

“Nice memory, old man.” You gently kick some sand towards him. “But I feel like dancing. Plus, you should be practicing.”

Tugging you closer, he hums. “Alright. Only because that's true.”

His hands feel warm against you - so much so - it feels as if he’s on fire. An ease comes to it, too, as you both sway under the moonlight. You giggle when he spins you, dress flying around you like petals. The way you grin makes his heart speed up in a way he’s never felt before. It’s alarming. He pinches your hip as you yelp.

“Mentirosa.”

“Wha- No, I’m not! Can’t dance to save my life.” Clumsily, you dig your toes into the sand. He winces playfully.

The air grows heavy the moment he brushes your hair behind your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean against his warm hand. One look, and he’s hooked. It’s meant to be something lighthearted, but the way he wishes to feel your soft lips against his indicates that it’s not. He’s tried his best to see you for what you are; his fiancée’s little sister. Someone he shouldn’t find himself caring if they slept well, ate their three meals a day, or that they didn’t talk to any other man that wasn’t him or your father. This was sick and twisted and yet…

His lips meet yours as your eyes spring open for a nanosecond before letting yourself go under. It feels as if you’re exploding like firecrackers on a Fourth of July. Something about the way he cradles your face endearingly has your head spinning. Knees become weak, but his grip is secure. It’s better than you could have ever imagined. His tongue fights for dominance and when you don’t give it to him, he squeezes your ass. Moaning, you open your mouth and that's all it took. He kisses you the way you’ve seen in movies - only better. He’s hungry - desperate - for you as you smile against him. Biting down on his bottom lip, he groans as he kisses you harder than before. You were beginning to think your lips were about to snap.

Letting go, he stands there, staggered. He’s ashamed when he realizes that he regrets nothing. You both stay quiet; only waves crashing and heavy pants being heard. At first you think he’s going to apologize, and maybe that might have been the case, but no words would come out. Pressing a peck against his swollen lips, you smile.

“Goodnight, Carlos.”

Carlos rues the day that he kissed you because that only made things more complicated. He couldn’t find a way to not look for you when he walks into the garden, full of family and friends. Or the way he would want to punch Max when he made you laugh. But there is also something sweet. Like the way you would gossip with his sisters and share stories with his parents. He had never seen them laugh and smile so much, not even with Ollie.

He flinches at the cold hand that wraps around his own. Faking a smile, he presses a soft kiss on top of his fiancée’s head. Continuing the clicking against her glass, she smiles widely.

“Grazie a tutti per esservi uniti a noi!”

Everyone claps and a few of the drivers whistle. Rolling your eyes, you lean your head against your father’s shoulder. His heart skips a beat. Ollie continued her speech filled with thank you’s, thank you’s and more thank you’s. Your father kissed your cheek before making his way up to his eldest. Taking the microphone from Ollie, he starts to share warm felt memories about her. You have to admit, you’re jealous about their bond. Somewhere in the past, that had been viciously stolen from you. He notices the way you shrink with sadness and he finds himself about to walk over to you when Ollie laughs awkwardly. Amor. It’s your turn.

“Right.” Fixing his rolled up sleeves, he smiles at the crowd of guests. “Uh…Well like my fiancée said, we’re extremely happy to have you all here. It takes a lot to get this many people out here all at once.” A few laughs echo as he continues. “This means a lot to me, too, to have my friends and family. To have met new faces.” His gaze flickers past you as your breath hitches. “Many ask me what about Ollie made me fall in love with her…And I’m here to be as brutally honest as I could get. I love the way she makes me feel as crazy as the ocean. I could spend calm days with her and not worry about getting bored. Or I could find myself getting into trouble. Ollie has made me a better man. Because of her I know what true love is…” His loopy eyes meet yours. “True love are the waves that meet the shore.”

He lets out a sheepish smile. I want love like that, Lando yells out as he downs his glass of milk. Everyone claps and cheers and that’s where your nightmare begins.

Let’s give it up for the happy couple! Kiss, kiss, kiss!

The chants continue as Carlos let out a nervous laugh. That’s something private between me and her, he tries but finds himself being booed. Leaning down, he pulls Ollie in for a peck before pulling away with a tight lipped smile. He hates himself for his sudden realization.

Kissing her suddenly did feel like a chore.

With all the whoops and whistles being thrown out by friends, he finds himself trying to find you. It doesn’t take long as he notices you had picked up on your conversation with the Dutchman. His jaw clenches.

“Maybe Ollie’s younger sister would like to share a few words.”

Why would he say that? Frozen, you choke mid sip. Me? Your father beams as he nods excitedly. Oh! That’s such a great idea! Unfamiliar faces turn to look at you as they wait. Taking in a deep breath, you nod as you make your way over.

As he hands you the microphone, he can’t stop himself from grazing his fingers against your hand. Coughing, you yank it fast.

“Ciao a tutti.” Everyone greets you back as you lick your lips. You take a moment to figure out what to say, but there’s not much. Cringing, you try to come up with anything. “As some may know, I’m Ollie’s sister…And I could go on forever about how great she is-” You suppress a sarcastic laugh as Carlos knowingly winks. Your nerves ease up. “But I think I should talk about the man who makes my sister the happiest. Carlos Sainz…When I first met you, you seemed uptight - more than the Grinch - but slowly I got to know the man that even my papi swoons over.”

True, your father laughs. “You’re kind, respectful, and charming…Ollie is one very lucky girl. But there’s something also sensitive inside of you…Despite the permanent frown on your face, you still seem to like days by the ocean. Maybe it's a reminder that peace still exists or maybe it's the way…” Looking up, you see everyone staring deeply. Suddenly, you feel like this might be oversharing as you twirl your dress. “...Or maybe it's the way your face lights up when you take my sister dancing on the sand. Uh…Thank you for making her happy.” Handing the mic back to Carlos, you smile weakly at the strong claps.

“That was quite sentimental,” Max points out as you bite down on your finger. Was it too much? He shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It looks like you and Carlos get along well enough. I, for sure, thought he hated you with the way he looks at you.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You pause. “I thought so, too.”

Aside from the fact that the wedding was approaching quickly, the mansion was quiet. The silence can almost be heard; it's scary. Carefully, you fix your dress as you skip down the stairs barefoot, lollipop painting your lips red.

Peeking around the corner, giddiness fills your body as you snatch a handful of pre-washed cherries. Earlier that day, your father had scolded you for finishing the new batch. Popping them into your mouth, you hum a song as you kick your legs against the kitchen counter. It creeps you out the moment a chill runs down your spine. As if someone were watching.

“Boo!”

“Santa mierda,” you yelp as you clutch your heart. Laughing loudly, the Spaniard bends over as he gasps for air. You pout and kick his knee. “Cabrón, you scared me! Warn a girl!”

“Fuck - I’m sorry.” His lips form a thin line as he stands firm. Slowly, the corners lift up, wobbly at his poor attempt to not burst out laughing. You frown.

“You’re fucked up.”

Again, his laughs echo the dimly lit kitchen. “Can I have some?”

“No. They’re mine. Grab your own.”

He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you on cherry prohibition or something like that?” You gasp as you look around before flipping him off.

“Keep your voice low or papi will disown me!”

He zips his lips as he whispers. “I won’t tell a soul. But I want one of those in exchange.”

Tapping your finger against your lip, you pretend to think about it before nodding. You extend your hand out, a single red cherry for him. You’re waiting for him to take it and leave to where he came from, but what he does instead has you swallowing a lump down your throat.

Crouching down, he opens his mouth as he picks up the cherry, lips slightly wrapping around your fingers. This was triggering you as you tried your best to keep sane. But there was no way of going about that when he looked up at you with deep, brown eyes. Licking the red juice sliding down your hands, he steps back. He licks his lips before swallowing. It amazes you the way his Adam’s Apple jumps up and down; thick neck begging to be sucked on.

“Fucking delicious.”

Blinking, you look down at the rest of the cherries in hand. All of a sudden they seemed like a sultry fruit rather than a drupe.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Of cours-s-e.”

Stupefied, you throw the leftovers straight into the trash bin. You had no clue what made you do that. A small chuckle escapes past his lips as you shut your eyes in embarrassment. Maybe they weren’t as sweet as you made them seem. Too mortified to speak, you keep your eyes focused on the way your feet hit the wood as a distraction. It takes all of you to not run away as he steps closer once again.

“Is there something in that dirty little mind of yours?”

The room feels hot all of a sudden as you shake your head. There’s no words in your vocabulary when he stands this close. You can smell his cologne mixed with shampoo. If richness were a scent then this would definitely be it. His hands cage you in like a butterfly behind glass. Clicking his tongue, he steps aside as you let out a shaky breath. Taking the opportunity, you jump off the edge, bare feet slapping against the cold tiles. Cuidado, he mutters when you almost slip from the sudden action.

“If you need anything I’ll be upstairs.”

Not sure why you said that, but it seemed like a rationalized excuse. Por supuesto. And that would have been the end of your night. That would have been another successful day of not falling for the forbidden apple. You had held out for so long; the kiss didn’t count. But it only takes a few steps for him to clear his throat. Almost as if this were your secret language, you spin and you find him staring after you; dazzling eyes following your every movement as if he’s trying his best to decipher anything you do.

Smiling wide enough for your eyes to look as if they had a smile of their own, you think - fuck the consequences - as you clumsily run up to him; jumping like a kid onto a tree. Legs wrap around his torso and his hands hold you close to him.

“Do you-”

“Yes,” he whispers. “Since the first day you walked through those doors: yes.”

If you had thought you were obsessed with his kisses before, you were wrong. So very wrong. Because now you were addicted. He kisses you with urgency as you run your hands through his locks, so soft against your fingers. He grunts when you tug on it.

His kisses were stimulating enough for you to plead for something. Anything. Smirking, he pecks your nose before leading you both upstairs. It amazed you how he could continue kissing you as he hurried to get to the bedroom. Noticing him making his way into his and Ollie’s, you pull away. There’s no way you would let him do that. You spin your finger lazily through his hair.

“How about mine?”

He doesn't care if he fucked you against the floor, he needed you. Kicking the door shut, he throws you onto your bed as you squeal. He smiles fondly as you brush your hair out of your face. He’s had his fair share of girls. Models, nepo-babies, Ollie, but none of them compare to you.

He was almost scared of touching you again, even though that’s exactly what he wanted. Doe eyes stare back at him as his cock gets harder at the sight. Ollie had always tried her best to look at him that way, but you didn’t even have to try. It naturally happened. Nothing about this felt forced.

You look untouchable. Like a complete goddess waiting to be ruined. Carlos, you would say as you squeeze your tits, eyes struggling to stay open. Carlos, please. Don’t be mean. Towering over you, he shakes his head.

“Linda, I could never be mean to you.”

Slipping your dress off, he groans when he sees you weren’t wearing anything underneath. He shuts his eyes as he tries to not finish inside his pants, which by the way, were starting to hurt. He pinches your nipple before slapping your tits. You hiss.

“Please tell me you did this for me and no one else…”

“You know it’s always been for you.”

With that, he stands up as he yanks his shirt off; jeans and boxers following right after. A bit worried, you find yourself staring at his rock hard dick. You had never been with some as big as him; it kind of looked as if it would split you right open. That didn’t stop you from wanting it, though.

“Don’t worry. I’ll prepare you nice and good, cariño.”

His lustful tone snaps you out of it as you nod. His fingers rub your wet folds as you cling onto his bicep. C-Carlos. “I know, baby, I know,” he coos as he focuses on the way your face pinches. He slowly starts slipping his finger in as you gasp at the thickness. So big and long. He chuckles. “Oh, come on now. It’s not even fully inside of you yet.”

Stunned, you look down and sure enough, it isn’t. You almost cry out when you notice it’s barely even the tip. “I don’t think it’s going to fit.” He kisses your temple as he slips his finger back out.

“Let’s start off with something else then.”

You almost pass out when he angles himself in front of your pussy. Glistening clit stares back at him as he moans. So pretty, he thinks as he touches you slowly. He stops himself, though, as he goes in for kitten licks instead. You squirm. His large hands pushed you down against the bed, to keep you in place.

“Do you want me to make the ache in between your legs go away?”

“Yes.”

His pink tongue teases you as he hums. You bite down sharply. “You’re going to have to stay still. Relax, bonita.” Following instructions, you close your eyes, trying your best to not think of the handsome Spaniard. As if that were possible. Impressed, he leans in again as he licks you, picking up your pre-cum. Oh, fuck.

Then it’s almost as if Carlos is taken over by something as he dives in like some animal. His stubble burns your legs, but you’re too fucked out to even care. You’re sure you're being loud, but how can you not be when he licks and sticks his tongue inside of you, exploring places you never knew existed. You choke back a moan when he rubs his nose against your clit, only adding to the euphoria.

“Yes. Oh. Fuck, yes.” Looking down at the brunette, you find him taking in your appearance as he rubs himself against the sheets; a way to try and pleasure himself. And that’s enough for you to cum all over his face. He smiles as he greedily tries to drink up everything you give him. He knows he lost control, but he loves the way you were able to keep up. To take everything he gave you.

And that was only going to multiply.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groans in between your legs, picking up the white nectar. Crying out, you push his face away as you gasp for air. He sucks your tits as you take a break. His tongue swirls around your bud as you wiggle against him like a fish that jumped out onto land. He laughs. “Can you handle my fingers, now?”

No, you whisper as you push him away. But he knows you’re giving up too soon. He knows there’s an animal inside of you and he’s just waiting for it to decide to join him. He ignores you as he slides his fingers down to your center. You mewl against him. “Hey, hey, I got you, cariño. I’m right here.”

His voice makes you clench harder against his fingers as he grins like a kid at a candy store. Slowly, you start dripping more than before, making it easier for his fingers to slide in and out of your hole. Can you handle a third? “Yes,” you respond, eyes still screwed shut. Hot air hits your ear.

“There she is…Good girl. Justo asi.”

Picking up speed, his fingers reach the gummy part inside of you as you scratch his arms in an attempt to remind yourself to not black out. His long fingers cross, doing figure 8’s as he touches your g-spot as if he knows your entire body better than any map. Leaning up, he bites down onto your nipple before sucking hard. You should be embarrassed with the way you squeal and shake against his actions, but he just made it so hard not to. Much to your surprise, if you dare believe it, he does the thing you last expected.

He adds a fourth digit.

“No, no, no,” you pathetically chant as your eyes fly open. He cocks his head to he side as he clicks in tongue as if seeing you struggle filled him with pride.

“Ah, ah, ah. Just trust me; do you trust me?”

He didn’t need to ask because he knew you did. I do, you whimper out as you start grinding against his fingers. Amazement fills his dark eyes as he looks down to where you clench around him, juices sliding down his arm. It only takes a couple of more swirls before your shriek, velvety walls clenching around him as you reach your climax.

Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he licks your cum as if it were a meal he’s dreamed of having his entire life. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him lick them clean. You’re sure he’s going to fuck you now, but that flies out the window as he lays down as he drags you onto his face.

This man had stamina. Lots of it. You're trying to beg for a break of some sort. I can suck your dick. Give you a handjob. Just please let me rest. But he wasn’t even listening.

Maybe somewhere deep down, he knew this would be the only night he would have you to himself and if that meant no pauses, then he would push all your buttons.

Like a starved man, he starts licking you all over as you grind against his face. The way he sucks on your clit and adds his fingers make you squeal as you push down harder. His nose rubs against you in such a way, it has you seeing stars. He seems to be enjoying that though, as his moans vibrate against you. Biting hard onto your lip, you try to distract yourself as you reach behind you for his rock hard cock. The moment your small hand wraps around him, he growls like a lion.

Smug over his reaction, your hand slowly starts jerking him off as he eats you out with more urgency. It takes all of you to control your actions as he shakes his face in between your legs. S-slow down, Carlos. He grunts as his actions speed up, but so does your hand. Gripping onto his erection much harder, you furrow your brows as you twist your wrist. Choking on your juices, he opens his eyes wide, whimpers flying past his lips.

Smiling down like the devil, you nod as your hand picks up its pace. Now it's his turn to be groaning with pleasure. He seems to have forgotten what he was doing as he takes in strong whiffs of your aroma. You shudder when his warm breaths escape to warm up your dripping pussy.

His cock twitches and he seems to snap right back into it; already diving back into your hole. Lurching forward, you grip onto his hair as the other remains wrapped around him. It’s a game to see who can make the other cum first, and you were not about to be the loser.

Lively, you circle your thumb around his pink tip as he groans and finishes all around your hand. Sucking hard, he bites gently onto your clit as you screech and trap his head between your thighs. Shaking, you twitch against him as you reach your third orgasm that night. Huffing, you roll off him as he laps his tongue.

The way he looks at you makes you want to ride his face all over again, but you know you needed a break if you didn’t want the night to end so soon. Kneeling in front of him, you raise your ass up high as you lean down to wrap your lips around his cock. He flinches, slightly sensitive, but doesn’t dare push you away. Instead, he rubs your face with his calloused thumb; encouraging you. There's something so hot about the way your lips stretch around his fat cock. The way drool exits your mouth, messy blots of mascaras on the corners of your eyes.

Light of my life. Fire of my loins.

Gagging around him, you squeeze your eyes shut, feet curling up along the way. For sure, your throat would be bruised tomorrow, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you wanted that. Deepthroating him as best as you can, your small hands wrap around the rest of his length. He was huge. Dirty slurps bounce off the walls. You try your best to not pull away when you feel his sticky pre-cum connect inside your throat. Not when he looked so good with his head thrown back. His thick neck is a clear display. With his large hands wrapped around your hair as he fucks your face like theres no tomorrow. Spanish curses flowing past his lips.

“Que linda. Arrodillada como una santa.”

When you giggle around his erection, he groans, head thudding against the headboard. His mind quickly slips over to Ollie - but not in the way one might expect. It hits him like a truck when he compares her to you. With Ollie, she would last at least 20 minutes before calling it a night. He pretended not to mind - he would never force her to do something she doesn’t want to, of course - but once she would knock out, his large hand would slide down past his boxers, looking for a new release.

Then there’s you, ever so pretty. It seems like with everything you do, you want more. You sucking him off as if you’ve done this for him a lifetime ago. Sure, you’re struggling, but that only makes him harder. You’re trying to keep up with him and it’s working. Now, it’s like he’s the one trying to keep up. Swallowing, your throat closes around him as he flies forward, voice cracking as he presses for more.

Glossy eyes look back up at him as you repeat your action. With one last blow, he pulls out as he cums all over your face. His dick immediately gets hard again when you smile wide, fingers going to pick up his mess. Greedily, you pout as you wrap your lips around your finger like the lollipop you had been sucking on a few hours ago.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, abs contracting together as he tries his best to even out his breaths.

“Will you fuck me now?”

You’re moving at a snail's pace as you lick his sweaty neck. A chill runs down his spine with the feeling of your warm tongue. Grinding slowly against his thigh, you throw your head back with pleasure, wet lips rubbing against him. He smiles.

“You’re a dirty girl, you know that?”

“I thought that’s what you liked about me, papi.”

In a flash, he flips you onto your back as he hovers over you like a giant. A beautiful, beautiful, giant. His large muscles he works so hard for stare back at you as you admire with an open mouth. It looks as if he could carry mountains on his shoulders. Dilated pupils admire you as you let out a pathetic whimper. Long gone were his brown eyes as they now appear completely black. Sensual.

“Then you should be fucked as such.”

With that, he swings your tan legs over his broad shoulders, practically bending you like a pretzel. You pat yourself on the back for all those pilate classes. Jerking himself off a bit, he looks straight at you, making sure this was something you wanted. The way you bat your cartoon eyes is all he needs to slip inside of you.

First thing he notices is how tight you are despite him already stretching you out to perfection. Raw moans leave both your lips as you try your best to adjust to his size. You had been with men before - that’s all you really knew - but no one’s cock had ever made you burn with such satisfaction. More than satisfaction. He’s reassuring you with his words in order for you to relax.

I’ve got you, preciosa. Just let go for me. I’m right here.

Still, you can’t help but squirm underneath him. His fingers make their way to your mouth as you stare back confused. Suck, he commands before forcing them in. Caught off guard, you gag around them for a bit before your tongue begins to twirl around them. Your cheeks burn up as you hear your low mewls. Ah- ah- ah, you cry out against his digits as he grins down at you. Retracting them, he slides them down to your clit as he starts rubbing small circles.

“Oh God.”

Instantly, you open up against his tired cock as he hums. There you go, he praises as you make it easier for him to thrust into you. You should both be ashamed of the way gushy sounds bloom from your mixed cum. Or the way he pounds into you so hard and fast that it has you sliding further back against the bed, hair tangling along the way. His fingers dig into your calves as he holds them in place.

“Mierda,” he wheezes as he throws his head back, ripping his eyes away from the way your puffy clit envelopes around him. Pants and whimpers escape you as you arch your back from the fulfillment.

Carlos is a man - you know that - but in this moment; right now: he’s proving it the way a scientist would their hypothesis. His cock brushes against your g-spot as you gasp at the sensation. He’s looking at you as if you held the key to all secrets.

The keys for the gate to Heaven.

Though he knows that this all feels like Heaven, he deserves nothing but Hell for cheating on Ollie. But that’s the least of his worries.

“Does that feel good, bonita?”

Wide eyes look up at him desperately as you nod to the point where your neck starts to ache. Yes - Oh God, yes. So good, Carlitos. Yeah, baby - right there. Snapping his hips harder against you, your mind goes foggy with the way his hair flops around him. Sweat causing long strands to stick to his face. Beads of sweat drip down your legs as he presses sloppy kisses. His cheeks look as if he’s been out in the sun for hours.

In this moment; he looked immortal.

“Carlos, I’m gonna-”

“Hold it.”

Like a doll, you flop back against the bed as you start to leak acid. No - please. Don’t ask me to do that. Feeling a sharp sting, you gasp. His hands dives back in to massage your cheek after slapping you. He cocks his head with fake sympathy. “I know you can do it,” - thrust - “Wait for me, yeah?”

You have no word as you wail - tits bouncing with every assault from his hip. Your stomach burns with the way his abs glisten, with the way his bottom lip juts out, or the way his muscles shine with a layer of sweat as they hug your legs like a teddy bear.

He was yours. In this moment, he was yours.

“Alright, linda-” He brushes your hair out of your face as he wipes your sweat with his hand. “Cum for me?”

It’s an out of body experience the moment you squirt around his dick - the way your tummy feels like it's on fire. Sore groans leave his lips as he finishes inside of you, brown eyes trained on the way you gush around him. He freezes in place at the feeling. You squirm for a few seconds below falling limp against the bed. The room smells like nothing but filthy sex.

Pulling out of you, he carefully places your legs back down before kissing your ribs. Then your bruised tits. Then your cheeks, forehead, and lastly, your lips that taste like home. Sighing against him, you try your best to remember the way he kisses you as if you're the only form of oxygen that exists. As if this were a dystopian world and you were the only source of survival.

He pecks your lips once more before brushing his fingers against your temple. “Get some sleep.” Yawning, you nod as your eyes flutter like a butterfly's wings. Will you stay? And he doesn’t know what takes over him when he says-

“I will.”

When you wake up you notice it’s still dark out. The moon shines, eyes flickering around, looking for the Spaniard. You let out a low breath of relief when you see him sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Ollie,” he whispers into the phone as he runs a hand against his jaw. “...I made a mistake.”

Your heart stops with his words. He makes sure to speak low, thinking you're sound asleep. She - I - it was a mistake. She’s just a kid…Fuck. She’s just a child. Your heart shatters with the evident blame in his voice. You weren’t a kid. Sniffling, you stop breathing when you realize you’re crying. He pauses for a moment before standing up and making sure you’re okay. Bringing the phone up against his ear, he shakes, already walking out the door.

“Where are you? Let me just see you, amor. I’ll explain it all.”

There’s a saying that goes: You know, a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating, just the same.

You would personally like to punch that person in the face. It’s not true. It doesn’t beat the same - because then why does it hurt everytime it pounds against your chest? Why is it hard to breath when the priest says-

“You may now kiss the bride!”

Everyone’s faces are blurry; cheers sound far away. You can’t be too sure you're standing upright as your father beams at the sight of Ollie pressing her lips up against Carlos. The way his hands slide down to her waist as shows her off proudly like some champion ring is what hurts the most. You feel flames all over your skin, letting out a flinch when your fathers signals for you to clap, too.

You don’t know what happened after that night. Whether Ollie forgave him or not - though clearly she had. Maybe she didn’t know about you the same way he didn’t know about Ben. This was all starting to feel like some nightmare. But it’s very much real life with the way the newlyweds hold hands, smiling brightly as guests throw a mixture of confetti and baby breath.

“Nice ceremony.”

“What? Oh.” You shrug towards Max as he points over at the couple. “Y-yeah. It was…”

He goes over his next words for a moment because Lord knows that if he has it all wrong then he would appear to be the biggest jerk to ever exist. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”

“I-I-I’m not sure I understand,” you trample over your words as your cheeks burn the same color of your red dress. He shares a small smile.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”

Walking away, you’re left alone, second guessing everything. The violin seemed too happy. The guests seemed too bright. All of this was fake, couldn’t they see? Pursing your lips, you try your best to hide your broken heart as you catch up with old friends. How is college? How does it feel like having a brother-in-law who drives for Formula 1? Must feel pretty great, right?

The night is boring. Half of it you spend faking smiles and the other you spend trying to avoid the Spaniard. Life was better back in Spain, where ironically, he was never around despite it being his home country. You’re in the middle of conversing with the Dutchman - who quite frankly is an honest listener - when Ollie walks up looking like a ball of whipped cream. Can I talk to my sister alone, please? Max’s concerned eyes ask if you’re okay with that as you nod. Slumping away, he squeezes your knee one last time.

Blue Velvet plays as she fixes herself onto the stool right next to you. “Have you tried the cocktails? They have cherry flavored; your favorite.” Something about her sweet voice makes you unsteady as you raise a brow. She shows off her veneers. “This is weird. Sorry. I’m just so…happy.”

“Good to know.”

“But enough about me!” She places her left hand over yours, shiny rock sitting perfectly. You wince. “I want to talk about you! How’s school?”

“Like you care.”

She pouts. “I do now…” You furrow your brows. What do you mean now? She gasps. “Oh, you poor thing! You don’t know I know!” Your stomach drops. “Well, you know, as your older sister, I’m also your guardian since our mother is too fucked up to look after you…And a little birdie filled me in on your reputation back in Spain.” She giggles as she takes a sip of your drink. “Doesn’t surprise me, though. It only makes sense that you keep messing around with men old enough to be your father. You always had a thing for those.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

Ollie grins ear to ear when she notices how annoyed you’ve become. “Carlos told you he was born in Madrid, right? Okay, well, he also has a whole bloodline there. And let’s just say, a cousin of his - my goodness, his daughters are beautiful - is a professor at your Uni.”

No.

“And well this birdie also told me how you’ve been sneaking in and out of his lecture room, late at night. And I wonder…What have you and him been doing behind closed doors?”

It can’t be.

Professor Vázquez de Castro, he says as he extends his hand out, eyes roaming every inch of your body.

Suddenly, the name sounds familiar. The surname is Carlos’ extended one. Ollie’s eyes shine. “I see it’s clicking.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to leave me and my husband alone. I want you to grab your things and leave. Don’t look back; just leave. Don’t contact papi ever again. I don’t want to hear a single thing from you. It’s bad enough you’ve already fucked my spouse.”

She knows. He told her. And they still got married.

“Ollie, don’t…”

Tugging your hand harshly, she slaps her phone on it. And you don’t know how, but in it, it’s a video of you riding your Professor - Carlos’ cousin.

“Leave or I’ll show this to him. Your choice.”

Wet sobs leave your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief. How did this happen? Who took this video?

“Ollie, please…I love him.”

Her gaze sharpens as she takes the phone back and stands up. “You know what to do.”

Bringing your shaky hand up to your lips, you stare in shock. Wobbly legs walk past Max as he asks if you’re okay. One last smile looks back at him before you brush past by.

Carlos is craning his neck, looking for you. He had confessed that night, but so had Ollie. He was breaking off the engagement. Spilling apologies as she cried against his chest. Despite it all, he still cared for your sister. But he knew it wasn’t going to work out. He was ready to leave when she brought up the tape of you and a cousin he didn’t even know he had. I’ll get her expelled. Don’t do this, Carlos. And so he stayed. He knew how much you loved school, regardless of what others might think. I just want to help others, you swooned one day by the pool. It’s what I wish someone had done for me.

You get to him before he spots you as you tap on his shoulder. He fills up with worry when he sees your red brimmed eyes. Sheepishly, you take his handkerchief as you wipe your rosy nose. What happened? Who made you cry? You shrug.

“Carlos…I love you.” He blinks. You let out a wet laugh as you lean up to kiss him. You didn’t care who saw anymore. This was it. He doesn’t seem to care either as his hands wrap around your waist. Holding you close, as if you might vanish into thin air. He was the waves, you were the shore. Pulling away, you wink. “Save me a dance, yeah?”

Then, you’re walking away. Becoming smaller as you stroll over to the Italian house. Clutching his chest, he chokes: I-I…I.

“Carlos!”

Turning to face Ollie, he sees her waving him over to the giant cake.

“Coming.”

Running into the quiet house, he calls your name. He looks behind every door, hoping to find the girl in red. Stumbling up the stairs, he swings your door open. He breathes heavily when he doesn’t find you, even here. Panicked, he grips his hair in despair. Only then, does it occur to him to open the restroom door, hoping to not scare you.

“¿Bonita?”

Silence. He still pushes it open as he carefully walks in, finding no harm in checking. And why? Why couldn’t he be as truthful like you were? Risk it the way you would have willingly done. Why did he let you walk into the house alone?

Falling to his knees, he desperately crawls over to your lifeless body, dark blood flowing from your wrists.

As red as your dress.

He must be dreaming. This can’t be real. Surely, it can’t.

“No, no, no.” He drags your limp body into his arms. He can’t even pinpoint the moment his tears flow down his face. “Bonita, no. No. No. No.” The Spaniard cradles your colorless face into his hands. He gently taps your face a few times, but almost stops breathing himself when it only rolls back. Blood stains his white shirt. “Hey, hey. C’mon, please. You want me to say it?” Hurriedly, he picks up your head as he kisses your lips over and over. He winces when he feels how chapped they’ve become.

“It doesn’t feel forced. I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear - I love you. I do. I love you as infinite as the ocean. I love the way you laugh, the way you trip over anything in your way, the way you say my name…I love you.”

But he knew you weren’t listening. Not anymore.

A piece of him died that day along with you. After that, life was a sickening blur. He’s out of it the moment he hears your father yelling out in agony or when Ollie screams at the gruesome scene.

None of it mattered anymore.

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textmel8r · 12 days

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[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( eighth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugarmommy! reader , sugarbaby! toji , smut , submissive toji , finger sucking , masturbation , oral sex (f!receiving) , profanity

୨୧˚ an; so not happy with my writing in this one, probs will rewrite it one day but here, have a couple thousand words of smut🗣️ this is lowkey another filler but lowkey not at the same time? i wanted to fit in another intimate moment before shit goes south awooooooo

You were not fibbing when you said you knew your way around the kitchen. “Holy fuck,” Toji all but moans, tearing into another piece of tender meat with his canines. It was juicy and seasoned almost too much, just the way he likes it. He squints across the table, where you eat in tandem with much better manners than he could ever hope to have. “Who taught you how to cook like this?”

You shrug bashfully under his gawking, wiping your mouth with a dainty stroke of the napkin you had placed in your lap. “I traveled a lot in between semesters at college. Italy, France, Denmark…” You list a few more places that Toji wouldn’t be able to point out on a map. “Those European countries do food so good, I guess it inspired me to give my best shot at it as well.” Self taught, huh? Yeah, you seem like the type to succeed in everything you try.

The man nods, ultimately wishing he had more to add. He wishes he had just an ounce in common with you, a smidgen of relatability to offer. But he doesn’t. Toji didn’t finish school. He’s never left Japan. He’s never cooked a damn thing from scratch in his life. You must’ve caught on to his struggle and decided to show mercy by adding, “actually, right now we’re eating steak au poivre.”

“Steak au po–” He cut himself off before inevitably butchering the name. “What is that? French?”

You’re nodding enthusiastically. “That’s right. I happened upon this dish when I was staying in Bordeaux with a few college mates.” There’s a sweet smile tugging sheepishly at your lips as you recall the memory. “I fell in love with it the second I tried it, and asked the manager right then and there for the recipe.”

Toji shakes his head with disbelief, talking with his mouth full of food. “You’re just full of stories, aren’t you?”

“Some would call me experienced, yes.”

His brow raises. Experienced? Was that a come on? Toji gives way to his own quaint smile, jutting his chin toward you. “Say it again.”

“Say what again?”

“Steak au whatever.”

You oblige his request, repeating the name back slowly so he could attempt to grasp it. “Steak au poivre. Now you give it a go.”

Toji finishes chewing the mouthful of peppercorn-laced meat, swallowing it down with a swig of the Château Cheval Blanc you’d poured at the start of the meal. Some fancy French imported wine is what he gathered from the long winded description you waxed as you topped off an extravagant glass for him. Wine never really appealed to the man—he usually went for the harder shit. The type that you knock back from lowball glasses. The type to get you piss drunk after three rounds—but it was all you ever drank. It was safe to say he was becoming accustomed to your tastes. Maybe the sweetness wasn’t so terrible. He clears his throat, putting embarrassingly too much effort into his “steak au poivre.” It doesn’t sound pretty the way it did leaving your mouth, and he grimaces. “Can’t fucking do it.”

“I thought you sounded good.” He scoffs at that, but you click your tongue. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll just leave the French speaking to you.” The plate before him sits scraped clean. You’re still working on your dinner. Fuck, you’re a slow eater. “You know any more?”

“Any more French, you mean?”

He nods along with a gruff hum, swishing his tongue around his teeth, collecting anything left over of that smokiness from the peppered steak.

“Hm. Tu m'as manqué, Toji.” You hide your grin behind the rim of your glass.

Thick forearms crossed over chest, he croons a deep, barely-there chuckle. “I heard my name. Tell me what you said.”

“No way,” you chortle.

“Ah, c’mon. You’re all blushy.” He licks over the chappedness of his lower lip, knowing gaze latched onto your lips. It was hypnotic, your smile. “You say somethin’ dirty about me, ma’am?”

The way in which your eyes widened coquettishly at the accusation had Toji’s heart beating just a bit more erratically. Like a fawn, he thinks. All that was missing on you was a white, cottony tail.

“If I said something dirty, It would have been in a language you could understand.” Finally, you take the last bite off your dish as well. Hopefully that means dinner is officially over; Toji has been craving dessert since he stepped foot in your house and got showered in ‘welcome back’ gifts. “I’m not the type of woman easily embarrassed by my sexuality. I thought you would have picked that up by now.”

He persists. “What are you embarrassed by?”

“Toji.” His name is spoken sharply, a verbal warning that he was tiptoeing the line. Threatening to shatter that layer of thin ice he stood upon. This is what he’s been needing. This is what he’s been fucking needing.

“I’ve been thinking about you, ma’am.” Any semblance of a filter is long gone, melted by the sheer heat of his desire. His limbs feel heavy, hands tumbling into his lap. They rest on the wide surface area of sweatpant-clad thighs, just sitting there. Feeling himself. “This entire week, I’ve been thinking.”

You seem to get the implications of his confession. “In a sexual way?”

“Yeah.” That’s a white lie. To be truthful was to admit that the sexual thoughts Toji let himself think about you were the minority. Objectifying you in the depths of his mind wasn't enough. He thought about your breasts, sure. He thought about your curves, and your ass, and your mouth, and every other body part that would grant him pleasure. But that wasn’t enough for Toji. Fixations of his tended to lead him astray from fantasies, instead breaching carefully saved memories stored within his brain catalog. When he touched himself, it was more or less to remembrances of mundane tasks you’d dealt him in the past. All the times you had bestowed little gifts and knick knacks on a whim just because they reminded you of him. Or when you drag him to the outlets with you for a shopping spree and he’ll act miserable the entire time, but you both knew it was a horribly crafted facade. Or even, like now, when you’d treat him to dinner because you worry over him and his eating schedule. The little things really counted; a revelation that scared Toji shitless, so he opted to ignore those budding, foreign feelings and replace it with familiarity: lust.

“Toji, honey, are you alright?”

What? His breathing pattern was off kilter, and the muscles of his jaw flexed unconsciously. When had he started palming himself? His right hand had grown a mind of its own apparently, because when Toji stole a glance downward, there it was; kneading roughly at the bulge between his meaty thighs. How desperate was he? To go dormant like that, so consumed with the thought of you that he began to instinctually masturbate himself not even five feet away from where you sit. And why… Why wasn’t he stopping?

“Can we fuck now?”

“Oh.” You barely look shocked. Not the slightest bit appalled like he expected you to be. Instead, slide off a ring that took purchase wrapped around your middle finger. A sigh escapes you as you place the band on the table. “I still have more to ask you. I wanted to know how your work trip went.”

Toji shakes his head, something akin to a toddler trying to get fed vegetables. “No.”

“No?”

“I don’t wanna talk about work.”

“Why not?” You frown, leaning forward against the tabletop. “Was it bad?”

He knows what you’re doing. Trying to make him spill any details about his job. Well, he won’t give in.

A heavy sigh slithers out hoarsely from the deepest part of his lungs, and Toji presses his palms to the table, pushing himself up. He stands tall, much like the tent at his crotch, and slinks along the roundness of the dinner table, walking his fingertips across the top all the while. “I don’t want to talk,” he reiterates, breathy and abrasive.

Finally, Toji stands before you. Still, you are seated, unbothered by the towering man’s presence. No, you’re swirling your wine glass sophisticatedly, lips pursed into a narrow line. Like you’re the slightest bit irritated with his persistent defiance.

God, you won't even look at him.

Or maybe, you were never irritated at all. Toji cops a second glance to your lips, finding the faintest ghost of a frown. “You’ve been acting so… so removed. Ever since you left.” Now you’re looking at him; Toji shudders under the intense fire that billows behind your eyes, wide and wetted with worry. “I want you to feel like you can tell me things. I want your trust, Toji.”

You have his trust. Every last crumb of it resides in the palm of your soft hand.

“... And I know that it’s stupid—I’m stupid for wanting that from you. I know what this relationship is, and I know that there are these unspoken boundaries, but I—I can’t—”

It was the first time he’d ever heard you speak with such a volatile expression. There was a tremble of uncertainty in your vocal chords, carrying into the skittish dialogue that tumbled out in rambles. Something about such a show of pity from you, his Y/n, made his guts churn like butter. He can’t listen to this any more. With swiftness, Toji dives down to press his mouth against yours, swallowing the words that die on your tongue. One hand grips the back of your chair, the other holds the roundness of your cheek. He feels your gasp, feels the way your shoulders jolt in surprise, but he doesn’t release you.

This was really only his second instance of kissing you. The first had been in his bed, with his groin pressed to yours, tongue fighting its way to the back of your throat with greedy fervor. This second kiss was anything but greedy, though. Despite the ache that roiled at the base of his stomach, Toji didn’t serve you a kiss that reflected his desire. Tongues never met and spit was never swapped; just lips on glossed lips.

At last, Toji reluctantly peels away. Lipstick residue feels heavy on his mouth, and he knows he probably looks foolish donning remnants of your dark lip lacquer, but he doesn’t move to wipe his skin. The circular bottom of the wine glass clinks as you clumsily set it down, freeing your hands. They branch upwards, finding his face. A pair of thumbs rub the sensitive pads of flesh beneath his eyes, massaging out those ugly, darkened bags that have accumulated as a result of many sleepless nights. It feels orgasmic, the way you handle him.

“I trust you.” The words are out in the air before he has time to think.

You brighten, sunshine hiding in the crevices of your smile. “You mean that?” You ask him, hands petting down the sides of his neck.

He meant it wholeheartedly. The amount of trust left within Toji was scarce. Too many bad people fucked him for life; showed him the meaning of the phrase ‘trust is earned.’ So it really fucking freaked him out how quickly you came to earn it. A little over a year-–that’s how long he’s known you—you’ve have plenty of time to fuck him over. To batter him. And yet, you haven’t. All you’ve ever shown him was kindness and consideration and warmth and everything else Toji never knew how bad he was thirsty for.

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

“I trust you, too, Toji.”

He wonders if he deserves that. Because really, what has given you besides his annoyingly closed-off dickhead attitude? He provides fuck all, but you still stick around.

Toji doesn’t say anything. He swoops once more, capturing your lips in a hungrier kiss than before. All the playful innocence is tossed aside, forgotten in lieu of Toji’s devastatingly furious need to consume you. Tongues finally greet each other in a spittle-slicked tango; he dominates yours with ease, worming behind your teeth just to collect your sweet flavor. Wine, he thinks. You taste like your goddamn expensive ass wine.

He feels feverish. One-track minded, hyper fixated on you. On your crossed legs underneath the table. “Fuck,” Toji breathes into your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip.

Your hand clashes against the hard wall of his chest, patting it softly. A wordless signal that you need some air, so he retracts. “Let’s go to the bedroom.”

The plea goes in one ear and falls right out the other. Toji leeches against your neck, dragging the flat of his wet tongue over that little throbbing pulse point. His teeth grate against your flawless skin, completely none the wiser that you’re even talking to him. You thwack the back of his head, and he lurches into the crook of your shoulder, muffling a groan.

“No marks, I’ve got work.”

His eyes roll, face still burrowed against you. He couldn’t give less of a shit about your job right now.

“Come on, let’s go to my room.” “Gimme a sec.” He’s still licking below your jaw, making his way down. This stupidly lavish house had been cursed with three levels, your bedroom holed up at the very top floor. Like hell Toji was going to part ways with your glorious body so you two could safely make it up the two ridiculous staircases. Fuck that.

“Toji, I’m… serious…” Your raucous pants of anticipation suggest otherwise. Toji has sunken to his knees, crawling beneath the table and finding a home on the floor before your seat. His kneecaps scream in discomfort as they pin heavily to the wooden floorboards, but Toji bears the pain well ( he’d always been somewhat of a masochist ). Your legs are still crossed, one knee hinging over the other.

“Open these.” Two calloused hands cuff around the thinnest parts of either ankle. Your legs were conspicuously smooth; did you shave for him? There is an attempt at delicacy when Toji pries your legs apart, and it makes you giggle.

“Here?” You laugh more. Toji suspects you’re patronizing him in a way. “I haven’t even cleared the table. Are you really so impatient?”

And here Toji thought he exercised his patience well. He didn’t jump your bones the second of his arrival. No, he waited like a good boy until after dinner. “I’ve waited for this the whole week.” Restless hands walk up those porcelain calves, strong and lean from working in high heels. They wander up, hooking beneath the junctures of your knees; Toji uses his celestial strength to his advantage, maneuvering both legs with ease until he’s got them resting comfortably over his broad shoulders. Toji turns, cocks his head to give a serpentine lick to the inside of your thigh. Then a bite. “Don’t make me wait any longer. I’ll fucking die.”

You peer down at him. “Don’t talk like that.” You feel yourself. Small hands groping your chest, sliding lower and lower. “You’re not going to die.”

His mouth feels sticky, like there’s a spoonful of honey under his tongue. “I might.”

Your heel drives into his upper back, an impish little warning that makes him throb all over. “Don’t talk like that, I said.” Those manicured hands have garnered Toji’s full attention. They descend all the way to the hem of your luxurious dress, wrenching into its hem. It’s the sexiest sight Toji had ever seen: you pulling your dress up with the quickness of a sloth, inching the fabric up until it scrunches around the dip of your waistline.

“These are hot,” he murmurs, thumbing the waistband of the scarlet panties. They were tight, sinking into the ample pudge of your hips and soft tummy. So fucking beautiful, he thinks, the contrast between deep red lace and the flesh of which it lays upon. The perfect, little present gift wrapped in a low-rise lace thong. “Bet they cost a pretty penny.”

You spare a breathy exhale through your nostrils. “I don’t look at price tags when I buy things for you.”

You bought these just for him? “You spoil me.”

“You deserve to get spoiled, baby.”

He is so mind numbingly turned on. Sickening tendrils of appetence bleed into his vision, his lust coils around his limbs and guide his movements like a marionette. Toji thumbs your—his—panties to the side, soaking in the sight of that pretty pussy he’s longed to be back inside of since the moment he pulled out. His face is close, so fucking close that he can feel warmth radiate off your core and deepen his flush.

Perhaps this is how he begins his journey of repayment. Ever indebted to you, despite your odd relationship being a mutually agreed upon situation, Toji fears you’ve truly altered him. For the better or worse he isn’t sure yet; all he knows is that you make him feel good. Better than he’s felt in fucking ages. You said he deserves to get spoiled? Well so do you, too.

Toji eats you with erotic vigor, delving into the deepest parts of your cunt with his lascivious tongue. He’ll be the first to admit that he doesn’t possess many skills. He isn’t terribly smart, nor is he gifted with great conversational skills like you. He isn't good at holding a real job. Isn’t very good at expressing himself. Not good at abiding by the law, or staying sober, either. But if ever there was an artistry in which Toji had full confidence he had mastered, it was oral sex.

“Oh, Toji,” you gasped, forcing his face deeper with a hand on the back of his skull. “Right there.”

Toji dug you out, excavating your hole with expertise. One hand slipped up beneath your dress, under your bra, pawing at your breast whilst the other busied itself in his pants. He stroked himself to the heady taste of pussy, fanning your clit with hot puffs of breath. You writhe against his open mouth, hips dancing, hands grabbing.

It’s more enjoyable like this, Toji thinks briefly. To not expect a wad of bills afterward in exchange for his velvet tongue. He eats you for leisure, because he wants to, and because you want him, and no other reason. It’s enough that you both need each other.

Toji groans loosely when you yank his hair, getting off on the way you move his head to your liking. “Suck my clit,” you instruct quietly, and he obliges with upmost obedience, nose nuzzling against the tuft of hair at your pubic bone.

Toji opens his eyes for the first time in a while, then thanks God he did. You look something like a goddess, celestial and righteous in the way your body works against his face. Using him to cure an insatiable desperation, with your lids screwed shut and head tossed back on your shoulders. “Are you gonna cum?” He sits up on his haunches a little taller, a little more alert now to fully experience your orgasm. “Cum in my mouth.”

He begs for it. Begs like a little bitch. Over and over again, mumbling the mantra between rough suctions to your swollen clit. Begging wasn’t like him. His father beat the beggar out of him many years ago, said it was weak to yearn for things so badly. The old man was right, Toji has never felt weaker than he does right now, knelt under the table with his head between your thighs.

“Oh my God.” Your voice is strained thin, each syllable pulled taught. The vice grip on his roots start to sting, follicles ripping from the scalp, but doesn’t tell you to stop. “Toji, fuck you’re so good.”

He’s good.

“You’re so good.”

“Mmn.” He squeezes himself, chokes his dick hard. Toji feels it when you cum. Warmth floods the cavern of his slack mouth, gushing and creamy. You fall silent, stunned by the force of your orgasm he presumes. Toji licks you through your high, guzzling down every drop of wetness that seeps from your spasming slit. It’s hot and gushy and messy; cum dribbles past his lips, collecting in beads that roll down his tensing neck.

Only when you blindly push at his face does Toji part ways with your center, leaning past your trembling hand to nuzzle into your stomach. It’s concave with an ongoing exhale; he nips at your navel. “Breathe.”

“Toji,” you whisper. On the come down, you’re a lot nicer; those needy, grabbing hands of yours now stroked down the tangled mess of his damp shag. He presses a handful of sloppy smooches above your belly button.

The erection trapped in the confines of his pants twitch at the dreadfully angelic drawl of his name. “Good?” His question is gruff and pointless as ever; anyone with eyes could tell you just had the most Earth-shattering orgasm of your life.

Your head lolls forward, rolling down to face him. Fingertips brush his chin, collecting the sticky residuals that dampened his stubble. You take your lower lip in between teeth when you bring those same soaked digits to Toji’s open mouth. He doesn’t resist you. Fingers are welcomed; he unhinges his jaw, baring the same holy tongue that just drove you to Heaven. You wipe cum-ridden fingers against the muscle, and Toji clamps around them in a vacuum-esque suction, looking up at you through dark lashes all the while. Your thumb traces the raised flesh on his upper lip. That ugly, jagged scar.

He catches your wrist when you move to flee his mouth, holding you in place. Sucking on you, touching himself along the way. Lapping between fingers, tonguing the thin web of skin there.

“So good, baby boy.” There’s the praise he craved, the praise he played oblivious to get. You claw deeper, jutting towards the back of his throat, pulling a scratchy gag from the man. What kind of fetish was this? You made everything sexy, even whatever this humiliation ritual was; watching him choke down slippery fingers with fat tears bleeding at his waterline. “You are so beautiful, Toji.”

“—oh en nah,” or no I’m not had there not been a barrier blocking his teeth from touching. Toji knows he’s an aged man, one riddled with scars and wounds and bruises and gauges and what have you. His skin is nowhere near perfect, baring disgusting reminders of what he does—who he is. Beautiful is what he’d call someone like you. Someone calm and serene, humble and kind. You’re a beautiful sight, and you’re also the complete and utter opposite of him.

“You are.” He wanted to be inside you for this. Toji had been daydreaming this scenario over and out in his head over the long haul of the week, going through the motions of his plan to fuck you. He’d give you everything tenfold, a barbaric fucking unlike your first time together. He imagined finally showing you his version of things, bending you over the couch first thing and blowing his load deep into your cunt.

Toji choked again, and a single thick tear fell from his lashes. You whispered sweet prayers, holding his face, wiping his eyes, fucking his mouth with fingers that tasted of your cum. It was a damn mystery how you rendered him so fucking pitiful, to be nutting on his knees into his boxers like this. A damn mystery.

His breaths are ragged when he explodes, hand and cock obscured by the sweatpants that sat low around his hips. Toji doesn’t stop pumping, tugging the shaft with long, hard strokes, wringing himself dry. Dark eyes weld shut, and he collapses against your thigh with a quake of exhaustion. Toji doesn’t know when you withdrew your fingers; the only tell that gave it away was the string of saliva that slapped coldly against his chin in the wake of your removal. He mewls, a graveling sound that sounds as if his voice box had been dragged through a sea of razor blades.

“You alright?”

A flowery hand slithers beneath his damp cheek, and suddenly his heavy head is being lifted. Toji is forced to meet your soft gaze; adoration brims in your eyes, as though you’re proud of him for creaming in his briefs like some flimsy virgin.

“Answer me, please.”

Toji smacks his mouth, preparing for his voice to project broken and fragmented. “I’m fine.” He could do without the pity; you were cautious to a fault. He wasn’t made of glass.

“You’re filthy.”

He grumbles, feigning grumpiness and averting his eyes off to the side. “I just had your pussy in my mouth.”

You bend at the waist, leaning down to meet him for a kiss. Toji melts against you, cradling your face with his semen-stained hand. You don’t seem to mind the wetness. He’s pouting against your mouth, childlike. “I wanted to cum inside you.”

You latch onto his nose, nibbling the point. “Let’s go clean up.” There’s a telling smile etched onto your lips, and your mouth finds his ear. Whispering ever so sensually, “I have a big shower in my bedroom.”

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tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0semultiverse @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni @taelattecookie @purple-obsidian @hqtoge @khaothick @saintkaylaa @ya9amicide @crayzyaarna @saiki-enthusiast @haesify @nyamocka @sixxze @lifesucksweswallow @darkstarlight82 @megumisdivinedogs @celestialol @yunho-leeknow @ghostfacefricker6969 @aizawa19 @lupicalbestwolf @nymphsdomain @makuzume @killerkinnie

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ixiot-ghostrebel · 6 months

Note

Hello! I saw that your requests are open so I thought, I'll shoot my shot

So, it'll be SAGAU with Impostor and Isekai trope. The reader is a real Creator, while the fake one is on the throne. But! What if they look completely different? Characters don't hunt reader because well, they don't look like their beloved grace and they're unaware that their sweet creator is in fact a real impostor.

But when you look at reader and the fake creator, you can see a total difference in their surroundings. The real Creator - Reader, is connected to the Teyvat, right? The flowers bloom everywhere where they stand, the trees are more green and lively, while there's nothing like this with the impostor in the throne.

So! To the idea- How about Zhongli and Kaeya's (or any other characters you'd like to add here) to see their Reader cut themselves and suddenly bleed gold - while they saw their beloved Grace bleed red and suddenly, they connect the dots?

Ooh, this is certainly interesting, @ilumin! I'll see what I can come up with :)

Zhongli & Kaeya Find Out The Imposta :)

You weren't gonna lie—you kinda freaked when you realize the isekai and sagau trope thing happened on you. Reading fanfiction from the internet, you knew how things were gonna go down. You read the signs.

Safe to say you were not expecting you yourself to be the "lucky winner" of this entire thing. Nu-uh. Not one bit. You knew this was gonna be a hellhole.

That is, of course....you realized that the Imposter did not look like you at all. You were kinda stoked about it—that means you weren't gonna get ratted out, or killed, or hunted—so yay you! Time to chill with some bros! Time to free ball it while you still can!

And thennn... one night you were hanging with some ppl, and you accidentally nicked your finger.

You guessed it right, fellas, you bled gold. And that did not go unnoticed.

Good luck.

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

Zhongli

When he first met you, Zhongli thought you were like The Traveler—you were someone who passed the Celestial Atmosphere above, and descended down to traverse the world.

With Their Grace present, their world has prospered and Zhongi is proud to say that Liyue was doing well under their rule. But when you came, he was a little surprised to see how the earth seemed to connect with you. Flowers around you seemed brighter, precious rocks seem to surface at your presence..and you somehow manage to always be able to get the most freshest fruit anyone can come across.

You were truly an interesting enigma that Zhongli is curious to learn more of. He commits every detail about you to memory. The day the wind conveniently came to the rescue when the days were boiling hot. The time where you managed to restock your food stalls even though so many Liyueans were nabbing them and almost leaving you nothing. Everything Zhongli saw, he noted down in his mind.

You eventually became acquainted with him the moment he walks up to your food stall. It wasn't that packed in the morning (somehow), and it allowed the two of you to get to know one another better. Safe to say your relationship was solid.

And then you bled gold that one night. Zhongli eyes your blood with wide expressions, before immediately excusing the both of you out of the situation.

He cannot believe that the person that sits on the Creator's Throne was not the Creator. He's constantly being bombarded with the "Creator" and their meetings, while you were just selling goods on the streets of Liyue.

"...Your Grace..." Zhongli looks at you as he puts a bandage over your finger. "...Truly, we have all been deceived." And while you're glad that he wasn't suggesting you start up a riot, you were kind of worried about what he'll do to the Imposter the next time Zhongli sees him.

Safe to say he did have a "Chat" with them that consisted of a meteor and a lot of "I will have Order!" voicelines repeating over and over again.

Kaeya

When you got plopped into Mondstadt, somehow, the winds started becoming more gentle and a lot more carefree. Everyone saw this as a sign of Barbatos, you saw this as a sign of the world trying to rat you out or something.

You decided to get a job at the Tavern to get info, and boom you meet Kaeya. You should've expected this when you got a job at Angel's Share, because this hottie bro is very much interested on your merchandise.

Safe to say, though, Kaeya was very interested in you. Like Zhongli, he takes note of your every move. But, unlike Zhongli, Kaeya's trying to see how your...unique superpowers work, and how they can be used to help protect Mondstadt—assuming he manages to convince you to join.

Kaeya is very talkative in the Tavern, so he usually talks to the bartenders. Diluc is pulling his hair out to see how much info Kaeya's spilling to you during your shifts, half of which are just boasting about the Knights of Favonius.

When you nicked your finger, though, you knew things were going down. It didn't help that Kaeya noticed. His eyes widen for a fraction, before he stands up and suggests that you both should take a walk around the streets of Mondstadt when your shift was done.

You agree, seeing as there's no way out of this, and quickly grab a bandaid to patch up the scratch. Once you were both out, Kaeya speaks first, in a low tone.

"My...I never knew the Almighty Creator could be this sneaky, to have an imposter sit on the throne while they serve cups at my favorite tavern." You look at him incredulously. He took the situation to praise you to make himself sound like he was blessed?

Good sir, this was the opposite of how your life got thrown upside down when you entered Teyvat. Then again, this sounded a lot better than getting killed, so you'll take it as a win. For now.

Kaeya promises to keep this a secret, but safe to say Diluc is rubbing his temples when he hears the Calvary Captain himself trying to offer you a position in the Knights of Favonius, saying you had potential and whatnot.

Honestly, he just wants to spend more time with you outside of the tavern.

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: Why the heck did this take SO MUCH LONGER than I expected sobbing. Sorry y'all—istg life is hitting me like Truck-Kun.

Also one more thing: Furina is my new child now. She and Fremmi are my Fontantian Children. Love 'em both too much ppl will have to pry them out of my cold-dead hands.

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

#genshin impact sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #sagau x reader #genshin self aware #sagau #sagau genshin #yandere sagau #genshin cult au #sagau brainrot #sagau cult au #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin imact #sagau zhongli #sagau impostor au #imposter au #imposter sagau

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twirlyleafs · 3 months

Text

”Start of the season-drama”

Max Verstappen x reader

TW: angst, assumed cheating

~~~~

“I wish you could come with me.” You looked over at your boyfriend next to you by the kitchen counter. He didn’t meet your gaze, face contoured in concentration as he formed the ground beef into patties.

“I know baby.” You agreed, reaching for a bowl to put the cut cucumber in. Max grabbed it for you.

“Are you sure you can’t come with? Bahrain is nice.” He softly bumped his arm against yours, offering a playful smile. You chuckled, shaking your head.

“I would love to, you know that. But I have my thesis to write.”

“You can do that on the road.” He tried, but you both knew the answer. This conversation had been on repeat for the last few months and every time it ended with Max, somewhat disappointed, agreeing that it would be best if you stayed home. You weren’t surprised he tried one last time tonight.

“Even if I could Maxie, I still have to work and I can’t do that from Bahrain.” Even before he spoke up you knew what his next argument would be and if anything got under your skin, it was this.

“You don’t need to work though. You have me.” The way he said it so casually, like he always did, had your stomach twisting. You hated that he saw it like that, and no matter how many times you talked about it Max didn’t seem to understand your point of view. You clenched your jaw, physically biting your tongue not to say anything back. Instead you concentrated back on the work on the cutting board, brows slightly furrowed. Things were quiet for a few moments, Max being busy with the meat in the frying pan, and you had almost blocked him out completely, deep in your own thoughts, when you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist. Your back was softly pulled flush against his chest and a second later he nudged the side of your head with his nose.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, pressing a few kisses against your cheek and down your shoulder. “Of course you have things to do here, I get that. I’m just going to miss you, that’s all.” You couldn’t help but smile, the frown melting of your face in a second. How could you ever stay annoyed at him when he was this cuddly and cute? You placed the knife down, turning around in his rather tight grip to face him. Max looked down at you, tilting his head slightly as to ask if he was forgiven. You just reached up to grab his cheeks, bringing his face down to yours for a kiss. You felt him smile against your lips.

“I’m going to miss you too.” You said when the two of you finally pulled apart. “But it’s just two weeks, right?”

“Hmm.” Max nodded, fingers pressing into the skin just above your hips. “Then I’ll come straight back home and I won’t leave your side for at least a few days.” You laughed at that, snaking your arms around his torso and leaning your head against his chest. Max pulled you even closer, a deep breath leaving his lips. You were going to miss him, but two weeks went fast and you told yourself that he’d be back, preferably with two wins under his belt, before you knew it.

The first race had been amazing. You had watched from home with some of your friends, absolutely ecstatic and somewhat tipsy as your boyfriend passed the finish line in first place what felt like hours ahead of the rest. When he called you after the win you had literally screamed into the phone how proud you were of him and hearing him laugh loudly on the other end had you smiling the whole night.

That was four days ago. You had been busy, work was more chaotic than normal and your limited freetime was spent in the library working on your thesis. Unfortunately, this also meant that you had missed a few of Maxs phone calls and when you’d called him back he had been busy instead. You texted a lot, but it had been a few days since you last heard his voice and you were starting to miss it.

Getting back late from the library, not at all happy with the work you had done, all you wanted to do was to call Max and have him tell you about his day. You knew he had been at the annual banquet in Jeddah last night, which he hated, and you were excited to hear all the gossip. You sunk down in the couch, making yourself comfortable as you searched up the results of the first practice round. You always wanted to know how things were going for Max before you spoke to him, partly to show him that you cared and partly because you wanted to know what mood he might be in. You smiled to yourself, pleased, when you saw him at the top of the rankings. Absentminded you begun to scroll down among the tweets, rolling your eyes at the people hating on Max and grinning proudly at all the people joking about how this season would just be win after win after win for him. Suddenly you stopped, a tweet written all in caps catching your eye.

MAX VERSTAPPEN LOOKING DAPPER WITH MYSTERIOUS BLONDE! DID HE LEAVE HIS GIRLFRIEND AT HOME?

You raised your eyebrows, not being able to stop yourself from clicking on the photos. Surely it was going to be something dumb, you were used to the rumors surrounding your boyfriend and you had simply learned to just tune them out. Scrolling through the pictures now, however, you could feel your stomach drop. It was blurry, but it was clearly Max. The photos were taken from far away but you saw him, dressed handsomely in a suit and bowtie, with his arms tightly wrapped around a tall blonde. Her back was turned against the camera so you couldn’t make out her face, but you didn’t recognize the body at all. The two of them seemed to be alone, standing outside what looked like the building where the banquet was held. In one picture Max was shown grabbing her cheeks, staring down at her. You squinted, as if that would help you distinguish his expression, but you couldn’t quite tell what was happening. You couldn’t deny that it sure looked like he was about to kiss her. Quickly locking your phone you dropped it in your lap, staring down at the black screen with wide eyes. That wasn’t just some rumor, something someone had claimed to see or made up. Those were real photos, photos of Max being way too close for comfort with someone who clearly wasn’t you. You knew you should calm down, take a step back until you could talk to him and let him explain. Surely there was an explanation that didn’t involve him actually cheating on you? Right? Before you had time to spiral further your phone lit up again, the picture of Max sleeping, drooling, in a cab you had as his contact photo illuminating your screen. Acting on reflex you picked it up, sliding your finger across the screen.

“Hello?”

“Baby!” He seemed surprised that you answered but quickly regained himself. “Am I disturbing you? Are you at home?”

“I just got home.” You answered, frowning at the shortness of your own tone. You weren’t sure how to approach him, you weren’t even sure what to say. Were you mad? Sad?

“Good. Feels like we’ve just missed each other the past few days.” Max shuffled around on the other end and you assumed he was laying in bed. With a content sigh he spoke again and you could hear the smile on his face. “How are you my love?”

“I’m good.” You mumbled, clicking on the speaker icon and placing your phone down in your lap.

“How’s the thesis coming along? I assume you just came from the library?”

“Hmm, yeah I did. It’s fine.” Max obviously picked something up in your voice because he was quiet for a few seconds before speaking up again.

“I hope you’re not spreading yourself too thin baby, you have to take a break sometimes.” His voice was full of concern and you don’t know if it was that or the pictures still haunting you but suddenly all you wanted was to be next to him. “Have you eaten today?”

“Actually,” you began, deciding what to say as the words were coming out of your mouth. “I was thinking about maybe coming to you? I think I can make it to the race if I leave tomorrow and-“ you stopped as you heard Max laugh on the other end, stomach twisting at the sound you usually loved. That was not the reaction you wanted.

“You know I miss you but that’s crazy baby.” He chuckled. You could feel the pressure take form behind your eyes. “You have things to do and I’ll be home in less than a week.”

“Yeah but I want to see you now. I thought you’d want that too.” You hated that his reaction, a very reasonable reaction at that, left you feeling so hurt.

“Of course I want to see you, but you shouldn’t come all the way here when we both know-“

“I shouldn’t?” His choice of words felt like a punch in the stomach and you frowned down at the phone. Max took a second too long to respond so you spoke again. “Why shouldn’t I? You don’t want me there?”

“What’s all this coming from?” The smile was far gone from his voice and now he just sounded bewildered. “You’re the one who opted to stay home because you had work to do.”

“Yeah well that was before I knew you’d cozy up with some other girl if I’m not there.”

You pressed your eyes shut, cringing at your own words the second they left your lips. You did not mean to put that out there like that. The line went quiet for a moment before Max broke the silence, voice as confused as it gets.

“What?”

You wanted to cry. “Nothing.”

“No, what did you say?”

“Nothing Max. Don’t worry about it.” You snapped, hating yourself more every time you opened your mouth. You really needed this conversation to be over, preferably before you started to cry. “I’m actually really tired, I think I’m-“

“No no no, you don’t just get to throw something like that at me and then hang up. What did you mean by that?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.” You were rambling. “Just forget it. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You heard Max say your name before you hung up, heart feeling like it was beating out of your chest.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #verstappen x reader #Verstappen #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula one #formula 1 imagine #max verstappen imagine #Verstappen fanfic

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rubra-wav · 2 months

Note

Hii! Can I get lil sceanarios/oneshots of Vox, Husk, and Lucifer (if you write for him) where they are ranting about something thats bothering them to their crush, so they kiss him to shut them up?

I just love the thought of them being completely caught off guard and all blushy 😚😚

Thanks!

Vox, Husk and Lucifer x crush!reader shutting them up with a kiss

Cw: SFW, gn!reader, fluff

Vox

- After another public spat with Alastor (albeit, a lot less explosive then last time) Vox sits next to you bitching his head off about it, occasionally glitching and sparking as he emphasises words.

- "I can't believe that old asshole has the audacity to come after my design choices. Mine. I mean, can you believe that! They look great- right (name)?" He doesn't wait for you to respond to his question, just cuts you off as you nod and open your mouth to speak going on with his rant.

- "Exactly! My shit is perfect. It's top of the line. I wish he'd just fuck off to whatever crevice he crawled out of!"

- You inwardly sigh watching him carry on. As much as you loved to just stare at him as he animatedly talked loudly both with his voice and also his hands, it was beginning to get somewhat annoying listening to him repeat the same things over and over again while occasionally seeking reassurance from you.

- You smile slightly, looking at his lips moving as he spoke.

- You'd seen him drink and eat stuff, but how exactly did they work? If you kissed him, would it just be screen? Would he be able to feel it?

- He continued to ramble on, not noticing you had peaced out mentally about 3 minutes ago.

- Not noticing you moving your face closer to him from the corner of his eye.

- "When I get my hands on him, I'm going to beat the shit out of him! Right (name), I'd totally win, wouldn't I-" he turns to you as he asks, and suddenly he's feeling warm lips pressed against his screen over where his mouth is displayed.

- A loud binging sound is heard as Vox momentarily errors at the sudden gesture.

- You pull your lips off of him, and look at him with raised brows. "Could you feel that? All I felt was warm glass." You asked as you watched his monitor glitch and then switch back to his usual face dumbly blinking, blue flush covering his cheeks.

- As Vox gained his bearings, he glared at you. "H-hey!" He cringed at his stutter before clearing his throat. "You can't just do that out of nowhere, Doll! The fuck?"

- Vox would be pissed off and flustered you'd tried to quiet him by kissing him out of nowhere. Who the hell do you think you are essentially telling him to shut up??

- The smaller voice being squashed was yelling about how it liked the feeling of your lips on him and wanted more, though.

Husk

- The Bartender rarely got to be the one to rant about his issues, so when you showed up as someone he trusted and loved, he took the chance to complain to his heart's content.

- "And that idiotic daddy issue having child has been forcing me to play along with her delusions. I can't just say fuck off as usual because Alastor is ordering me to partake in it for his own sick fucking enjoyment!" Husk growled before taking a long sip of his drink.

- "The sooner I can get out of that shithole, the better. I can't wait for Alastor to get bored of it, I am going crazy having to participate in 'trust exercises' and 'bonding activities'" Husk emphasised each example with mock sweetness, clearly disgusted by it.

- You snorted. "What, has she been making you make arts and crafts or something?" You joked, but then grew silent when he sourly nodded.

- "Yes. She made us do hand painting like some fucking kindergarten class. There's still yellow paint stuck in my fur from where Niffty rolled in it and jumped onto me!" He turned around to show you his back, and sure enough, yellow paint clung to his fur.

- Husk went on complaining about 3 in 1 and how it wouldn't do shit for it, and that's when an impulse took over you suddenly as you watched his fuzzy cheeks move.

- Husk abruptly stopped as you leaned forward to kiss his cheek, instead catching his mouth by accident as he unconsciously turned towards you.

- It only lasts a second as you realise your error, apologising profusely. "Sorry! I meant to get your cheek!"

- Husk stutters in surprise, unable to get out any words for a long while, before coughing and turning away, unable to meet your eyes.

- He brings a hand to touch his lips, flushing darkly under his fur at the memory of your lips on his, the scent of the sweet cocktail he'd made you on your breath as it happened had him feeling dizzy.

- Christ.

- He interrupts you from where you were apologising profusely, kissing you again.

- Liquid courage tells him not to let this opportunity pass, so he doesn't.

Lucifer

- He was very down on himself about a rather failed day out with his daughter.

- The impression that he was happy and okay had fallen to bits the second he discussed how he'd tried to take Charlie to Loo Loo World only for paparazzi to storm him and lead to a series of unfortunate events ending with Charlie covered in an overly sweet drink and popcorn and having to leave.

- "And then she looked so awkward and uncomfortable when she said goodbye! My daughter hates me!" He exclaimed, burying his face in his hands.

- You shook your head, patting his shoulder and trying to tell him that wasn't true.

- "I'm the world's worst father. I caused all of hell to exist, and for someone like you to get condemned to this horrible place, and after all these mistakes, I still can't do anything right." He looked up at you, dejected, tears in his eyes.

- Your heart hurts seeing it. You just want him to stop talking about himself in such a way.

- So you do the only thing you can properly think of on the spot.

- "I'm just a failur-hff!" he hums loudly in surprise as his face is gripped, and suddenly your lips are on his.

- As he comprehends what's happening, tears well up in his eyes alongside his now pounding heart as years of him not being touched like this weigh on him all at once. It felt wonderful to be held and kissed by someone - let alone you.

- You pull away after a short time, hands gently brushing across his now even more overly warm cheeks.

- "Don't say that about yourself. You aren't a failure, Luci." You softly say. "Tell Charlie you're sorry and arrange a more private activity with her. She's your daughter, she will forgive you." Lucifer slowly nods against your hands.

- He doesn't say anything, mouth slightly parted as he looks at you with wide, lovesick eyes as his mind races alongside his heart. You're so warm.

- His hands come to rest atop your's, keeping them against his cheeks as his eyes flutter shut, basking in your touch.

- "Please just let us stay like this for a little longer." He breathily whispers. His face crumples as you nod and invite him to come closer into your arms.

- The king of hell slumps against you, craving but still hesitant to further request your touch.

Masterlist

#hazbin hotel #vox #vox headcanons #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk headcanons #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer headcanons

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majestyeverlasting · 11 months

Text

A Little Less Restless

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (friends to lovers)

Summary: As Bucky finds himself within the still familiarity of Brooklyn, he comes to realize that he deserves nice things. And, most of all, that he deserves you.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I haven't posted any new writing in a bit, and it feels good to be resolving that (yay me). Please enjoy this piece I wrote today. Lot's of fluff and very obvious feelings. It's been a while since I wrote something for him. <3

Three knocks sound on Bucky’s front door as his reflection stares back at him in the bathroom. He's leaning close to the mirror in careful criticism. Enough to see the green flecks in his irises. The freckles on his cheeks from being in the sun. The pricks of hair making up his scruff. Then he eases back and squares his shoulders. They fall after he releases a breath.

He prays he doesn’t look as restless as he feels.

The smile you give him when he answers the door carries a warmth he isn’t sure he deserves. But he takes it because that’s all he can do. Enjoy it like a man who’s been cold his whole life. By some miracle, he feels himself smiling back in that small, weighted way of his. It was a trade off of sorts, and now you’re even. No outstanding debts.

He motions you inside with a soft please, and you study him once you’re in the foyer. In the few seconds that you’re silently observing, Bucky wishes he knew exactly why. As tender as your gaze is, heat was already rising to his cheeks. But like everything else when it comes to you, he takes it. Looks right back at you shyly, pushes his hands into his pockets, and waits.

“Your hair’s shorter,” you finally say, smile growing wider. “Did you cut it?”

“Cut it,” he repeats like a question, hands moving to run through it. The previous night creeps back to the forefront of his mind.

When he’d gone for a walk to get some air and inadvertently found himself being drawn in by the red, white, and blue barber’s pole spiraling on the next block. It’d been ages since he’d gone to a professional, but walking inside to the faint scent of tobacco and aftershave made him feel as though he’d never stopped.

“Mhm,” you hum, certain.

The stumped look on his face vanishes like it was never supposed to be there. “I went and got it trimmed at a place called Ricky’s last night.”

“And you forgot that quickly?” Next thing he knows, you’re wrapping him in an embrace, peeking up at him after a few seconds, “I’m teasing.”

He squeezes you back tighter.

It’s you who eventually pulls away, and he finds himself trailing you as you venture deeper into his apartment, eyes roving thoughtfully. A coffee table now complements the couch in the living room. The walls are no longer bare. At long last, the space was beginning to look more like a home.

For the longest time, Bucky had only seen it as a place to rest his head after countless assignments that took him miles away. It didn’t need to be anything special, or so he thought. One of the first things you told him upon coming into his life was that he needed a constant. A place to come back to that he could make his own. That was his. He’d spent so much of his life serving other people and belonging to other people that he was finally learning what it meant to be his own.

It was exhausting not being halfway across the world with a task to busy his mind. Brooklyn was still in comparison. A place where he could recognize street names, faces, point out buildings that used to be something else when he was a kid. And now there was you, who made being stateside worthwhile in a way he didn’t think was possible. He realized then, how much he’d deprived himself of meaningful connections outside of work.

“It looks great in here, Buck. What’d I tell you?” Your earnesty is genuine. Makes him, as old and borderline cynical as he is, feel special. “You’re gonna have to start inviting me over more.” You shoot him a wink, and he freezes because of the weight of the implication. If you notice, you don’t say anything.

A few months ago you’d been strangers crossing paths. Then acquaintances. Now friends who cared about each other a whole awful lot. Only, it was more obvious on your end. He kept most of his sentiments guarded, not yet ready for them to bleed out like an open wound. It didn’t help that you were always wielding a knife, coming closer and closer to cut through the wall he built around himself.

“You can come over whenever you want,” he says. “I’m always here.”

“When you’re not on assignment,” you add. “And I know. I just don’t want to scare you away.”

Bucky frowns at the suggestion, but his lips eventually turn up. “Good thing you’re not a scary person,” he says, counting on earning a laugh. Something.

And you do, right before shaking your head. “I’m serious.”

“You couldn’t scare me away,” he assures.

You nod slowly. “So how’ve you been?” There’s something else lingering on the tip of your tongue, so he waits it out. It ends up punching him right in the gut. “You look…I don’t know.”

It hadn’t been all too long since he’d come back from Morocco. Only a week. And it would be a while before he was sent out anywhere else. His mind was in the constant process of drifting to the type of thoughts all men sifted through when they have nothing but time. Those regarding purpose, belonging, and meaning. Not to a deep, crippling degree, but enough to make him want to spring into some sort of action. Find something to indulge in that wasn’t saving the world.

Bucky swallows and shifts his weight. “Restless,” he offers. “Didn’t think you’d notice.”

“I’ll always notice.” Silence stretches between the two of you and a siren wails in the distance. “Maybe we can go out tonight, just you and me. Is that something you’d wanna do?” The question sounds shy.

What you didn’t know quite yet is that he’d probably do just about anything if it was with you.

***

At the end of the night, it’s Bucky who pulls out his card and pays for dinner. Not even giving you the chance to think about digging into your purse. As an old tune continues playing overhead, your grateful eyes sparkle at him from across the table.

Neither of you had dined here before. It’s one of the places Bucky said used to go by a different name and was run by a different family, Italians. You liked listening to him talk about what once was because it made you realize just how much he knew. Just how thoughtful and reverent he was when it came to the good memories he had.

Being listened to so intently was new for him. But he enjoyed it. Especially when you’d ask questions or bring up a point he made further back in the conversation. By the time the waiter comes back around with his card and his copy of the receipt, the two of you are basking in the memory of the evening and thinking about what the rest of the night may hold.

“This was really nice,” he says, folding his napkin and setting it aside on the table. Then his expression becomes consumed by a certain solemness. “I don’t know how well it comes across, but I need you to know that I appreciate you. A lot.”

Your heart nearly bursts. “I know, Bucky,” you promise. He still looks unconvinced, so you extend your hand face up on the table for him to take. “I know.”

The cab ride back to his place is quiet. You hold onto his hand the whole way, relishing the feeling of his thumb tracing back and forth over your skin. It’s a gesture that says I’m here with, I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me. Brooklyn passes by in rushes of darkness peppered with light. Pedestrians walk alongside the streets, some holding hands just like the two of you. It isn’t long before the driver pulls up alongside the curb of the complex.

It isn’t until you’re in the elevator that you’re sure that you want to stay.

The two of you get off at the fifth floor.

“Is it okay if I spend the night? If not, I completely understand. I know it’s such short notice,” you ramble as he’s turning his key into the door. He hopes you don’t notice the way he falters. But part of him knows you do. You don’t miss anything. Luckily for him, you’re just as fazed by your own question, holding your breath.

It’s not until you’re inside that he graces you with an answer, “‘Course you can.”

Your shoulders drop in relief. What you’re not expecting is the laugh he tries to bite back. Maybe it was mean of him, but he liked knowing he could make you sweat. Sometimes it seemed like it was only ever you who made him openly anxious.

“You’re terrible,” you accuse, failing at restraining a smile. “Absolutely horrible.” You’d forgotten to throw away an empty water bottle before you left, and it’s the closest thing you’re able to throw his way in retaliation. He catches it and tosses it in the trash himself.

Mischief written all along his smile when he starts towards you.

Partly scared and partly excited, you think to flee at the last second. After a few measly steps, you’re being pulled back into the firmness of his chest. He’s sure enough laughing now, the vibration rushing straight into your back right along with the warmth of his body. So are you. He only has one arm secured around your waist and, despite the fact that he’s not even trying, it's enough to hold you.

“Wait, wait, wait—hold on a second!” your words come out giggly both because you’re anticipating some sort of attack, and because he’s never held you quite like this before. Unlike a normal hug, this feels like he has you rather than you having each other. It’s vulnerable. Dizzying.

“You win, you win!”

“What?” he laughs in surprise. His mouth is so close to your ear that you shiver. “Thought you had more fight in you than that,” there’s a playful warmth to his words.

You shake your head in denial and relax back into him. You didn’t stand a chance of winning unless he let you, and you were more than willing to tap out early. Because even so, you were still in his arms at his mercy, and somehow that felt like the safest place to be. By the time you realize both of your laughter has faded to a thoughtful silence, he’s pressing a featherlight kiss to the shell of your ear.

When he lowers his arm from around your waist, you turn around to face him.

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. He suddenly looks boyish, younger. Having crawled out of whatever shell of crushing expectation and responsibility he usually resided within.

When he cups your face and presses his lips to yours, his shoulders relax and his breaths slow. And for once, he indulges. In you. In the prospect of having someone to lean on and being leaned on in return. It’s a reminder that he’s allowed to experience nice things. To have a life to look forward to outside of lending himself to cause after cause.

You’re soft, and warm, and everything good a person could be. He pulls away slowly after a while, blinking down at you with heavy eyelids. You’re looking right back at him like he’s the world itself.

“Maybe you’re not so terrible,” you whisper, smiling.

Of everything he was feeling now, restless wasn’t one of them.

Thank you so much for reading! I promise I see every like, comment, and reblog and appreciate them all very much.

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dilatorywriting · 10 months

Text

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick.

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 2

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captainmera · 4 months

Note

Was evelyn ever ALMOST caught by witch hunters?

I WROTE IT, BECAUSE DRAWING IT TAKES TOO LONG.

For some reason, I forgot I could just...... Write these little shorts with little illustrations alongside it, instead of drawing out the whole thing and it takes forever. So... here ya go! Two more little drawings beneath the cut with some text!

Roger growled through the gap amongst his ivory. He could not wrap his head around why his rival was standing there with bow and arrow, willing to.. What? Shoot him? For this woman. Barely a Christian woman, even. "What are you going to do?" Roger gestured at Caleb's homemade weaponry. "You're going to shoot me if I don't leave?" "Maybe." Caleb said, still not tensing the bow. "My brother's a real clever guy, he knows a lot about the body. Did you know that arterial bleeding is the most fatal?" "Uh-" "Looks the most accidental, too." Roger furrowed his brows. Caleb's brown eyes were void of warmth. "What are you saying?" "I'm saying I'm holding a bow. I'm saying I'm pretty good at using it. I'm saying I'm a woodsman, you're not. I'm saying that if I wanted to accidentally shoot you and hide your body, I could. And if you were discovered, it's an arrow in you, not an English pistol wound, or a knife. And nobody knows you were ever here." "...You're not serious." "You can always find out." "You're bluffing, I've never seen you use a bow and-" "Leave my property." Caleb repeated. "And if you are going to accuse my friend of witchcraft, you better have more than suggestive or spectral evidence." Roger glowered back, held his hands up in peace, and backed away. "Fine, I will." And left the way he came through the woods. Caleb waited until he couldn't see him any more, before locking the door and pulling the curtains. Roger had never liked Caleb, but before his rival took a break from witch hunting, Roger had at least had a competitors respect for the man. But respect turned to suspicion. Caleb had been acting strange for awhile... Glum and a lot more quiet. Then that woman showed up. And now the cove were against spectral evidences? Caleb had been the most frequent and outspoken about how witches found a lawful loophole by using supernatural means to get away with their crimes. As it was difficult to prove that a witch had tormented someone in their dreams, for example. And Roger agreed! Sure, Caleb was annoying, but they had both been amongst the best and the worst of hunters, being the same age only meant the two lads butted head to stay in their spot as head of a patrol. Being a witch hunter was a competitive sport, almost, it was hard to explain unless you participated. They were not friends, but Roger was sure if the roles had been reversed, Caleb would've been suspicious too and, honestly? Caleb would've tried to save Roger. It was just good sportsmanship. And this whole thing smelled wicked. Caleb turned to Evelyn. "Are you alright?" "I don't know.." She said and looked at her hands. Artemis had crawled out onto her shoulder to give her a comforting little spider hug. "My magic.. It didn't work." "What?" Caleb abandoned his bow by its place next to the backdoor. "It's not working?" "I don't- I was trying to make it work, he saw me. I'm sorry." Caleb lift her chin up. "Hey no, it's alright. Maybe.. You've just been here too long?" "No that's not it. I know it isn't." "Maybe you're ill?" She smiled up at the crease of worry on his forehead. He was trying to sound calm and proper, and she knew that tone of his. That rougher, almost demanding, serious tone. That tone he used with Philip and his friends when they were turning to him for leadership and give them orders - even if he was just as anxious as them.

His eyes flickered away, noticing that she had caught him spiralling with worries. He shook his head to get out of it and straightened his back. "Are you ill?" He repeated with a softer tone "No, I dont think so." "Not witch-ill, human-ill?" "No... I don't have any symptoms." "Hm.." Caleb thought back at when she had visited him at his job. "Oh, was it the sprig of dill tea?" Evelyn's eyes lit up. "Oh! Oh right that did taste awful!" Caleb couldn't help but break out into a soft scoff. "Well, good to know that folktale is true." "Huh?" "It's said sprig of dill keeps witches and evil away. That's why we drink it at the morrow' meeting." Evelyn's lips pressed into a line, feeling a little silly that she had so readily accepted tea from a bunch of woodsmen-slash-witch hunters. Of course they would be drinking things like that out of superstition.

"Right." She brushed her vest. Caleb snorted. "Stop it! I was afraid!" "Sorry, sorry. I'm sure it's only temporary." Evelyn looked at her hands. "You think so?" "Yeah. But.. Why don't you stay here, just in case, until it comes back. Yeah?" "Appreciated." "Of course." Evelyn swayed her skirt bashfully. "Caleb?" "Mh?" "Thank you." She pulled him in so she could plant a kiss on his cheek. "You've been my hero today." Caleb's limbs were full of pink and red butterflies. He laughed nervously and swatted his hand around in the air. "Oh! PFSH! O-Of course! I can't just- You're a maiden in distress! It's only the right thing-! Anytime, milady." And theatrically rolled his hand before bowing to her. And that got him in the right height for both of her hands to cup his face. "I think you deserve one more then." And kissed him on the side of his nose, his forehead, and when his smile spread his lips wide across his face, she kissed the dimple by his side. And that was enough. Caleb crumbled, and turned away from her with an incoherent sputtering of words. She smiled. Caleb put his face in his hands to cool, stroked them through his hair and coughed. "TEA?" He offered, gesturing at the stove. "Er- not, that tea, better tea." "Sure." And took a seat nearby him.

#toh #the owl house #ttocw #the tales of caleb wittebane #toh caleb #toh evelyn #witteclaw #wittewife #caleb x evelyn #caleb wittebane #eveyn clawthorne #ttocw drabble #ttocw short #ttocw text #ttocw art reply #cavelyn #evelyn x caleb #wittethorne

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lovebugism · 1 year

Note

can I request steeb taking care of shy!reader who is upset after a bullying incident in school? I figured she would be a year younger (like robin’s grade) because I don’t think anyone would touch her if king steve was around. I feel like he’s be so soft with her but also reeling at the thought that someone hurt his girl!

thanks for ur request anon! idk if i can count this as a blrub because it's nearly 3k words but alas pls enjoy! tw for blood (knee scrapes) and j*son c*rver

You come to Family Video with a scrape on your left knee.

It’s not the weirdest thing in the world — you ride a worn-down bike that’s probably older than you are. Steve’s been begging you to get a new one for as long as he’s known you, outright offering to pay for the damn thing as long as he’s sure it’ll get you to him without getting hurt in the process.

You reject him every time. “It gets me where I need to go,” you always shrug. “What more could I want from it?”

And he wants so badly to be angry at the beauty you manage to find in mediocrity. But he can’t be, really. It’s why you fell in love with him in the first place, isn’t it? Why you took the heartbroken boy in your arms on Halloween night in 1984 and convinced him he wasn’t bullshit despite what he told you. He’d be an idiot to be mad at how kind you are.

But when you walk into Family Video, halfway limping with blood dripping down your knee, he knows it’s different.

Something more than a toppled bike hurt you.

“Oh, god, babe,” he winces from where he stands at the counter with Robin. “What happened?”

“I fell,” you shrug as he races over to you.

“You fell?” Robin scoffs. “Knock me out with a feather.” You know she’s joking, but it’s a little too monotone, and you’re a little too sensitive. Something in her words hurts more than your throbbing knee.

Steve, who knows you like the back of his hand, understands exactly what your diverted gaze means. When you look down to the floor, he shoots Robin a firm glare.

What? she mouths, obviously confused at the sudden silence.

“Can you get the first aid kit from the back? I think there might be some gauze in there,” he asks, deciding to change the conversation entirely. He wraps an arm around your waist and walks slowly with you to the counter. He meets your grimace with a soft smile. “I’ll clean it, wrap it up, and you’ll be good as new.”

You don’t give him anything in response. Not even a pity smile.

He sits you on the counter with the open first-aid kit beside you. Robin flips the store sign to closed. It’s barely five o’clock. She starts tidying up the store to go home, anyway.

Steve wipes up the warm blood with a napkin and cleans the scrape with an alcohol wipe. You hiss at the feeling — it’s like a hundred tiny bee stings. From where he sits just below you on a worn swivel chair behind the counter, he leans in to press a kiss just above the cut.

Without all the blood, it looks a lot less gnarly than before.

“See? It’s not so bad,” the boy smiles as he unravels some gauze. “I’ll patch it up, baby you for the rest of the night, and you’ll forget it ever hurt by morning.”

Again, you don’t even smile. You just purse your lips to the side and nod.

Steve’s heart stings, but he doesn’t take anything by it. He wraps the bandage down and over your knee in an even rhythm. He tries not to be so direct when he asks: “How’d this happen, anyway, huh? Did Ol’ Sliver finally give up on you?”

You shake your head, eyes on the gauze instead of the boy. The white cloth splotches with pink from where your wound still weeps. “No,” you answer quietly. “Just fell.”

“Just fell, huh?” he repeats quietly. A few caramel-colored strands fall over his forehead as he peers up at you with his chin tilted towards his chest. He tries his best to smile. “You’re givin’ me the sad eyes, babe. I feel like it was more than just a fall.”

“It was stupid…”

He scoffs. “Never.”

“A car drove by me,” you confess, only half-lying. You try to look down at him, but your gaze wavers along with your courage. “And the music was kinda loud, and it… It startled me a little.”

You don’t tell him that Jason Carver intentionally swerved on the wrong side of the road to scare you — or that he yelled mean things through the rolled-down passenger window before speeding off again. It’s easier to keep it to yourself. You don’t want it to become a whole thing.

Steve’s brows furrow as he tucks the end of the bandage to keep it from unraveling. “Were they going too fast?”

“I don’t know. Kind of.”

“It wasn’t those football assholes, was it? I swear to god, they need their license revoked.”

“No,” you answer, quick to soothe his rising anger. “It was— It wasn’t anyone. I just got scared, and I swerved off the road, okay?”

Even in your mousy voice, it sounds like you’re being stern with him. And you’re never stern with him.

“Well, that’s okay,” Steve assures with a shrug. “We all get scared. It’s better than you getting hit, I guess.”

“I guess,” you echo with a huff, a teasing smile on your lips.

Steve grins back, happy to see you less pained. He smacks a gentle kiss to your wrapped-up knee. “Go get in the car, okay? I’ll clean up here, put your bike in the trunk, and we can go home.”

You go shy as you peer at him from beneath your lashes. “Your home?” you clarify, secretly hoping he’ll say yes.

His answer isn’t surprising. “Of course, my home. You practically live there, anyway.”

You smile and brush a soft kiss to the scruff of his jaw, murmuring a quiet thank you there before leaving. You’re not limping nearly as badly as you had been before.

Robin waits for the door to ding shut before blurting: “I think it was Jason.”

Steve stills with the first-aid kit in his hands. He squints at her from where she stands between the horror and X-rated horror aisles.

“What?”

“I think that’s who might’ve run her off the road.”

“…Why?”

“He gives her a hard time sometimes, I don’t know,” she explains vaguely and with a sigh. “Normally, it’s stupid. Like, honestly, I just think he’s super shit at flirting. Maybe he was just trying to scare her and… got a little carried away…”

Anger burns red hot in Steve’s chest. It blooms just behind his ribcage like a flower with fire for petals.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks through gritted teeth, trying not to sound too angry. It’s not like Robin was the one who hurt you, after all — just some douchebag who wouldn’t have laid a hand on you if he knew who your boyfriend was.

Steve’s knuckles go white as his grip tightens on the plastic box.

“Because I thought it was harmless!” Robin agonizes as she rushes to meet him. Her deep ocean eyes swim with worry, frightened that he might be angry at her. “Seriously. Most of the time, it sounds like he’s just being mean to get into her pants. And, like, I don’t know if that’s how he landed Chrissy back in the day or what, but he’s obviously got no clue what kind of girl he’s flirting with because…”

She trails off at Steve’s hardened umber gaze.

Robin groans and leans over the counter, reaching for the boy’s wrist. “Please don’t be mad at me, Stevie. My heart can take that. I’ll be sick for days—”

“I’m not mad at you, Rob,” the boy promises. He sighs. “I just gotta… go beat up a kid now.”

—————

You’re too focused on the stars and the feeling of Steve’s warm hand on your thigh to notice he’s taking the wrong route home.

The car slows way sooner than you expected. When you come back down from the clouds, you find that you’re in a near-empty lot. The car jolts softly when Steve puts it in park.

“What are we doing?” you turn to him with furrowed brows.

Steve unclicks his seatbelt. “I’ll be right back.”

You look past him, at the large building lit up by amber streetlamps and the green door with a light in its window. Every so often, someone will whip by it wearing a white jersey. Your heart sinks.

“Why are we at school?” you asked, scrunched-faced in a mixture of anger and worry. You don’t know how he knows what happened to you, only that he does know.

“I need to take care of something here. It’s okay—”

“Don’t go in there,” you plead. “Please. Let’s just go home—”

“I’ll be right back,” he repeats. He leans over the console to kiss your cheek. You don’t lean into it like you usually do.

“Steve—”

The car door shuts and cuts off the rest of your pleas.

Steve has an easy time getting into the gym. The backdoor is propped open with a small wooden block like it always is. The coaches welcome him in like usual. They beam as the old team captain waltzes into the newly painted gym like he owns the place.

“Harrington!” the burly man calls over the sounds of squeaking shoes and bouncing basketballs. “Come to turn in an application, finally? I’ve only been asking you to be co-coach since you graduated.”

Steve smiles coolly. “No. Not yet… I, uh— I actually needed to talk to one of your players.”

The man shoots him a look.

“Jason Carver.”

“Oh,” the man chuckles, a deep belly laugh. “You only wanna pull my star player out of practice, huh?”

“It’ll take, like, two seconds. Tops.”

A momentary stare-off ensues. Steve knows the answer he’s going to get. Everyone at this damn school has got a soft spot for him. Perks of being Hawkins High royalty, he figures.

“Two,” the coach says in the place of any real answer.

He takes the green whistle from his neck and blows into it. The shrill sound echoes through the gym. Like trained dogs, the boys on the court still.

“Carver!” the man shouts, almost too loudly. Steve winces from beside him. “Get over here!”

Jason passes the ball off and jogs to meet them without question. When Steve says he’s got something to tell him, the blonde-haired boy smiles like it’s a privilege. Red-faced and out of breath, he trails behind Steve as they walk out into the hallway.

“Don’t tell me you’re coming to be assistant coach,” the boy says with an audible smile. “Coach Blair has only been talking about it for a year—”

When the double doors shut behind him, Steve whips around and shoves the boy into the lockers. They clang beneath his sudden weight and echo down the empty corridor. Jason’s smug face contorts into shock. “—What the hell?”

He tries to regain his footing, but Steve only shoves him backward again. His hands twist in the neck of his jersey.

“What the fuck are you doing, man?” Jason shouts.

Steve’s stern features never waver. He leans in close, eyes trained on the boy like a predator to prey. “Leave my girl alone,” he threatens lowly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! I don’t know who your girl is—”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about,” Steve spits in response. The lockers bang once more when he shoves the boy backward again. “Should break your leg for what you did to her. What would the star player do then, huh?”

Jason’s wide eyes flit between the both of Steve’s. He racks his brain for what he might’ve done so wrong and who he might’ve done it to. He gapes at the realization — “Bambi? Bambi’s your girlfriend?”

“Oh, that’s what you call her?” Steve muses in a monotone, feigning interest. “How cute.”

“I didn’t know, man. I swear. If I knew, I never would’ve—”

“I don’t care. And stop pleading, alright? It’s embarrassing.”

Jason goes quiet. His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. Steve’s hand loosens on his jersey. His ice-cold gaze never wavers.

“I don’t wanna know what you did to her. I don’t wanna know why you’re doing it, either — if you think she’s pretty, or if she’s easy-pickings for assholes like you — I don’t care.” He presses the boy further into the lockers, their noses inches apart. “But if I hear you’re messing with her, talking about her to your friends— if you so much as look in her direction again, I promise you won’t like what I do to you.”

Jason’s jaw clenches. He juts out his chin in a feeble attempt to make himself taller. “Yeah?”

Steve nods. “Yeah.”

“That’s real rich coming from someone who couldn’t even beat up Jonathan Byers.”

“I’ve learned a lot since then,” the older boy promises, weirdly composed. “Feel free to find out if you don’t believe me.”

The boy stays quiet.

Steve shoves him backward when he lets go of him. He gives him a final glare and one last warning before walking back toward the gym. “And plant your feet when you’re on the court, alright? It’d be a real shame if you broke an ankle.”

—————

The drive to his house is silent.

It usually is. Most of the time, you’re too zoned into the music or making shapes in the clouds to talk. But now it’s because you’re angry. Steve would be an idiot not to notice. He can feel it radiating off of you like steam.

He reaches for the console and turns the air-con up.

“Are you hot?” he asks in a feeble attempt to break the quiet.

With your arms crossed and your gaze out the window, you deadpan: “I’m mad.”

“I feel like that’s sorta the same thing,” Steve jokes with a weak, lopsided smile.

“I didn’t want you to do that,” you choke through a tight throat. “You’re just gonna make it worse.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have gotten so bad if you would’ve just told me.”

You turn to him with eyes glassy from unshed tears. A stoplight bathes the both of you in shades of neon scarlet. “I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d do something about it,” you spit.

“So you’d rather let some asshole run you off the road, huh? Is that it?”

He doesn’t mean to be so harsh. He’s just upset, and the adrenaline’s making him antsy.

Steve learned a long time ago not to be so forward with you. Even if he’s just joking around, even if he’s mad and saying shit he doesn’t mean — you’re not built for that. You’re made of something softer: marshmallow fluff and crocheted yarn and flower petals. It’s why you let Jason Carver pick on you for so long without saying a word about it.

“It’s not like that,” you argue quietly, blinking back tears as you turn away from him again.

Steve sighs. “I’m sorry, babe. I didn’t mean— I’m just upset, okay? I didn’t mean to yell.”

“I know…”

“I just wish you would tell me these things, you know?”

His hand is warm on the skin of your thigh as he smooths his palm over it. Your eyes flit to your leg and then to him. You nod. “I know. I just…” Your features crumple when you trail off.

Steve squeezes your thigh in reassurance. “You just what?”

“I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle myself,” you confess quietly. “Everyone thinks I’m so weak. I didn’t want you to think that, too.”

“I don’t think you’re weak,” Steve scoffs out a laugh, like he almost can’t believe you’d even think something like that.

Your brows furrow. “No?”

“No. Not even a little bit. But as your boyfriend— ‘cause I am your boyfriend, right?”

You meet his teasing gaze with a half-hearted scowl. You’ve only been dating for a year and a half. You nod to humor him.

“Exactly. So, as your boyfriend, it’s my job to help you through the hard shit, you know? Just because you can get through it on your own doesn’t mean you have to.”

Your chest swells. You try not to smile too wide, but it’s hard not to. You’ve never had someone who wanted to protect you before. It’s as strange as it is gratifying.

“Okay,” you concede with a nod.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” you repeat with a giggle.

Steve leans over the console, moving slowly like his lips are made of magnets that drift to yours. Through the overwhelming urge to kiss you, he jokes: “Is it— and I’m just checking here— is it okay?”

You shake your head and lean to meet him halfway. “You’re such a dork.”

Your lips barely brush before a loud honk echoes behind you. You jolt apart from him, not noticing that the light had turned green until then.

Steve sighs and mourns your unkissed lips. His engine roars softly as he presses on the gas.

He’d noticed. He saw the light change about twenty seconds ago — how the bright crimson changed into a softer shade of lime that bathed you in its neon hues. He just loved the way you looked in green.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x shy!reader #stranger things fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

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thebearer · 11 months

Text

follow me |carmen berzatto x reader|

prompt: the bear needs a social media rebrand. sydney hired you, and carmen gets more than just followers after meeting you.

an: bad descript i'm sorry lol. basically you're a social media manager and carmen likes you lol or how you and carmen meet <3 also thinking this will be a part 1???? lmk if you want a part 2!!!

contains: reader is a social media manager. language. carmen denying himself happiness ofc. mentions of mikey. fluff, fluff, fluff!!!

“What the hell is this?” Sydney’s voice raised, brow raised even higher to heighten her suspicions. Maybe her disgust.

After Carmen looked at the snarl on her face, he decided it was definitely disgust.

“What?” Carmen shrugged, looking at the screen in front of him. “It’s the, uh, The Beef’s old Instagram.”

“Right.” Sydney said slowly, blinking at Carmen obviously. “The Beef, and we are not that anymore. We are The Bear.” She scrolled for a moment. “They also haven’t posted since twenty-twenty, which is-”

“-Well, Mikey ran it, alright?” Carmen huffed, glaring at Sydney with annoyance. “I just found the fuckin’ password on a fucking gum wrapper in a folder labeled ‘important shit’ so I don’t know what to tell you.”

Sydney nodded slowly, looking back at the phone, before sighing deeply. “I know what you should do.” She said, typing on her phone. Carmen grunted, still looking at the piles of order forms for produce in front of him. “You need a social media manager, because Carm, this? It's not gonna work.”

“Social media what?” Carmen’s brows creased, shaking his head. “I don’t- no, I don’t need to do that. I’ll just, I’ll get Gary or fuckin’ Sweeps or Fak to run-”

“No, no, Carmen, seriously? Look at this. There’s- oh my God- there’s a thing here that says bring your own plate and you’ll get a free drink, Carmen… What the fuck?” Sydney sighed, shaking her head at him.

Carmen nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I-I’m thinking that was a, uh, a Mikey special.” He muttered, pinching his eyes shut. “I can’t afford to hire someone on the payroll for that long, ok? Not when I could hire another hostess or-or a runner.”

“They only come in to revamp and get it started. Just a little kick start for now. To get us started.” Sydney explained, clicking on her screen. “Look, I have a mutual friend with this girl who’s really fuckin’ good, ok? She did Lobo’s that pizza place? Got them from two hundred to eighteen thousand followers in like two or three months.”

Carmen’s eyes flashed, looking at Sydney with a raised brow. “Seriously? Fuck…” Carmen looked at the screen, the crisp photos, videos, fun and trendy- vibrant and alluring. He hated to admit it, but it was good.

“Look, Carm, it’s free advertising, ok? You catch the influencers if it goes viral. Could really put this place out there.” Sydney countered. “It’d be a lot cheaper than paying for some shitty advertisement on the news that no one watches anyways. Could bring in a lot of business and attention.”

Carmen’s fingers drummed against the counter, sighing sharply. “Fine, whatever, see if you can get her in and just… Just tell me how much I need to put aside, alright? I’ll push the new glasses until then.”

Sydney smiled triumphantly, nodding at Carmen. “Yes, Chef.” She saluted, walking out of the office.

Three days later, you were standing outside of The Bear, newly opened, freshly renovated, and steady but not booming. “Uh, excuse me?” You waved through the window at the man in the beanie, looking at you carefully.

“Hey, we’re closed until dinner, alright? But you can-”

“Oh, no. I, uh, I’m not here for eating.” You cringed, shaking your head. “I’m looking for Sydney? Or Carmen? I’m the new social media person?”

“Social media?” The man repeated, pushing the door open further. “Oh, shit! You’re the girl who does the, uh, Lobo and Avec!”

“Yeah, I am.” You blushed, walking into the restaurant.

“I love watching those reels of the asmr cutting the bread. Ugh, I watch it every night before going to bed.” The guy laughed, locking the door behind you. “Oh, I’m Marcus by the way.”

You took his extended hand, introducing yourself, while you took in the fixtures on the wall, the art, the overall ambiance. “I am going to get Carmen, but you can stay right here if you want.” Marcus grinned, pushing the sliding doors open.

You set your things down, pulling out your notebook, and looking around the restaurant. You knew that this was once The Beef, Sydney had sent you a few things about Carmen’s credentials and you looked up the rest. Impressed was an understatement, a guy your age that had ran the best restaurant in the world? Quite possibly was the best chef in the world or at least Chicago and needed your help? You were nervous, to say the least.

Marcus called your name, making you jump slightly as you turned around. “Uh, so this is Carmen. He’s the owner, the head chef.”

“Hi,” You were met with piercing blue eyes, hidden under a stray blonde lock of hair. Carmen’s hand reached for yours. “Nice to meet you. Sydney, uh, she couldn’t stop tellin’ me about your work. Thank you for helpin’ us out.”

“No, no, thank you.” You reached for his hand, strong, a little rough, trying not to stare at his inked fingers. “It’s a pleasure to work with you. She told me a little about you, about the restaurant. It’s very impressive. Surprised you needed me.” You grinned.

Carmen bit back a smile, looking down to hide his blush. Fuck, Sydney said you were good at your job, she failed to mention that you were so fuckin’ pretty too. Carmen could feel his heart fluttering in his chest, taking flight like he was a middle schooler again with a school yard crush.

“So, if you have time, I want to go over some goals with you?” You say, gripping your notebook tightly.

“Goals. Right, uh,” Carmen looked through the back doors. “Sydney is on her break, and-and my sister, Sugar- well, her name is Natalie, she’s like our manager. Richie too, uh, shit- I’m sorry that’s a lot of people, I know.” Carmen shook his head, an anxious laugh pealing out from his lips. “Those are the people you need to talk to, basically. I can grab them, just-”

“-But you’re the owner, right?” You asked, lifting a brow gently.

“No, I mean, yeah, I am.” Carmen stuttered.

“Then I need to talk to you, too.” You gave him a small smile. “I mean, you know this place better than anyone, right? All the ins and outs? And from what Sydney told me, you redid this entire place. Right?”

“Yeah, I did.” Carmen nodded. Fuck, he kept staring at your lips, he didn’t mean to, he was just… he was distracted.

“So, we can all meet if you want, or I can do it one at a time.” You pulled your pen out of your notebook, looking at him with a gentle smile. It had Carmen’s heart racing. “I just have a few questions about the vision.”

“The vision?” Carmen repeated, swallowing around the growing lump in his throat.

“Yeah, the vision.” You smiled. “Just… tell me about this place. Tell me about you.” You slid into the chair across from him.

Carmen wiped his hands on his pants, turning to look at the doors, hoping someone would come to his rescue. He wasn’t good at talking, especially not to pretty girls, especially about himself. Still, he couldn’t leave you sitting there. He’d hired you after all, and you were here to help him. So he sat down across from you, hoping you didn’t see the way his knee bounced under the table, hoping you couldn’t hear how his heart pounded.

“So, Carmen Berzatto,” You grinned, every syllable of his name rolling off your tongue so sweetly, Carmen was sure he was going to faint. “Tell me about The Bear. Why did you start it?”

“Well, it was The Beef before. And-And my parents owned it, then my brother Mikey did…” Carmen started, watching the way you scribbled, eyes flickering to him with a small smile.

“Hello!” You called, pushing through the back door. They’d given you the code a week ago, so you didn’t have to wait or pound on the front door until someone took mercy and let you in. “It’s content day!” You sang, cheery and bright.

Carmen could hear the pretty trill of your voice, trickling down the hall and into the kitchen. Tina smirked, watching the way he stopped, turning to look at you, blush rising under his white shirt. “Hey, Jeff,” Tina smirked, his head snapping to her. “Your girl’s here.”

The staff had been teasing Carmen relentlessly about how smitten he was with you. Something he’d been so reluctant to do, he now looked forward to. Carmen swore it was because of your work. You had taken them from the measly six hundred followers they’d had since they started the account in twenty-eleven to six thousand, strategic posts and tags and tagging a few buzz accounts that were Chicago foodies. Business had gone up, reservations filling slowly. Followers poured in from TikTok, from the reels, from the posts. One tag from a micro Chicago influencer had brought in a good chunk and was still, all because of a photo with the pretty light features and the dessert.

“Where’s the Bear?” You grinned, passing Sydney, camera in hand, bag slung over your shoulder. You pushed open Carmen’s office, dropping your bag in there. He’d told you that you could keep your things in there, since you didn’t have a locker, of course- and not at all because that meant he’d see you before you left.

“He’s in here, baby!” Tina called, smirking at Carmen.

“C’mon,” Carmen shook his head, a deep breath to keep him from looking so flushed. It worked for a moment, of course, until you rounded the corner. All bright smiles and fuck, you smelled so good. Camren wanted to drown himself in your perfume. “Good morning, Bear.” You beamed.

Carmen grinned, cheeks heating with every step you took forward. “Mornin’.” He muttered, looking at the clock.

“It’s content day.” You grinned, shaking your camera lightly. “Tell me you got something good for me, Chef. What's the special this week?”

“A lamb tenderloin with a gorgonzola sauce served over pasta- house made, of course.” Carmen answered.

“Of course.” You repeated with a tiny grin. You turned on your camera, taking a test shot, before you looked at Carmen carefully. “Ready whenever you are, Chef.”

Carmen bit back his own grin, clearing his throat lightly. “How do I start it? The same as last time?”

“Yep.” You nodded, pressing the camera to your eyes. “Tell me your name, name of the restaurant, and then just this week's special.”

“On your mark.” Carmen nodded, picking up his clean utensil.

“On yours.” You laughed. “I’m already recording.”

Carmen spoke to the camera easily, trying to stay trained on the lens and not at you. How you’d grin and nod encouragingly at him, zooming in closer as he chopped, seasoned, pulled the already prepared and finished product out of the oven.

Richie crossed his arms, leaning against the wall next to Sugar, lips pursed knowingly. “I know you’re thinkin’ the same shit as me.”

Sugar hummed. “That Carmen’s into her?”

“Way fuckin’ into her.” Richie grinned, watching as Carmen blushed, grinning back at you, genuine and a little shy at your compliment.

“Fifty bucks says he doesn’t make a move.” Sugar looked at Richie.

Richie snorted, scoffing with a shake of his head. “Alright. I’ll take your bet. I say he does.”

“Get ready to be out of fifty dollars, Cousin.” Sugar said smugly. “This is Carmy we’re talking about. Not Mikey. Carmen’s not gonna make a move on her.”

“Eh, not so quick, my dear, Natalie. Carmen’s changed a little since this place.” Since the horrendous freezer incident with Claire. “He really likes her too, look at ‘em.” Richie nodded, watching as Carmen held the spoon out for you, blushing when your hand touched his to take it, groaning before smothering him in compliments. Tina looked at Richie, amused and grinning from across the room.

“Carmen will seal the deal. It’ll be last fuckin’ minute and it will be a mess, because it’s fuckin’ Carmen, but… I believe in him.” Richie nodded.

Natalie snorted. “I genuinely hope you’re right, Cousin.” She looked at Carmen with a small smile, watching the way he looked at you, eyes cutting like he was being so cool about keeping his feelings underwraps. “I really do.”

That night, Carmen lied in bed, scrolling through his footage from the day, seeing the video pop up from @/thebearchicago. Set to classical music, snobby and dramatic, the cuts, Carmen’s voice laid over describing the meal for the week, and a particularly good close up of his hands cutting the onions fiercely. Carmen was shocked to see the number of likes… the number of comments flooding in.

“the cameraman knew exactly what they were doing lmao”

“New necklace available!!!”

“I will give you my vital organs and let you chop them up like that if you let me watch chef please”

“What the fuck?” Carmen snorted lightly, shaking his head, scrolling through the comments. He clicked to the main page of the restaurant, seeing you were just a few away from ten thousand followers. Fuck… Sydney was fucking right. You were good.

Carmen’s face fell, mind racing and screaming with the reminder that you were only there for a few more days. He’d only hired your for two months- two glorious fucking months. You seemed… permanent now. Like he couldn’t imagine you not coming in on Tuesdays and Thursdays and after three on Fridays. You were a staple there. The staff loved you, you were good, and-

And Carmen really liked you. Liked having you around. Looked forward to talking to you. To get the chance to lean over your shoulder as an excuse to touch you when you showed him a preview of a post. Or when you’d send him cute text messages, a funny comment attached, your text reading: “you’re a hit, bear! they love you!”

It was like you could read his mind, your contact flashing across the screen at him.

To: Carmen

‘told you this would be a good one! the fans love you berzatto!!!’

Carmen grinned, the faint twinge of a blush on his face. He could feel his heart racing, fingers dancing over the keyboard, and worst of all- he could hear Mikey’s fucking voice in the back of his head. A nagging tone repeating over and over and over, “Let it rip, Bear! Don’t be such a pussy! Ask her out!”

Carmen looked at his screen, fingers typing out the message, a short, less than smooth invite to make you a special thank you dinner and his place- a date. He hoped you picked up on it. Heat hammering in his chest, he could feel his chest tighten, ribs knitting together uncomfortably, stomach twisting in the worst way.

So, Carmen did what he always did.

From: Carmen

‘Never doubted you. Thank you. The video was great.’

He watched as the blue sent, the delivered turning into seen, and followed by your thumbs up over the text. Carmen put his phone on the table, lying back on his pillow, but he couldn’t sleep. His stomach still turned, unsettled with regret.

“Oh! Marcus stop!” You gasped, Carmen’s head turning at the sound of your voice. “You didn’t need to do all of this!”

“Yeah, I did.” Marcus beamed. Carmen turned the corner, seeing a beautifully piped cake there, candles and icing cursive that read “thank you!” in the middle of the buttercream. “You’re cool and you got us on the map, girl. Plus, we’re gonna miss you.”

“Yeah,” Sydney nodded, holding a small balloon that said that exact phrase on it. “We will miss you.”

“I’ll miss you guys.” You grinned, hugging them both tightly. “This has been my favorite job so far. You guys have been so nice. Way nicer than a lot of these assholes around here.” You grinned.

Richie stood on the wall, foot tapping, eyes darting back from you to Carmen. He could see his cousin’s stuttering movements, hesitant and careful, before retreating back into himself. C’mon, Carm, fuckin’ do it, Richie thought, shaking his head. Carmen wouldn’t though, wouldn’t let himself be happy. Richie took a deep breath, head shaking with annoyance.

“Goddammit, Berzatto,” Richie muttered, pushing off the wall. “You know, sweetheart, it’s been so great having you. Seriously, you blew us all away.” Richie said, walking towards you.

You smiled. “Thanks, Richie. I really appreciate it.”

“And you know what, we want to really show how much we appreciate you.” Richie’s eyes cut to Natalie, a silent plea to help him out. “I had a cancellation for this evening, and I would love for you to come instead. Let us really cook for you, give you the whole experience. No bill, of course. All on the house, for you, my dear.”

“Oh, I-I couldn’t let you guys do that.” You shook your head politely, eyes cutting to Carmen’s.

“No-No, please.” Carmen nodded, finally speaking. Richie sighed silently in relief. “It would be great actually. Please?”

You felt your heart melt, nodding softly. Before you could even reply, Richie was stepping up again. “And you know what? You gotta do one last post for us, right? The big chef spotlight one. The, uh, c’mon, Sydney what am I lookin’ for here?”

“Oh, the one about the staff spotlights?” Sydney asked.

“That’s the one. See, that’s it. And you’ve done everyone except the big boss.” Richie pointed at Carmen, ignoring the way the younger man’s face fell.

“I didn’t get one-” Fak started, Richie shoving him out of the way.

“You gotta end with Carmy, and it's funny because it’s gonna be real slow tonight anyways. Wednesday, ya know? And I think what better way to experience the night, really craft that staff spotlight thing, than with Carmen. The two of you, have dinner and get to talk.” Richie knew it was rocky, not at all smooth, but it was the best he could do.

“What? Cousin, what are you-”

“-No, you’re right, Richie.” Sugar added, stepping towards Carmen, and cutting him off. “And Carm, you were saying you wanted to see everything in action for yourself. You do the customer experience so you make sure everything’s good, and we’ll serve you both dinner. All the stops.”

“How’s that sound?” Richie clapped his hands together, nodding at Tina, who grinned.

“Jeff, it would be really nice to make sure we can work without your instructions. A good night for it too.” Tina added.

“Yeah, and Sydney’s got it.” Richie nudged the girl beside him.

“Totally, Carm- uh, Chef. I’ve got it.” Sydney nodded, catching on to Richie’s glare at her.

Carmen felt like he could melt into the floor, face red and palms sweaty. His ears were ringing, tongue swelled thick in his mouth. You looked over at him with a small smile. “I mean, that does sound really nice. If-If it’s ok with you guys, you don’t have to-”

“-Oh no,” Richie shook his head, walking over to Carmen to clap him on the shoulders. “We insist, don’t we, cousin?” Richie laughed, leaning down to Carmen. “Don’t fuckin’ stand there like a jagoff, say somethin’.” He whispered.

“Yeah.” Carmen said, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. “It’s, uh, yeah. That-That sounds great.”

“Wonderful.” Richie beamed. “Six o’clock sounds good for you kids? Give you enough time to get it together.” Richie looked from you to Carmen. “Maybe for some of us to take a shower.”

Carmen could feel the heat rise from his neck to his cheeks, covering him in a furious blush. You giggled. “Definitely gives me time to get a blow out.” You laugh. “See you at six then?”

“It’s a date.” Natalie added, practically bouncing on her toes behind Carmen.

Carmen glared at her, before turning back to you. “Yeah, I-I’ll see you then.”

3K notes · View notes

elliespectacular · 4 months

Note

Hi! I'm sure you probably get asked this a lot given your long-time standing with the YTP community, but I was curious if you had any beginner tips for a newer YTPers hoping to learn the trade? I've been on and off editing videos for a couple years now using whatever free-ish programs I can work with until I have a steady income, but I'd love to hear any suggestions you may have about editing videos YTP style in general as well! So far sentence-mixing has been my favorite part of the process. Been a huge fan of your channel since I was a little kid, my older bro introduced me with the 'Lord of Da Things' video ages ago. To this day I can't watch The Fellowship of the Ring without falling out in laughter. It makes me so happy to see that you're still doing your thing, all these years later too. Take care and have an awesome day!

Tips for beginners:

Make any* joke that pops into your head. Did you laugh out loud at any point while editing the joke? Keep it in. No? Cut it.

Make "random" edits, like edits where you don't have a specific goal. Reverse stuff for the hell of it, make cuts in unintuitive spots, throw in some effects you've never tried before. Experiment and get inspired by what happens!

YTP is as low-stakes as it gets. Sometimes it can be rewarding to challenge yourself a little bit and make a joke more complex than usual, but there's nothing wrong with cutting some corners**. It can add to the charm in a way.

Post what you make and don't get too bogged-down by whether it's "good" or whatever. Show it to people, find out what makes them laugh, what they find interesting, and think about why those things connect with people.

For sentence-mixing, it's handy to have a transcript of the source video handy so you can ctrl+f for words/phrases/syllables

*Don't do anything distasteful or make people say things you'd be ashamed to repeat. I'm not gonna stop you or anything, but don't do anything you think you might eventually regret.

**Shortcuts can be things like reusing a piece of sentence-mixing or an animation you've already done, or repeating a joke that applies in multiple contexts. If you use AI in the current year I *will* wag my finger and nod disapprovingly.

#ytp #youtube poop #ask

503 notes · View notes

dumbseee · 9 months

Text

just friends, right?

when you and daniel are just friends, or maybe more?

daniel ricciardo x reader.

fc: kendall jenner.

liked by y/n, landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1 729 991 others.

danielriccardo: happy birthday to the light of my life (and the bane of my existence.)

fan1: anthony bridgerton said the same thing about his future wife 🤭

fan2: the whole world knows except them

fan3: JUST DATE UGHHH

fan4: drop the act and get married omg

landonorris: mommy and daddy <3

fan5: not lando shipping them too

fan6: i just know his camera roll is full of her

maxverstappen1: @.fan6 it is.

fan7: AAAHAJJSOSLSOPXPCPC

fan8: not lando AND max exposing them

fan9: they’re so meant to be

fan10: "the light of my life" when is someone going to refer to me like this??

fan11: daniel is so sweet with y/n :(

fan12: mind you he posted that one minute before midnight so he could be the first one to wish her a happy birthday :((((

view all comments.

you were dancing along the music with your girls when you suddenly felt a presence behind you. you were in a crowded club with some friends to celebrate daniel’s return to the grid as a driver for alpha tauri. you turned around to face the guy who clearly was seeking your attention and you smiled when you saw a cute blonde guy smiling back at you. the two of you started dancing together, his hands on your waist and yours around his neck. he was cute, and you could take him home with you but something was off. your mind tried to think of why but your heart already knew.

suddenly, the guy was ripped away from you and pushed far back. you blinked in confusion and saw daniel, now standing in front of you, he glared at the guy before returning his attention to you. his usual warm smile was gone and his eyes were now cold. "what is wrong with you?" you yelled over the music. he didn’t respond but instead he grabbed your wrist and dragged you out of the crowd. he ignored your complaints and finally stopped when you two were now in the parking lot. "care to explain what’s gotten into you, joseph?" you crossed your arms. he took a step closer to you which made you frown and almost take one back. "he was too close to you for my liking." you scoffed and laughed at his answer. "so what? you’re not my dad." you rolled your eyes and tried to go back inside the club but daniel blocked you again. "then what am i to you?" he asked in a low tone, sending shivers all over your body.

"daniel. you’re my-…" he cut you, closing his eyes and pinning you against the wall. "say that we’re just friends, i fucking dare you." you looked at him, completely lost, your cheeks were burning hot because of the way he was looking at you and how close the two of you were. your lips remained shut as you didn’t know what to say, you knew daniel your whole life, he was your best friend, your favorite person on earth, basically your soul mate. in all those years or friendship you did question your true feelings for him, but you never crossed the friendship line. what you had with daniel was too precious to ruin it because of your feelings. "say it, y/n." he repeated, you swallowed and closed your eyes, keeping the eye contact was way too hard for you. you couldn’t see it but seeing you being so flustered made daniel smile, he was happy to see the effect he had on you, and that his feelings weren’t one sided like he feared. "can i kiss you?" you opened your eyes and nodded slowly. daniel gently kissed your lips, his hands resting on your hips while you wrapped your arms around his neck, pushing yourself against him. the kiss grew more passionate, more eager.

you dreamed of that moment for years, you couldn’t believe that it was finally happening. you were kissing your best friend, and it felt right.

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, isahernaez and 729 019 others.

y/n: random dump because i still don’t have a jpg account to empty my camera roll

fan1: AAAAAAH THE CUTIES

fan2: the first couple pictures we get 🥺

fan3: that’s mom and dad right here

isahernaez: finally!!

maxverstappen1: @.charles_leclerc you owe me 100€ man

charles_leclerc: damn it

fan4: NOT THE BOYS MAKING BETS ON THEM

fan5: y/n was already the queen of wags even before she became a wag

fan6: their love story is the cutest ever

fan7: who said friends to lovers was a boring trope because look at THEM

fan8: the speech he did after his first race since his hiatus, when he thanked her was so cute tho

fan9: i just hope it won’t end badly bc their friendship was superior

fan10: now be happy

fan11: YESSSSSSSS

view all comments.

taglist: @ferrariloverr

1K notes · View notes

writtenbymoonflower · 4 months

Note

ok so,,,, i love your poly!mauraders fics like sm!!! i’d love to request their getting together story with the reader, like maybe she shares a class with each of them individually or something and they’re already together but they also all end up having a crush on her. feel free to run with this i just adore your writing.

thanks for requesting, lovely! poly!marauders x fem!reader

cw: none

900 words

You looked lost walking into the common room, clutching your book tight. Three heads turned at the sound of your Mary Janes hitting the ground.

“Y/N! Haven’t seen you all day, where’ve you been runnin’ off to? C’mere, darling!” James opened his arms expectantly. You walked over, letting him hug your hips as you greeted the other boys. You were familiar with the group, sharing a few classes with them. You also ate lunch together every day and spent time in the common room at night. They were always soft and sweet on you, and you on them, you never understood it but you happily accepted.

It just was difficult for you, because you liked them. You liked them a lot. They plagued your thoughts constantly, and their easy affection did not help the situation. You knew, the whole school knew, that the three boys were dating, they made it very obvious. You knew that you had no chance with them. They were happy and settled. You were happy for them, but it didn’t ease your yearning. You had been avoiding them for the last few days because of it, but they hadn’t made it easy. You winced, knowing that you would have to address your feelings. Sooner, rather than later it seemed.

“Hi!” You said shyly to the three boys, smiling.

“You look really nice today, love.” Remus said, not hiding how his eyes raked your form. Your whole body heated, looking away from him.

“Thank you,” You leaned more into James, making sure to keep it polite, even as his hands slipped slightly under the hem of your skirt. You pulled away, making James give you a concerned look.

“You okay, honey?” James looked up at you with his big doe eyes, making your heart clench.

“Yeah I’m okay, I just… I just need to talk to you guys.” You moved to be away from them, sitting in front of the couch they were all strewn across.

“Okay,” Remus said, skeptically, setting his book down. Sirius fixed his gray eyes on you in a way that made you want to run away.

“Okay,” You repeated, mentally preparing yourself for the (likely horrible) outcome.

“You don’t gotta be nervous, dolly.” Sirius said, much more softly than usually. “It’s just us.”

Yeah, it’s you three. You thought.

“Okay, so, I know that we spend a lot of time together, and we are all friends. And I know that you three are like, together together.” You braced. They all looked confused but didn’t say anything. “I just um… well, I’ve developed some feelings for you three, and believe me, I tried. I tried to make them go away, I just, can’t I guess.” You started to tear up, looking down at your lap so they wouldn’t see. “Anyway, I’m really sorry if that makes things weird, I just… thought you should know.” You trailed off, shredding your cuticles from your anxious fidgeting. Sirius coughed out a laugh, making you inhale sharply.

“Um, babe… we know. You thought we didn’t?” He asked, humor tilting his voice. You felt your heart sink. Had they all known and were making fun of you for it? You heard a book hit Sirius’ chest.

“Christ, Pads. Are you helping or are you hurting?” Remus scolded. “Y/N, dovey. We know, and the reason Sirius reacted like that,” He said accusatively at the dark-haired boy. “Is because, well, we thought that you knew that we know.”

“And,” James cut in. “We thought that you knew we felt the same way.” He said, sounding confused.

“Yeah,” Sirius’ voice was still tinged with humor. “Babe, I know that we haven’t really talked about it, but I thought you knew, you’re with us.” Tears just streamed further down your face, all the emotions catching up to you. You were not only relieved, but happily confused. You wiped your eyes. You looked up at them.

“Oh,” You said, “I- I didn’t know that. I’m happy! I just thought you didn’t like me like that.” James looked appalled.

“Shit, angel, are you crying?” He sounded horrified. “Come here.” You scrambled over to him, letting him pull you into his lap sideways while Sirius leaned over to wipe your eyes.

“Baby,” Sirius laughed pitifully. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“It’s okay, I’m just relieved. I thought you wouldn’t want to see me after this.”

“Sweetheart,” James said miserably. “We all really, really like you. Do you think we would’ve been this sweet to you if we didn’t? Is this your way of telling us we need to up our game?” He laughed.

“No! I’m just stupid.” You laughed wetly.

“You’re not stupid,” Remus looked at you scoldingly. “We just didn’t communicate. So, Y/N, we all really like you, and we want to be with you, the way we are with each other.” He looked deep into your eyes, amber irises swimming with fondness. “How does that sound to you?”

“I would really like that.” You said shyly, leaning into James. He wrapped you up tighter.

“Aw, sweet girl. I’m sorry you were so worried.” James cooed. You boldly touched James’ face, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“It’s okay, I know now.” You reassured. Sirius tore you from James’ grasp.

“Okay, my turn!” He kissed your forehead with a loud smack.

You could get used to this.

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thecouchsofa · 5 months

Text

You might be thinking, Tee, in your 2023 AO3 wrap up post, you said you wrote a ridiculous amount of HP fic this year - but what about reading? Well, thanks for asking, imaginary audience – as a matter of fact, I did indeed read a lot of Drarry fics this year. A fucking horrendous number of Drarry fics, in fact.

Below the cut are some of my favourites that were published in 2023, arranged by word count.

But first, a note: there is truly an overwhelming amount of talent in this fandom and this list only scratches the surface. These fics all gave me something that I was looking for and were my favourites for a number of different reasons. I hope you can find something new to love here (or reconnect with an old favourite), and that you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

If there’s a fic from 2023 that isn’t here but you really enjoyed, chuck it in the replies section so we can all see it!

🌸 AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? – @rainstormradish (4k, M) 🌸

Alrakis I [24M] attended a small boarding school in the UK. There was a boy in my year, a couple of months younger than me, and he became my nemesis after we developed an intense rivalry. My friend [25F] told me recently that our dynamic was "weird back then" and that "it’s even weirder" that I still think about him today. She argued that I talk about him all the time, but I believe the amount I talk about him is reasonable. AITA?

prongymcprongface i completely get what you mean. i had a nemesis (like a school one, separate to my other nemesis) and we had a dynamic super similar to what you are describing. having a nemesis is a very cool and normal thing dw about it. NTA

In which Draco asks the internet if he's being reasonable. Only one commenter is sympathetic. They start talking.

Read for: unique fic idea with a cool layout, humour, boys being idiots

🌻 Snug – @moonflower-rose (6k, E) 🌻

Potter can't keep his hands off himself. Draco can't look away.

Read for: Draco being Obsessed with Harry(‘s cock), Humorous Writing Style

🪻 Birds Behaving Badly – @peachpety (10k, E) 🪻

For eight years, Draco has been content living a quiet life of anonymity in Brighton, dodging pesky seagulls and enjoying the ephemeral boys of summer. And if these summer blokes just happen to resemble Harry Potter, it’s a mere coincidence—despite what his friends say.

But when a repeat one-night stand challenges him to face his desires, Draco thinks he’s finally over his years-long crush.

A seagull named Kevin thinks otherwise.

For: Unleashed!Fest 2023

Read for: hidden/mistaken identity, summer vibes, Kevin the seagull

🌸 Under the Confetti Mist – @azalealarae (12k, E) 🌸

Harry and Draco stay up late working on a Potions assignment in the poorly ventilated eighth-year common room, unaware that disinhibition is a side effect of the elixir’s vapor.

Read for: Sex Pollen, Drarry as Potions partners

🌻 Hellos, goodbyes, a thousand midnights – newskyillusion (13k, M) 🌻

The world, as Harry knew it, has ended.

At least he has a garden.

Harry and Draco live through the apocalypse

For: Drarry Let’s Play Fest 2023

Read for: body horror, cosy vibes (just trust me, lol), Harry gardening, Powerful Harry, Harry and Draco relying on each other.

🪻 Amorous As This Lovely Green – @annanother-thing (14k, E) 🪻

Harry hates being a celebrity. Draco cannot find a single model that fits his vision for his latest line. They both make the debatable choice of trusting one PA extraordinaire/best friend, Pansy Parkinson.

For: Harry/Draco Career Fair 2023

Read for: Harry modelling lingerie, Hot Harry

🌸 Help! I'm a Hopeless Romantic! – @peachydreamxx (14k, M) 🌸

Draco turns from the bar, eyes latching onto Harry. He surveys him, one brow lifting, and Harry, like a deer in headlights, throws his hand up with the world’s most awkward wave. Draco just weaves out of sight, and Harry’s face burns as Ron pats him on the shoulder, then steals a chip. “He gave you a look, didn’t he?”

~ how to get over your crush

~ places that sell cake after 11pm near me

~ how to tell if someone is playing hard to get

A year in the life of Harry's shared moments, and private thoughts

For: Wheel of Drarry Mini-Exchange Secret Santa 2023

Read for: Harry’s Google Searches, Humour

🌻 Cool About It – @oflights (M, 16k) 🌻

Harry is so excited for his first date with Draco. But what follows isn't so much a date as it is an all-night odyssey including a malevolent lift, a Gringotts heist, a Sleeping Curse, a trip to the kebab shop, a lack of dancing, a Muggle drug, a rooftop pool party, a black eye and, eventually, a sunrise over a Quidditch stadium.

Read for: Humour, idiots in love, first dates

🪻 The Eighth Sin – @thehoneybeet (16k, E) 🪻

When Draco is sentenced to five years of house arrest, without magic, alone, the only person to visit him is Potter. But Draco’s beginning to doubt whether Potter is really there at all.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: dreamy/sad vibes, caring Harry, a beautiful exploration of a relationship

🌸 What’s Mine is Yours – @fluxweeed (17k, E) 🌸

Harry loses something important. Malfoy helps him get it back.

Read for: smut so hot it’ll light you on fire

🌻 O Come, All Ye Faithful – toomuchplor (19k, E) 🌻

Aunt Petunia died, that was what began everything.

Or rather, Aunt Petunia was dying. In the act of dying.

In which Draco finds faith in the church, and Harry finds faith in Draco.

Read for: Vicar Draco, Harry’s Vicar Kink, Beautiful Writing, Draco’s Hard Sanctified Cock

🪻 The Boys of Summer – @saxamophone (19k, E) 🪻

It's summer, and they're spending it at a lake, far away from everything. There’s swimming and a floating dock, cracked and warm in the sun. Fizzy drinks and fireflies. Sticky strawberry ice lollies and beach towels tangled under them.

Harry’s golden skin and love for The Grateful Dead and Fleetwood Mac.

Draco Malfoy is doomed, but what else is new?

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: delicious pining, summer vibes, beautiful romance, nostalgic vibes

🌸 Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage – @goblinmatriarch (E, 21k) 🌸

Lord Draco Malfoy may be a young man spending time in Dumbledore’s summer court, but that does not mean he needs to succumb to its licentious frivolity. He carries the burden of his lineage, the shadow of rumours, and the dignity of his betrothal to a good match. He is certainly not fool enough to be distracted by the dark curls and ready grin of the court’s stableboy, who seems to have taken up with every courtier who looks his way.

For: HP Bodice Ripper Fest 2023

Read for: Historical AU done right, Draco in a codpiece, more riding euphemisms than you can count

🌻 True Love Gave To Me – @epitomereally (23k, E) 🌻

It’s the first of December, and all Draco wants to do is make Christmas lovely for Scorpius. But then Harry Potter shows up, asking him to save the world, and it turns out they’ve almost saved the world a couple of times before. One-hundred and forty-four times, to be exact.

Or: what happens after the time loop?

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: time loop shenanigans, cosy vibes, adorable Scorpius (and his geese)

🪻 Nothing But You On My Mind – @moonflower-rose (29k, M) 🪻

Potter has been in Australia on an internship for almost a year, and Draco cannot wait for him to get back home. They'll finally have a chance to talk about their feelings for each other. What could possibly go wrong?

Loads, as it turns out.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Angst, Draco/Ron/Hermione Friendship, idiots in love

🌸 who will receive you in love's offices – @jtimu (30k, E) 🌸

A year in the life of Draco Malfoy, increasingly derailed by Harry Potter.

In the aftermath of it all, Draco opened an antiques shop. Sort of. Mostly, though, what he did was repair work. People brought him their grandparents’ charmed silverware or a pocketwatch which was meant to show the stars at your birth but now only held the time, and he would fix them. It was quiet work, a little lonely, but for the repeated intrusions of one Harry J Potter.

Read for: brilliant deep dive into magical theory, smarty pants Draco, enemies to friends to lovers (emphasis on the middle step), poetry references by the bucketful, a version of Draco that lives rent free in my mind

🌻 Half Sick of Shadows – @starquestingfordrarry (39k, E) 🌻

Harry and Draco have been sleeping together for months, and it's fine. It's enough for Harry.

But when things finally start to feel like the more Harry's been hoping for, a strange tapestry project has him worrying he won't ever get the chance.

Or: the one with sheep, dragons, and a whole lot of weaving metaphors.

For: H/D Career Fair 2023

Read for: Alvin the ram, Harry carving wooden dildos, magical tapestries, atmospheric vibes, an artfully created world

🪻 Now I Know In Part – @dodgerkedavra (39k, E) 🪻

Harry Potter is the savior of the Wizarding World. Draco Malfoy is a reformed Death Eater turned Ministry Curse-Breaker. Five years after the War, they're brought together by another mysterious curse.

Only this time, Harry's the one who needs saving.

More specifically, he needs Draco.

They have one month to break the curse, and the clock is ticking.

Read for: Draco taking care of Harry, Cottagecore vibes, bucketfuls of sweetness, great smut

🌸 Nothing Gold Can Stay – @moonflower-rose (40k, E) 🌸

One summer evening, Harry Potter vanished in the middle of dinner with his friends. Four days later he came back. Sort of.

Draco Malfoy is on the case.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Alternate Universes, Married Draco/Harry, Non-Painful Angst

🌻Sharper than a Sea Serpent's Tooth – @goblinmatriarch (40k, T)

Draco expects his research trip to Crete to focus on the ecology of ward design, with perhaps some cheeky visits to the elusive sea serpents and the odd sleepy beach day. Instead, he encounters a Past he's spent over a decade trying to outrun, and a familiar scowl under glasses and a scar. Featuring just so much imagining being on a hot, sunny beach for your winter pleasure.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Magical Creatures, Greek Mythology, International Location (Crete), Atmospheric Writing

🪻 LA, Who Am I To Love You? – @epitomereally (42k, E) 🪻

Harry’s summer in LA is not going as expected. Pansy Parkinson keeps inviting him to parties in the Hollywood Hills and harassing him to finally go to the physical therapist, Blaise Zabini keeps slipping new strains of his company’s magical weed into Harry’s pockets in hopes of an endorsement, and Draco Malfoy keeps having sex with everyone but Harry.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Werewolf Harry, Incubus Draco, Acquaintances to Friends to Lovers, Interesting Location (LA)

🌸 A Pulled Down Shade – fast_brother (43k, M) 🌸

Harry does not like Draco Malfoy, not even one bit. Never did and never will. That is, until he finds himself married to him.

For: HP Soulmates Fest 2023

Read for: HUGE Grounds for Divorce vibes! Angst, Harry working through trauma, Harry fighting for Draco

🌻 The Waiting – @oknowkiss (43k, E) 🌻

It’s been almost ten years since Draco Malfoy disappeared during a routine Curse Breaker training exercise. Harry, his partner in more ways than one, is determined to figure out why. As the past resurfaces and the present fades into confusion, Harry discovers the only thing more unreliable than memory is love.

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: Curse Breaker Partners, Angst, Secret Relationship

🪻 The Unplottable Time Conundrum – @writcraft (45k, E) 🪻

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: House Magic, The Order of the Pheonix, Haunted House vibes, Drarry in their 30s

🌸 Our Objective Remains Unchanged – @citrusses (46k, E) 🌸

Harry Potter, returning member of the Oxford University Boat Club, has two goals for the spring of 2005: beat Cambridge, and beat Draco Malfoy. Perhaps not in that order.

Read for: Muggle AU, Sports AU, Competitiveness, Damn good writing

🌻 Everybody Hates a Tourist – @wolfpants (51k, E) 🌻

On a stag do in sunny Brighton with the Gryffindor lads, the last person Harry expects to run into is Draco Malfoy. After a glimpse of Malfoy’s Muggle life in Britain’s gay capital, Harry’s curiosity gets the better of him and he finds himself returning to the seaside again and again, drawn to the city, drawn to this new version of Malfoy that Harry barely recognises from school.

Meanwhile, Draco’s just trying to live his big and best queer life: working for the weekend, chasing hot men, getting lost in Brighton's nightlife, and making friends with the neighbourhood cats. Why does his former school rival and crush have to show up and spoil everything?

For: HD Wireless 2023

Read for: beautiful relationship building, Harry finding himself, Draco living his best life. I won’t lie, I’d read the back of a cereal box if wolfpants wrote it – do yourself a favour if you haven’t already

🪻 from love, obviously – bizarrestars (52k, M) 🪻

"I just mean, doing the right thing because it's right is better than doing it because…"

"What?" Draco challenges, amused. "Better to do it because it's right as opposed to doing it because it's not wrong? Please enlighten me on what the difference is."

"You're the difference," is Harry's answer.

(Or: Draco Malfoy comes up with a plan, drinks a lot of tea, and fails to fix a clock. Somewhere along the way, Harry Potter falls in love with him, which wasn't a part of the plan at all.)

Read for: Unhinged Draco, Harry being resigned to Draco’s antics, Weasley family feels, fast pacing

🌸 Terrible People – @getawayfox and @wolfpants (52k, E) 🌸

What happens when Harry and Draco end up on the same Muggle gay cruise? They certainly didn't plan for it to happen (but their friends might have). They're stuck with each other for a week, they might as well make the most of it, right?

Featuring a holiday-long game of Truth or Dare, a very ill-judged FWB proposition, decades-long pining, lots of gin, and a small pair of green swimming trunks.

Read for: Gorgeous Art , RomCom vibes, Gay Cruise, Friends with Benefits to Lovers

🌻 Nights With You – @the-sinking-ship (58k, E) 🌻

Draco is mortified when moments prior to departing for the most anticipated destination wedding of the year, he is cruelly dumped. But when he learns that Harry Potter has, at long last, split with his horrible boyfriend, Draco is certain his luck has changed. Never a man to squander an opportunity for revenge (and what would probably be a spectacular shag), Draco vows to make Potter his for the weekend.

Now all Draco has to do is convince him.

Read for: Fake dating, mild size kink, international location (Italy), mildly unhinged Draco, hot Harry

Note: This is the fic that made me set up a Doc for everything I’d read to make sure I wouldn’t lose it to the wide realm of the internet.

🪻 Rookie Moves – peu_a_peu (75k, E) 🪻

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

Read for: Humour, Enemies to Coworkers to Lovers, Unhinged Draco

🌸 How To Train Your Malfoy – @fencer-x (93k E) 🌸

Good manners dictate that, when one’s best friend Apparates onto one’s doorstep holding the unconscious, haggard body of the schoolyard bully and begging for sanctuary, one ought to invite the two of them in for a cup of tea. Harry Potter sometimes wishes he weren’t so polite.

For: H/D Erised 2023

Read for: Dragon Animagus Draco, Harry taking care of Draco, brilliant writing, a funny as fuck premise – I wanted Draco to stay in his unhinged dragon form forever

🌻 Symptom of Your Touch – NoxNoir (115k, E) 🌻

St. Mungo's Healer Draco Malfoy is used to being pushed to his limits when providing aide to the ailing, but when an unexpected encounter with an out of character Harry Potter throws his life out of balance one night, he is forced to ask himself how far he's willing to push his own levels of discomfort to be of aid to a man in need of help that only he can provide.

Read for: Draco taking care of Harry, Pining, Unrequited love, buckets of sexual tension

🪻 Recursion – Tessa Crowley (132k, E) 🪻

A process is recursive when it defines or contains itself; e.g., the Fibonacci sequence, which determines the next number as the sum of the previous two.

But not all recursive processes are mathematical. Recursion can happen in a temporal context when, for instance, the powerful magical force that is true love drags you back in time so it can create itself, endangering the fate of the Wizarding World—not to mention the very fabric of space and time—along the way.

Read for: Canon Retelling/Divergence, time travel, Slytherin Harry, a truly insane amount of physics/magical theory/intelligence. This fic was too smart for me in the best way. If you liked Chaos Theory read this – it’s even better!

🌸 Cut From the Sky – @mallstars (150k, E) 🌸

"I'm stuck in a time loop, reliving November 2nd. This is the 111th time I've lived through today."

Draco stilled. His moody eyes, the tension in his hands where he gripped onto his umbrella, the careful mask of blankness flickering over his face — everything about him was so difficult and so very dear to Harry.

"Ah," said Draco, "and?"

Note: no rec list for this year could be considered complete without including this one.

Read for: Harry at his most loveable, a relationship story told a hundred different ways, atmospheric worldbuilding, Trans representation.

🌻 In the Blood – BiscuitBrunch (225k, E) 🌻

Harry Potter thinks Draco Malfoy is a slimy git of a defense lawyer, who couldn't care less about doing the right thing.

Draco Malfoy thinks Harry Potter is a filthy pig of an Auror, who couldn't care less about doing the right thing.

They fight, fuck, fall in love, and fight some more.

When they're on the brink of getting their shit together and starting a family, a blood curse surfaces that threatens the lives of Draco and their unborn child.

Read for: badass lawyer Draco, deep exploration of a relationship, working through trauma, slice of life, mpreg

#drarry #drarry recs #drarry fics #drarry fanfiction #hpdm #harry x draco #best of 2023

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