#Cannot wait to celebrate tomorrow | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tsunomenom · 22 days ago

Text

so american | ln4 smau

♡ summary: lando’s foolproof plan to skip media day to go to disney world with you backfires ending in an accidental hard launch right before miami

♡ pairing: lando norris x actress!reader

♡ warnings: use of yn, hate comments

♡ faceclaim: chandler kinney

♡ a/n: bye it’s been weeks since miami gp 🙂

masterlist

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

𝜗𝜚

replies —

user122 REAL

user034 WAIT SINCE WHEN DID YOU LIKE F1??

user035 tell the truth is your fyp all miami gp edits 👀

yourusername don’t tell anyone 🤫🤫🤫

user199 I COULD SPEND A FEW DAYS IN MIAMI 🕺🕺🕺

user007 okay but in a miami gp way or a will smith way?

user045 it’s such a universal experience of f1 to be obsessed with miami edits 😭😭

user341 but this is the first time i’ve ever seen her mention f1 😭

user004 miami gp vibes > the actual gp 😭😭

yourusername disagree 🥰

user400 oh great another celebrity pretending to be into formula 1 🙄

user143 is it so hard to believe someone could idk ACTUALLY like a sport 😀

—— messages between yn & lando

—— instagram

Liked by lnfour and 1,270,310 others

f1 McLaren have confirmed Lando Norris will not be attending Media Day! According to the team he is sick.

View all comments

user302 max would be proud ngl

user102 considering he’s missing too 😭😭

user041 OMG he’s also having a baby!

user422 i didn’t know lando was pregnant!! who’s is it???

user332 user422 carlos’ obvi 🙄

user481 user332 idk i heard it’s oscar’s 🤨🤨

user310 not real world champion behavior skipping media day 🙄

user444 you cannot be serious

user190 MAX IS LITERALLY ALSO MISSING MEDIA DAY 😭😭😭

user145 hope he feels better before tomorrow!!

user034 OH NO :((

user010 another appendix falls victim to f1??

user122 stop 😭😭

—— twitter

replies —

user951 WTF 😭😭

user177 don’t expose him bros gonna get a fine 🤧🤧

user190 that’s so unprofessional 🙄

user992 literally calm yourself down bro

user470 MYSTERY GIRL?? HE SKIPPED MEDIA DAY FOR A DATE??

user110 PUT SOME RESPECT ON HER NAME THATS YN LN IN THOSE PHOTOS 😭😭

user150 SHUT UP ARE YOU SERIOUS 😭

user225 ROCK ON 🤘

user302 well max would be proud

user111 max taught him how to get out of media days (real)

user040 soooo lando’s on a date at disney with a famous american actress while the rest of the grid is stuck doing media 😭

user176 precisely 🙂‍↕️

yourusername shit 😀

user909 STOP HEY QUEEN

user125 i’m actually like so sad your guys privacy got invaded like that 😭

user420 user125 i mean they were in a public place

user125 user420 doesn’t mean they wanted pictures taken of them 🙄

—— instagram

lando

🎵 Olivia Rodrigo • so american

Liked by carlossainz55 and 2,210,321 others

lando when you miss your girlfriend’s actual birthday so you take her to disney and miss work just to get exposed by fans and get fined by the fia… worth it 😍

tagged: yourusername

View all comments

user102 HARD LAUNCH ‼️‼️‼️

user876 AMERICAN IN THE PADDOCK ONCE AGAIN WE WON

user221 USA USA USA USA

user717 GIRLFRIEND‼️ GIRLFRIEND‼️

mclaren a happy late birthday to yn! maybe no more fines though?

user989 clocked his shit 😭

user187 ADMIN THATS WILD

yourusername my bad queen 🫣

user781 THIS IS CUTE (valid reason for skipping, fia take the fine back 🙂‍↔️)

oscarpiastri I pulled double duty with the media for you

yourusername but it’s okay cause you like me? 🙃

oscarpiastri yourusername 🙂

user771 WAIT HES DATING WILLA FROM ZOMBIES 😭😭😭

user108 MY QUEEN YN LN 😍

alex_albon when fans force your hard launch 😭

lando … worth it 🙃

yourusername lando i trained him like this guys he’s so well behaved ☺️☺️

user004 yourusername AS YOU SHOULD 😭

user120 yourusername teach us your ways 😍

milomanheim HEY I KNOW HER 🤭☝️

milomanheim ROCK ON 🤟

lando 🤟🤟

milomanheim OMG is that THE yn ln?? LIKE THE YN LN 😍😍

yourusername STOPP YOURE EMBARRASSING ME 😭😭

user789 who the fuck is this 😭

user198 user789 he’s her costar and like one of her best friends 😭😭😭

lando dude 😭😭

user890 STAWP THIS IS A CROSSOVER MEANT JUST FOR ME 😭😭😭

user770 REAL

user121 a new american on the grid (wag) but still missing logan sargeant 🤧🤧🤧

yourusername i’ll do my best to represent guys 😭😭 (i miss logan too)

user886 yourusername OH SHES AMERICAN ☝️☝️

f1 We do not promote skipping media days! but admin cannot deny this is adorable :)

yourusername you’re a real one f1 admin 🤧🤧

lando i thought so too (ill try not to skip anymore media days 🫣)

yourusername GUYS DONT WORRY I TOLD HIM ID PAY THE FINE (i’m not paying the fine) (it’s literally my birthday)

user700 BYE I LOVE HER ALREADY

user522 STOP HILARIOUS 😭😭

maxfewtrell you gotta help him out he’ll go broke yn 😔

alex_albon but i thought it… wasn’t your birthday??

lando WAIT I THOUGHT YOU WERE SERIOUS 😟😟

lando maxfewtrell I’LL HAVE YOU KNOW—

yourusername alex_albon can you like… back off 🤨

—— yourusername instagram story

replies—

user098 it’s iconic queen 🙂‍↕️

lilymhe icon. legend. you are the moment.

➥ yourusername stoppp 😭😭

user191 wear it as a badge of honor

jennaortega brat

➥ yourusername very very brat‼️

user700 it’s okay queen we are all obsessed

user020 ITS ICONIC STOP 😭

user551 best thing to come out of formula 1 in a WHILE 😭😭

user121 still shocks me he’s having to pay SO MUCH 😭

lando such an expensive trip 😪

➥ yourusername and you didn’t even buy yourself ears 😪😪

user912 you’re a legend 😭😭

—— instagram

Liked by yourusername and 865,358 others

f1 What a race we have in prospect 🤩

Our grid for Sunday!

View all comments

user989 lando: skips media day, gets a fine. also lando: wins the sprint race and gets on the front row for the race

user179 american girlfriend effect‼️‼️

user182 aww max and lando just wanna be together all the time ☺️☺️

user988 STOP 😭😭

user102 max pulling a max 🙂‍↕️😤

user042 papaya 1-2 tomorrow please 🙏🙏🙏🙏

user121 lando getting the good luck from his american girlfriend (it’s real) (rawr 🦅)

user030 her patriotism makes him go fast

user092 USA USA USA

user120 is this… america deciding lando is a honorary american??

yourusername yes.

user033 yourusername the queen has spoken. he’s basically american.

—— drivers’ press conference

(pic 1: Journalist: Lando, one last question: You confirmed your relationship this week with actress, Yn Ln, after you skipped media day to spend it with her. How are you feeling about that now? And has that affected you this week?)(pic 2: Lando: I knew this would come up! *laughs* God, uhm... I don't think it's affected my driving this week. Let's start there, and I’m feeling good about it. We've been together a while, and we were not planning on "hard-launching" anytime soon... but things happen. We're good. We had fun at Disney, and I’d pay a thousand fines if it meant making her happy.)

Comments—

user221 his answer is SOO??

user031 ITS SO CUTE 😭😭🤧

user102 HOW LONG IS AWHILE??

user223 HE SAID HED PAY A THOUSAND FINES 😪😪

user025 excuse me while i go lay in the street because WTF

user178 i’ve seen enough i need him on podium so we get cute little shots of her watching him 😪😪😪

user992 i’m obsessed

user176 such couple goals

user111 IM SO DONE 😭😭

user276 FIA TAKE THE FINE BACK

user032 ENOUGH everyone else can GO HOME because no one is EVER beating them 😪

user229 best couple in the paddock

1K notes · View notes

quarterlifekitty · 3 months ago

Text

Today in the shower I was thinking about how absolutely insane soap would be in a sleeping beauty scenario

Meeting you at the celebration of your birth, when he’s just a little boy himself. Markedly unimpressed. And yet, when you’re spirited away to live with your fairies— he feels strangely robbed.

He chases a fulfillment that cannot come to pass. A soldier in many battles, many quests under his belt, all in pursuit of purpose. A stray arrow tucks itself into his skull, and the emptiness grows more cavernous and hungry.

Then, to see a gorgeous thing like you dancing with his cloak, reflected crisp and clear in the pond water of the glen… he’s just a man. Maybe something less, actually. But even if he is a beast, doesn’t he deserve to live?

He delights in how you nearly scream when he pulls you against him.

“Ah’m no stranger, bonnie. Ye said yerself, nae? We met before— jus’ in yer dreams, hen.”

He has half a mind (in more ways than one) to pin you to the forest floor against your precious wildflowers and ravage you senseless, but he’s able to restrain himself when you say you want to see him again. Tomorrow, in the same place. He likes this little game of courting— the wait is bitter, but the fruit is sweet, isn’t it?

And he felt it, when he was with you. The pinpricks of a doll maker’s needle gliding between his ribs. Suturing the tear left in his chest. He’s done being rearranged inside. He’s ready to be put back together.

Thus, the lengths to which he goes to find you. The thorns that bruise and tear, the dracofire scorching his shield.

He’s going to kiss the sleeping princess if it’s the last thing he does.

#uuuuuuhhh I didn’t mean for this tot turn into this #writing #cod fanfic #cod #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #soap x reader #TBI soap #fantasy au #medieval au

1K notes · View notes

mapis-putellas · 1 month ago

Text

𝑪𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒅𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒌𝒚 // 𝑨.𝑷𝒖𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒔

Let’s just pretend this didnt take a whole week to write. Spanish is in Italics.

It was nearly midnight when the front door swung open with significantly more force than necessary, followed by a loud thud and muffled giggling. You looked up from your book, a knowing grin quirking onto your lips. Alexia was home from the team celebration dinner, and apparently, she was absolutely wasted.

"My love I’m home" she calls out, her voice ringing through the apartment.

You set your book down and pad to the entryway, finding your wife leaning heavily against the wall, one shoe off, the other dangling precariously from her toes. Her blonde hair was tousled in a way that suggests she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly, something she only does when particularly relaxed or, in this case, incredibly intoxicated.

"Hey, baby," you say, unable to suppress your amused smile. "Looks like someone had a good time."

Alexia's face lights up when she see’s you, her eyes brightening as she pushes herself away from the wall only to immediately stumble forward. You move quickly, catching her before she could faceplant onto the hardwood floor.

“How beautiful you are!” she exclaims, her hands immediately finding your face, squishing your cheeks together. "My wife. The most beautiful in the world.”

You laugh, steadying her with an arm around her waist. "Thank you, but let's get your other shoe off before you break an ankle."

"No, no, no," she insists, pulling away from you and attempting what appears to be a twirl but looked more like an uncoordinated wobble. “Let’s dance first!”

"Dance?" you echo, raising an eyebrow. "Baby, it's late, and you can barely stand up straight."

She pouts dramatically, her bottom lip jutting out in a way that was both ridiculous and endearing on her normally stoic face. "You never want to have fun with me.”

"That's not true and you know it," you reply, carefully guiding her to sit on the bench in the entryway. "We'll have plenty of fun tomorrow when you're not seeing double."

With surprising agility for someone so intoxicated, she catches your wrist and pulls you down onto her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around your waist. “I missed you.” she murmurs against your neck, her breath hot and smelling strongly of tequila.

"I missed you too," you respond softly, brushing her hair back from her forehead and tucking it behind her ears. "How was the celebration?"

Alexia's eyes widen as she launches into an animated recounting of the evening, switching rapidly between Spanish and broken English, her hands gesturing wildly when they weren't firmly attached to some part of your body.

“...And then Mapi, she says that I can’t-that I cannot-drink three shots in a row, but I showed her...”

You listen with fond amusement, catching maybe half of what she was saying through her slurred speech and language hopping. Alexia, the usual dignified captain, was now a giggly, touchy mess, completely unreserved in a way only you and a select few others ever witnessed.

"Sounds like you put Mapi in her place," you comment when she pauses for breath. "Now, let's get you ready for bed, okay?"

Her hands slid under your t-shirt, fingers splaying across your bare back. "I’m not tired." She grins mischievously, attempting to look seductive but achieving something closer to comical with her slightly unfocused gaze.

"Mhmm, sure you're not," you retort, easing her hands out from under your shirt. "But I think a shower might help you feel better."

It takes considerable effort to extract yourself from her grasp and get her standing up again. You manage to remove her remaining shoe and begin guiding her toward the bathroom, one arm firmly around her waist.

"Wait, wait, wait," she says suddenly, stopping dead in her tracks. "It’s hot. Very hot.”

Before you can respond, she was tugging at the buttons of her blouse, her fingers fumbling with the simple task.

"Let me help you with that," you offer, reaching for the buttons.

She bats your hands away. "I can do it myself.”

You step back, crossing your arms as you watched her struggle for nearly a full minute before she lets out a frustrated groan.

"It’s broken," she declares seriously.

"The button aren’t broken, baby. You're just a little uncoordinated right now."

Her response was to simply grab both sides of her blouse and yank, sending buttons flying across the hardwood floor. She looks immensely pleased with herself as she shrugs out of the now ruined garment.

"Was that really necessary?" you ask, trying to sound stern but failing to hide your amusement.

Alexia doesn’t answer, instead focusing intently on removing her pants, which proved to be an even greater challenge. She hopped on one foot, then the other, nearly toppling over several times before finally kicking the pants across the room with a triumphant "Ha!”

Now standing in just her bra and underwear, she grins at you. “Are you going to help me with the rest?”

"Let's get you to the bathroom first," you suggest, knowing from experience that once Alexia was fully undressed, getting her to move anywhere would become exponentially more difficult.

You manage to corral her into the bathroom, where she immediately begins fiddling with the clasp of her bra.

"Shower time, baby," you remind her as you start the water, turning to adjust the temperature.

When you turn back around, Alexia has successfully removed both remaining items of clothing and was now completely naked, examining herself critically in the full length mirror on the back of the door.

"I think I need to work out more. she mutters, poking at her perfectly toned abdomen.

You roll your eyes. "You're literally a professional athlete in peak physical condition."

She continues as if she hadn't heard you. "Look at these legs. They're not strong enough.”

"Your legs are incredible," you assure her, guiding her toward the shower. "Now get in. The water's ready.

Alexia freezes, staring at the shower as if it had personally offended her. "No." The word was small but definitive.

"No? What do you mean 'no'?"

"don't want to shower.” She crosses her arms over her chest, looking surprisingly intimidating despite her complete lack of clothing and slightly swaying posture.

"Baby, you smell like tequila and bar. A quick shower will make you feel better."

She shook her head vigorously. "No shower. I want the bed.”’

Recognizing the stubborn set of her jaw (the same expression she wears when arguing with referees on the pitch) you decide it would probably be best to just change tactics.

"Okay, no shower," you concede. "But let's at least put on some pajamas."

You leave her standing in the bathroom while you went to retrieve a clean t-shirt and sleep shorts from the bedroom. When you return, she was sitting on the closed toilet lid, looking dangerously close to nodding off.

"Arms up," you instructed, holding out the shirt.

Alexia's eyes snapp open, and she regards the clothing with sudden hostility. "No. Without clothes.”

"You can't sleep naked tonight, baby. You're going to get cold."

"I don’t want clothes.” Her voice rises dramatically, and to your shock, her eyes well with tears.

"Hey, hey," you said softly, kneeling in front of her. "What's wrong?"

"You’re ruining my dreams" she says, a tear spilling down her cheek as her lower lip trembles.”

You blink, thoroughly confused. "I'm...ruining your dreams? What dreams?"

"Of being naked. It's freedom.”

You stare at her for a moment, processing this declaration. "You have dreams about being naked?"

She nods solemnly, tears still streaming down her face. "It’s important.”

Fighting back laughter, you stroke her cheek gently. "I didn't realize nudity was so important to you, baby."

"It is," she insists. “Very important.”

Shaking your head, you decide this particular battle wasn't worth fighting. "Alright, no clothes. But you need to use the bathroom before bed, okay?"

Alexia considers this, then nods her agreement. You stand, offering your hands to help her up from the toilet seat. Instead of taking them, she simply stars at you, making no move to stand.

"Alexia," you prompt, "you need to get up so you can use the toilet."

"I can't.”

"What do you mean you can't?"

"My legs don't work.”

You sigh, realizing she had entered the "completely helpless" stage of drunkenness. "You were dancing around the apartment just fine a few minutes ago."

She shrugs dramatically, then lets her body go completely limp, sliding slowly off the toilet seat. You lunge forward, catching her before she hit the floor, but not quite managing to keep her upright. You ease her down, and her bare backside makes contact with the cold tile.

"¡AY!" she yelps., suddenly finding the strength in her legs again as she kicks them wildly in protest. "Cold! Cold!”

"I told you to stay on the toilet," you remind her, struggling to maintain your grip as she flails.

With considerable effort, you manage to haul her up, supporting most of her weight as you position her on the toilet. "Now pee."

Miraculously, she complies without further argument, looking up at you with an innocent expression like she hadn't just spent five minutes fighting you on this very issue.

You help her wash her hands, which turns into another ordeal as she becomes fascinated with the soap bubbles, attempting to blow them from her palms and giggling when they land on your face.

"Bed time," you announce firmly, putting an end to the impromptu bubble play.

"I’m not sleepy," she protests, but allows you to lead her toward the bedroom anyway.

You had just reached the hallway when she suddenly pulls away from you, a determined look on her face. "Where is the kitchen.” She demands.

"You know where the kitchen is. We've lived here for three years."

"I want ice cream.”

"We don't have any ice cream," you tell her, trying to redirect her toward the bedroom.

But Alexia was a woman on a mission now, breaking free from your grasp and making a wobbly beeline for the kitchen, her naked form disappearing around the corner before you can catch her.

By the time you reach the kitchen, she has already opened the refrigerator and was reaching for something on the bottom shelf.

"I found the ice cream!" she announces triumphantly, holding up a stick of butter.

"That's not ice cream, baby," you say, quickly moving to intercept her before she could take a bite. "That's butter."

She frowns, examining the yellow block in her hand. "It looks like ice cream.”

"Trust me, it's not," you assur, gently prying the butter from her fingers and returning it to the refrigerator. "And even if we had ice cream, you shouldn't eat it right now. You'll feel sick."

Her bottom lip juts out in that dramatic pout again. "You're mean.”

"I know, I'm terrible," you agree, guiding her away from the kitchen. "The absolute worst."

She seems to accept this assessment, leaning heavily against you as you steer her back toward the bedroom. You were just starting to think you might actually get her to bed without further incident when she suddenly straightens up, her eyes wide with excitement.

"I have an idea,” she exclaims.

The gleam in her eye immediately sets off warning bells in your head. "What kind of idea?"

"Let's go swimming!”

Before you could process what was happening, she had broken free from your hold and was running surprisingly steadily for someone who'd claimed her legs didn't work minutes ago, toward the back door that led to your small fenced yard and pool.

"Alexia, no!" you call after her, giving chase. "It's the middle of the night, and you're naked!"

"I want to dip skinny" she shouts over her shoulder, fumbling with the door lock.

"You want to what?" you ask, momentarily confused by the mangled English phrase before realization dawned. "Oh, skinny dip. No, absolutely not."

But it was too late. She had managed to unlock the door and was now sprinting across the yard, her skin glowing under the moonlight as she makes a beeline for the pool.

"Alexia Putellas!" you yell, rushing after her. "Don't you dare get in that pool!"

She pauses at the edge, turning to face you with a mischievous grin that was visible even in the dim light. "Are you going to stop me?”

"Yes, I am," you say firmly, approaching her slowly as if she were a spooked animal. "Come back inside now, and we can go to bed."

She pretends to consider this, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm...no." And with that, she turns as if to jump into the water.

You lunge forward, catching her around the waist just as she was about to leap. The momentum carriesyou both dangerously close to the edge, and for a heart-stopping moment, you thought you were both going in. Somehow, you manage to plant your feet firmly and pull you both back from the brink.

"Let me to!" she protests, squirming in your grip.

"Not happening," you reply through gritted teeth, tightening your hold as you begin half dragging, half carrying her back toward the house.

After a brief struggle, you give up on finesse and simply hoist her over your shoulder in a fireman's carry, one arm securely wrapped around the backs of her thighs to prevent escape.

"Put me down!" she demands, pounding her fists against your back.

"Stop hitting me, or I'll drop you," you warn, though you had no intention of actually doing so.

Her response was to deliver a sharp smack to your behind, followed by a delighted giggle.

"Oh, you think that's funny?" you asked, delivering a light swat to her exposed backside in return.

"¡Oye!" she yelps, though you could hear the laughter in her voice.

Somehow, you manage to get her back into the house and lock the door behind you. By this point, you were both breathing heavily from the exertion, and your patience was wearing dangerously thin.

"Alexia," you say, your voice deadly serious as you set her back on her feet. "We are going to bed. Now."

Perhaps something in your tone finally gets through to her, because she nods meekly. "Okay.”

Relief floods through you as you guid her toward the bedroom once more. You had almost reached the door when she suddenly stops, a familiar stubborn expression settling on her face.

"I’m not tired," she insists again.

That was the final straw. You'd been patient, you'd been understanding, but after chasing your naked, drunk wife around the house for nearly an hour, preventing her from eating butter, and stopping her from diving into a cold pool at midnight, your limits had been reached.

"That's it," you declare, changing course and steering her firmly toward the bathroom instead. "Shower time."

"No-“

But you were done negotiating. With a strength born of pure exasperation, you lift her into the shower stall, step in after her still fully clothed, and turn on the water.

The cold spray hits you both, and while you had been expecting it, Alexia clearly wasn't. She goes rigid in your arms, her back arching as she lets out a shocked gasp that quickly turns into a wail.

“COLD! IT’S COLD!” she cries, trying to escape the spray but finding herself trapped between the shower wall and your body.

"I know," you said, reaching around her to gradually adjust the temperature to something more bearable. "Just give it a minute."

As the water warmed, her struggles subsided, replaced by pathetic sniffles that tugged at your heartstrings despite your frustration.

"Yoire mean.” she says again, her voice small and wounded as she turns to face you, water streaming down her face mixing with what you suspect were actual tears. “I want a divorce.”

Despite everything, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the declaration. "You want a divorce because I made you take a shower?"

She nods solemnly, water droplets flying from her hair with the movement. "Very bad wife.”

"I see," you said, trying to keep a straight face. "Well, we can discuss that in the morning when you're sober."

She opens her mouth as if to continue her complaint, but then her gaze drops to your chest, where your white sleep shirt had become completely transparent under the shower spray, clinging to your skin in a way that left little to the imagination.

"Your boobs" she breathed, previous grievances apparently forgotten as she stares openly.

"Yes, thank you for noticing," you said dryly. "Can we focus on getting you clean now?"

But Alexia was thoroughly distracted, her hands moving to cup your breasts through the wet fabric with a look of awe that would have been comical if it hadn't been so familiar. For all her sophistication and poise in public, your wife turned into an absolute cliché when drunk. A shameless boob woman through and through.

"Beautiful," she murmurs, fingers kneading gently.

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all…standing fully clothed in the shower with your naked, drunk wife feeling you up as if she were discovering your body for the first time, despite having seen and touched every inch of you countless times before.

"You're ridiculous," you tell her affectionately, brushing wet strands of hair from her face.

She looks up at you with such earnest adoration that your irritation melts away completely. "I love you so mych," she says, suddenly emotional again.

"I love you too, baby," you reply, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Now let's get you clean."

Taking advantage of her newfound docility, you quickly shampoo her hair and run a soapy washcloth over her body. She allows this without protest, seemingly content to stand under the warm spray with her hands still firmly attached to your chest.

Once she was reasonably clean, you turn off the water and wrap her in a large towel before quickly stripping off your own soaked clothing and grabbing another towel for yourself.

"Tired now?" you ask hopefully as you dry her off.

She nodded, her eyelids already drooping. "Bed.”

Not bothering with the pajamas that had caused such drama earlier, you guid her naked form to the bed and help her climb under the covers. You quickly towel off your own hair and slipp in beside her, immediately feeling her gravitate toward you in the darkness.

Her bare chest presses against yours as she tucks her face into the crook of your neck, one of her favorite sleeping positions despite her height advantage.

"This is nice," you murmur, thinking perhaps you had finally reached the end of the night's adventures.

You are wrong.

Just as you were drifting off, you feel the unmistakable sensation of teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck.

"Alexia," you warn, fully awake again. "Don't you dare bite me."

She ignores the warning, nipping sharply at your collarbone.

Without thinking, you deliver a quick smack to her bare backside, harder than the playful swat from earlier.

"Ay!" she yelp, pulling back to stare at you with wide, surprised eyes.

"It's bedtime," you say firmly, holding her gaze. "No biting. Sleep."

For a moment, you thought she might argue, but then her expression softens into a pout. "I’m sorry," she mumbles, settling back against you.

"It's okay," you reply, gently rubbing the spot you'd just smacked before starting to trace soothing circles across her back. "Just go to sleep, baby."

She nods against your neck, one hand sliding up to cup your breast again in what appeared to be her preferred sleeping arrangement for the night. "Goodnight, my love.”

"Goodnight, baby."

You feel her body gradually relax against yours, her breathing slowing to a steady rhythm...and then it happened. The first snore rumbles through her chest, vibrating against yours, a peculiar phenomenon that only occurrs when she was thoroughly intoxicated.

You roll your eyes and sigh, knowing from experience that the snoring would continue for most of the night. Yet despite your exhaustion and the guaranteed disruption to your sleep, you couldn't help but smile as you tightened your arms around her.

Morning arrives with harsh sunlight streaming through the windows you'd forgotten to close in last night's chaos. You awake to find yourself in exactly the same position you'd fallen asleep in, though Alexia had slid down slightly, her cheek now squished against your breast while her hand still cupped the other one possessively.

You smile down at her sleeping form, taking a moment to appreciate how peaceful she looked. Her hair was a tangled mess, fanning out across your chest, and there was still a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye that hadn't quite washed away in the shower.

As if sensing your gaze, her eyelids flutter open, immediately squinting against the bright light. She groans, burying her face deeper against your chest.

"Why is there so mych sun?" she mumbles, her voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning to you too, sunshine," you reply, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. "How's your head feeling?"

She groans again in response, finally seeming to register her position and the fact that she was completely naked. Slowly, she lifts her head to look at you, wincing with the movement.

"What happened last night?” She asks cautiously, though her hand remains firmly in place on your breast, apparently comfortable there even in her confused state.

You grin down at her. "What's the last thing you remember?"

She furrowed her brow in concentration. "Dinner with the team. Mapi brought tequila...”

"And after that?"

"I got home?” she asks hopefully.

Your grin widens, “Oh, you definitely got home. And then you tried to eat butter because you thought it was ice cream, attempted to go skinny dipping in our pool at midnight, and told me you wanted a divorce because I made you take a shower."

Horror dawns on her face as fragments of memories apparently began to surface. "That's not true.”

"It absolutely is," you assure her. "You also cried when I tried to get you to wear pajamas because apparently clothing was 'ruining your dreams.'"

She groans, hiding her face against your chest again. "My God.”

"Don't worry, there's more," you continue cheerfully. "You refused to use the toilet until I physically put you on it, then acted like you hadn't just spent five minutes fighting me about it."

"Stop, olease" she begs, her voice muffled against your skin.

"And let's not forget how you became absolutely fascinated with my boobs in the shower, despite having seen them literally thousands of times before."

She raises her head just enough to glance down at her hand, still cupping your breast. With a sheepish expression, she starts to pull away, but you catch her wrist.

"I didn't say I minded," you tell her with a playful wink.

A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth despite her obvious discomfort. “I’m sorry,”," she murmurs, her voice softand genuinely apologetic.

"For what specifically? There's quite a list to choose from."

She winces. "For...everything?“

You laugh, pulling her back down to rest against you. "It's okay. Though you owe me at least three uninterrupted bubble baths and a massage for the emotional labor of preventing you from diving naked into a cold pool."

"Did I really do that?" she asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

"You really did. You're surprisingly quick when you're drunk and determined."

She was quiet for a moment, then asks in a small voice, “Did I really ask you for a divorce?*

You stroked her tangled hair gently. "You did, but only because I got you wet."

She looks up sharply, eyes wide. "What?”

"In the shower," you clarify, enjoying her confusion perhaps a bit too much. "You got mad because I put you in the shower with your cold water."

"Oh," she relaxes, then immediately tenses again. "Wait, you put me in the shower with cold water?”

"After you'd spent an hour running around the house naked, refusing to go to bed, trying to eat butter, and attempting to go swimming at midnight, yes, I did. And I got in with you, fully clothed, I might add."

She buries her face in her hands. "I'm an idiot.”

"No argument here," you agreed cheerfully. "But you're my idiota, so it's okay."

She peeked through her fingers at you. "You're not angry?”

"Baby, if I got genuinely angry every time you did something ridiculous when drunk, we'd have serious problems," you tell her, gently pulling her hands away from her face. "Besides, it makes for a great story to tell at team gatherings."

"You wouldn’t dare," she gasps, looking horrified.

"Try me," you challenge, raising an eyebrow. "I've got years of material stored up."

She pouts, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “You’re mean," she grumbles, echoing her drunken accusation from the night before.

"So you keep telling me," you reply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "How about I make us some coffee and get you some painkillers for that headache I know you have?"

"Yes, please.” she mumbles, reluctantly releasing her hold on you so you could get up.

As you slide out of bed, you glance back at her sprawled naked across the sheets, her hair a golden mess against the white pillowcase. Despite the drinking, despite the chaos of the previous night, despite the fact that you'd gotten maybe four hours of interrupted sleep, you couldn't help but feel your chest ache with affection.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asks, pulling the sheet up selfconsciously.

"Because I love you," you answer simply. "All versions of you. Even the one who tries to eat butter and calls me mean for not letting her skinny dip at midnight."

Her expression softened, a smile spreading across her face despite the pain you knew she must be feeling. "I love you too,” she murmurs softly. "Even though I'm apparently a nightmare when I'm drunk.”

"The best kind of nightmare," you assure her, heading for the door. "And definitely worth every minute."

Tags:

@simp4panos @silentwolfsstuff @goldenempyrean @xxnaiaxx @liloandstitchstan

#alexia putellas x you #soft alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x y/n #woso community #woso x reader #woso appreciation #woso imagine

758 notes · View notes

edwardslvrr · 1 year ago

Text

MY FAVOURITE DRIVER 𐙚 lando norris

౨ৎ lando norris x singer!reader

the one where reader has been lando his celebrity crush for ages now, now reader confirms in an interview her formula one crush is lando norris

taglist if you'd like to be added to my taglist, message me privately or comment on this post

warning this is all fake and just for fun, no hate to any of the people mentioned. Just a reminder that this is pure for entertainment хохо

main masterlist 𐙚 lando masterlist

౨ৎ yourname - interview

౨ৎ f1fan twitter

౨ৎ yourinstagram dublin, ireland

liked by landonorris and 421.792 others

yourinstagram dublin you were amazing 🥲 so excited for the rest of the tour & to see you all!!

view all 1.179 comments

username sobbing cus i don’t have tickets

username lando i see u my man xx

username let him crush

username don’t blame him, she’s gorgeous

username see you in london!!!

username (exbf) fumbled HARD

౨ৎ yourinstagram posted on their stories

viewed by yourbsf, maxfewtrell and 1.218.782 others

replies to your story

username seeing you tomorrow💘

yourbsf is that my shirt!!???

yourinstagram oops? 🤷‍♀️

username girl crush for real

username cannot wait to see u in antwerp‼️‼️

౨ৎ landonorris twitter

౨ৎ f1fan twitter

౨ৎ landonorris - post-chinese grand prix race interview

౨ৎ yourname/landonorris twitter

౨ৎ messages max/lando

౨ৎ f1fan twitter

౨ৎ landonorris posted on their stories

viewed by yourinstagram, maxfewtrell and 4.572.782 others

replies to your story

౨ৎ yourinstagram london, united kingdom

liked by landonorris and 563.853 others

yourinstagram london n2 you own my heart, you’ve all made it so special for me! can’t believe my eyes everytime i see your posts🫀🥲 thank you

view all 1.368 comments

username wonder why it was special..

username girly acting like lando wasnt there

username this show was the cause of my dead

username “so special for me” cus of lando wbk babe

username so real 😭

username she defo went on twitter before the show and saw the lando being there tweets & panicked

username you were a giggling mess all night, i wonder why

౨ৎ instagram DM landonorris/yourinstagram

౨ৎ f1fan twitter

౨ৎ yourinstagram posted on their stories

viewed by yourbsf, gracieabrams and 1.289.782 others

replies to your story

username DATE CONFIRMED ‼️

landonorris exposed for not keeping my diet🥲

yourinstagram you’re on a date with the coolest girl ever i think your trainer will figure you 🫶🏼

landonorris maybe yes, he’ll have to give me a pass for being on a date with a pretty girl

yourinstagram oh 😋

username girlfriend got herself a hot man!!

username wife is taken😣

౨ৎ lando.jpg no location

liked by yourinstagram and 491.853 others

lando.jpg girlfriend.jpg

view all 1.727 comments

username the hard launch >

maxfewtrell guess i was wrong..

lando.jpg you were indeed 🙂

username i’ve been begging for this hard launch

username wish i could pull my celebrity crush… jackhughes wya?

username so real, lemme join u. harrystyles hi☺️

username you’re hot drewstarkey

username trevorzegras call me

username be my lightning mcqueen carlossainz55

username screaming crying and throwing up

username my parents (real)

yourinstagram you love me hehe

lando.jpg i did the second you unfollowed charles

charles_leclerc now what did i do?

taglist - @louvrepool @italyrryx @buendiabebeta @janeholt3 @lightdragonrayne @namgification @aquangxl @sammyam @americanbluebirdrb @poppyflower-22 @c-losur3 @nxrrislando @haikyuen @evie-119 @raevyng @urfavsgf

#formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris smau #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #mclaren #f1 smau

1K notes · View notes

gotta-winwin · 6 months ago

Text

(☎️) ... merry christmas, please don't call

⭐ starring: seungcheol

☎️ preview: The toughest part about loving Seungcheol was the fact that he didn’t know himself at all. And how does one truly love a ghost?

based on the song Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call by Bleachers

“But you should know that I died slow Running through the halls of your haunted home And the toughest part is that we both know What to happened to you Why you're out on your own Merry Christmas, please don't call”

tw/cw: heavy angst + smut, not a happy ending, tortured lovers, coups is an asshole but he doesn't mean to, idol!seungcheol x nonidol!reader, talk of leader responsibilities, abstract telling of sexual intercourse, heavy topics such as anxiety and depression

🪽fic rating/wc: 18+ / 2.4k

☁️ masterlist & a/n: this heavy angst christmas fic is to combat the insane amount of fluff in the vernon christmas special (ᵕ—ᴗ—) it's also very self indulgent angst + smut with coups. thank you for spending 2024 with me and i cannot wait to spend 2025 with you too!

“Oh, golden boy, don't act like you were kind”

He was inevitable in the end. Like some invisible string connected the two of you together. Not the pretty, dainty kind of invisible string. Whatever held your lives together was made of barbed wire. Whatever line wrapped around your ribs, restricting your breathing, tying you to him was nothing pretty. It was what army men used in wars.

You can’t hate your best friend, even if they end up hurting you. You just can’t.

“Come back to bed.” You whisper in the dark as you watch his dark silhouette get up. The clock on his nightstand was barely legible.

You could hear him throwing a shirt on. “I’ve got to go.”

You open your mouth to ask him again, but the words die in your mouth. A couple days ago you would’ve begged, but the bubbling hatred in you pushed the words down your esophagus, momentarily choking you. Seungcheol noticed your silence.

“I’ll be back before sunrise.” He leans over the bed and kisses your cheek, brushing a stray hair from it. “Don’t be mad.”

You shake your head in the dark. “I’m not mad.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

That was just how the world spun. You, lying in his bed, staring up at the ceiling you used to trace constellations on together. Sheets that smelled like him - aftershave and candles. Pleading words sewn shut in your mouth, hidden in your lungs, suffocating you. As you sank back into sleep, drowning under everything you’ve ever wanted to tell him. You knew it wasn’t his fault. After all - he barely knew who he was, hidden under all his responsibilities and his job title, he was barely a semblance of a man - tugged and stitched together.

It barely registered in your mind that tomorrow would be Christmas Eve. Part of you knew he wouldn’t be there to celebrate anyways.

“You know this moment don’t ya And time is strangely calm now”

You could say what drew Seungcheol to you initially was your confidence. It illuminated you like a beacon, a moth to the flame, as his eyes followed your movements from across the crowded room.

It was Christmas Eve in Korea, and everyone in the right circles knew Johnny Suh’s Holiday Bash was the place to be.

At least, that was what your friends had told you, claiming they had a way in and convincing you to join them.

You were pleasantly surprised to find that for untouchable K-pop idols, everyone at the party was oddly normal. Kim Sunwoo’s voice could be heard over all the chaos, forehead pressed up against Lee Haechan’s, caught in the middle of some intense drinking game. Jeon Jungkook took a love shot with a heavily drunk Kim Mingyu, the sounds of their glass cups clinking against one another catching your attention.

Drifting away from the noise, you moved upstairs, your hand tracing the natural engravings against the wooden banister. The dim lights made it difficult to see, as you searched for a respite away from the noise downstairs. You’d certainly never question a K-opo idol’s ability to party again.

It was Seungcheol’s quiet stare that made you approach him, noticing how he sat with his back against the smooth white wall, his hair falling into his eyes. It was odd to see him alone, unaccompanied by his usual entourage of rowdy members. When alone, he seemed oddly sad, as if he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t. Perhaps it was the vulnerability in his eyes that urged you to sit next to him.

“I’d like to be alone, please.” He mumbled, turning his big eyes towards you. The light from downstairs caught in his irises, refracting into a million tiny lights.

“Me too.”

Your reply amused him as he watched you, intrigued by the way you stared off into the distance. He hadn’t known how you had noticed his glassy, tearfilled eyes from the get go, or else he would’ve walked away.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Your offhanded tone made the loaded question fall easier against his chest. He could feel himself breathing routinely once more, the tears in his eyes receding as he processed your question and figured out an answer.

“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” He admitted, finally turning the whole of his body to face you, moving his knees up against his chest as he leaned back against the wall once more.

There was something about him that made you want to help him. Maybe it was the fact that he was famous for being the reliable leader, responsible for too many things at such a young age. Maybe it was because, based on the things you’ve heard about him, you knew you could relate. Maybe you had already known - even then - that the two of you were different sides of the same coin. That he was inevitable in the end.

“I’ve got time.” You send him an open smile. “Lay it on me.”

Even to this day, Seungcheol had no idea why he confided in you, a total stranger, on the floor of a Johnny Suh Christmas party. He usually held his cards close to his chest - so close in fact, that the people around him often joked that he couldn’t read the cards himself.

So maybe he knew you were inevitable in the end too.

But neither of you could’ve ever predicted what would become of the two of you by the time the next Christmas rolled around.

“Oh, golden boy, you shined a light on our home, And at your best you were magic; we were sold”

By the time the next Christmas rolled around, everyone around Seungcehol would credit you as the one who had “fixed” him. It was a term they all danced around lightly - fixed. None of them knew how to describe it, but Seungcheol was happier, louder, and had magically learnt the art of self-confidence.

“That is not my hyung.” Chan yelled into your ear from the side of the bar, eyeing Seungcheol, who was on the dance floor surrounded by an ecstatic Soonyoung and Mingyu. “My Seungcheol hyung does not dance.”

You laughed, because you knew the amount of work that had taken him to get where he was now. No one, except the two of you, would know about the late nights Seungcheol had spent near tears as you knelt by him, soothing phrases leaving your lips only to crash against his back.

“Look at him.” Chan was pointing an accusatory finger at Seungcheol, who had a wide grin on his face as he watched Soonyoung attempt to win over a girl on the dance floor. “He used to avoid the dance floor like it’d kill him. Hell, he avoided the bar in general.”

You followed his finger, a small smile drifting over your features as you witnessed Seungcheol laugh, the sound travelling straight to your core as you watched him. As if he had felt your stare, Seungcheol turned, his bright smile shining upon you as he reached out a hand, gesturing you towards him.

“Hi.” His forehead pressed against yours as he spoke.

“Hi.” You whispered back as he pulled you closer, relishing the safety you felt within his strong arms.

“I love you.” He said, but there were other words hidden deep beneath them. Don’t leave.

“I love you too.” Don’t hurt me.

“And the toughest part is that we both know What happened to you”

You dreaded each time he was called in for work. You knew he loved his job, and more often than not, he would have a good time - singing, dancing, creating with his friends for his fans. But you also saw the heavy weight that followed him home whenever it wasn’t a good time. Each company meeting where he was yelled at, each unsettling encounter with a crazy fan, each hate post you knew your boyfriend had read multiple times over.

You both knew the baggage that followed him home far outweighed the good he felt. But you couldn’t ask him to leave - because that would ruin him too.

February 19 2022. The date forever seared in the front of your mind. It was the day Seungcheol had returned home after dropping out of his world tour.

He had landed on your shared porch like a dead bird.

“Cheol.” You grabbed at his shoulders, trying to get a good look at his face.

He pushed past you into your shared home, kicking off his shoes and throwing his bags onto the floor. You watched him leave up the stairs. You heard the door of your shared bedroom swing close, the lock click into place.

You didn’t mind sleeping on the couch that night. You knew he needed his space.

“I’m sorry.” He had told you the next morning, his eyes betraying his lack of sleep.

Handing him his breakfast, you shook your head. “Don’t apologize. Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

First crack in the glass. You really should’ve known. After all, Seungcheol told you everything.

“But you should know that I died slow Running through the halls of your haunted home”

Seungcheol kissed you each time like he was afraid to lose you. His kisses were full of passion, firm and messy. He kissed you like he was constantly running out of time.

His calloused hands ran gently against your bare skin, handling you like pieces of precious glass.

“I love you.” He’d murmur against your stomach as he inched his way down, looking up at you with shining eyes - akin to the way he once looked at you during your first meeting. That was something special about him: his eyes sparkled the same way whether he was crying or in love. You had yet to learn the difference.

Seungcheol liked holding you as he pushed in, craving the feeling of closeness and how he was connected inside of you, with you. You were his escape and his solace, his mind numbing into a void of white as pleasure coursed through him. The usual jumble in his brain ceased to attack him and he was left with the sole thought of showing you how much he truly did love you.

Seungcheol loved making love with you. It was the aftermath where he didn’t.

“I love you.” You’d whisper as you threaded your fingers through his hair, your other hand drawing circles against his bare skin - and your voice would feel planets away.

The loudness of his own mind was back, the mess of barely coherent thoughts intruding once again. Seungcheol knew it made no sense.

“You were mine, but you were awful every time”

Choi Seungcheol was not good for your soul. You knew that. He was a man full of paradox, forever contradicting himself and everything you’ve ever felt for him. Even the way his coarse hands gently traced the bones of your back felt contradictory, when he had only just told you the two of you could never be together.

“We won’t work.” His lower lip jutted out as he spoke, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor.

“I know.” You were tired of begging, the constant back and forth. Seungcheol would run, and then he would still find his way back to you in the following few months. That was just how this relationship worked, and you were used to it by now.

“I’m sorry.” He would whisper, cupping his hands around your face as his thumbs traced your cheekbones, a gesture filled with silent love.

Then don’t leave, you wanted to yell at him. If he really was sorry, if he really did love you, why would he still leave each time? But you knew that wasn’t how he operated.

You knew Choi Seungcheol wanted you. But he barely knew what he wanted himself.

“'Cause everybody's gone it's Just you and your anger”

You knew he’d be back like clockwork. You knew Seungcheol could never stray from you for too long, some hindrance keeping him from ever truly leaving you.

He’d leave each time he felt like he wasn’t enough, each time you failed to convince him he was. Then he’d come back the moment that insecurity vanished, leaving him with his anger. At himself, at the world, at you.

Seungcheol’s anger burned in white and blue. His anger was silent, suffocating, almost petty and petulant by nature. He would never yell or raise a hand at you but he’d push you away. Further and further until it felt like you never really knew him at all.

“I love you.” You’d say, and he’d just hum in response.

“Cheol.” You’d beg, because even when you said you were done begging, you knew you’d do it again. “Look at me, please.”

He turned, although his eyes locked on some spot right above your head.

“Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” You’d ask him. “Let me help.”

You knew your attempts at understanding were futile. Choi Seungcheol’s fatal flaw was his independence. He relied on no one but himself.

“Merry Christmas, please don't call

Merry Christmas, I'm not yours at all”

You supposed Christmas Eve was as good a time as it could get. There would be no best time, you knew that now. You had been looking for the perfect time to leave and look where you were now. Six years deep, in love with a man who barely knew love himself.

Merry Christmas. You wrote, leaving the letter tucked neatly beside his Christmas gift on the living room table. You knew you couldn’t say goodbye in person. One look at his shining eyes and you’d be begging for his love once more.

I know none of this is anyone’s fault. You had begun the letter with. I know there are just some things nobody can fix.

Your hand on the doorknob, your other hand clutched around the handle of your bags, you turned to take in the place one last time. Memories of you and Seungcheol circulated through the air as you lingered by the door, unable to step forward.

Because that was the couch where he had said I love you for the first time, his face inches from yours. That was the kitchen lights that had flickered when broken, the same lights in which you had danced under, wrapped warmly in his arms.

I really do wish you the best, Cheolie. And because at Christmas, you tell the truth - I hope you find everything you need to be happy in this life. Merry Christmas. Please don’t call.

a/n: ending off the 2024 season with a bang! if you made it this far, thank you so much for following along through the beginning of this blog - and i'm excited to spend the next year with you!

319 notes · View notes

chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without – Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come. OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits.

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang.

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle.

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on.

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end.

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana.

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights.

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will.

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor.

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him.

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down.

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window.

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.”

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world.

All in the time in the world – for what?

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell.

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?”

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.”

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men.

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again.

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet.

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable.

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare.

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again.

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.”

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword.

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm.

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.”

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.”

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.”

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.”

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too.

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight.

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with.

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand.

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.”

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm.

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . . say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?”

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.”

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way?

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.”

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart.

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.”

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar.

Fuck it.

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.”

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth.

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel.

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?”

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last.

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape.

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you.

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob.

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.”

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under.

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.”

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his.

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar.

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe.

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on."

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him.

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised.

“Unless you don’t want –,”

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest.

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places.

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword.

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress.

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed.

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him.

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh.

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor.

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.”

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both.

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips.

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils.

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm.

“Oh, oh, Pero—,”

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand.

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.”

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body.

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing.

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress.

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace.

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs.

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear.

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth.

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough.

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly.

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving.

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire.

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets.

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again.

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care.

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter.

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums.

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.”

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest.

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.”

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.”

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.”

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more.

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss.

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.”

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. ��You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.”

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.”

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.”

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble.

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs.

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides.

“Have you had your fun yet?”

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.”

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.”

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips.

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest.

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks.

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted.

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it.

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known.

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart.

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you.

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

708 notes · View notes

httpknjoon · 4 months ago

Text

say goodnight and go | myg

plot | that time when everyone seemed to be doing something on valentine's day and the popstar and her bassist have all the time with their single asses.

w.c | 3.3k

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | enemies to lovers, popstar x bassist, fluff, angst

note | wrote this last-minute today, just something short n sweet for valentines. enjoy!

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

DAY 103: SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA

Your fans from South Korea are one of your most active fanbases, always showering you with praises and support through social media. You even heard one of your songs becoming a trend on their online platforms, with celebrities and big local personalities doing it. So to show appreciation for them, you and your management decided to stay in the country for a longer amount of days.

So far, you have done your back-to-back concerts, variety show appearances, and media interviews, making sure that your fans will get a lot of content. You also got to do some shopping in Myeongdong with Cal and Paul in your first two days in the country since you know how great everyone's skincare products are.

"Are you going out?"

It's your last day before you leave for another country tomorrow. You sat on the nook near the big window of your hotel room, overviewing the busy streets of Seoul, when Cal came in and checked on you.

"I would love to, but I don't like to see couples eating each others' faces on the street." you shuddered in exaggerated disgust, Cal laughed in response.

Tearing your eyes off the scene, you see your assistant all dressed up. From her usual jeans and dark-colored hoodie, she wore and pastel green coat dress and white boots. She also wore white fuzzy gloves, tights, and a scarf for the winter weather outside. Her hair is also styled in soft waves.

"You are so, so pretty." you smiled as she gave you a twirl. "Where are you and your fiance heading?"

She looks up, recalling her agenda for the day, "We're going to Nami Island, I think. I don't really know. Art planned the whole thing."

"Sounds nice."

You tried to smile before looking back to the window. A sense of heaviness sits on your chest as you hug your knees closer to your body, resting your chin on it. The feeling you have been trying to avoid today, Valentine's Day, cannot help but revive itself in your system. But it has been looming over you for a while now, especially in Seoul, where there are a lot of lovely, cute couples everywhere.

"You okay?" Cal asked, sensing your aura shifting.

"I am, I am!" You turned to look at her again, smiling to reassure her. "Now, go on and enjoy that date. We know Art has a low tolerance for waiting."

She chuckled before giving you a quick hug that you know means well. As soon as the door closed, you were back staring outside the glass. You watched the cars move in different directions, and people walked around places. You watched almost twenty-two stories over them, but your mood cannot keep up and remained low ever since you woke up today.

For the first time in years, you are alone in this day of romance. You tried to stay optimistic about it, thinking that you should be grateful you got out of that toxic on-and-off relationship. But man, wouldn't it be nice to be with someone in this cold, cuddly weather outside?

You sighed, combing your fingers through your unstyled hair, before getting up to your bed. You thought of just taking advantage of your free time to rest in the midst of your ongoing world tour.

"I don't think I can bring this with me, Juwon."

Yoongi let out a sheepish chuckle while holding a brown bag of Tupperware filled with kimchi, braised potatoes, lettuce, rice, and marinated uncooked bulgogi. His cousin laughed.

"Not my problem, man. Mom saw one of your videos online and said you looked thinner. She wanted to make sure you're eating a lot, especially now you're in the country."

It has been more than a decade since Yoongi visited his birth country. Unlike his parents who come and go to South Korea yearly, he never got to visit since he moved to LA. When his mother learned that you would be taking your tour to Seoul, she called up every family member to let them know Yoongi was coming. Everyone was delighted to see him after a long time. His grandma even handed him an envelope money, just like when he was a little kid. Yoongi tried to decline it shyly, but his heart warmed when she told him to keep it as it was for all the Lunar New Year he missed.

"She really wanted to see you, but she and Dad are celebrating their anniversary in the UK right now," Juwon told him while they sat in one of the cafes just on the outskirts of Seoul. "She always told everyone how her nephew is a celebrity in the US."

Yoongi laughed, cheeks warming up, "I'm not a celebrity. I'm a bassist for one."

"Eh, it's the same." his cousin shrugged, making both of them laugh. "You know, a lot of YN's fans here think you two are dating."

Yoongi's jaw tenses at the mention of you. Considering that you two are barely talking right now, being tangled in such gossip with you is a little startling for him.

Juwon continued, "Like, I would scroll on social media and I would see edits of you on stage made by your fans here. There are talks about her performances and gimmicks with you on online forums."

Yoongi knows. His father even asked him once about his relationship status with you during the holidays. When he was on his way to the cafe, a young student recognized and asked him if you two are together after asking for a selfie. And he answered the same thing.

"We're not dating. I'm just her bassist."

Juwon seemed to not really care about Yoongi's relationship status with you, just wanting to share the growing popularity of the topic. They went on talking about life and everything big happening to them. Yoongi appreciated his cousin not mentioning his failed engagement or asking him personal questions about you (since that is something other people do). A couple of hours later, Juwon had to go.

"I'm taking the missus out. So, I really should go," he explained, smiling sheepishly.

Yoongi smiled before they shared a quick hug, "Of course. I'll try to visit again after the tour so I can meet everyone."

It was only afternoon and Yoongi was already on his way back to the hotel. Love is everywhere, he can feel, hear, see, and even taste it with how sweet the heart-shaped candies he sees from the street vendors. On the bus, he cannot help but feel outcasted by how everyone comes and goes in two while he sits alone in the farthest seat. He tried not to be a bitter hater about today's event. But how can he be single right now and there are middle-schoolers holding hands in front of him?

He rolled his eyes as he walked past the young couple who was walking too slow for his liking. Just a few distance from the hotel, he stopped when he got a call from someone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Yoongi. Are you in the hotel right now?" Art, who's on the other line, asked.

Yoongi continued walking, "Yeah, just arrived. Why?"

Today is meant to be their free day before flying to Thailand tomorrow. He recalls any possible reason why the tour manager would call him today.

"Yeah, uhm, can you check on YN? Callie has been trying to contact her, but she's not answering any texts or calls. She just wants to know how she's doing."

His heart dropped, making him pause near the elevators. He has not really talked with you alone these past few days. You two barely had conversations after that little argument the week after the holiday break.

Yoongi scratched his brow, "Uhm, how about Noah or Akio?"

"They are still on their way to visit Busan. Fred is out of town too," he replied.

Knowing there were no other choices, his shoulder slumped like the whole world fell on it, "Okay, I'll check on her."

"Okay, thank you, Yoongi!" Art sighed in relief. Yoongi heard Cal's relief in the background, thanking him too, "Thanks, Yoongi! Please tell her to text me back."

After saying where your room is, the call ended. Why can't you answer the calls? Yoongi tried contacting you himself when he got in the elevator. Although he knows that you might ignore him, he still tries just to avoid knocking on your door again. But you did not answer. So he got to the floor higher than his and immediately looked for your room.

He felt his heart beating faster when he stopped in front of Room 2202. Chewing on his lip, he raised his finger before the doorbell. He wished he had the same determination when he knocked on your door months ago. He held his breath when he clicked it.

But he got no response. It took him three more tries before hearing footsteps inside and by that time, he was more worried than nervous.

"What— Yoongi?"

Instantly recognizing the person who interrupted your movie marathon, your creased forehead softened up as your shoulders slowly tensed down. Yoongi didn't speak immediately, causing you to just stand there while his eyes scanned your face with lines forming between his brows. You felt like shrinking again under his gaze, wondering if other people feel the same way when your bassist looks at them.

"Were you crying?" he asked since he quickly took notice of your tear-stained cheeks, puffy eyes, and lips.

When you look away, Yoongi can read the embarrassment on your face. He thought you looked cute even though you just cried, but still he was worried by what was the reason behind it. But he didn't want to ask, to cross the line like you said that night. So he didn't.

Instead, he cleared his throat, "Art called me. He said you—"

To see you open the door wider as if you are inviting him to come in is a surprise to him. Your eyes meet, communicating with no verbal words in between. But when your sight starts moving from his eyes to his nose then to his lips. Something in your stomach twists. Before anything happened, you spoke, moving your eyes back up.

"Please, just come in. Someone might see us in the hallway."

Always careful. Yoongi stepped in with the same brown bag in his hand. He waited for you to close the door before speaking up again.

"Art called me and he wanted me to check on you. Cal is worried you were not answering her calls."

Your lips gaped as you forgot where your phone was. Since you were left alone hours ago, you spent your time watching rom-com movies, including the one you were just crying about before Yoongi knocked.

"Wait, I'll look for it."

Yoongi watched you rush to your messy bed. He still has not moved from the same spot near the door, like his feet were nailed to the ground. Not less than a minute later, you came back with your phone in hand.

"Just texted her back. I was on DND since last night, I didn't notice," you explained and why were you explaining to him? You don't know.

He didn't say anything and just looked at you blankly. What was to say anyway? You noticed him not really speaking much when you're around. You mean, Yoongi does not really speak a lot, but you observed how quieter he got when the holiday break ended. The eye contact lessened and so did the small bickering you two do in every rehearsal. It feels wrong to annoy you like before again. There are so many times you want to, but you just can't.

You were chewing on your lower lip unconsciously while looking down at the paper bag in his hand, and could not bring yourself to look up. Yoongi silently wondered what was going on inside your creative head.

"What's that?" you broke the silence, referring to the bag.

"Oh... uhm... it's food from my aunt," he replied, lifting the bag. He pulled out one of the Tupperware. "She wanted me to eat more, said I'm getting thinner."

You don't know why, but that made you chuckle. Yoongi smiled upon hearing your little laugh.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, even though it can be a risk over the line you spoke about before.

But instead of reminding him about that stupid line, you replied, "Ice cream is food, right?"

Yoongi clicked his tongue, shaking his head like you were a great disappointment. He pulled out each Tupperware one by one and placed it on the nearby marble counter.

"Have you had these foods before?" he asked and you simply shook your head. "Then, you're going to have them now."

Yoongi didn't care if he crossed that imaginary line because his mom would kill him if he didn't make you eat lunch. Heading to your kitchenette, he looked for a pan and turned on the stove.

"I will just cook the meat. Then, we'll eat this with rice and the side dishes." he explained while putting the meat on the hot surface.

"What... What should I do? Should I help? Do I have to do anything?" you asked, heavily confused.

Yoongi chuckled at your innocent questions, "You can just watch, YN."

And you did while being intrigued and amused at the same time by the unexpected scenario. Just twenty minutes ago, you were crying over Drew Barrymore and Adam Sandler. But now, you have your bassist cooking before you.

Yoongi cooked all of the meat since he could not really bring it with him tomorrow. He will make sure to eat them all if you do not enjoy it anyway. There are no plates in the hotel room, so you two had to improvise and use the lids of the Tupperware as plates. It was also a relief that his aunt included chopsticks in the bag.

He noticed how your eyes lit up as he explained the side dishes, particularly the potatoes. He picked one and placed it on your 'plate'. You hummed as you tasted the sweetness on your tongue.

"I love this. So much better than room service!"

He smiled before getting you some kimchi on your plate too. That's when your expression dropped, he noticed.

"It's kimchi. Don't worry, it's good."

"What does it taste like? And how should I eat it?" you asked, staring at the very red dish.

"It's spicy and sour. It can be sweet too. Depends on who made it. But my aunt always preferred it spicier." he explained before eating some. Yeah, it's spicy. "Do you eat spicy food?"

"I like spicy foods, but this one looks really spicy. It's very red."

He laughed, "It's good. Taste it! You can eat it alone, with rice, or meat. Like this."

Yoongi pulled his chair next to yours, simply to make you a lettuce wrap like in a local Korean barbecue place. He didn't sit too close, but sensing his familiar scent once again made your heart jump as you watched him make you a lettuce wrap.

"Here. Say 'ah'." Yoongi opened his mouth demonstrating.

You tried not to smile, your head messing with you again, as you followed his order. He helped you with the lettuce wrap. Immediately after chewing it, there's a burst of flavor in your mouth. The kimchi is spicy, sour, and maybe a little salty. But you liked it.

Yoongi smiled when he saw you nodding your head, "See? It's great, right? You should really listen to me more."

You glared at him before picking up your chopsticks to eat. Eating in comfortable silence, Yoongi quietly observed how you enjoyed the meal he brought, specifically the kimchi. He was pleased to see you munching on the dishes.

"Slow down on the kimchi." he teased you at one point, but you just scrunched your nose at him.

"I should have added matching couple-shirts in my merch during the concert. I would have earned millions here."

After having your late lunch, you and Yoongi found yourselves in the same nook you were sitting at earlier today. You two sat on each corner, looking down on the noisy and busy city moving below. It felt like the events after the afterparty were forgotten for the meantime as you two chatted about 50 First Dates, the movie you were crying about, and how he preferred The Wedding Singer more. There was a debate for a whole twenty minutes about it and you were sure Yoongi just let you win, so you can move to another topic.

"Yeah, on my way here earlier, every couple who will get on the bus wears the same thing. I looked like a sore thumb." he quipped, earning another laugh from you while you took another bite of kimchi.

The side dish was almost completely consumed by you alone, much to Yoongi's surprise.

"I told you to slow down on the kimchi." he teased you again.

"But it's good. Tell your aunt it's good, send her flowers for me," you suggested.

He scoffed, "Oh, my aunt would love hearing that and will probably send you five more Tupperware of this."

"Well, sign me up. I wouldn't mind having stock." you grinned before taking the last piece of radish.

He shook his head, laughing, "And you finished it all."

You carefully placed the empty Tupperware in front of you, raising both of your hands like you were a suspect caught, "Not guilty at all."

"She would really love you." he chuckled, leaning back on the wall of the nook.

"Well, that just means she has a very great taste." you quipped, looking outside.

Mirroring Yoongi, you rested your back on the wall while still looking outside. In contrast to your full and contented stomach, your heart feels light at someone's unexpected appearance in your hotel room. You were so ready to watch movies all day and maybe call for room service for food. A small smile forms on your lips.

Unbeknownst to you, Yoongi feels the same thing. Mainly, he was happy the food his aunt made did not go to waste and he got to eat it with someone, who obviously enjoyed it. He tried not to chuckle when he saw a spot of the red sauce near your lips. Before he could even stop himself, his thumb gently wiped it off your face.

You held your breath at the sudden touch with your eyes flickering to meet his. He was frozen on the spot, still in the leaned-in position. For a second, the city noise is drawn out. Until he pulled back and you noticed his cheeks have a very slight tint of red.

"Uhm... there was sauce." he mumbled.

"Hmm..." you awkwardly responded looking away.

Silence joined the room again and Yoongi felt like he had gone past the line already. He slapped his head mentally with what he did. The silence reminded him of a scenario that happened at the end of last year. As he feels it getting into him, he gets up.

"I-I should go. We have an early flight tomorrow."

You looked back at him and were always easy to read for him. But, he didn't want to assume that you wanted him to stay based on your eyes alone. But you did, you really did. Maybe for a companion for tonight? You cannot tell, but you enjoyed this casual conversation with him. You can just hope he did too.

"Okay," you replied, almost a whisper.

You watched him gather the Tupperware back into the paper bag, not moving an inch in the nook. You waited for him to look back at you before he leaves, but he was too focused on the fucking Tupperware. So, you just turned your head outside, letting out a sigh.

And just when Yoongi is about to turn the doorknob, he takes one last look at you. His shoulders depleted, seeing you alone while watching the city outside.

"YN?" he called your name and he was unsure if he saw a glimmer of something in your eyes when you turned around. "Good night."

You forced a smile on your lips, "Thank you, Yoongi. Good night."

note | a little preview for the tour's second leg too...

SERIES TAGLIST

kindly check out my taglist rules on my pinned post :)

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle @notarshia @m00njinnie @thelilbutifulthings @tarahardcore @livisdoingfine @jungshaking @eridanus-lynx @enthralled-bandit @goodnight-n-go-home @ronyiboniyy @jimeg629 @lveegsoi @madussthoughts

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones

#bass guitarist! yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi imagine #yoongi au #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #bts drabble #bts aus #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #yoongi fanfic #bts suga #httpknjoon #love is... on tour myg #Spotify

337 notes · View notes

mysteryshoptls · 5 months ago

Text

SSR Rook Hunt - Room Relaxation Vignette

"Happy Birthday"

[Exterior Hallway 2F]

[birds tweet in distance]

Rook: Oh my, that little one over there… Mhhm, welcome back. I see you've decided to spend your winter here this year.

Cater: Hey-o, Rook-kun. Whatcha doin', staring off into the distance like that?

Rook: Oh hi, Cater-kun. It seems like the little bird that left its nest here on campus in the spring has returned. I'm just glad it's doing well.

Cater: A little bird…? Wait, are you talking about that bird waaaay off in the distance? It just looks like a normal bird, doesn't necessarily mean it's the same bird you saw before, does it?

Rook: Not at all, it's definitely the same bird. Each one has a completely different look from each other, so I'm sure it's the same one.

Cater: U-Uh huh… I think it's a little too difficult for me to see.

Cater: Ah, right! I'm changing the subject a little bit, but it's your birthday tomorrow, right?

Rook: Oh là là! You remembered my birthday? I'm floored!

Cater: Obvi! You think your good pal Cay-kun'd ever forget a batchmate's birthday?

Cater: Now, inquiring minds want to know, Mr. Birthday Boy Rook-san! How do you plan on spending your birthday?

Rook: Mhhm, let me think…

Rook: I think I would be content just spending it like any old day, surrounded by good friends!

Cater: Ehhh, come on～ And just when I thought this was my chance to learn a little more about your life that you keep close to your chest…

Rook: You wish to know more about me? Oh my, if you stare any harder, Monsieur Magicam, I'll simply combust on the spot.

Cater: I didn't think I was staring that hard… But I get it, you don't want people prying into your business ♪

Cater: Then, how 'bout I extend an olive branch… Wanna take a pic to celebrate your Birthday Eve?

Rook: Oui, I'd be honored!

[snap!]

Cater: Oh, Rook-kun, your smile's dazzling! Ah, I just thought of something good. I'll send you the photo later ♪

Rook: I look forward to it. See you, Cater-kun!

[Pomefiore Dorm – Hallway]

Rook: ―Confirmation of this week's schedule of events for each grade… Done.

Rook: Ballroom usage requests, confirmation of head counts for each room, equipment returns… Done.

Rook: Oh, look at the time. It just flew by as I was finishing up my Vice Housewarden tasks. The showers should be free by now, no?

[Pomefiore Dorm – Rook's Room]

Rook: Perhaps it was thanks to that hair mask a fellow dormmate recommended me, but my hair feels silkier than usual today.

Rook: It's good to give myself a little special treat before a special day, after all.

[Pomefiore Dorm – Rook's Room]

Rook: ―I've finished my skincare, body care, and haircare routine.

Rook: I'm completely ready to listen to Roi de Neige's melodious voice! His radio program should be starting soon―

Rook: Oh? It looks like I still have a little over 10 minutes left. I must have been a tad too hasty in my eagerness.

Rook: I suppose I could fill out that "Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body" in the time I have left.

「Survey on Quality of Life Improvements for the Student Body」

Rook: Improvements, hm. If I were asked any time before this, I'm sure I would have had much to say on the school regulation that has freshmen and sophomores sharing a room.

Rook: Sharing a room with fellow classmates may have its moments, but nothing is better than my personal time alone.

Rook: I still vividly remember the joy I felt when I became a junior and was assigned my own room. This is what I call paradise!

Rook: Not only am I able to protect my privacy, but this is a perfect place for me to surround myself with beauty and love. I have no complaints!

Rook: If I were to come up with one thing to put down… I would like a safe. I'd want something sturdy with a complex lock that cannot be opened easily.

Rook: If I were to have one, then I could keep safe my trove of journals, my precious photos, and even that one thing I got my hands on that one time… Heheh.

Rook: …Oh, whoops. While I was drifting off imagining all the things I could place in a safe, I seem to have completely filled in the field.

Rook: I'm sitting here in a paradise I built for myself, and I still had so many desires to write down… Ah, me, oh, my! How selfish could I possibly be?

Rook: Thinking back on it, I've not had many memories of staying in the same place for years like this.

Rook: Even after three years here, I find that every single day brings new thrills that keep me just as excited as the first day.

Rook: …Well now, with that, the survey is done. ～fin～ And perfect timing, too.

Rook: It's finally time for Roi du Neige's special radio program… I can't wait! I've been counting down the days ever since the day it was announced.

Rook: BRAVISSIMO!! THAT WAS A PURELY BLISSFUL EXPERIENCE…!

Rook: His dynamic vocals sparkled like an étoile in the sky… It was completely different from his usual sweet manner!

Rook: I could feel my heart completely taken in by the way he beautifully weaved from topic to topic that brought to my mind a silky-smooth kaleidoscope.

Rook: What could his "new work" be that they mentioned on the program…? Aah, I cannot wait for more information to be released…!

Rook: When it comes to updates such as this, there's a higher degree of vivacity in receiving it through a live broadcast rather than an article or a recording!

Rook: I wonder which store he got that pie he said he ate "a little too much of" from…?

Rook: If I'm not mistaken, there are quite a few well-known pâtisserie near that recording studio.

Rook: If it's a new place… I believe the actor who will be co-starring with him in his upcoming drama series is known for his serious sweet tooth.

Rook: Perhaps if I look into the shows they've appeared in or check their online posts, I might be able to figure out a hint as to which place it is. I'll check later.

Rook: I must listen to the program once more and record my heartfelt thoughts into a letter… No, wait! I must first jot down every single emotion it made me feel into my diary!

Rook: …This should be all of my thoughts on the radio program. Every single word I had for it meant everything to me that I felt as though it almost became a word-for-word transcript.

Rook: Now, what else stirred my heart today…? Ah, yes, Cater-kun remembering my birthday was lovely.

Rook: Ahh, yes. I should also write down the joy I felt in being reunited with that little bird once more.

Rook: Today was a wonderful day. I wonder what beautiful things I will encounter tomorrow.

[Pomefiore Dorm - Rook's Room]

[door opens]

[door shuts]

Rook: ―Someone's door just opened… Ah, right, there's early morning practice for the track club today.

Rook: As soon as I hear some kind of noise, I snap awake. It may still be early, but I think I'll start getting ready for the day!

Rook: First, I'll take off my sheets and pillowcase… And leave it in a basket in the hall.

Rook: They'll even return it here front of my door after its been washed, so thankfully I can make my bed myself.

Rook: Ordinarily, the laundry ghosts would do everything for me, but… I just can't feel comfortable having anyone enter my room.

Rook: I appreciate them for listening to my vehement non. Now that I've finished with that, I should go wash my face.

Rook: The quiet atmosphere of the washroom in the early mornings always puts me in a refreshing mood. Now then, I think I'll use this lotion today.

Rook: Before, I knew nothing of skincare, let alone makeup. But with my transfer into this dorm, I was reborn anew!

Rook: I may still be a novice in this regard… But as a student of Pomefiore, I cannot allow myself to shirk on the proper regard for skin care.

Rook: For example, when it comes to UV protection, I've learned that it's not enough to simply apply sunscreen, but I must moisturize myself beforehand.

Rook: I had no idea there were so many types of cosmetics. Aaah, this world is brimming with such spectacular surprises!

Rook: The company who makes this one strives on having fragrance-free products, to the point where they even refine their raw materials as best they can to minimize any lingering aromas…

Rook: However, if this is the extent of what a commercially available product is capable of, it may be beneficial to see if we in the Science Club can look into creating completely fragrance-free cosmetics.

Rook: Next, I'll use concealer. When I asked Vil for recommendations, he gave me an array of colors to choose from to help cover my freckles.

Rook: In the end, after taking into account my skin tone and testing out many different options, I selected this concealer because it had no scent and it adheres well to my skin.

Rook: Similar to how wild animals will protect themselves with camouflage, I must evenly smooth it all over my skin… Good, this should be enough for the base makeup.

Rook: Ah, right. I should use the special eye cosmetic palette that Vil recommended to me when I joined him shopping the other day.

Rook: The way the fine pearl powder shines is as beautiful as sunlight streaming through darkened winter clouds.

Rook: LA PERFECTION…! A perfect look for a perfect birthday!

[doors open and close]

Rook: ―It seems the other students are slowly awakening. Mhhm, I'm sure in another 10 minutes or so, the washroom will be absolutely packed.

Rook: I think I'll quickly check Magicam before changing into my uniform. Has there been any news on Roi du Neige's… Oh?

Rook: It looks as though I received a message exactly at midnight. Oh, this is from―

[Main Street]

[Pomefiore students chatter with Rook]

Cater: Ooh, looks like he's already been cornered by folks～ As it should be on a birthday!

Cater: Rook-kun, Happy Birthday! Your makeup is on point today! Can't expect anything less from a Pomefiore student ♪

Rook: Merci, Cater-kun. And I absolutely loved the message you sent right at midnight.

Rook: Not only did you decorate the picture beautifully, your message was extremely heartwarming.

Cater: I'm glad you liked it～ Soooo… Wanna snap another picture now that it's your actual birthday?

Rook: OUI!!

Requested by @farfalla049, @thelonepearl, and @mizumire.

#twisted wonderland #twst #rook hunt #cater diamond #twst rook #twst cater #twst translation #twst birthday #mention: vil #mention: neige

151 notes · View notes

judesmoonbeauty · 6 months ago

Text

Jude Jazza’s 2nd Birthday: “The Cursed Moon Within His Merciless Arms” Epilogue POV

This is a fan translation. 100% accuracy cannot be guaranteed. Please expect grammatical errors and lack of nuance. Creative liberties were taken in order for a smoother translation. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not repost or claim my translations as your own. Thank you for your support! ☾⋆

MDNI. NSFW.

Victor: Welcome back, Jude!

It was late at night when I returned to Crown castle after finishing up work at Raven Co.. That’s when Victor greeted me.

Jude: …..Why’re ya still up?

Victor: Why of course, to prepare for your birthday party tomorrow, Jude! …..

Victor: …Oh, look the date has already changed. JUDE, HAPPY BIRTH—

Jude: —Hold it.

Victor: I can’t even give you my wishes? ….That makes me feel so lonely.

Jude: Already gotta prior engagement with ‘em words.

After I rejected him, I thought back to the conversation I had with Kate before I left for work.

[Flashback]

Jude: I’ll be back late t’night.

I don’t share my schedule with others unless it’s necessary.

…..However, my birthday was tomorrow, and she asked me about my schedule a month in advance in order to celebrate it.

She’d been counting down the days, so I felt like I owed it to her to say something.

Kate: Oh, really….?

Seeing Kate look disheartened, guilt that I thought I’d long lost, started to surface.

Kate: ….Um, well, I just have one favor to ask, Jude.

Kate: I want to be the first to wish you happy birthday, so I want to come back to your room no matter how late it is.

Kate: If you sleep at Raven Co., your employees might be the first to tell you…

Kate: Oh, but I’m not saying you have to do it. Just only if it’s possible……

Kate said that with a pasted smile on her face.

It was obvious that she was trying to suppress her feelings so she wouldn’t burden me.

— A woman who understands circumstances, or a woman who doesn’t understand circumstances.

If you ask me which one is better, naturally it’s an understanding woman who stays in her lane.

(But…what’s this?)

(I reckon it’ll be fine to listen to some of the selfish stuff she asks.)

Jude: …..Can’t make no promises, but I’ll try my best.

Kate: Really? Thanks, Jude!!!

[Flash Back Ends]

Remembering Kate’s bright smile, like a moon emerging from the clouds,

I parted ways from Victor towards my room, my pace a little quicker than usual.

When I returned I could tell Kate had waited for as long as she could, having fallen asleep in the chair.

(…..Whadda pain.)

I picked Kate up and carried her to the bed,

The line actually reads that he picked her up behind the knees. Essentially, he princess carried her. However, I felt this is already implied and opted to leave it out.

And then I quickly fell asleep thinking about the wishes Kate would say to me when she woke up.

When my birthday arrived, it was a crazy day.

In the morning, I wasted time dealing with a group of weaklings trying to kill me off,

And that afternoon, Crown celebrated my birthday with a song….

It was late in the evening when I was finally alone with Kate.

Kate: Ohh….Jude…..it feels so…..good…

When I bit into her throat and drove myself deep inside her, Kate clung to me looking blissed out.

When I saw that look, I swallowed hard.

I wanted to make her feel even better, to mess her up even more. To drive her even crazier……A violent need surged throughout my body.

(…..Am I a kid who gets turned on for seein’ my girlfriend gettin’ excited?)

Kate’s tearful eyes, her knitted brows as she tried to endure, her melted expression as she comes…..

I got excited by Kate’s expressions as our bodies melded together,

Just like a boy falling in love for the first time.

Jude: ….That so?

I replied bluntly as I cynically laughed internally at my own immature feelings, when Kate’s eyes flickered anxiously.

Kate: Jude……?

Jude: ……

Jude: …….Ain’t no way I’m gonna strain yer body by tanglin’ up with ya if it don’t feel good.

I gave a round about reply and then slowly moved my hips further forward.

As I dragged against each of Kate’s favorite spots, she let out sweet, soft moans.

However, even though she was completely absorbed in pleasure, Kate didn’t stop asking questions.

Kate: Jude, I…..feel so good…right now….I’m losing my mind….

Kate: Can you….say it more clearly….?

(….This woman’s way too worried if I’m feelin’ good or not.)

All she needed to do was surrender herself to the pleasure I was giving her, but she wanted both of us to feel good.

Each time that happened I felt this itchy sensation deep in my heart, like it’d been tickled by a feather…..

I could feel the presence of the thing called love.

(….Feels even weirder answerin’ without thinkin’ it’s a hassle.)

Jude: Guess ain’t no gettin’ ‘round it…..

Jude: ….Feels good, Kate.

Kate laughed as I brushed her bangs away from her sweaty forehead, and kissed her softly.

Kate: Hehe….hey, Jude….

Kate:……To be honest , I was hoping on your birthday, you’d say “I like you” or “I love you”…..

Kate: I kind of thought you’d say it….

Kate: But….this is plenty for now.

As if to say that she understood all the feelings I couldn’t express,

Kate smiled contentedly and caressed my cheek lovingly.

Illuminated by moonlight, Kate glowed brilliantly….giving the illusion of the moon falling from within reach.

(….Beautiful.)

Kate: ….Oh! But…..you can say them whenever you feel like it, okay? Words of love.

Jude:….If I feel like it.

When I brushed it off Kate pouted in dissatisfaction, and immediately I pressed my lips against hers.

In surprise, Kate tried to escape, but my tongue captured and entangled with hers.

(If I don’t say things like “I like ya” or “I love ya”, you’ll keep chasin’ me for ‘em.)

Just as I chase and cry for the moon, you can chase and cry for me too.

Just keep chasing me under a curse that will never be broken for all time.

I have no intention of telling her that….and I can’t let go yet.

Kate: Mmmm……Jude…..

The voice calling me in between kisses, dissolved all of my sense into a puddle.

Jude: …..Ya might’ve had ‘nough, but I ain’t had ‘nough.

Kate: Mm….the present?

When I attended Crown’s birthday party for me, Kate gave me a tasteful fountain pen as a gift.

It was chosen to match the same diameter of the pen I normally used,

'A tasteful fountain pen' was repeated in this line, but I dropped it because I felt it was redundant.

I’ve no intention of nitpicking about it now, and if you asked me to return it, I wouldn’t give it back.

Jude: Haven’t had ‘nough of ya .

Kate: Huh…..Oh!

I resumed the flow from earlier, and as Kate whimpered sweetly I bit her over and over again, sucking her up.

As I etched red marks into her skin, leaving behind traces of our love-making, Kate moved like she was trying to escape.

Jude: …..Oi, whadda tryin’ to run for?

Kate: B-because….if you leave marks there, I won’t be able to cover them with clothing…..

Jude: Tch…..yer tryna hide it now?

I was surprised that my retort carried a sulky tone to it.

….However, Kate didn’t notice the tone of my voice, but kept staring blankly at me.

Kate: …..Is that okay?

Jude: Is what okay?

Kate: Well….if the Crown members see it tomorrow morning, they’ll say something about it, right?

Kate: Jude, you seem bad with that sort of thing…..

Just as Kate said, some of the Crown guys might tease me if they saw the hickeys.

Or maybe they’ll just look on and not give a lick.

Jude: It’s fine ya don't do that…….Were ya avoidin’ me ‘cause ya were frettin’ over that?

Kate: …..Yeah, but if you don’t care Jude…..

Kate: Then I want you to leave lots of marks on me.

Kate:….Oh, I’m asking you to do everything again.

Jude: ….There’s nothin’ wrong with that.

You were the first to give me birthday wishes, kicked out those gits who attacked me, chose a gift that made me happy,

Called out to me with a soft, sweet voice, accepted me in deepest parts of you, and wanted to cater to me.

…..Kate might think it’s only natural since it’s my birthday, but it’s not just about getting someone to do something for you.

Jude: If that’s whatcha want, I’ll engrave ‘em on ya ‘til ya hate it.

This cursed, cursed night was far from being over.

[Story Master List] [Birthday Letter] Dividers: @.natimiles @.cafekitsune

PLEASE, he is SO SWEET. The way he's slowly noticing emotions in himself that he thought no longer existed, and the fact that he can feel the presence of love inside of himself (when he feels that he out of all people wouldn't, and feels it's suffocating overall.) Ugh, I can't wait to see his character growth over time. And that BLUSH when he admits he hasn't had enough of her!

Tags List: @sh0jun @theimaginativelyreticent @sapphire-323 @velisle @nateko @greatwitchsongsinger @injudescoat @complexivelovely @cosmowgyrall. @lunaaka @rosalyne08 @8the-perfect-lie8 @voydsoul

If you wish to be added to my tags list and are 18+, then please comment below and specify which suitor, or all translations!

#jude jazza #ikevil jude #jude jazza translations #ikevil #ikevil translations #cybird translations #mdni

195 notes · View notes