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crstilia · 1 month

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all the wrongs (make a right)

when you ask them to set you up with someone else.

or at least, that's what they interpreted it as.

wanderer, wriothesley, diluc ♡ gn!reader

warnings: diluc may be ooc (but he's funny), yapping

notes: WRIOTHESLEY... THE MAN U ARE...

you like someone else.

wanderer doesn't know how to deal with that fact—because of course you do. why would you ever love someone like him, anyway? who is he to even consider love, when he has none of it to give?

when he was created, love built him fiber by fiber. love constructed his eyes, love blessed him with sight and touch, love allowed him to perceive. because in this world, perception is the basis of love, and when wanderer was allowed to perceive, he was allowed to love.

he had love. lots of it, even. there was so much love in his being that it spilled from his eyes, dancing across the oasis of his irises and manifesting into stars. when the wanderer was created, he was ready to be loved, he was ready to love.

and then he was discarded—with all his love—because he was not enough.

(he wonders what it would take for him to be kept. for someone to cherish him despite his artificial limbs, his heartless chest.)

(he wonders what it would be like if he were cherished, even for just a little bit, by you.)

from across the lecture hall, wanderer stares at your figure. his eyes, which once manifested stars and dripped with love, trace over the bridge of your nose and the curl of your lips. wanderer stares at you, basking in the mundane, romanticizing the ordinary because for some reason, under the lights, you look ethereal.

(he would rather die than admit that outloud.)

he stares and stares, oblivious to the fact that stars have reappeared, that they begin to scatter across his irises like a mosaic of love. because the wanderer is unlike himself when it comes to you—he's enamored, he's taken, he's smitten.

when you blink, his chest throbs, and the nothingness in between his ribs becomes something—something akin to a heart, maybe—because you turn nothingness into everything, and all of a sudden wanderer feels a buzz in his chest. if he stares at you long enough, the buzz begins to sound like this: thump-thump, thump-thump.

suddenly, you turn to look at him.

his breath hitches.

you smile, and his heart aches.

then you look away. as if none of it mattered to you, as if your smile were a simple little thing, as if your eyes and your attention were meaningless.

but none of it is ever meaningless, because when he's in your presence, and when he has just a mere wisp of your existence, the wanderer breathes. he does not need to breathe (like humans do)—but when you look at him, your gaze sweeping over him like a golden light, he becomes human.

his humanity manifests in the form of a stolen breath, stagnating in his synthetic lungs in order to catch you for just a second. to adore you, within him, for but a moment.

when you meet up with him after class, wanderer feels his stomach churn (like humans feel). he feels something crawl up his throat—disgust, probably—when you look at him with those oh-so pretty eyes of yours, and when you talk to him with that oh-so pretty voice of yours.

(what has he been reduced to?)

"sorry to make you do this, wanderer!" you exclaim, bashful. "you really don't have to help me talk to him! just let me know if you don't want to, okay?"

earlier, you had asked him to help set you up with some nobody. something along the lines of, "i need my thesis project approved" or whatever, but wanderer knows mortals.

he knows that they have ulterior motives in everything they do, and the way your gaze averted from his and the way you fiddled nervously with your fingers when asking him for help was enough for him to deduce: you liked the person you were meeting up with.

"i mean—" you suddenly add, trying to fill in the awkward silence that's caused by wanderer's frustration, "he's a really scary guy, so i get it!"

"hah," he replies bitterly. "scary? yeah, right."

because what could be scarier than him? a puppet whose previous incarnations committed deeds of mass destruction, a puppet whose previous incarnations still exist with him in the present.

wanderer's past incarnations come in the form of hatred, and hatred festers all across his bones and makes its way onto his expression as he stares at you with longing. because wanderer wants you—and what would it take for you to want him back? what would he have to do, to have a mere fraction of your existence?

(but the hatred within his being grows larger. it takes over his ribs and his skin, because wanderer is a disgusting product of his previous incarnations, and his previous incarnations would never be satisfied with a mere fraction of you. his previous incarnations—and him—want all of you.)

"he really is, though! everyone in the akademiya fears him 'cause he always rejects their thesis projects—i mean, i'm scared too, but if you're there then maybe it won't be so bad!" you explain, waving your hands around for emphasis. the wanderer latches onto the fact that you need him there, that you want him to be there for the sake of comfort.

he thinks bitterly to himself: you're the only one who'd find comfort in me. and there you go again, your attention leaping beyond him, traveling towards greater heights that he will never, ever be able to catch up with. because one thing about mortals is that they are fickle, they are fleeting and they are dangerous, not to him—never him—but to each other.

one thing about mortals is that, in the face of love, they will do anything. they will look back for a brief second and lose it all, just for a glimpse of what could've been. one thing about mortals is that they'll do anything, everything for the person they love, all because it makes them happy.

as he trails after you, observing the back of your head with all the bitterness he can muster—none, when it comes to you—wanderer sighs.

(what has he been reduced to?)

you lead him towards a large door, and wanderer's chest stutters. he realizes that you're headed straight towards the grand sage's office, where many akademiya students loathe to be. but there are some outliers who want to enter that office, who want to exist inside of it because of the sage himself.

(something along the lines of the grand sage being attractive or whatnot. wanderer doesn't know, and frankly, he doesn't care. unless it comes to you, of course.)

what was his name again? wanderer thinks. but he doesn't have time to mull over the details because he just can't let you go there—wanderer doesn't want you to leave him behind those grand oak doors, left to exist with himself when you're just across from him.

he's always been star-far from you, perpetually longing to reach out and catch even a wisp of your light. and now that opportunity irrevocably close.

wanderer is going to seize a star; he's going to grasp your radiating atmosphere, let himself get pulled in by your gravity, and he's going to rest there forever and ever.

his hand reaches for your wrist, stopping you just before you reach the doors of doom.

(what has he been reduced to?)

"don't go," wanderer states. although his tone is stern, there's an unmistakable softness to his voice, his fingers clasped around yours as if he's afraid you'll be whisked away by the world, leaving him alone and betraying him once again.

"but my thesis project—"

"don't go," he repeats, "stay here." with me, his mind adds.

something crawls up his throat, his gaze suddenly averting yours as his free hand comes to tilt his hat down, masking his expression with its golden rim.

he holds his breath.

"alright," you respond. "is everything okay, wanderer?"

he doesn't respond. he tugs at your arm and pulls you close to him—so, so close—and chooses to exist in the silence. with you.

after a couple minutes, you hear wanderer mutter quietly to himself: "who even needs a thesis project?"

"uh, everyone who wants to graduate," you reply. wanderer rolls his eyes.

"who would even want to graduate?"

"me?" you respond, confused. wanderer looks away.

"whatever."

"eventually, i have to talk to him anyway—" you start, but wanderer quickly cuts you off.

"no, you don't."

"what?"

"nevermind. you wouldn't get it."

(what has he been reduced to?)

(a human.)

"what?" wriothesley says, almost incredulously. ''you want to know what clorinde's favorite flower is?"

"yeah," you reply. "i'm thinking of mailing it to her soon because i'll be too busy in the underworld to go out."

wriothesley briefly considers dispatching you on a deep sea expedition before realizing that if you're far from clorinde—underground—then you'll also be far from him, and he's not sure if he can handle that.

"well, you know, i don't really know her all that well..." he trails off, lacing his fingers together professionally. "it's a shame, really. maybe you can give her something else?"

"oh, like a box of chocolates?"

he blinks, his mind venturing to the worst scenarios. are you confessing to her? are you trying to court her? what's with all these romantic gifts?

it's unmistakable, the way his heart aches and squirms within his ribs. it's unmistakable, the way he feels something sutter one-too-many times within his chest, the tempo of his heart becoming slower and slower when, in your presence, it typically races.

but wriothesley swallows his envy and opts to relish under your gaze, feigning ignorance to the way his heart constricts a little, his ribs beginning to close in on themselves.

"well, clorinde is fond of anything that comes from your heart," wriothesley says, trying to ease the strain of his voice. "so anything you give her will definitely convey your feelings for her."

you chuckle to yourself, amused at the thought. "yeah, my feelings."

wriothesley doesn't quite know how to explain it, but the way you speak of your feelings for clorinde makes him want to give into the world and forget everything. because your expression is so lighthearted, so cheery, it makes him hate himself for wishing that it belonged to him. for wishing that you would ever, could ever, feel about him the same way you feel about clorinde.

he's selfish. too selfish. and maybe that's why you don't like him, and maybe that's why he doesn't deserve you, not now and not ever.

damn this heart of his.

"so, how long have you been planning this for?" wriothesley asks, forcing his signature grin. but the way his lips twitch a little, and the way his leg bounces up and down gives away everything.

you like someone else. for how long? wriothesley wonders, chuckling bitterly to himself. for how long have you liked clorinde?

how long has he spent, pining helplessly after you, only to realize that it was never going to work out? how could he even begin to perceive the thought of loving you, to even contemplate a time beyond what you've already given him?

he's such a fool.

"a couple of months," you say, fiddling with your fingers. wriothesley's such a fool, because the way he notices your tiny habits and the way he ogles at your embarrassed expression makes him want to continue falling hopelessly in love with you. even though you like someone else. even though you're discussing "someone else" right in front of him—he wants to love you anyway.

because that's just the kind of lovesick, hopeless fool he is.

"oh? a long time, huh?" he replies, hoping you don't notice the way he struggles to speak, the way words fail to leave his mouth the way he should.

wriothesley loves you—but no, love is not enough. he loves you the same way the birds love the sky, reaching into the limitless void, yearning and wanting. he loves you the same way tide loves the shore, ebbing and flowing, wishing for more.

wriothesley loves you in unimaginable ways, but they are not so galactic or as grand as the stars, because the love he has is rooted here on teyvat, within reach, and most fervently, within himself.

"yeah. i've been needing to apologize to her for a while now, actually," you explain, averting your eyes from his. "'cause a while back, i accidentally dropped a whole cake on her. it was a mess. literally and metaphorically."

"what?" wriothesley blinks.

"huh?" you tilt your head.

"apologize? so those gifts are for an apology?"

"yeah," you state, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

"oh."

the grin he wears is no longer forced, and when you exit his office, wriothesley buries his face into his hands, unable to contain his smile.

so i have a chance, is all he thinks.

angel's tavern is unusually quiet today.

"is kaeya single?" you suddenly ask.

the glass in diluc's hand nearly shatters, his gaze focused wholly on you as his jaw clenches.

angel's tavern is unusually tense today.

"what?"

you smile awkwardly. "is kaeya single?"

"i heard you the first time."

silence ensues.

"so is he single?"

he looks away.

"i'm not sure."

diluc wonders where it all went wrong; since when were you interested in kaeya, of all people? he doesn't know what's worse: the fact that you don't like him, or the fact that you'd like kaeya over him.

he decides to ignore the way his heart constricts a little, suffocating in between the ribs that are supposed to protect it. but even when his heart gets pierced, skewered onto his bones, he feels warm. so, so warm.

he looks at you.

"you like him?"

"he's okay," you respond nonchalantly, swirling your glass of water as if it were a decadent wine. "i don't know him all that well."

"and you still want to know if he's single?"

"we all start from somewhere."

well, you're starting from the wrong brother, is all diluc thinks.

"huh," he says unenthusiastically, "so you like unreliable men?"

"what?"

"nothing."

diluc doesn't know what to make of himself—he doesn't know where to look or what to do. should he keep polishing this wine glass, or should he confront you right now and tell you about how he's loved you for so, so long?

should he tell you about how he's willing to do anything for you, how he returned to mondstadt all those years ago with only you in mind? should he tell you about how he was ready to leave this life as a ragnvindr behind, to travel teyvat and never look back, but he was more faithful to you than he could've ever imagined? he remembered you, so fervently, that he returned. he returned and he stayed.

there's no point, diluc tells himself. i will wait. he's waited and wanted you for so long, he can withstand this newfound infatuation you have. so what if you like kaeya now? diluc latches onto a slip of hope, a minute chance that maybe, just maybe, you'll notice that it's been him all along.

he's always been here. waiting. (for you.)

you glance at him, your irises enveloping him in a tender embrace, and diluc wonders what it'd be like if you were in love. with him. he wonders how much lovelier that look would be, how warm it'd make him feel, if your pupils would dilate a little, if your expression would soften and your lips would curl into a smile when you did so much as recognize him.

would you notice him then? would you be able to discern the look in his eyes—that look of love—if you felt that way too? would you be able to tell that your existence is sown into his skin, growing and blossoming like a wildflower, persisting 'till the ends of time itself?

your existence blooms all across his being until there is nothing left of him, and everything left of you.

"what do you like about him?" diluc asks, trying to ignore the way his chest throbs. he readjusts his collar, feeling strangely stuffy.

"well, he's attractive. but i don't like him like that."

diluc steals a glance at his reflection in the wine glass. people usually tell him that he's attractive. more than kaeya, though? they haven't specified.

"beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder," he affirms.

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"anyway,"—diluc feigns ignorance to your flabbergasted expression—"i wish you luck on your endeavors." he crosses his fingers.

"thanks?"

"and if anything ever happens, i will be here." as i've always been, he thinks.

"right."

"and if he does anything weird, say 'ragnvindr' three times."

"what?"

there's no trace of mirth in diluc's expression, and everything he's stated thus far has been said with a straight face. you shiver a little.

"we are also closing, by the way."

"i thought you guys were open all hours of the day—"

"nope. goodbye, dear customer." diluc pauses a little when saying "dear," for he relishes in the sound, wondering when he'll be able to drop the "customer" part and call you only that. only "dear" and nothing else—with no strings attached, except for a red knot around both of your pinkies.

he cringes at the cheesy thoughts he's having.

"uh, diluc?" you call, getting ushered out of the tavern by his glare alone. "you do realize i'm not trying to get with kaeya, right? i feel like you're misunderstanding things."

"what?" this time, it's diluc's turn to be flabbergasted.

"i'm just asking for a friend. you know donna?"

he wonders if it's possible to disappear off the face of teyvat (again).

(but even then, he'd return to mondstadt for the sake of being with you. for the sake of existing in your presence.)

(because that's just the kind of man diluc is. the kind of man he becomes at the mere thought of you.)

"oh," is all he says.

"did you think i was interested in kaeya?"

"angel's share is open all twenty-four hours of the day," diluc states, ignoring your question.

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crstilia · 1 month

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contains: drabble, König x fem! nurse! reader

You hated the cold, more particularly you hated traveling to cold places. It was bullshit, honestly, you used to be stationed in a desert. Just a cute little nurse, practically surgically bound to her little fan.

That was until you were transferred. Some cold ass area. Snowed everyday, everyone there already accustomed to the shitty weather so never bothering with adjusting the temperature. Looking at you like you were the strange one for prioritizing your survival. Ohhh you hated it. And what you hated more was the smug ass colonel. Always snicker at your trembling form, inputting billing codes so you could go to your room by 5 PM.

"You are trembling, nurse." Speak of the devil. You'd scoff softly through your nose like an angered pup. Dropping back to flat of your foot when you noticed he had already grabbed what you were reaching for. Damn him and his colossal height.

"It is cold, colonel." Your hand reached out for the item he had in his hand; just a measly pack of papers for your shitty printer that could only hold up to 50 at a time. Your eyes narrowed just slightly when you noticed his hand tilted slightly higher, holding the papers above you. Your voice coming out much more annoyed than you intended, "May I have those papers, colonel?"

You could've grabbed a different one, sure, but who did this little asshole think he was? Stealing your paper?

"Hum, I do not know, schatz," König was honestly glad he opted to wear his mask indoors today, you couldn't his dog-ish grin under the old cloth. Maybe messing with the sweet lady who helped stitch you up when you were dying wasn't the smartest move; but König wasn't exactly the smartest man. To him, there was no pleasure better than pissing you off for another day.

You inhaled sharply and gave one more, pathetic hop to grab the paper from his raised hand. To no avail, of course. So you spun around and grabbed a different set and stomped off. The mere sight of it only made him release a very quiet chuckle.

You were his sweet little obsession of the year. Ever since you came you were so fun to tease and piss off. König had seen your little letters to transfer back to the other base. But he always put in word for you, vouched on how much he and his men need you. If keeping you just a little longer kept him entertained and you pissed off, what was the harm in a little more teasing?

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crstilia · 1 month

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Sundress Season

Summary: Summer is Ohio gets real hot, thankfully there's a new trend sweeping the nation... Folks are calling it sundress season. Arvin is calling it proof that God exists.

Warning(s): it's porn with plot y'all. Simple as that, ain't too dirty. PiV in the wilderness plus a truck that's literally it. Oh, background (hinted at?¿?) racism too.

Note(s): do any of y'all read the notes bc lol, the summary is a little clickbait-y, here's your warning now that not once does anyone say the words sundress season. This is 3.5k words!! What else, oh, go easy on me y'all haven't written smut in a bit AND shout-out to @cocoamoonmalfoy for helping me with the slang and constantly putting up with me sending her different version to read 🥰

Pastor Dan stands at his altar covered in sweat and glistening red robes. He moves unfazed by the heat that grips the rest of the church— Aunties in big ugly hats sit fanning themselves, one hand raised to praise weakly or they're dabbing sweat off their foreheads. Some mothers usually spend the service shushing their kids and keeping them in check doing nothin’ but sitting there bored because their wild kids have been tamed by heat.

Little girls with their frilly socks sit slump, sweating out their fresh perms and a part of you winces in sympathy for both the mothers and the girls. You don't miss those days— the smell of chemicals, blue grease, and an eternity spent between your mom's legs holding your ear down in a fleeting attempt not to get burned. You had long since gone natural, something you were starting to regret more and more as church drags on; your hair is sticking everywhere it shouldn't, your scalp completely drenched and the sweat only being caught by your eyebrows. You're downright miserable right now but the same can't be said for Arvin.

The man sits in jeans and a matching jacket, his cap secured firmly on his head. He doesn't seem to be paying attention to the service nor is he paying attention to his sister murmuring along with Pastor Dan in a whimsical tone to amuse his niece. His eyes seem to be roaming the room in faint amusement, not a bead of sweat gracing his skin and when he somehow senses you looking at him, his chestnut eyes jump to yours and he smiles something soft. Before his eyes drop down to your outfit and he snickers.

You are a grown woman. Sure, you still live with your mama but her house is big— you have your own room, your own car no matter how beat down it is and you got a job in the city that pays you a pretty penny. You are your own person, free to make your own choices, to do whatever you want but that all goes out the window when it comes to your mother and church. She had taken one look at your outfit, a pair of shorts and a tank top, and sent you back up to your room like you were a child and told you to change into that dress your grandma got for you two Christmas' ago. Said dress was a hideous shapeless length of orange fabric that hugged neither curve nor lump, it stops just above your knees, and a matching pair of ugly gloves that make your skin crawl just looking at them.

Your mama had said you looked beautiful when you came down the stairs but Arvin bit back a laugh every time he glanced at you. The bastard.

You stick your tongue out at the man and he barks out a laugh that makes Lenora jump in her spot. Just as she turns to nag him there's a loud thump then Pastor Dan's wife Katrina screams bloody murder. The music that was playing along to the pastor's service cuts short as the piano boy shoots to his feet and there's a burst of movement and more screaming. Your eyes snap over to the commotion, leaning over chairs to see past the suddenly standing members of the church to see what happened and… oh.

Cindy Prewitt, the main singer of the choir in all her pretty thick purple robes had passed out. Her piano boy is at her side in the instant, his gravelly voice heard over mothers reassuring their kids everything was okay; “Cindy, baby, are you okay?”

Pastor Dan dabs at his forehead with a cross embroidered handkerchief as he stares on, a frown on his face, “We have to end it here folks, I know–”

You don't hear much else because Cindy stirs and several people exclaim ‘hallelujah!’ or some type of; ‘God is good!’

Arvin has made his way over to you in all of this, his fingers interlocking with yours when he's sure no one is looking and he tugs you a bit closer to him, “Think we gonna head out. Heat's finally getting to Grandma and Lenora, you staying?”

You squeeze his hand in response, thinking before responding. You had rode here with your mother in her car and as much as you'd love to leave with her, you know she's gonna make it a point to stop and talk with everyone and their mother before taking a step out those doors. “I dunno… Your truck here?”

Arvin bobs his head a little, looking over by the altar where Cindy is now sitting up— a cup being pressed to her lips by her lover and he frowns just a bit but the grip on your hand grows a little tighter. “Mhm, Unc’ drove Lenora ‘nd them here. I just followed behind to come see you.”

Your heart does a little flip as you stare up at him. Your lips turn downward in some weak attempt to fight off the big grin growing on your lips, “You didn't have to come here for me, Arvin. I know you don't like church.”

Arvin shrugs and does the thing he does when he's starting to turn a bit bashful— his left cheek sucks in and you can see him chewing on it as he gives your hand another squeeze before pulling away and letting his voice drop into a whisper, “Well, I like you so…”

This time you don't fight the smile. “Arvin Russel, you're a true charmer.” Then, quickly you add; “Go wait for me in your car, it's better if we aren't—”

“Together, I know.” He clips, sighing. He takes off his cap and pushes all his hair back before shoving it back on his head. “See you.”

“See you, Arvin.”

†††

Arvin takes you home before he takes you anywhere else. He doesn't tell you to be quick or ask to come inside— he knows your mother has a nose of a bloodhound and would be able to sniff out the fact that he was there— he simply presses several quick kisses to your lips, groaning when you pull away and asks you to bring him out a glass of water when you're done.

So, you take the quickest shower known to man. You don't bother with shaving because Arvin has said multiple times that hair doesn't bother him, and you lather yourself up in sweet-smelling soap then hop out and slather yourself in a mix of cocoa butter and coconut oil. You twist your hair up and away from your face, put in cute little golden studs, and finally, you pull on a pretty blue sundress. Most girls in town wouldn't be caught wearing something so thin, even in this heat they'd have on their shorts that touched way past their knees or some dress that was much too thick for this weather. You spray one last spritz of perfume on you before bounding into your kitchen and grabbing two water bottles.

You're out of your house in under thirty minutes and when you open your front door, you see Arvin hastily stub out a cigarette and choke on the smoke that filled the cabin of the truck. He tries to fan the smoke with his cap before giving up and stumbling at his car with a guilty look, “Thought you'd take longer.” He coughs, a small puff of white smoke escapes his lips and he fans it away before it blows in your face looking sheepish. “Sorry, baby you look… look.. wow.” He clears his throat, lashes fluttering as he takes you in.

“That’s a good ‘wow’ right..?” You ask, pitching your voice higher in an attempt to make it sound like a joke but you hesitantly begin to pull at the fabric. “It might be a little… much but it's hot and it's not like—”

“Baby, y’look gorgeous.” He interrupts. He's turning bright pink just looking at you, his cheek sucking in as he shuffles foot to foot. “I ain't ever seen a prettier gal in all my life, just…wow.”

You smile lightly but still, you add; “It… it might be a little much for the creek–”

At this very moment, Arvin is glad he lives in a small town with the closest neighbor usually a mile away and hidden in Knockemstiffs’ nature. He's glad because he can pull you close without worrying about prying eyes and gossiping mouths to press a soft kiss to your lips. He smiles when you huff in annoyance but you kiss him back all the same, he's the first to pull away his hands falling to your waist pausing just a minute before he shakes off whatever thought that spawned in his head. “It's a date, darlin’. A shitty date I know but you're allowed to get all dolled up, you're allowed to look sexy if you want.”

You snicker, pressing another kiss to his lips then the corner of his lips then his chin before leaning back with an impish grin, “You think I look sexy?”

Arvin blinks down at you, a smile pulling at his lips.“I think we better get a move on before I drop to my knees right here and devour you.”

Your heart jumps and you swat at him, ignoring the heat that shoots straight to your core. Damn, you think, swatting at your laughing lover again, maybe it wasn't the best idea to go without underwear.

Dates with Arvin usually go one or two ways. The two of y'all were secret, something down low and private to keep you safe in a world full of small-minded folks. So, usually, Arvin would pack a basket full of food he and his grandma made, treats he snagged from the store, and drove you out somewhere deep into the wilderness where you both could be you. You could talk, eat, laugh, and pretend like you weren't sitting on some ratty old blanket but at the diner in town. But sometimes, life gets in the way. Arvin works, you work and sometimes when he's not working he's watching his niece while Lenora finishes up school and you'll be damned if you get in the way of that. So, sometimes, you both go days without seeing each other— weeks really where all you have are secret late-night phone calls and glimpses of each other in passing. Meaning when the both of you finally see each other again there isn't much talking.

No, it's spent in the back of Arvin's truck, clothes barely off and moaning and well, fucking like bunnies. You used to say it's a miracle you ain't pregnant, Arvin snorts at the idea and points out that no matter how hot and bothered he gets about you he'd never forget a condom.

It's been nearly a week since you saw Arvin in person, his presence at church had been a surprise but a rather bold statement to you. He missed you, missed you enough to suffer through church after all that happened last year. It's been three days since any secret phone calls and with the way Arvin is tugging you to the car, he's desperate for you. His driving shows the same— he all but speeds out to the creek, his hand securely on your thigh rubbing small circles into your flesh. It'd be almost sweet if you didn't know him if you didn't recognize the impatient tapping of his fingers on the wheel. Rarely, he's ever this horny and you help but want to tease him.

“I don't see the basket,” You start coyly letting your hand fall over his, “Are we gonna stop and pick something up before we head to the woods?”

Arvin's foot hits the brakes incredibly fast and you jerk forward but are kept from any harm when his hand flies up to stop you from going any forward. He apologizes first, quickly then blinks twice, “You wanna eat?”

“I could go for a bite.”

He looks at you then the woods you're both surrounded by almost incredulously. But, by the grace of all that is good, he doesn't complain about it, instead, he nods his head and puts the car in reverse, “Well, I'm picking what we eat this time, gonna be dark by the time we get back to the woods so might as well get something big and a lantern or somethin–” Your snickering causes him to pause and he glances away from the rearview mirror to look at you, “What's funny, Pretty girl?”

“You are.” You laugh, “I was just joking, Arvin. Ate before church ‘sides, I'm not an idiot. Figured we were gonna be out here the moment I saw you.”

He frowns just a bit, “Don’t say it like that baby. You know you're more than sex, right?” He pulls the car just a bit deeper into the woods. It's not the creek but it's close enough and hidden behind overgrowth, “I ain't bothered by going back and getting us some food and shit, we can just relax we don't–”

You raise an eyebrow, cutting him off, “I’m not wearing any underwear.”

There's a pause. Arvin stares at you, you stare at him— your eyebrows raising higher as he swallows down harshly before– “Fuck it.” He curses. He's unbuckling and out of his seat faster than you can blink and you burst out laughing as he scrambles at the car. He's a man on a mission, rounding the car to your side in under a second and your door is yanked open. “I’ll buy you a proper dinner on the way back, bigots be damned.”

Then he slams his lips onto yours, manhandling you till you're facing him with your legs spread and him in between them. You whine when one of his hands comes up to grasp at your throat and he tells you to shut up. You don't but he doesn't seem to truly mind as his tongue slides against yours— it's a messy kiss, you can feel spit slipping down your chin and your teeth clink against each other as the kiss grows more heated then– “Oh,” You gasp as he weasels a hand between your legs, it's a bit of muscle memory on his part, his pinkie and ring fingers settle heavily on your clit pulling it taunt as he positions himself closer to you. “Arvin–”

“Shut up,” He grumbles, kissing you stupid. He makes a show of sucking on your tongue before pulling away to kiss your nose, letting the hand on your throat drop to push your dress up to stare at your pussy, and lets out a low whistle. “Pretty girl…”

“You're the devil, Arvin.” You whine, trying to close your legs.

He keeps your legs open with ease, still eyeing your cunt like it's the prettiest thing in the world, and smiles with bright glinting teeth, “With you baby? All the time.” Then, he puckers his lips and bends down just a bit to spit on your pussy. A gasp of mild disgust leaves you and the man snickers, “Oh, that was disgusting but not all those times I stuck my tongue in ya?”

“At least let me take my dress off.” You huff, “It's new and I like it–”

“Mmm… I like it too. Be a good girl and keep it on for me,” He simpers then he tugs at the fabric around your stomach, “But pop your tits out, I like to watch when they bounce.”

“Arvin.” You hiss, swatting at his hands. “You oughta be nice to me when you're between my legs.”

Arvin only chuckles again but he does fix himself upwards to give you a proper soft kiss. You let him, of course, one of your hands carding through his hair. You hear him fumble with his belt, his knees hitting the side of your seat and causing the truck to rock and creak— Arvin lets out a choked groan when you bite his lip and he carefully pulls away to yank his pants down.

You let out the same whistle he did early, “Pretty boy.” You tease good-naturedly and you watch as his ears burn pink. You laugh and spread your legs a little wider as if to challenge him— there's a chill in the air that mixes oddly against the warm heat of your pussy and Arvin's spit but you try not to let it get to you as you watch your man curse and fumble with the condom. Arvin curses again when he finally gets the material over his flushed cock before closing the distance between you for a kiss.

“Y’know,” He starts, breathless as he rocks against you, sliding against your folds with barely contained eagerness, “You complain an awful lot about me being nice to you when being mean makes you wet.”

He doesn't let you get the chance of replying before he's pressing into you, stealing both your breath and any forming thought. His hands go to your waist holding you in place as he fucks into you. Your startled squeak turns into a sharp moan as you arch your back, meeting him thrust for thrust— “Oh fuck, Arvin.” You gasp and he lets out a concentrated hum, pressing a kiss to the side of your mouth. “Can you– fuck, can you –”

“I gotchu, baby.” He cuts you off with another kiss pulling you closer to his body with a hard thrust and you gasp and squirm— your ass is damn near hanging out of the car, your legs alternating between stabilizing yourself and quivering at your man's thrust. Arvin uses your new position to rearrange your dress some more; he pulls down your dress to your torso and pushes its bottom half up to meet it. “So damn pretty in this thing–” He grunts, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he pumps into you, fingers rubbing messy circles into your clit, “Shit, baby, need to– need to get you another, f-fuck–” He cuts himself off with a moan, “Love this pussy so much…”

When you cum it's sudden, a strike of lightning, a belt snapping— your legs give out and Arvin is quick to support your weight. He all but hauls your limp body up and out of the car, swallowing your moans and whimpers as he continues to snap his hips against yours chasing his high. He holds you easily, your legs barely touching the ground as he humps, his voice pitching into a needy whine to match your own, “Fuck baby, fuck fuck fuck– that's it, you take my dick so well, just a little more, just a little – fuck!”

Your back hits the side of the truck and the vehicle rocks with the movement as Arvin curls himself around your body— trembling fingers digging into your sides as he chases his release. The most you can do is hold on for dear life, taking what he gives and praising him in a soft tone that has him blinking back tears of pleasure. You cum a second time without much sound, just a low moan and your legs and cunt tightening around Arvin and it makes him let out a choked— “J-Jesus, fuck, I'm gonna cum, baby.” The truck rocks in tandem with his quickening thrust. Your hands grip his shoulders leaning forward, hiccuping as you kiss along his neck, and Arvin moans loud and needy, “Oh fuck, baby I'm– please, please I need to– I need to–”

Arvin doesn't finish his sentence before he's cumming. He nearly drops you as he does but instead, he presses you against the truck, panting as he holds you close. He whimpers when you squirm in his grasp but doesn't put up a fight as your feet touch the ground again. Still, he leans heavily against you, his arms tightly wound around your waist to keep you close. “Missed you.”

You snort lightly, pulling your dress back over your breasts, “Missed you too, Arvy. You need to sit down?”

He blinks slowly, “Mmm, nah. But c’mere–” As if he didn't just fuck you seven ways from Sunday, he picks you up— chuckling when you whine and rounds the truck to its bed and quickly opens it and has you sitting pretty on a blanket already set up back there. “This,” He starts after taking a deep breath and kissing you on your nose, “Is where I planned to have some fun but somebody thought it'd be funny to mess with me.”

“I ain't gonna apologize so stop looking at me like that.” You laugh and it brings a smile to his lips before his eyes drop down to your soiled dress. He gives the fabric a curious tug.

“Never seen you wear something like this, you said it's new?”

“Issa sundress.” You offer when he glances back up at you, “All the rage in the city and they're lightweight and good to wear in this heat. All the girls up there are wearing it.”

“Huh,” He breathes. He kisses you once, twice, then—

“Arvin!” You chide when his hands come up to grope at your tits.

It's safe to say, Arvin really likes sundresses.

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crstilia · 2 months