#(( the half and halves of two choices ))

[darckcarnival]

Unusual Muse Associations!

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~SPICE: Allspice berries + Mahlab Spice Complex sweetness makes allspice berries versatile, in both sweet and savory dishes- add ground allspice to Jamaican jerk rubs and stews, to spice cakes, cookies, and grilled fruits. Sweet, Savory. + These pits add an ultra-luxurious almond, nutty, and vanilla flavor with a slightly bitter after taste. Mahlab spice works with baked goods like pastries, bread, rice pudding, honey, and cheese desserts and is frequently found throughout Greece, Turkey, and Egypt. Both of these fit her style of cooking and personality.

~WEATHER: Clear skies after a rain + Sunny days in winter or Autumn The fresh dew on the ground, how the skies clear up after a storm has hit the land. The calming and clean after math of whatever comes, and is ready to be nurtured, or to be rescued from what remains. She comes in the storm, and will do her best to clean up the after math, won't shy away. With the snow, she was born in winter, loves it so, but the sunlight while the exact opposite of her nature as a creature, always looks so beautiful when bringing in that new day in the quiet season. Of course, autumn has always seemed fitting as well. The warmth of life wilting into hibernation, and Halloween.

~PRIMARY COLOUR: Shades of Purple This goes without saying, as purple has always been her sunglasses, and the vibrant pop against the rest of her lower tones. Purple can bring great fortune and luck, as well as an ominous warning when in its darker shades. A double meaning in it's tints, and depends on whom perceives such color. But for Darck she just has always loved it so. Purple is a lot of things. It’s mysterious. It’s magical. It can be playful, but it can also be reverent.

~COLOUR OF THE SKY: Sunsets, and Sunrise The way pastels of oranges and reds, fade into purples and blues, following the sun setting, offering the last rays of warmth before the calm night washes over the land. Bringing with it both rest and warning. Gorgeous colors that Darck loves to watch. But when the night sky erupts, showing the stars in the inky shades above, is much like tiny lights, or flecks of lost paints, that bring out the most of what she is and a gift unto the world. That it is still turning, still a new day will rise in the morn when Sunrise comes, to bring the vibrant colors once more into being.

~MAGICAL POWER: Shadow Step The power to manipulate shadows and darkness came at a cost, one that left lasting scars mentally and emotionally with everything that followed. But now, she relies on this deeply, moving about at impossible speed, ignoring blockades most of the time. And capable of using shadow as a weapon once solidified. Or as an extra limb, on the rare occasion, yet requires great focus.

~SHOE: High tops + Combat Boots Originally, Darck once wore black and white high top converse when relaxing and not out working, when younger. But when out in the world and needing to be ready for anything, Combat Boots with steel toe are the average shoe, always.

~HOUSEPLANT: Succulent + Lavender Succulents mean loyalty and endurance, timeless, love endless either friendship or romantic. Trustworthy and unshaken no matter the drought, a type of cactus but smaller. Lavender flowers represent purity, silence, devotion, serenity, grace, and calmness. As well as the purple hue bringing an air of elegance to it. But can also use this plant for medicine and tea, to both heal you and welcome you.

~BLADE WEAPON: Dagger Darck always has an old Romanian dagger on her person as a blade of choice. It's longer than a combat knife, but just as swift and deadly, this object meant to never be broken. The one weapon she can always fall back on should it stay in her hand, and tied with her family ancestry.

~SCHOOL SUBJECT: Science, History, P.E. As much as she is a woman good with words and understanding other quickly, one might think English. But no, she has always loved different science classes! So very many and she paid close attention as well when a kid. Combine that with her excitement into all sorts of history, the two subjects always go hand in hand. And both have followed Darck into her adult hood and has even helped work in her favor on missions or knowing situations. Of course, P.E. goes without saying, she was always incredibly active and physically interested in things. Since being changed into half vampire, this fact became key.

~SOCIAL MEDIA: ?????? She'd not have a lot of anything. Maybe an untagged youtube account, without any connection to her real name, and a couple email accounts. But things like twitter? Nah, she uses ghost accounts to keep an eye on things, but otherwise she doesn't exist. A ghost in the machine.

~MAKEUP PRODUCT: Foundation and Concealer While she does not wear make up in general, almost never unless special occasion calls for the need- then these two products she will use more commonly if needed. Because it can cover up the darker circles under her eyes when it's demanded, or can hide the odd scars around her skin and neck. Making less questions when needing to hide them.

~CANDY: Elderberry Jam While it technically does not count as candy, in this case for how she eats it, it does. Darck loves Elderberry items in general, loves all of them, but jam specifically she will put a spoon in and eat straight. It's... A comfort food, and a reminder of better days. Hold over from humanity and younger years.

~ICE CUBE SHAPE: Crushed Easier to mix with, and smaller bits to put into things. As well as an easy way to work out frustration, by crushing ice in her hand, or biting down and crunching it, and letting it melt, the cold temp cooling her off. Helps a lot when needing to work in hotter climates.

~ART STYLE: Sketched Lines, Carvings Sketches of people and places to compare things, and keep close always, if photos fail. As well as making carvings and smaller gifts or engravings, just to give others.

~MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: Gryphon + Dragon Grphons, with the body of a lion, the wings and head of and eagle; representing the kings of both animals and the birds. They may also bear the ears of a horse. Known for guarding, protection, and loyalty, griffins are protectors from evil, slander, and witchcraft as well. Some symbolism depicts both the divine and the human. ​In heraldry, griffin stands for courage, leadership and strength. Pictured as fierce, they have gained respect over ages too. A Dragon can mean both good and bad in equal measure, with a similar spirit animal and spirit guide being found in the fierce and protective Lion. Dragon's often times are depicted as destructive, territorial, cunning, and dangerous by it's enemies. Capable of bringing about great pain and sorrow. But for an ally, the Dragon can be protective, representing hoards of what it holds dear, and a deep wisdom for survival and an apex predator. A valiant protector and violent towards its enemies.

~PIECE OF STATIONARY: Writing paper, Letters Papyrus, printer paper, freshly written letters to be sent, typewriters and ink ribbons- anything for writing. As that has been Darck's go to of her open original communication with friends and loved ones when trapped, or too scared and shy to show herself in some instances. A safety net, to still communicate. And even to this day when able to be in person, still with this method come into play, often leaving notes and letters for others.

~THREE EMOJIS: 🦇🕶☕️

~CELESTIAL BODY: Moon + Pluto Moon: emotion The moon is also not a planet by scientific measures—but in astrology, it functions similarly as an influential celestial body. In this case, it reflects our emotions, senses, instincts, intuition, and unconscious selves, says Lang. Pluto: rebirth While it may not be scientifically classified as a planet anymore, Pluto plays a similar role within the astrology space—in this case ruling over regenerative forces in the body, death, and rebirth, says Lang: “It relates to the deep psychological aspect of ourselves and the unconscious.”

Tagged by: @megalomanist

Tagging: You! Steal it from me and tag me.

[thistaleisabloodyone]

Dearest CL Live,

If you are going to subtitle a two part video, please pick the same language for both parts.

Love,

An English speaker who can only watch the second half of a series of videos that you chose to subtitle in Korean (part 1) and English (part 2)

[favvn]

You know what else drives me crazy about The Naked Time? This exchange:

It isn't just because of Spock saying, "Jim, when I feel friendship for you, I am ashamed" or "Understand, Jim. I've spent a whole lifetime learning to hide my feelings." Although, that absolutely is part of it, the fact that Spock is locked into his regret over not telling his mother he loved her and his shame at realizing that, despite all his work to adhere to Vulcan principles, he still feels love. It's that gap between duty versus desire, between expectations versus wants, and what remains in spite of the pressure. (I realize his words parallel a love confession in any other context, between any heterosexual couple, and that fandom looks to his shame as a confirmation of internalized homophobia, but the biggest issue for Spock is that love, sorrow, shame--all powerful emotions--still exist for him. He is not a Vulcan if he feels these emotions and gives into them. He is only a half-Vulcan and half-Human, caught between worlds and the judgments and expectations of two very different societies.)

It's because Kirk changes his phrasing of "We've got to risk a full-power start!" to, "We've got to risk implosion!" Implosion, like many words, holds multiple meanings. The intended meaning is "a violent collapsing inwards," the opposite of explosion. But implosion can mean integration, a coming together towards a single center point. We've got to risk coming together. We've got to risk integration. And Spock responds, "It's never been done." They repeat these lines twice. Repetition is a device to call attention in writing. Why have Kirk say they have to risk a full-power start twice before only to change it to implosion and repeat it twice? The two phrases mean something different, but it's important enough to bear repeating. (One could argue it is sloppy writing, or perhaps a case of actors failing to remember their lines, but what are the odds it was either of those, especially with someone as thoughtful as Leonard Nimoy. Either a writer is a professional who understands the power of words, or everything is somehow coincidental, holds no actual meaning, and writers don't think carefully about word choice and meaning, especially in an era where nuance can make or break a story on the screen.)

In the 1960s, during the time of the Hays Code, of course, two men couldn't be together as a couple on TV or in film, not even in space, in a time set centuries beyond our present. But damn if the dialogue can not hint at it, dance around it in plain sight. Again, Kirk and Spock's relationship must exist in the margins, between the lines, encased in nuance and multiple meanings, because to use explicitly clear phrasing would mean it all gets cut.

Hence, this bit of dialogue. The slaps become Spock catching Kirk's hand and holding it steady--direct sustained contact, a coming together, implosion. Spock is torn between regret and shame and love, while Kirk shouts about the ship being destroyed and ending the lives of the crew, their shared duty to the ship. The dialogue is Spock's turmoil writ large--do what must be done, accept two separate halves becoming a whole (is it Spock's two halves or Kirk and Spock? I'll leave that up to you), or remain apart and give into despair. But Kirk tells him their only chance is to risk implosion, to come together, and they have to take that chance.

[hidden-poet]

Commander Snow; 7

Commander Snow

Summary; Under the advice of Dr Gaul Coriolanus returns back to district 12 where without blinding light of lucy-grey he could see you.

Warnings; dead dove to do not eat, stalking, unrequited love, breeding kink, violence, possessive!Snow, unco/dubco, sexual content, she/her pronouns, explicit, violence, death.

Editor: @hotline-to-hell

chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

chapter 8

Coriolanus threw himself back into his work upon returning to the compound. It meant he was gone early before you woke up but he made an effort to return home for dinner. He was adamant that at least one meal had to be eaten together. 

You would take walks often together to get some fresh air, leaving the dishes to soak in the sink after dinner. 

There was not much to look at in the Compound. Makeshift tents and metal sheds with big locks. Everything was dull, with the colors matching the small gray rocks that formed the roads amongst it.  

Only the men running around in their light blue peacekeeper uniforms offered a break from the monotone of it all. 

You watched them as Coriolanus led you through the compound by your hand. They would never make eye contact as they went about their work. But it didn't bother you. The isolation imposed by Coriolanus grew on you. You had gotten so used to only ever talking to Coriolanus, that you weren't sure you could hold a conversation with anyone else. 

He pulls you gently out of the way of an oncoming truck and takes you down a quitter path. 

"You never ask about your mother," he comments as the noise quietens.  

You remain quiet as if you didn't hear him. 

''She never visits," he continues, "You never ask to visit her." 

You feel your heart rate rise. Surely that has not tipped him off that your mother was safe out of his reach. 

"Why would she visit? She thinks you want to kill her. And I know she is fine and even if she wasn't, you would lie." 

A loud clanging sound turns his attention behind him, to where a large metal sheet had slipped off a pile onto the ground. 

"Would you let me visit her if I asked?" 

He turns his attention back to you as the embarrassed Peacekeepers scramble to put the metal sheet back on the bed of the truck.  

You wondered if this was your chance to escape. A pass for a day trip to see your mother turning into your disappearance. 

"We could go tonight if you wanted," he offered, but the choice of “we” made you reconsider your plan. He wouldn't let you go alone, and you couldn't let him see the empty house.

"No," you state, "I’m tired tonight." 

He hums in response. "Let's turn back." 

You circle back to your starting place. The walk was halved by your comment. The water in the sink would still be warm. 

As you walk up the steps to the apartment you turn back to gaze at the far bins. Your freedom was just behind them but despite only being half a yard away, you were stuck in your chains. 

With Coriolanus so close and so fast, you enter back into your prison willingly.  

You start the dishes, scrubbing the pans free from their grease while making plans for your escape. Edmund would return tomorrow night if you weren't at the house. But the keys seemed impossible to get. 

Coriolanus was clingy. He seemed hyper-aware of your movements. He somehow knew when you were faking sleep and when you had actually succumbed to it.  The only way he would sleep was when he knew you were. 

You would wake too late to an empty bed and a bedside table void of any keys. Even if you got the keys, it would take ages for you to figure out which one it was. They all looked the same. 

As if he could sense your thoughts, Coriolanus came up behind you, taking your throat into his large hand, keeping you from moving as he grazed and nipped at your neck. 

"I have to do the dishes," you complain. 

''So do them." The hand from your hip reaches between your legs and slides up your dress. 

You jolt but his firm hold keeps you still. 

His hand goes to where you presumed they would, under the elastic band of your underwear. 

"Stop," you command, wrapping your wet hands around his assaulting arm. 

He bites harshly at your neck from your rejection, causing you to wince at the pain. 

"Worry about the dishes." 

He only inserts one finger as he tries to elicit a response from you.

"Dishes," he repeats as you don't move. 

You obey and pick up the sponge again, attempting to distract yourself with them. 

His lips continue to suck and bite as you scrub the cutting board. It's uncomfortable at first as his dry finger intrudes upon your dryness. 

He kicks your feet apart to get better access. The feeling intensifies between your legs and you feel yourself unintentionally getting wet. 

He inserts two fingers, feeling you pool, twisting and curling his fingers inside you. You throw the chopping board on the drying rack and pick up a plate. When his index finger drags your wetness up, it drops from your hands.  

"I think you missed a spot," he taunts. You don't pick it up again, distracted by the tingling sensation, but he reinserts his finger and curls it harshly to tell you to continue. 

Once the plate was clean and you were beginning on your second, he rewards you by coming up and massaging your pearl. 

You yelp, gripping the counter of the sink as you try and move your hips away. 

The hand gripping your throat moved to your wrist forcing them back into the water, before returning to ensure that he still had free access to your throat. The water from his hands dripped down over you. 

You washed the dish but your focus wasn't enough to tell if it was clean enough. 

He stops his circling and uses the two fingers to rub along your wet lips. The lack of friction was an unwelcome change. 

You pick up a kitchen knife, attempting to wash it but it is yanked out of your grip and thrown back onto the counter. His hand returns to your neck with a tightened hold as he focuses on leaving red and sore marks, all while his fingers run up and down. 

"Coriolanus. Stop." You choke out. 

He inserts the two fingers but refuses to move them. 

You cry out as he bites into your flesh, sucking and grazing the spot just where your neck ends and your collarbone begins. 

It gave him a sense of satisfaction as you try and wiggle your neck away. 

Your wet hands wrap around the wrist that encircles your neck. You could feel him hard against you as he took a step back, taking you with him. 

It was a mercy when he moved his fingers once more, pumping in and out. His lips were no longer at your neck but ghosting behind your ear as you stood, locking your own hands around his wrist. 

You could feel your stomach form the same knots that you felt the first night he came for dinner. Half of you didn't want him to stop, knowing the release that was about to occur. 

His fingers push harshly up and with force, he circles your pearl once more. A strangled moan makes its way from your throat as the knots from your stomach loosen out. 

He pushes you back towards the sink and you grip the edges of it as you pulse around his fingers. 

The moment passes and you are left breathing heavily, leaning over the sink. You take the sponge back and begin to wash the same dish as if his actions meant nothing. But your head spun, and you felt so spent the sponge was weak in your hand. 

His fingers intertwine with yours under the water and he presses them against the side of the sink together as he rests his head against your back. 

You were grateful for the moment of silence to collect yourself. 

"I am going to take a shower." He states, releasing you. 

You retain your composure until you hear the bathroom door shut, immediately slumping over the sink.

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

Coriolanus wanted to fuck you, that was no secret. But he hadn't earned it yet.  A woman such as you deserved to be laid in more than just a Commander's bed. It was old and reused from the last Commander. 

He wanted you surrounded by riches, in the comfort of a brand-new Capitol bed. He wanted to be more than a Commander of this scummy district. When he fucked you, he wanted you to have a sense of pride about who was above you. President of Pamen, or just about. 

He had not earned the right in any manner. But one day soon, he would. 

Coriolanus was a man of restraint and strategy. But as he watched you make beds and iron clothes, he yearned for that intimacy that only sex could offer.   

He wanted to lay naked in your arms and be held by you. It felt as if only then would all the thoughts in his head stop. 

You were stingy with your love. Coriolanus had not earned it. But when he became 

President, how could you deny him his reward then? He would have exceeded everyone's expectations of him: Dr. Gaul, Grandma'am, Tigris, all of his Academy classmates. 

The goal was good for him, it motivated him to work harder and longer. It reminds him of his Academy days when the only thing on his mind was the Plinth Prize. 

His mind needed a goal to fixate on. The presidency was all well and good but came with its own problems. The reward laid in the long awaited esteem from those who doubted him, or in your case, ran from him. 

He would prove to them all that Snow always lands on the very top. 

He would prove to you that he is a man worthy of your attention and care.

But he had pressing matters to deal with. He felt as if you teased him all day long. He went to sleep hard as a rock most nights. He offered you release anytime you wanted it, but you never gave him the same courtesy. 

It interfered with his work. He thought about visiting the District call girls but the thought made him sick. Why should he do that when he had you? He had you. Tucked away in his apartment. Ready for him. He just needed to take.

He grabbed the letter that came for you days ago from his desk and made his way back to his apartment. He was self-conscious of his hard-on as he walked through the compound and readjusted his pants. 

The sight of the apartment felt like water after a long day in the sun. He took the steps two at a time before regaining himself at the doorway. He couldn't look desperate. 

You jump up from the couch as he enters, surprised to see him. 

"What are you doing home?" you ask. 

His heart flutters at the usage of 'home'. 

"Delivering mail."

He holds the letter up in the air, tempting you. 

“From your brother.”

You hold your hand out for it but he keeps it high. 

“I’ll trade you for it.” 

You doubted he would want any personal keepsake of yours. You could see the hunger in his eyes. 

You turn back away from him to the couch but he grabs your wrist to keep you. It was an act of desperation that he scolded himself for. 

“We can trade the letter for dinner.” 

He places your caught hand upon his belt. And your hand stills. 

You wondered if you really had a choice. He would just keep taking things away until you submitted. But Edmund would be here tonight to release you. Could you get away with resisting? 

You wondered what the letter would say. You were sure it was full of written anxieties from your brother. Could you use the Commander's desperation to your advantage? Your fingers curl around the belt buckle as you think. 

He leans back against the counter with the letter still in his hand. 

He was desperate. You could see it from the way he clenched the countertop. 

“I want to write a letter back.” You demand as you undo his belt. 

Coriolanus nods hastily. It gave you a thrill of power. 

With the belt unbuckled, you weren't sure what to do next. 

He helps you by pulling his pants down to his ankles. 

"On your knees,” he instructs. 

It gives you a direction on what he wants, so you sink down and open your mouth. 

You pull back at first but will yourself to give it another go.

His taste was nothing new to you. He lets out a shaky breath as you finally put him in your mouth. 

“Go slow,’’ he demands and you try your best to accommodate. 

His length hits the back of your throat causing you to pull off. He grunts in dissatisfaction but allows you to come back at your own pace. His face reads of his annoyance. His features turned to stone, and his jaw locked in place.

But he showed mercy by not forcing you back and keeping his hands wound around the counter. 

Now knowing your limit, you go as far as you can before coming back again. It was enough for Coriolanus, who threw his head back and allowed you to take charge. His hips bucked slightly the more worked up he got, but with free movement of your head, you could adjust to his movements. Compared to your other experiences, this one was slightly bearable. 

Having been pent up for weeks, the feeling of your wet mouth upon him had him coming quickly. He slaps the countertop with his hand as he comes into your mouth, only stopping when you have stopped moving completely, having taken his full load. You spit it out on the ground that you had just washed. 

He remains leaning against the counter as he catches his breath. In no rush to give you what was promised. 

You yank the letter from his hand, seeing that it was already open. It read angry. The pen was pressed harshly into the paper, the ink spilled all over the page. 

The letter was not addressed to you. It opened with “bastard”. 

Archie had promised to kill Snow. You had only called him Coriolanus in your correspondence, so you knew it wasn't only your letter that was delivered. 

‘Don't take anything from him,’ the letter read to you. ‘I am coming home to you. I am so sorry. I never should have left. I'll be there soon, stay hidden with Mum.’ 

You turn to Coriolanus with anger, "What did you do?"

He stood in the kitchen, fully dressed again. 

"I introduced myself." 

"As Commander Snow?" you seethe. 

''As your man. Your letter made it seem as if I was a friendly neighbor."

“You son of a bitch. Archie-"

"He'll kill me, yes I know. I read it." 

"Archie will kill himself! And it will be your fault!" 

"His life or his death, I can't imagine which is worse." 

You slapped him for the way he spoke about your brother and instantly regretted it. 

Within a second, he had you slammed against the fridge with his hands around your throat. The hold presses against the bites from the previous day. 

"Get off of me,” you demand. The bites upon your neck felt like fire as he pressed on them. 

He doesn’t move and you bring your hand across his face once more. He remains unmoved by your action and you attempt again. This time he catches it in a painful hold and twists your wrist away from his face. 

You shout from the pain but he doesn’t release you. 

With a harsh shove against the countertop, the strain on your wrist is gone. 

He looks at you as you nurse your wrist and feels a pang of guilt. He thinks of someone saying something about Tigris. He surely would have killed them.  

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about your brother. I didn’t mean it.” 

He did mean it, but he loved your devotion to your family. You both shared the same values, he shouldn’t be training you out of them.

It wasn’t Archie’s fault he was born District, but to die District would be beyond pathetic.

Even the Plinths made it out, and when Coriolanus was stripped of his Capitol-born rights, he too fought to make it out of District 12. Archie had only swapped one district for another. It was pitiful at the very least and embarrassing at the most. 

But he was your brother, whom you loved, so Coriolanus will watch his tongue around you. 

“Are you alright? Do you need some ice?” He reaches out to inspect your wrist but you yank yourself away from him. 

“Don’t touch me.” 

“I want to help you.” It was the first time he had hurt you for something that wasn’t your fault. It made him feel terrible. He wasn’t a violent man, only a man capable of violence. He didn’t want you to think he was against you. 

“Go away.” You push past him to get to the bedroom, where you slam the door behind you. 

He goes back to his office to let you cool down. He apologized, what more did you want? 

—------------

You wait by the window for Edmund. You felt foolish that you failed to get the keys. But since the Cabin, Coriolanus has harbored a quiet distrust of you. Every extra precaution was taken. You had learned that a 15-minute window of time opened just before Coriolanus normally finished for the day. Everyone was trying to avoid the path of the Commander as he made his way to his apartment. It was a blessing that he was so avoided, it gave Edmund a chance to appear. 

You saw his shadow approaching with something large in his hands. 

He calls out to you and you are quick to answer. 

"Are you okay?" he asks. 

"I'll be better once you open the door," you admit. Your wrist still hurts from the afternoon. 

He asks you to stand back away from the door, and you take three steps back. 

You hear a loud banging noise, the sound of wood cracking but no spring of the door. 

You felt as if you might throw up from the anxiety. He was causing so much noise, surely someone was going to hear it. 

He curses but tries again. 

You place yourself by the window to see what he was doing. He was trying to pry open the door with a large crowbar. It cracked the wood and left enough damage that the door would jiggle but not open. 

A building light flicks on down the road. You can see a shadow of a man as he searches for something before his body appears in front of the doorway. 

A flash of light jiggled as it made its way across from the Compound. 

"Edmund, someone is coming," you warn. 

He ignores you, continuing with the door. 

"Edmund, you have to leave!"

"We won't get another chance." With more force, he tries to pry open the door. 

You can see the light getting brighter as it approaches. 

"He'll move me. So long as I am not trapped here, I can make my way through the fence". 

"You were wrong last time." 

"Edmund if you die, I'll never get out of here. Wait for me at home. I can make it, I know it". 

He grunts as the crowbar slips from the door. Looking over his shoulder, he realizes that he isn't going to get it open in time. 

"I won't know where you are!" he cries. 

"Don't come back. Just wait for me. There will be an opportunity". 

Edmund could hear the footsteps on the gravel. He had to leave now. 

"Go," you encourage him. 

He climbs down the railing, dropping to his feet and hiding in the darkness before the man reaches the steps. 

A Peacekeeper examines the door before speaking into his communicator. A large siren sounded through the compound filling you with dread. They were locking the place down with Edmund inside. 

"Miss?" the Peacekeeper knocks on the window, "Are you okay?"

You knew as soon as that man spoke into his communicator, Coriolanus knew of the events. 

Could you take cover for Edmund? Tell Coriolanus that it was you who did the damage. No. The damage was on the outside. 

Could you start a fire and tell him that it was a peacekeeper trying to break down the door to release you? But why would the peacekeeper run? He would surely press to find out who it was. 

You wished that sound would stop so you could think. All you could hear was the siren, ringing through your head. 

"Miss?" the Peacekeeper asks again. 

“Yes. Fine.” you dismiss. You could feel your heart in your throat. 

The Peacekeepers were quick on their feet. In two minutes, swarms of them combed through with their guns raised. Coriolanus was close behind, you could hear him running up the steps past the Peacekeeper. 

He unlocks the broken door, leaving the keys in the keyhole as he rushes over to you. 

He takes the back of your neck and presses it into his chest, using the other hand to press against your back. 

"What happened? Are you alright?" 

"She's fine, sir. I was ensuring the assailant didn't come back." the Peacekeeper spoke out of turn. 

Coriolanus let go of you to take hold of the man's shirt and pushed him against the wall. 

"What was he doing here in the first place? Where were you?" 

"I don't know, sir. I was in my office. It's really the patrolls fault." The man looked like all the blood had rushed from his face. 

Coriolanus throws the man out the door by his shirt. He lands harshly on the ground.

"I want him found," he demands. 

The peacekeeper nods his head and rushes to get up and away. 

Coriolanus turns back to you and you expect harsh treatment but his hands softly cup your face. 

"Did you see what he looked like?"

You knew it wouldn't take much for Coriolanus to figure out it was Edmund, so you lie and pray it doesn't get anyone into trouble. 

"He was short. Long dark hair. I don't know, it was dark and I was scared." 

He pulls you back to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of your head. 

"If you're ever in danger, you hide, okay?" 

You had tried that but he found you within days. 

"I didn't know if you were okay, " he spoke softly. You almost didn’t hear him.

Peacekeepers shout and you jump thinking that they have caught Edmund. You tear free of Coriolanus and rush out to see that the men are fighting over a flashlight. 

Your relief came out in a sob. You silently beg for Edmund to be okay. The anxiety of him being found poured out from your eyes in the form of tears. 

It was a good display for Coriolanus, who thought you were crying out of trauma from your supposed break-in. 

He takes you by the shoulders and leads you back inside. 

"You're safe. We'll find him," he promises. 

With his hold, he presses you back against his chest. 

He kisses you and you sob against him.  Your lips part against his as you croak out a cry. 

"Shh, it's okay,", he presses your face back against his shoulder to collect the tears. 

You will yourself to stop. Edmund was safe, they hadn't caught him, he must be beyond the fence line by now. 

You settle with three big breaths and Coriolanus pulls away to look at you. 

"Okay?" he asks softly brushing away your tears. 

"Yeah," you sigh, bringing your hands up to rub your eyes. 

You pull away from Coriolanus as three Peacekeepers arrive at your door. They carried large cases and were dressed in protective gear. 

Coriolanus takes your hand in his and gives a nod to his Peacekeepers, giving them the go-ahead to begin their work. 

“Who are they?” You ask, watching one man run a blue light across the surface. 

“Forensic crew.” 

Panic rushes back up but you shove it down. Edmund hadn’t touched the door. Only the railing as he jumped but many others had covered his prints with their own since then. 

You feel his hand take yours in a possessive hold. 

He leads you down the steps and through the sea of Peacekeepers.

Officers with sniffer dogs pass you. You reassured yourself, it was nothing Edmund couldn’t handle. 

He leads you to his office. It was dark and soulless. 

Closing the door behind you, he turns to you once more, trapping your head between his hands, and forces a kiss upon your lips. 

The kiss spoke of his anxiety; it was needy and possessive. 

You try to pull back but he follows the distance you try to separate. 

You try to speak his name to warn him to get off you, he sees it as an opportunity to capture your tongue. 

When he does pull off, you turn your head quickly.

“You’re okay,” he comments. 

“I am okay.” Wrapping your hands around his wrists you gently pull him off from around your head. 

He goes to kiss you again but you are too quick for him. 

“Do you have any water?” you direct. 

He pauses with his head half-bent to your height. 

“Yes. I’ll go get some.” 

With a gentle touch to your shoulder, he leaves you in his office alone. 

You think about making a run for it while the coast was clear but with the Peacekeepers searching, you wouldn't make it to the fence without detection. Tonight you had little chance of escaping, tomorrow was the better option. 

The large office was eerie. The paper he was working on was thrown to the ground in his hurry. You asked yourself why you were picking it up but your nature just called for it. You looked after people. You never thought it would become your downfall.

He returns as you straighten his desk. The sight causes him to smile. 

“I thought you might be hungry.” He holds up a military packet of savory biscuits. They were used for long journeys where fresh food was hard to come by. 

Unscrewing the lid, he passes you the bottle and places the biscuits on the desk.

“I am not. Thank you.” The anxiety of the night ate away at your stomach. Even if Edmund got beyond the fence you were sure that Peacekeepers had been sent beyond the compound. Still, you had faith. He was smart and knew District 12 well. He would be okay, but only if you could manage not to blow his cover. 

Coriolanus unbuttons his Commander's coat with his long fingers. 

“Of all the places I thought you would have been safe, the Commander's apartment was my first choice.” 

“I was safe,” you contend, “He didn’t get through the door.” 

“How did he get in?” Coriolanus sighs, “Another hole in the fence?” 

He was talking to himself but you felt the need to interject. 

“His clothes looked torn. Maybe he climbed over top.”

He looks at you like you said something incredibly stupid. With the fence being 12 feet tall and wrapped in barbed wire, it properly was.

Coriolanus takes your shoulders into his hands, bending down slightly to your height. 

“I don’t want you to worry about this. It won’t happen again.”

You place the water bottle down on the desk too hard, “I am not worried, and I am not hungry. I am fine.” 

He takes your hand in his and pulls you along to the couch. 

“We’ll sleep here tonight. They won’t be done until late.”

You couldn’t escape anyway. It didn’t matter where you slept. 

You sink into the soft material of the couch. Another one sat directly opposite against the wall. Given the small space, it would be logical that you take one and Coriolanus would take the other but you knew he was going to want to share. 

He bends down and begins to unlace your boots for you.

“Do you often wear boots in the apartment?” He throws the boot over his shoulder, eyeing you suspiciously. You knew the answer was no, you don’t wear your boots in the apartment. They hurt your feet after long periods of use. Coriolanus also knew this. He would trip on them coming home, or accidentally step on your bare toes with his big boots as you maneuvered away from him.

“I wanted to be ready for our walk,’’ you lie. 

He seems to buy it, rising from his spot with no harsh motions. 

Instead, he rubs his hand across his face. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you this afternoon, and I didn’t mean for you to be bait for zealous rebels.” 

“Coriolanus, I don’t want to talk about this right now.” 

“I want to talk about this. When I got the alert today, all I knew was the door had been broken, I didn’t know if they had gotten in. If you were safe.” 

“Well, I am so…”  

“And if you weren’t?” He pauses for a second before continuing, 

“I’ve lost many things in my life, I won’t lose you.” 

The promise sounded like a threat upon your ears. 

Edmund had emasculated Coriolanus today. Made him feel as if he looked inadequate in your eyes. He was determined to prove himself to you. That he could and would, protect you better from now on. 

“Nothing happened,” you spoke slowly and softly to him. 

“I don’t want you to think I can’t protect you.” 

“I don’t.” 

Coriolanus sits down beside you on the couch. 

“There’s paper on my desk you could use if you wanted to write that letter to your brother. Write one to your mother too.  I’ll mail them tomorrow with a few panems. Would you like that?”

Protecting you meant protecting your family too. 

Nodding your head, you take his invitation and take a blank piece of paper off his desk. He follows you off the couch and offers his office chair to sit in. Several pens were thrown around the desk, you pick up the black pen closest to you and begin to write as Coriolanus puts away files that he was done with. 

The paper had the national Panem letterhead, it distracted you while you penned your letters. You wrote the first one to your brother, telling him to keep a cool head. Everything was under control. He must be grateful to be out of the mines. People disappeared all the time up in the mountains. You heard news that two miners went missing and were yet to be found. You were happy he was in District 8. He must stay there. Your family was always worried when he went to work in the morning, now everyone knew where he was: Safe in District 8. There was no need to come back, only to remain where you knew he was safe. All his friends from the mine wish him well and take turns in looking after mother. You finish by telling him to stop being so stubborn and take the money to look after himself. 

The second letter to your mother was shorter and superficial. She wasn’t home to collect it. It just needed to appear like she was.

Coriolanus reads over your letters before sealing them with an official seal and a few coins. He leaves them on his desk to mail tomorrow. 

You could still hear the Peacekeepers outside the window. Their vans and heavy boots and hard way of talking. 

They still hadn’t found Edmund. You could sleep now knowing they weren’t going to. 

For a few more hours, you remain up with Coriolanus. He talks of his family back home. How Tigris quit her job and now could focus on her designs. She was going to send you a few new dresses. You learned he called his grandma, ‘Grandma’am’ due to her upper-class upbringing. He talked about how she would dress Coriolanus like a doll, pre-war, and show him off to her friends. She grew roses of all colors. He was surprised to learn that you had never seen a rose. 

“I suppose you wouldn’t have.” District 12 was bare and colorless. There was no place for fine roses amongst the suffering. The Snow penthouse is full of them, he says. Replaced daily with fresh ones. 

When there was a lapse in his talking, you suggest that perhaps it was a good idea to catch a few hours of sleep before he was woken with news of the capture. In framing the suggestion for his benefit, he was much more agreeable. 

He takes off his white t-shirt and pants, leaving him in his underwear before joining you on the couch. He needed to feel your warm skin against his after today. Despite not deserving it. 

You are pressed between the back of the couch and Coriolanus. He looked to be sleeping but you could tell from his breathing he wasn’t. 

The silence shared between you was interrupted by your gnawing question.

“Did you find what you were looking for out in the woods?”

“No. But the trip did give me closure.” 

“Will we have to go again?” you wonder. 

“No. It’s in the past now. The future is all that matters.” 

The future for him was the Capitol. Where he would prosper and you would wither. 

“I can’t go to the Capitol, Coriolanus,” you whisper. You were hoping he would realize it and set you free of his own accord. You could part as estranged friends.

His eyes shoot open to look at you. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he whispers back, “Everything is going to be okay. I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

You could appreciate that his words were supposed to be comforting but what good were his promises? They were nothing you could truly trust. 

His lips hit the bottom of your chin in a quick peck. 

You wondered if he could feel the wetness of your cheeks from where he lay. 

“You’re my girl, I wouldn’t let any harm come to you. You’ll see, you’ll love the Capitol.” 

Your answer was given when he wiped away a running tear from your cheek. 

“We will turn our back on District 12. The Capitol is our future.” 

You nod in the hope of getting him to stop talking. It works, and the silence returns.

He wraps his arms around you as you sleep. You wrap your hand around his dog tags. It felt as if your brother's courage was radiating off it. You would survive Commander Snow. 

 You wake the next day with Coriolanus’s Commander coat on top of you. Coriolanus sat at his desk writing a letter. His ears pick up on your movement. And he rises himself to see you sit up on the couch. 

“Good morning.” he greets, getting up himself. 

He flicks the leftover coffee from his cup into his waste bin and refills it from the streaming pot. 

You watch him walk over to you with it in his hands.

 “Here,” he says, carefully passing you the cup. 

“Did they find him?” You take the cup but not a sip. 

“No. But they are still searching.” 

Your heart bounced up from its anxiety. 

“Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. It was probably a young boy searching for food. I had dinner ready, he could properly smell it.” 

Coriolanus begins to pace in front of you. 

“I am going to make an example out of him. Make sure everyone in the Districts thinks about starving to death before entering the Compound.”

“A hungry child is no need for alarm.” 

“What if he had gotten through the door? These Districts are animals. He would have hurt you.” 

Coriolanus cringes at his words, “I didn’t mean you. You are not an animal.” 

“Yes, you did.” You rise from the mattress. 

“No. I didn’t.” he grits. 

“You treat me like an animal. Sit, eat, stay.” 

“I don’t want to fight with you.” he dismisses you with a wave of his hand. 

You had no interest in arguing with him either. Time was of the essence. You had to get back before the door was fixed and you were locked back up. 

He returns to sit at his desk. He had work to do.

“I’ll go home and make breakfast. Bring something back for you.” 

Goodbye Coriolanus, you thought. 

“No.” he looked at you like you were crazy and you stared back similarly. 

“No. You’ll stay here with me until he is caught.” He sits back down at his desk but you remain frozen in the middle of the room, “Or maybe you’ll just stay here forever, seeing as no one in this District seems to have a clue where he is.” 

You had thought that the broken door would offer you freedom but it seems to have just caused Coriolanus to tighten his grip. 

“I can’t, I have to, I have to-” your panic interrupted your sentence. 

“You have to do, what? The dishes?” he mocks, “They can wait until we go home.”

He returned to his work, the conversation was over for him. 

“I want to go back and take a shower and-”

He pushes his heavy folder over the edge of his desk. 

“I’ve had a District break into the compound, new of which will makes its way back to the Capitol, I’ve got recruits coming and nowhere to put them, and lieutenants who can’t read. I just need you to be perfect today.”

He shuts his eyes and sighs, pausing for a moment. “Please, I just need to know where you are today. That you're safe. If you’re here, you’re not another thing on my mind.”

You wanted to kick and scream but it would only end with a bruised cheek. He wasn’t asking you to stay, he was telling you. District scum were only animals for him to herd. You just so happen to be his favorite sheep. 

 So you sit back on the couch and he reaches for his work and not your throat. Maybe he would send you to get something. A cup of tea for him, deliver a message, you would take any opportunity. 

You lay down on the couch, back under his coat to keep warm, and he goes back to his work.

An hour later, his receptionist appears holding two metal trays of food. He greets her as she enters, and she offers the same back. You don’t exist. She doesn’t look at you once while she is in the room. You pass her as you make your way to the desk. She deliberately checks her red nails. 

A gray-looking porridge, a slice of jam toast cut in half, and a cup of broth sat on the tray.

“I can see why you glorify my cooking.”

“I used to eat boiled cabbage and potato peels every day back home. When I came to District 12, I thought these meals were just great. Now I have you, and these meals make my stomach turn.” He pokes at the porridge with his spoon, “You’ve spoiled me.” 

“I can still go and make you something.” you offer. The second you were out of view you were going to bolt to the fence. 

He shakes his head ‘no’ and you sink into your chair. He felt clingy today, almost as if he could sense your plan to leave him. 

“I need a reminder of the dangers of complacency.” He shovels a spoonful into his mouth. You choose half of the jam toast. 

“How are you feeling after last night?” he takes the toast from your hand despite having his own in front of him.

“Fine.” You wished he would stop bringing it up. 

“I am sorry he got so close.” 

“These animals are my people. He wouldn’t have hurt me even if he got in.” 

“I told you I wasn’t calling you an animal, and yes, he would have hurt you if he got a chance. You don’t know what people are capable of.” 

The whole world is an arena and you are prey, he wanted to say. 

“People are good.” you refute, although you are unsure if you believe that anymore.

Coriolanus definitely didn’t believe it. People were animals that needed the threat of violence to keep order. He thought back to a day during the war when he had collapsed in the street with swine flu.  No one stopped to help a young child. Only Tigris, sick with the chills herself, picked Coriolanus up and nursed him back to health. He was sure you would too. You had picked up the child with the scraped knee while others walked around him. 

“You are good. You are kind. The people around you were using you for their own benefit.” 

“And you’re not?” you bite. 

“What benefit would that be? A bruised eye? A fight every time I try to connect with you?”

You groan, rubbing your face aggressively with your palms. At this rate, he was likely to throw you in the compound jail. A fight with him would only derail your plans. He said it himself, complacency blinded him. 

“I am sorry,” you sigh, “I didn’t sleep well on that couch. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

He reaches across the table to intertwine with your hand. 

“It’s okay. Why don’t you finish your breakfast and go lie down again.” 

You do finish your breakfast in a comfortable silence. Coriolanus was happy to be apologized to, and you were happy not to further the conversation that would surely turn into a fight. 

You lay looking at the roof while Coriolanus tries to be as quiet as he can.

You barely hear him as he works. A stroke of a pen here, a shuffle of a paper there. 

You think of Edmund and your mother. They would both be worried sick. But how could you get to them with Coriolanus breathing down your neck? By the time you broke free, would the Peacekeepers have found the hole in the fence? 

The phone rang once before he could get to it. He speaks in a low, hush, tone. Seemingly calm he hangs up. 

You hear his footsteps as he walks over to you causing you to sit up to see him come into view. 

When Coriolanus raises his hand and brings it down upon your cheek with enough force to knock you to the ground, it surprises you. 

“Edmund’s hair was found between the hinges of the door.”

He stood above you tall and angry. 

“He and his family are nowhere to be found, along with your mother. But I suspect you already knew that.” 

He crouches down and takes a harsh hold of your chin, “Where is he?” 

“I don’t know.” Your answer earns you another smack to the face. 

“I don’t know,” you cry, “I honestly don’t know.” 

“Short with long dark hair, you said,” he laughs humorlessly, “I should have known it was him.”

“He came to say goodbye. I wasn’t going to leave, I swear.”  

“Why should I believe you? Every chance you get you betray me.” He shoves your head out of his hold. 

You shake your head ‘no’, and cautiously test how far he was willing to allow you to get up. You managed to a sitting position on the floor before you saw his body flex. You were level with his face. The proximity puts you on edge.

“He broke the door to say goodbye. You honestly expect me to believe that?”

“I meant what I said in the cabin about one more chance. I wasn’t going to leave. I told him I wasn’t going.” 

“Why not tell me that? Why lie?” 

“I didn’t want to upset you. Coriolanus, I didn’t betray you.” 

“You’re a filthy liar.” 

You shake your head ‘no’ frantically. 

“Where has he gone to?” he asks again. 

“Coriolanus, I wasn't going to betray you. I was going to stay!”

“Where is he!” he shouts in your face.

“I don’t know. Please-” 

 Your shaky hands take his face between them. 

“I wasn't leaving you. I swear.”

He looks at you with soft, unsure eyes. You could tell he wanted to believe you. You just had to push him a bit further. 

You bring his head towards your collarbone and he willingly follows, bringing the whole force of his body against you. The weight knocks you down on the floor, where he rests on top. You leave a hand on the back of his neck and the other pressed down on his shoulder blade to keep him there. In this position, you had the power. He positions his body on top of you, his leg over your hip and left arm over your shoulders.

He felt like a little boy pressed against your side. Nevertheless, it was the Commander. 

Your face pounds from earlier assaults as a reminder. 

You eye the door from where you lay on the floor.

“You were going to leave,” he sounded almost to be crying.

“I wasn’t. I was going to stay.” 

“It was a mistake. I am going to find him and hang him up.” 

He goes to get up in his anger but you clamp down on your hold. 

“I didn’t leave you. Don’t leave me. Stay.” 

He breaks free enough to raise his head over you.

“You would have if he got the door open.” 

“No.” 

“The doors open now. You could leave. I wouldn’t stop you.” He rolls his body off yours and onto the floor beside you. 

He seemed earnest. You would at least get a head start. But you couldn’t be fooled by your eagerness. 

“Go.” he offers. 

You sit up beside him and look at the door. His violent temper made him poor company, but you could control it. Manipulate it until the opportunity arises, where you could get more than a 30-second head start. 

“I heard there was a drink in the Capitol that tastes like apple pie.”

“There is,” he replies indifferently. 

“Do you think I could try it when we get there?” 

He turns his head towards you with a curious gaze.

“It can be the first thing you have.” 

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[paracosmenthusiast]

Servicing the Tech Guy

Neo x Reader based on the ~dark~ prompt from @johnwickb1tsch circulated to me by a good friend @daisy-is-a-writer

--

18+ | sexual content | 4.2k

--

It was a long shot and you knew that, and waiting outside of his apartment was (at the least) creepy and (at the most) borderline psychotic.

But what other choice did you have? In your hands, the two pieces of your laptop. You couldn’t afford to replace it, at least, not before your quarterly report was due, which was tonight, by the way, and all of your hard efforts were there in the broken halves of your laptop, you didn’t have time to figure out a solution.

Besides. You were fighting back tears as it was. Two nights ago you had broken up with your long-time partner, it was his fault your laptop was broken, and you didn’t really want to think about it anymore but it was there in the broken device in your hands and you couldn’t avoid thinking about it. What was something you never wanted to see? Oh, yeah. Naked pictures of your (now ex) boyfriend including videos of him rubbing his cock which he had callously sent to… Well… A innumerable number of women over the internet.

The craziest part of it all was that he had sworn to you he didn’t do it, he didn’t cheat on you, that he had been so secretive lately because he was ring shopping!

But your friend had pointed you in the direction of an internet private eye who had hacked into your partner’s accounts and produced the irrefutable evidence so without literally thousands of screen captures in hand, you had a pretty damn hard time believing your partner wasn’t cheating.

And speaking of the internet private eye—fuck, what was his name? Neo? You were outside of his apartment like a goddamn stalker, holding your broken laptop, rapping impatiently on his door.

Last time you’d seen him you’d remembered him as very tall, very dark, with a very low and husky voice and an air of seriousness that unnerved you. Like he’d seen things in the depth of the internet that hardened him.

A big part of you doubted that he was going to take pity on poor little you and fix up your laptop or at the very least, pull your quarterly report off of it, but you had to try. What else could you do?

Tears burned in your eyes again. Damn it. Thought you’d gotten that under control—

And perfect timing, because you heard the lock click, and the door slid open, just enough for you to see him peering out at you.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said. You (idealistically) thought he sounded pleasantly surprised.

You held up your broken laptop, mouth opening to unveil the funny, funny story of why you needed his help yet again, and before you could get it out, a sob burst out instead.

Double damn it.

Neo snapped the door shut—you heard the chain rattling—and then he opened the door fully, now frowning down at you. Just as dark and tall as you’d remembered except he didn’t have that long, black coat anymore. Now he… Honestly looked like he’d just crawled out of bed, in a loose pair of flannel pants and a white t-shirt decorated with a graphic outline of a bunny (hadn’t that been his private eye business logo?).

“Uh, come in,” he said, when it was clear you weren’t going to get words out over the tears, and he stepped back to let you inside his apartment.

It was just as you remembered it a few days ago. Relatively clean and sparse but with the lights off and the windows covered by heavy blackout drapes, not that it mattered now because it was pouring rain outside the apartment building, and half past 10pm.

His hand on your shoulder startled you. “Are you coming inside?”

You shuffled forward, one foot after the other. He reached for the wall and flicked on a light over the entryway, revealing that he’d been cooking and there was a lasagna sitting on the counter looking beyond delicious and smelling twice as good.

You sniffled, and tried to stop yourself from crying further. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I just—I have this big report due tonight, and…”

You gave your broken laptop a little shake. The screen was in one hand, the keyboard in the other.

Neo shut the door, bolted it, and then gave you another little push, guiding you to walk further into the apartment. Away from the plate of lasagna that aggressively beckoned. Your stomach flip-flopped: How long had it been since you last ate? Why couldn’t you remember?

God, this breakup was murdering you. Why couldn’t you have waited until after the quarterly review period had closed?

“Totally fine,” he said. “Uh, have a seat. I’d ask what the problem is, but I think I can put the puzzle together myself.”

And then he reached for your laptop and you reluctantly surrendered it into his hands. His fingers brushing yours startled you—the warmth, almost electrical, did not match the guarded expression on his face.

“Taking the breakup hard, huh?” It’s a rhetorical question. He wasn’t even looking at you, just took the computer over to his desk in the corner, not bothering with the light, and flipped the laptop upside down.

You awkwardly perched at his two-person dining table. The same place you’d perched a few days ago when he’d briefed you on his findings. The parallels depressed you and before you could stop it, a few more tears slipped out.

He looked up like he had some sort of sixth sense and turned around. “Why are you still crying?”

You frowned.

He turned back away and sighed. “It’s easy. The drives and data are all fine, just the monitor is busted. It’ll be ten minutes to pull everything, if that.”

Then he put the laptop down and strode back across the room, you tensed as he passed and you weren’t sure why, except that he came back with a fork and the plate of steaming lasagna and put it in front of you.

“Help yourself.”

You were a little agape. “You don’t have to do that, I don’t want to take your dinner.”

“I already ate.” He walked back to his work station and the conversation was over—you could tell from his curt tone.

One more frown from him, and you obediently picked up the fork. Then he turned away to work on your laptop and you fed yourself.

Actually, it helped a lot. Filling your stomach and not having to think about the breakup, just thinking about the taste of the pasta and the sauce on your tongue, layered with some hearty, almost smoky meat; it was a pretty damn good lasagna.

By the time he came back to the table, you were over the tears. He stood over you for a moment and when he didn’t say anything, you looked up from the finished plate of lasagna. “Uh, thanks for the lasagna. I’m sorry for showing up with no notice. I—How much will it be? I do plan to pay, I’m sorry, I’m a mess right now.”

“Lot of information,” he said. “Slow down. I don’t need payment, seems like you’re suffering enough from the last time I saw you. So. Just take it.” And he placed a USB drive in front of you.

“Ah—” Shit, how were you going to submit your quarterly report?

“I already sent your report.” He tapped the USB drive, and you found your eyes wandering up his arm—he was nicely developed, in a way you didn’t expect from a guy working in tech. Like, at all. “It was pretty easy to log into your work email. You should probably change your password. First name, last name, and your birthday? Seriously?”

You flushed. “Shut up, I’m not that creative. But—um. Thanks. This is great. This is way more than I could’ve hoped for.”

For a moment he was silent, then he reached out and brushed your hair back from your face. A motion that startled you enough to make you jump.

“I changed my mind. I want payment.”

Yeah, you couldn’t fault the guy for that. “Okay—Um, what sounds reasonable to you?” You didn’t have your wallet but you could send it over your phone. If your phone wasn’t dead. For that matter, he could probably just take whatever money he wanted, anyway. Jesus Christ—technology was terrifying.

“I want a date,” he said. “Go on a date with me and we’ll call it square.”

You blinked. Now you were properly agape and for some reason you found it incredibly hard to look at him so you stared down into your lasagna. Or the leftovers of it. “Uh, Neo—fuck me, that cannot be your real name, is it?”

“Close enough to it. What do you need my real name for?”

Not that you really expected him to give you his real moniker. Ugh. “Um, okay. Neo, I just broke up with a long-term partner, I’m… I’m a mess. I don’t really have time or desire to go out with anybody right now, but, you know, in a couple months, sure. Why not.”

He tapped the USB drive. “Now I regret proactively sending your report for you. Alright, then I’ll take a kiss. A long one. And slow.”

You looked up, thinking he had to be joking, and he was smiling, but in a way that put a nervous tizzy in your stomach. Fuck. He was attractive—and tall—and muscular—Honestly, what would it hurt?

“Alright,” you acquiesced. And opened your mouth to continue but he leaned down, one hand reaching out to steady your face, and immediately kissed you.

Oh, he was a good kisser. He was a very good kisser. His lips were soft and when his tongue touched your teeth you didn’t mind at all, because you had to squeeze your thighs together, uncomfortable with the heat growing low in your stomach, and when you tasted his saliva it made it nearly impossible to remember to breathe.

You pulled away.

“I said a long one,” Neo said, murmured it really, because he was still an inch or two from your face, “and slow, too.”

And he pulled your face forward, fingers tight on your jaw, and kissed you again. And you let him. Again. This time you shut your mouth, to keep it chaste, and without a second of delay he bit your lip. Hard. Until you gasped a little at the sharp pain.

His hand slid to your throat, for just a second you wondered if you’d gotten in over your head, except that the rest of your body was very onboard with this new course of action, and you couldn’t breathe well enough to complain, anyway.

Neo pulled you up from your seat, almost roughly, crushing you into an embrace that would’ve hurt except it felt good and strange to be held after the last two very lonely nights, and you breathed out, and he kissed your teeth, and you forgot for a moment what the fuck you were doing and you put your hand on his hip to steady yourself and you felt bare skin between his shirt and the waistband of your pants and it felt hot like fire.

His hand wrapped around your wrist, still kissing you, deeply, and then he put your hand over his crotch and you were confronted by the thick bulge in his pants.

You shouldn’t have done it, should’ve pulled away, but for some inane reason you just—you gave it a little squeeze. Just, you know. Trying to get a feel of how big he was.

It felt big. It was hard to tell (although you didn’t think he was wearing underwear) but you thought it felt pretty damn big. You slid your hand along the waist band of his pants, toying with the button fly, until your fingers slipped through the gap in the front of his pants and you felt the warmth of his bare skin beneath.

Then the two of you broke apart, and you found you were sweating a bit, and your hand was half inside his pants, his skin was hot and you were inches from touching his cock and he was looking down at you, and he was looking down at you, and his eyes were so dark and so—mysterious, and deep…

And besides, you were wet, you could feel it between your legs, you were wet, you were sweaty from nerves, and your heart was pounding in your chest.

“I am so sorry,” you said. What the fuck was wrong with you? “I—I’m not trying to lead you on. I can’t do this, I just had a breakup—”

“Yeah,” he said. “So you deserve a win. Right?”

And without warning he scooped you up, so easily like you were a feather, hands tight on your thighs, all too close to gripping your ass. More to catch yourself than anything you wrapped your legs around his waist, startled by the sudden change in altitude. And of course it put your pelvis right into contact with that bulge in the front of his pants that you couldn’t seem to stop bumping into.

Oh yeah. That felt big.

He kissed your neck, you felt his teeth nip at the skin, and then he bit down, and the rush of pleasure and adrenaline made you gasp.

“Yeah,” you breathed, “I think I do deserve a win.”

He hmmed his approval, almost like a laugh, and you ran your fingers through his dark hair, gripping it close to the scalp, enjoying the soft strands, the cedar and musk smell of his skin.

Then he turned, still holding onto you, his face still tucked close to your neck (surely he could hear your erratic pulse) and carried you to the bedroom.

A moment later he dropped you on the bed, a little unceremoniously except it was so soft and big and the comforter was so plush that you didn’t even mind. You’d been staying in a shitty motel on account of, you know, the breakup.

For a moment you forgot about your impending endeavor and luxuriated in the soft bed, a little moan of happiness leaving your mouth, and he laughed, rousing you from the moment. “Having fun?”

“Fuck, I missed a real mattress,” you said, and ran your fingers over the comforter. “It’s—Oh.”

He had taken his shirt off, revealing a nicely defined and trim torso. But more than that. He pulled his pants down, then, and you could see his cock unrestricted by his clothes. And you were right. It was big. And thick.

He ran his hand down the length of his cock and smiled at you. “Take off your clothes.”

The authoritative tone made it hard for you to freeze, and without a thought you pulled your shirt over your head and reached down to unbutton your jeans. Why’d you wear skinny jeans? Why did they have to look so damn good but then cause so many damn complications during attempted hookups?

“I thought you were pretty when I first met you,” he told you, causing you to pause. “But you’re more than pretty, you were just so… Lifeless.”

You frowned.

“I don’t think you were really all that happy with him anyway.”

You frowned, further, because thinking about your ex was not going to make this little sexual escapade fun. “Can we—not talk about this?”

Neo smiled, and then grabbed your arm and lifted you up like a doll and turned you over onto your stomach. “You’re taking too long.”

You were stunned by the action so you couldn’t reply, he grabbed the waistband of your jeans and yanked them down to your thighs. Pinning your legs together because goddamn it, why had you worn skinny jeans?

His finger trailed up the inside of your thigh… Down the inside of the other thigh… Then he slid his finger teasing down to the the wettest part of your panties and you flinched at the unexpected touch. “Oh, are you excited?”

“Fuck you.” You were embarrassed and it made the words come out rough. “Can you—not tease me? I told you, I’m a fucking mess right now, and I can’t—I can’t…”

As you spoke, he gently pulled down your panties, and right as you formed the most impassioned part of your sentence, you felt his mouth on your clit and suddenly all the words escaped you. Disappeared into thin air.

Didn’t want to but it came out of nowhere: you let out a soft little moan. It wasn’t that good, just, his lips were so soft, his mouth was gentle and warm and he ran his tongue over you and his teeth passed over your clit just enough to send a shiver through your whole body, and yeah, it was that good. Fuck. Oh, fuck. You moaned but this time it was because you wanted to, because you’d never had the opportunity with your ex because he hated noise during sex—

“Oh,” you said. “Fuck.”

He replaced his mouth with a finger, gently teasing your opening, feeling along your labia, tracing the shape of you, and then gently slid his finger in. When he spoke it was so quiet it was barely audible over the sound of your pulse beating in your ears. “So wet for me already.”

Irritation, hot flash of it. “I’m not wet for you—”

“Why is that so hard for you to admit?” He took his finger out, leaving your walls to clench miserably around nothing, and then for a moment you felt nothing, and when you craned your neck to look over your shoulder at him, it was just in time to watch as he brought his hand down and slapped your ass cheek. Hard.

This time you gasped out of pain and before you could process it, he did it again; and a third time, and a fourth. “Stop! Stop it, Neo, that really hurts!”

He did it again and you braced yourself on the bed, leveraging yourself up onto all fours, so you could turn over onto your side to properly look at him. Except he put his hand on your thigh in such a reassuring manner and said, “calm down. I’m sorry, I got carried away. You really have the most perfect ass.”

The compliment in conjunction with the cool tone disarmed you, and you looked over your shoulder at him, unnerved. Trying to gauge what to do.

He smiled. “Relax. I want you to enjoy this. I just got carried away.”

“Yeah, well, fucking don’t, next time—”

“Next time? Who’s carried away now?” He grabbed the hem of your jeans right at your ankle and in a coordinated motion you found quite impressive, he pulled it over your foot, effectively freeing your leg from the vice-grip of the skinny jeans.

So impressed were you that you offered your other ankle, dumbfounded at the ease, and let him do it again, so you were bare with just your panties rolled down to your thighs, and your ill-fitting bra barely hanging on.

He leaned forward, still meeting your eyes, and then kissed the inside of your ankle. You found yourself thanking the universe that you’d had an everything-shower this morning and your legs were exfoliated and lotioned and everything was shaved or trimmed the way you liked.

“Keep going,” you said. And he smiled again, climbed onto the bed between your legs, and this time his lips landed just above the inside of your knee. You were a bit breathless now. “A little bit higher.”

Your thigh. You swallowed. “Higher.”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, so close, and then ran his tongue over the spot, and up, until he had found your clit again—

You tried to stifle a whimper but he heard it, and then straightened up, wrapping both arms under and around your thighs and jerking your hips up so you felt the whole length of his hard cock against your entrance.

For a moment he didn’t do anything, just let the head of his cock rub against you, until you found yourself clenched in anticipation, until you grabbed at his forearm and hissed at him to do something.

“Do what?”

Why was he playing this ridiculous game? “Put it inside!”

“Put—What?”

You growled. “Put your cock inside me and fuck me, Neo, please.”

He smiled, and reached down to gently place the pad of his thumb against your clit. Stroking in slow and gentle circles that did nothing to alleviate the lust clouding your head.

Then he put the tip of his cock against you and pushed, and it was so much thicker than you were anticipating that you gasped a little. Actually it didn’t feel great—it kind of hurt. “Slow down!”

“Stop it, keep going, go faster, slow down… So many mixed messages.” He still had one arm wrapped around your hip but obligingly he pulled out. For a half a second before he thrust forward and this time the head of his cock pushed all the way in, and you were scrambling to adjust, squirming on the bed except he had your hip pinned so you couldn’t move.

You lay there, breathing a little hard, looking up at him, walls clenched tight around his cock, and before you could tell him that it didn’t feel that great, he slid his hand to the underside of your knee and lifted your leg so he could kiss the sole of your foot.

The soft, wetness of his mouth on your toes distracted you from the mild discomfort of him stretching you out, and worse. You were a bit ticklish so you squirmed and his tongue between your toes was so soft and warm and nobody had ever done that before. You weren’t sure you liked it but it definitely relaxed your taut muscles and you abruptly felt his cock press up to your cervix.

“Fuck,” you gasped, and he gave no more delay, pulling out and thrusting all the way back in until you felt the tip of him against your cervix, “Fuck, Neo!”

Another couple of thrusts and you found it all too easy to let yourself moan. It felt good. You’d never had someone so deep inside you and holy fuck, it felt good.

Neo reached down, scooping up your leg and placing it over his shoulder, lifting your hips off the bed. The angle put his cock even deeper inside you and you let out a little strangled cry, half at the discomfort, half at the unfamiliar sensation of something rubbing against your cervix.

It felt…

“You’re so fucking tight,” Neo said. “You’re really squeezing my cock, aren’t you? Does that feel good?”

You wanted to remind him that you didn’t want to be embarrassed but you kind of just let out a gasp or a moan or something and he leaned down and kissed your neck, tongue running over the sore spot he’d bit earlier, and that made you forget about any embarrassment.

You ran your hands down his bare back, digging your nails into the muscles as they flexed, enjoying the suppleness and the warmth of his skin, until you felt him suck in a breath of pain and you realized how tightly you’d latched onto him.

Tried to apologize—but he simply lifted up your other leg onto his other shoulder and pressed down into you, until your knees were jammed against your collarbone and he could fuck you easily without resistance.

And at the very first thrust that way, both your legs up over your head, you couldn’t hold it a second longer. “Fuck,” you said. “Fuck, fuck!”

Felt yourself squeeze tight around his cock, and release, and squeeze, you couldn’t control it; suddenly the feeling of his abdomen rubbing against your clit as he fucked you so deeply was unbearably sensitive and you were clawing at his back this time to get him to stop because you were—

Oh! It was an orgasm! All your muscles locked up, you gasped out some strangled version of his name—

And then you felt his cock throbbing inside you, and he wrapped his hand under your neck and pulled your head up, compressing your spine even further and—you felt a rush of warmth as he came.

He thrust a few more times, but much slower, and then gently peeled your legs off his shoulders and sat back on his heels to look at you.

You could barely look back at him. Your mouth was open in shock, your abdomen felt like it was seizing, and your vagina was so sensitive that the open air was over-stimulating.

For a moment the two of you breathed, and he ran a hand through his hair. He was sweaty but for some reason you didn’t mind it, didn’t mind his sweaty skin still touching yours. Actually you could probably lick the man clean.

“Did that—”

You interrupted. “I’m—I’m not sure I’ve really paid you back for, uh, helping me with my laptop. But, you know. If you could help me get a new one then I’d really owe you.”

For a second he didn’t seem to get it. And then he grinned. “I think we’ll have to look into some payment plans, then.”

-

the rest of my keanu stuff is on my master list: masterlist

[fazedlight]

Glance (fluff-ish ficlet set in season 6)

She knows.

Kara rushed her way to the Tower, ignoring the beeps from her phone, no doubt Alex wondering what the hell Kara meant by “Nyxly might go after Lena”.

Kara knew she might’ve given too much away, at the gallery downtown. Nyxly had seemed to sense that Lena was the most vulnerable - the newest superfriend, the one with newfound powers - and her brief glance at the brunette had caused anger to flare along Kara’s neck. Kara had instinctively tilted her head in warning. You’re not touching Lena.

Nyxly adapted quickly, attempting to make her escape by activating the Courage totem itself, before Kara split the totem in half and Nyxly disappeared. At the time, Kara had shrugged the moment off - a brief moment in battle that Nyxly would soon forget, probably entirely unaware of the emotions driving it.

As the city descended into chaos, Kara had let her piece of the Courage totem go - it was the only way to restore the sanity of her team, the only way to give them a chance at future totems. Lose the battle, win the war. It was only after that the ramifications of that choice would become clear. Somehow, in the merging of the two halves of the broken totem, a psychic bond was formed. Kara could now feel what Nyxly felt - the imp felt triumphant, vengeful. And Kara knew that she couldn’t stop the streams of her own feelings from seeping into Nyxly’s consciousness.

Nyxly knows.

Kara felt the panic well up in her throat, as she landed at the Tower’s balcony, as she traced Lena’s heartbeat back to the lab. The torrent of panic ripped through her - can I protect her, will our relationship survive this? - as she made her way back to the lab. “We need to talk,” Kara said, as she walked through the door. 

“Are you okay?” Lena asked, turning around, placing a glass beaker back down on the lab bench, stepping towards the kryptonian.

Kara knew her body was tense, that Lena could read the stress on her face, and it wasn’t a question worth answering. “Nyxly knows how I feel.”

“Knows… how you feel,” Lena said, not quite yet catching on.

“She knows how I feel about you,” Kara said, eyes darting between Lena and the floor as she failed to hide the guilt on her face. “Or if she doesn’t, she’ll figure it out soon.”

“How you feel about me?” Lena replied, her voice soft and tentative.

Kara’s eyes dropped to the floor, worrying her lip for a moment before glancing back up. “I love you, Lena,” she rushed, her voice cracking. “And Nyxly will know, we need to figure out how to keep you out of danger-”

“My life has always been in danger, Kara,” Lena whispered.

Kara hesitated. 

“The Venture crash. The helicopter crash. Morgan Edge,” Lena said, stepping closer with every memory. “Mercy Graves. Beth Breen. Rhea. Eve. Reign. The end of the multiverse. I suppose we’ll add a 5th dimensional imp to the list…”

“Lena-”

“We all die, Kara,” Lena said, as she finally stood directly in front of the kryptonian. “That’s not the part that scares me.”

“What does scare you?” Kara asked.

“Losing you,” Lena said, reaching her hand up to brush stray hair behind Kara’s ear, before cupping her cheek. “Being a universe away from where you’re trapped. Not knowing if I would ever see you again. Not knowing if I can ever tell you how I feel. Not knowing if that would destroy this friendship.”

“How you feel?” Kara said quietly, the hope dawning inside her.

Kara watched as Lena smiled, the brunette tilting her head to the side, tugging gently at Kara’s neck. And with the realization of what she sought, Kara could only happily oblige, dipping her head downwards as Lena brushed her lips gently against Kara’s own.

Kara slid her arms around Lena’s waist, whimpering as Lena’s lips parted, allowing Kara to deepen the kiss. She could feel Lena’s warmth, hear the heartbeat pounding in Lena’s chest in time with her own, feel as Lena’s other hand made its way around the back of Kara’s neck to tug her closer. For those few moments, the world was lost to them - a fulfillment of years of ache, a beginning where they thought there would only be endings.

“I love you too,” Lena finally said as they parted, leaning her forehead against Kara’s. “Whatever comes next, I just want to face it with you. Together.”

Kara smiled. “Together.”

[s0fter-sin]

ghost stares at the ceiling, chest heaving in a harsh pant; sweat ice on his clammy flesh and soaked into the sheet he restlessly kicks away.

ears still ringing, his fingertips blindly drift down to trail along his vivisection scar. he half-expects blood to smear in their wake. his own line of solomon, who ordered him split in twain; half of him given to a grieving mother and half left with the grieving to be.

just for both his broken halves to be rejected.

what did it make him that his mother grieved him more than she loved him? that she begged to be relieved of him more adamantly than she begged to receive him? why did his worth spill out with his drawn blood? why was his pain lesser than hers?

his hand flexes, digging into the raised scar like it’ll part beneath his fingertips to plunge into his mangled insides. no one knows the cruelty of reforming the halved; his name, his being, not nearly as important as his body when he was stripped from himself. no one knows the pain of healing and understanding losing pieces of yourself means losing your value along with them.

how many more pieces did he have to lose before he was halved once more? before his very presence incurred grief so strong it was better to be rid of him than cradle his bloodied remains?

did the infant fight himself? did he age always at odds with himself; his halves never truly whole? he hopes he wasn’t, that he was spared the loss of self; the fear that one may be welcomed over the other.

who will he lose when the inevitable comes? when he’s ripped apart again? simon? or ghost? is it better to be cursed with choice just like his mother or live with an aftermath chosen for him? does it matter if in the end, he convinces himself there was nothing of him left to lose?

his head lolls to the side and the wild buck of his chest slows. he watches johnny beside him, his face lax with the rare peace of sleep; his cheek squished against the pillow, his lips pursed as long breaths escape him.

johnny. soap. never torn asunder but two all the same.

he carefully reaches out and ghosts his fingers along the jagged scar on his chin. even in sleep, he presses into his bloodied touch. he’s never fled his half-flesh, never shies away from his gore as it spills unbidden from his cleaved torso. he holds on where his mother let him go; cups his stomach to hold his insides in place and never minds the blood that drips through his fingers.

simon will never let him become his own solomon and cannibalise himself. he will never let him question which half of him has more value; which pieces he can afford to lose before he’s cast aside.

ghost’s soap. simon’s johnny. his.

whole, in any incarnation.

[f1fantasys]

Finally mine <3

Summary - Y/N and Charles started off as work colleagues, soon became friends, and now the continuous back and fourth continues between the two. Will you end up together? Of course you will.

Warnings: mild angst. 18+ smut. p in v. dirty talk. unprotected sex.

Being an F1 journalist had its highs and lows. The highs being that you could chose which races to work at and the fact that you had become friendly with most of the drivers, the lows being you were away from home a lot, and had become too friendly with one of the drivers.

Charles.

When you first started your job two years ago, he was one of the first drivers you were introduced to. His deep dimples and green eyes were what took you aback. He was friendly, kind, and hot. So hot. But you kept that fact to yourself. He became your friend first and foremost, as he had a girlfriend back then. You also became close friends with Lando, Carlos, George, and Alex, as well as their better halves (well, those who had a better half). You'd go on holidays together, go out clubbing together, celebrate birthdays. Everything.

It was no secret that Charles definitely felt something towards you, from the beginning, even if he had a girlfriend. He would send lingering glaces towards you, among other little things that gave you butterflies. But - he was with someone, and he wouldn't hurt her.

During the course of the two years, Charles had broken up with his girlfriend. You won't lie - your crush on Charles started pretty early in your friendship. But you too would never do anything to jeopardize his relationship. You were just content that you had him in your life. When he broke up with her, it seemed like you were the last of your friend group to know. That came as a surprise because Charles almost always told you everything first. You let it slide and tried not to read into it too much.

It's now been 3 months since the breakup and you won't hide the fact that you and Charles have definitely become closer. You haven't crossed any lines, yet, but you texted everyday and face-timed every other day. He also became a lot more touchy on nights out but you never backed away from him. He would often rest his hand on your thighs, or you'd end up grinding him on the dance floor.

Of course, Lando and George would always call you guys out, but the both of you always made a joke of it.

This week though, while spending a week in Ibiza, the sexual tension has reached new heights. He was always touching you. Whether it was resting a hand on your back while you were walking, arm at the back of your chair (of course you were always seated next to each other), rubbing sunscreen on your body - or you on his, stealing bites of food or sips of your drink. You never spent a minute away from each other.

Last night, or early this morning rather, after a boozy dinner, you'd all decided it was a good idea to jump into the jacuzi - at 2am. Being a small jacuzi, it meant not everyone would get a place to sit - and naturally that meant the girls all sat on their boyfriends lap. Lily had to forego this trip, but there was no way in hell you were going to sit on Alexs' lap. The next best choice - his.

He smirked as you took your place on him. You were sure he could sense your nervousness and flustered state. But at the same time, you were thanking the heavens. It felt so good, so good to feel his arms encircle your waist and pull you closer to himself. He played with the ends of your hair, while chatting to Lando, while you tried to keep up a conversation with Carmen. But really, all you could think about was the fact that your ass was sitting on his dick, and boy was he getting hard underneath you.

''Y/N, its been a while since you've hooked up with anyone. Maybe I should be your wing-woman tomorrow night as see who you can fuck. You seriously need it’

‘Oh my god Carmen’ you squealed as you immediately felt Charles tense under you.

To be fair, it has been a long while since you’d fucked anyone. You often pleasured yourself, thinking about a certain someone, more so in the last few weeks. You’d imagine what his lips felt like on yours. On your most private parts. What he would feel like in your mouth.

God, you really needed to get laid.

As you all stayed in the water, Charles’ hands found their way to your back, drawing circles and playing with the string of your bikini top. By now, it was just you, Charles, Lando and Luisa who were still out. Even with all the new space, you still kept your place on Charles lap. Your hands found his and you sat hand in hand drawing circles on each others palms.

It was nice, being this close to him. No tension. Just being in the moment.

As the Jacuzzi seats were a bit deep, both your shoulders were under the water. At one point, you felt him untie the strings of your bikini top.

Too shocked to say anything, and not wanting the break the moment, you went with the flow.

He was deep in conversation with Lando and you with Luisa. You felt his thumbs brush the under side of your boobs. It took everything in you to not take his hands and put them on top of your boobs.

He was playing you, and he enjoyed that you knew he was.

Some time later, he decided he was ‘tired’ and slowly lifted you off his lap, careful not to life you above the water so as to expose you, and got out the water himself and walked away, leaving you a little antsy.

By the time you woke up this morning, around 10am, it was a quick breakfast before the group had split up to do some sightseeing. You were to spend the day with George, Carmen, and obviously, him.

You’d taken a boat out and ended up by some beautiful waterfalls, all the while feeling his deep green eyes on you every minute of the way. You blushed when he caught you already staring at him, and tried not to think about how you relieved yourself after last nights activities once in the confinement of your own room. He played you dirty last night, and now it was your turn to give it back.

You made sure to wear your skimpiest and sexiest red bikini that barely held your boobs in place.

‘Hot mama’ Carmen all but screamed at you when you removed your sundress. You gave her a little shimmy and twirl around.

Charles hoped you wouldn’t notice him shift in his seat at the sight of you - but you did. And you sent a smirk his way.

‘Charlie, I need you to put some sunscreen on my back, please’ you fluttered your eyelashes at him as you laid down on your tummy on one of the sun beds.

‘Fucking hell’ you heard him mutter, more to himself.

For the second time in less than 24 hours, Charles untied your bikini top strings and applied sunscreen. He went as far low as he could, his finger brushing over your ass.

What was supposed to be a quick application, turned into something that lasted at least 15 minutes. By now George and Carmen were already in the water, so the two of you didn’t have an audience. Which was a good thing.

You felt Charles climb onto the sun bed and gently rest his ass a top of yours as he continued his application-turned massage. He bent down lower as he traces his fingers along your spine and you felt his hot breath fanning across your back.

You could already feel your core start to drip just by what he was doing to you.

Suddenly, he stopped. Got up. And jumped into the water. Leaving you breathless again. Leaving your hornier than ever. Again.

The afternoon was spent stealing glances at his naked torso while sunbathing, applying sunblock on him this time, and lingering touches here and there.

You were now back at our villa and getting ready to go out clubbing. You'd opted for sheer black mini dress that hugged your curves in all the right places.

''Y/N, what'' going on with you and Charles?'' Luisa asks. ''You've been dancing around each other for a long time now. Don't you think it's time to figure out what it is? There definitely is something pulling the two of you together, and for fucks sake- the sexual tension? It driving us mad! You need to jump him already!'' she continued.

The last bit made you blush.

''To be honest, I don't know what's holding us back. I mean, we are both single, and no denying there are some sort of feeling involved, from my side at least. I just don't want to give in, then find out he just wants me for the sex and then nothing at all.'' you ponder.

''I highly doubt he wants you for just sex, Y/N'' Carmen pipes in. ''He shows in awful lot of interest in everything about you. He's always making sure you're okay. And more than once he's foregone drinking when you're plastered, just to make sure you get home okay. Trust us, he definitely wants more than just sex.''

''I don't know. Lets see how it goes'' you ponder, more to yourself.

The night was going exceptionally well. You and Charles were glued by the hip for the most part. Drinks were flowing. Easy conversations about everything and nothing were had.

''You look really good tonight'' Charles whispered in your ear at one point.

''Thanks, I made an effort just for you Char'' you thought, but obviously didn't tell him. ''Thank you Char. You look quite good yourself'' you smiled at him.

You were all a few drinks in, Charles included, and he was getting handsy. The lighting was dark, so no one really knew what was going on between the two of you. Not that you and Charles knew either. Your hands were around his neck, pulling him close, taking in his scent, while his hands found their way to your ass. His face is nuzzled into your neck and he is slowly but barely leaving a trail with his lips.

You want to tell him you want more. You want nothing more than to feel his lips at full force, his tongue, on your neck. But you don't dare. Is one night of sex worth it? If that's what he is after, things surely would be awkward after, and you'd risk losing one of your best friends. You definitely were not ready to take that risk.

So after some time, you pushed yourself away from him and went to dance with Luisa.

As the night drew to a close, somebody, being Lando, decided it was a good idea to do some body shots. When it was your turn to lie down, Charles helped you onto the table, and of course the others chose him to do the shot off of you.

It was probably the large amount of alcohol in both your systems that gave you the confidence to go ahead with this. Luisa placed the shot of your belly button and Charles, not to subtly, licked a strip from very low down, up to your belly button and swooped the shot up, while everyone was cheering.

It felt amazing to finally feel his tongue, even if was wasn't exactly where you wanted to feel it. Needless to say, it was another night of fantasizing about him, getting yourself off. Little did you know that on the other side of your wall, Charles was doing the exact same thing. Jacking off to the obscene visions of you.

You were sad that the holiday with everyone had come to an end, but at the same time you just wanted to get home so you could properly sit down with yourself and think about what you want. You needed to tell Charles how you felt, but still was too scared to hear what he would say back to you. So, the time away would be a good thing just to refresh your mind and think things through.

You weren't going to the next two races, meaning you wouldn't see each other for a at least 3 and a half weeks. When it came to saying buy to him, your chest tightened.

''Going to miss you cherie'' he whispered as he hugged you tight.

That made you hold on to him for a little bit longer.

''I'll miss you too Char, good luck at the races.''

With that, he kissed your cheek and you parted ways.

Being away from him this time was hard with he obvious shift in you relationship-or friendship-you weren't sure. You face-timed a lot, just content to update each other with that you did that day, how his car was treating him. It was easy, just letting the conversations flow.

''Y/N, I'm flying back to Monaco after the race on Sunday night with Lando. It's Luisa's birthday so he is planning a dinner for her that night.''

''Yeah, I've actually been helping him plan it. I'm glad you'll be here too!'' you exclaimed excitedly.

''You have no idea how much I've missed you these past few weeks, amour''

The new nickname gave you goosebumps.

Luisa's birthday dinner finally came around. You were going to an luscious restaurant and had planned for clubbing at a VERY luxurious place in Monaco for the night.

You so desperately wanted to make an impression on Charles, so you chose to wear a white satin dress, holding your boobs up perfectly, and curled your hair into soft springs. You decided not to wear any panties-something you read about boosting your confidence-whatever, you just went with it.

Charles was due to pick up anytime now. You were getting nervous for sure. But you seriously wanted to try and talk to him today-see where his head it at.

Not a minute later than 6pm, he texted you saying he was waiting outside.

You grabbed your bag and walked towards his very new, and very sexy Ferrari.

He was waiting outside, as soon as you were within touching distance he pulled you in for a tight hug. Just holding you in place for longer than expected. Not that weren't enjoying it. He pulled back and kissed your cheeks.

The ride to the restaurant was filled with laughs and stories about how passionate the Australian fans were towards Charles. One of them even gifted him a bracelet that had 'daddy' written on it, and he was still wearing it, causing you to blush and give him a giggle. It was no surprise that his hand rested on your thigh for the whole ride.

The dinner was a lavish affair. Expensive wine and good food. Lando really went all out this time.

Straight after dinner, it was time to hit the club. More expensive drinks, more dancing. And more sexual tension. From the minute you started dancing with Charles it came crashing down on the two of you. This time though, his lips were actually on your neck. Peppering your skin with light kisses and the occasional suck and bite. Luckily the music was loud and the lights were low, so you could let out a moan that only Charles could hear. He smirked into your neck as his hands once again founds your ass and pulled you impossibly closer.

Your hands ended up in his hair, tangling and tugging at it and abruptly, he pulled away, looked at you in the eye, and said ''Do you wanna get out of here?''

With the way he was looking at you, air had long left your lungs and you couldn't talk. All you did was nod. And he grabbed your hand and made a beeline for the exit. As you were approaching his car, you quickly pulled back and stopped.

''Charles wait.''

He glared at you, waiting for you to continue.

''I don't just want a quick fuck, Charles. I want all of it. I want all of you.'' you all but whispered.

Then he smiled. A big, full on, dimples-showing, classic Charles Leclerc smile.

''In case I haven't mad it clear these past few months, amour, I want all of you too.''

His statement made the butterflies in your whole body go crazy. All you could do was smile at him.

He quickly took your hand again and when you finally made it to his car, you were glad it was dark out and in a secluded area. No one would see what the two of you were about to do.

He opened his door and jumped in, pushed his seat back, reclined it a little bit, and he pulled you onto his lap while shutting the door.

Finally, finally, hips lips touched yours. Not in a gentle and loving way. But in a harsh, dominating way, It was rough, and sloppy and messy but you finally felt like you could breathe again. His lips were so intoxicating. Not long after, your tongues wee battling one another. You opened up you mouth to his tongue and he quickly slipped it inside. Exploring your mouth like he was searching for gold.

All the while that was going on, his hands found home on your boobs. He almost ripped your dress open trying to free them. And once they were freed, his mouth left yours and found its way to your peaked pebbles.

''Fucking hell Y.N, you don't know how long I've waited to see you like this'' he murmured while he pinched one nipple between his thumb and index fingers and continued sucking and biting on the other.

''Char, we've waited far too long for this. Can't get enough of you'' you told him as your hands found their way back to his hair and you kissed and bit on his neck, leaving marks for sure.

Slowly, he lifted you up and pulled your dress up as well. His eyes widened at seeing you had forgone any panties.

''Cherie, is this all for me?'' he said as your juices were clearly leaking out of you.

''Fuck, only for you, Charles. Please.'' You didn't even know what you were begging for. But you just needed more of him.

His fingers quickly found your pussy and started rubbing circles on your clit. The moans you were letting out now were obscene. Grinding against his fingers, you begged him some more.

''What do you want Y/N?'' he smirked.

''Fuck Charles, no time for teasing. Please. Put them in me.''

And put them in you he did. He thrust two fingers in you at once.

''Merde, Y/N, so tight. How long has it been since you've been fucked?''

You could form no coherent thoughts, let alone talk. So he continued-

''Clearly some time ago. But i love that, Cherie. You've been waiting for me'' he said with a smirk.

It didn't take long for you to come crashing down. Your orgasm whisking through you while your whole body shook.

Charles didn't stop his fingers until you came once more.

''Charles,'' you choked out. ''Need you in me. Please.''

He unzipped his trousers and slipped his throbbing dick out of his boxers.

You took him into your hands and pumped a few times. He reached into his back pocket for what you saw was a condom. But you quickly shook your head at him.

''I'm clean Char, are you?'' you asked.

He nodded.

''Then I want to feel all of you'' you breathlessly said, getting impatient now.

He smiled and you placed yourself above him. Letting him run his dick through your folds and juices.

''Please, fuck me Char''

And immediately, he started gliding himself through your entrance as you sunk down onto him.

You both moaned in unison. You, at how large he was-fuck he was the biggest you've ever had-and him, at how tight your cunt was.

Once he entered you fully, he stayed still. He didn't want to rush and hurt you.

You also needed a few moment to adjust, when finally you told him he could move as you did as well to meet him half way.

Now the pain was fading and the pleasure was taking over.

''Y/N, so tight. Amour, you're taking me so well. So good. Letting me fuck into you like this. Riding me like this.''

To be honest, you'd never thought Charles would be one to talk dirty. But you aren't gonna complain. It's only turning you on even more.

''So big, Char'' you said in between moans, bouncing on him. ''Yes, fuck, yes.''

His mouth finds it way back to yours while his hands massaged your tits.

''Fuck Char I'm gonna cum''

''Oui. Cum Cherie, all over my dick, please''

You didn't need any more convincing. You came over his still hard cock. But that didn't slow his efforts, chasing down his own orgasm.

Your moans were getting out of hand now. You were sure people outside could hear you if they walked past the car.

''Char, people will hear us'' you tried to whisper.

''Let them. Let them hear how I'm making you feel. Let them hear you chose to ride me''

That statement very quickly bought on your fourth orgasm of the night.

2 minutes later, ''Fuck Y/N, where do you want my cum?'' he asked.

''In me, please.''

You definitely wanted to taste him at some point. But right now you needed to feel him fill you up.

Within seconds he release a warm splutter inside of you. His moans were the best sounds you've ever heard come out of his mouth.

You both slowed your motions. You slumped forward against him and just sat there. Catching your breath and your mind up to what just happened. You finally fucked Charles Leclerc. And it was the most amazing sex ever.

After a few moment you could feel Charles was softening inside of you. You moved to lift yourself up, but stopped you. He gently removed himself from your cunt and placed you back on his lap.

It's what he did next though, that left you speechless. He swiped his fingers along your folds, scooping up the mixture of cum, and brought his finger to your lips.

''Fuck me'' you squealed as you opened your mouth and took his finger in.

''I kinda just did'' he smirked as you licked his finger clean and pulled him in for a kiss.

A soft kiss this time. A loving one.

''We should get back inside'' you whispered. Although you'd much rather go home and go for round 2.

''It's going to be so hard to keep my hands off you now'' Charles said, kissing a strip up your neck.

''Just to say bye. Then let's go home''

''Fine'' and he pinched your ass.

You both had to make yourselves look presentable again. You combed your hands through your hair, as well as the mess you've made of his.

And you walked back into the club. Trying to keep the smirks off your faces.

''Y/N, where have you been?'' Carmen piped up.

''There's a hottie who's been eyeing you since we got here. You need to go talk to him.''

You rolled your eyes. '''No thanks, I'm good'' you said looking at Charles. That was probably a mistake because Carmen caught on right away.

''Oh. Ohhhh. Oh my god'' she squealed but before she could say anything further you pulled her into a corner and threatened her (not really) that she couldn't tell anyone. Not even George. She swore you to secrecy.

By the time you'd got back to the others, Charles had already told them you were tired and that he was going to take you home. By uber that is. He was in no state to actually drive, so he would get someone to fetch his car in the morning.

You said your round of goodbyes and you were soon standing on the sidewalk waiting for your uber. Now Charles couldn't keep his hands off of you. He was whispering sweet nothings in your ear and ticking you here and there.

''Can't wait to get you home and rip this dress off of you''

''Char, please.''

''Please what?'' he smirked.

''Stop. Until we get home'' you playfully pushed him away.

The ride to his apartment was eventful to say the least.

The driver recognized Charles and was a chatty one. Charles could barely keep up with the guys questions because now you were fumbling with his belt. You giggled as you eventually got his cock free and took him into your hands. You pumped him a few times until he stopped your movements and harshly whispered in your ear - ''If you want the night to end here, then carry on. If not, then let go. Because i can't hold on, Amour. You're doing the impossible to me. Let's get home then you can have your way with me'' he smirked at you in the dark.

You very quickly removed your hands. But as you did he cupped your face and brought you in for a long kiss. A proper make out. Tongues and all.

The driver then cleared his throat to tell you that you'd arrived at home. Charles apologized and made sure to leave a generous tip, before he all but carried you out the car and up the stairs to his building.

He unlocked the door and it was barely closed fully before he had you pinned against it. Actually ripping your dress off this time.

''Char! That was an expensive dress! And I've only worn it once!'' you exclaimed.

''And I'll buy you a new one. But I needed it off you as soon as possible'' he tried to justify.

''Please just come here'' you said, pulling him back to you for a heated kiss again.

''I need to taste you'' he said as he picked you up and carried you to his room.

He placed you on his bed, completely naked.

''You're still wearing too may clothes'' you made a pouty face at him.

''Patience, Cherie. First things first-'' he opened up your legs.

You should have felt conscious. He was staring at your most intimate parts. But you felt nothing but safe. You trusted him. And honestly, you'd been waiting for this day for too long.

He started kissing a trail from your knee to your sensitive bud. No teasing this time. He licked you folds - and that had you seeing stars. He continued licking and sucking and soon his tongue entered you. To say it felt good was an understatement.

''Fuck Charles. How are you so good at this'' you moaned between breaths.

He didn't answer you. All you could hear were you moans, and his tongue lapping in and out of you. Your hands grabbed and pulled at his hair, and it wasn't long until you came crashing down again.

Yes, you definitely were over-stimulated, especially having gone to long without an actual dick entering you. You weren't sure how much longer you could take it. But all you know was that you had to feel him inside of you again.

''Fuck Char I'm cumming'' was all you could say before you released into his mouth. He looked up at you and licked you clean, swallowing everything.

''So delicious baby. Fuck.''

''My turn. I need to taste you Char.'' You don't know where you got a sudden burst of energy, but you went with it.

''Let me fuck you again first, then I'll finish in your mouth. Bloody hell Y/N, you're going to be the end of me. The most amazing thing to happen to me'' he said as he flipped you over so you were on all fours.

You heard him take off all of his clothes, before lining up his dick at you entrance.

''You're ready? he asked.

''Fuck, always ready for you!'' you squealed.

And he slid into you in a single movement.

Now that you were not in public, your moans were incredibly loud and you couldn't give a shit if his neighbors could hear you.

''Holy fuck'' you squealed. This position had him deeper in you than he was when you'd fucked in the Ferrari. His cock was hitting all the right spots, and once again the pleasure overtook the pain.

''Babe you're doing so well for me. Letting me fuck you so hard. Not gonna last long like this'' he muttered while pulling you up so your head was resting against his. He tried to kiss you despite the awkward position, but ended up leaving a few hickeys on your neck.

''Char, I'm almost there'' was all you managed before he was flipping you over again and this time hammering into you while on-top of you.

''Let go for me, Cherie.''

And you did. You saw stars. Your mind blank and your body limb. But then you heard him - ''Y/N, I'm going to cum, sit up'' and you obeyed.

He pulled out of you and you took him into your hands. Pumping him a few times and finally took him into your mouth. Your hooded eyes looking up at him.

''Fuck I can get used to this view'' he moaned.

You could taste yourself on him and within seconds he was emptying himself in your mouth and across your tits. He tasted delicious. The only word you could use to describe the taste of Charles Leclerc.

You made sure to swallow every last drop and you licked him clean. You took a minute to actually take a look at his dick. Could you say it was beautiful? Yes, you could. So big and a hot vein on the one side. You already felt turned on again, but your pussy was telling you no.

''Wow, sweet, pretty Y/N, my dirty girl'' he smiled at you.

The butterflies in your tummy awakened when he called you 'his girl'

''Char, I could say the same thing about you and your dirty mouth!'' you squealed back to him.

He leaned down and locked his lips with you once more, before pulling away.

You pouted, ''where are you going?''

''Just to get a towel to clean up'' he smiled back. ''Oh, and it goes without saying- please spend the night here? I want to cuddle''

''Of course Char, I'd love that too.''

After cleaning up and putting on one of Charles' old Ferrari T-shirts, the two of you lay in bed. Your head was resting on his chest and he was drawing lazy circles on your back.

''You're such an amazing person Y/N. I know we've been back and fourth a lot these past few months but I am so happy to finally have you in my arms. I don't plan on over letting you go, by the way'' he smirked at you as you leaned on your elbow and pecked his nose. ''Please be my girlfriend?'' he asked with the biggest boyish grin.

''I'd want nothing more right now, my Charlie'' you gushed at him.

''Fucking luckiest man on the planet, I am'' he whispered before capturing your lips in his for the umpteenth make-out session of the night.

You both started to doze off so got into a more comfortable position. You were little spoon, of course, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you impossibly closer and leaving fluttering kisses in your hair.

When you awoke the next morning, it took you a few seconds to remember where you were. Then all the images from last night flashed in your mind and you couldn't stop a smile from forming on your face.

Charles' arm was still wrapped around your waist and his face was nuzzled in your hair. Something that caught you attention though, was something poking your ass- his boner.

You could still hear he was in a deep slumber so you decided to tease him a bit. You wiggled you ass against his crotch and immediately heard him grunt in his sleep.

Slowly, you turned your body so you were now facing him. He looks so devilishly handsome. His face was a perfect contour, and even in his sleep, his dimples could be traced with your fingers.

His eyes shot open and before you knew it his lips were on yours.

''Am i dreaming? Are you really in my bed, in my arms?'' he asked when he pulled back and closed his eyes again.

''I'm really here Charlie'' you said as your hand grabbed his boner through his boxers.

His eyes widened in surprise and he let out a loud laugh.

''Okay, yep, you're here'' he said as he climbed on-top of you to kiss you properly.

''My girlfriend'' he looked at you with heart eyes before kissing you again. His lips moved from your mouth, down to your neck, biting occasionally and then soothing with his tongue. When he reached your boobs, your nipples were swollen with the amount of tugging and sucking he did last night. They were sensitive so he played nice, just licked around them and suckled on them lightly.

You hands found their place in his hair again as he made his way down your tummy, spending a few seconds on your belly button, before placing himself on where you craved him the most.

He licked a stripe up your cunt, tongue quickly finding your clit, and now his fingers were swiping along your folds.

And your moans were getting louder. ''Óh god, yes, please yes!''

''I don't think I''ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me. Fuck. The things you do to me'' he whispered loud enough so you could hear him.

Soon he thrust two fingers into you at once. It felt mind-blanking. So incredible. He was proper finger fucking you now. Not letting you breathe, just going at you nonstop, while his mouth was also working a number on you.

''I'm close. Please. Merde'' you couldn't hold off for much longer.

''Ask me''

''What?'' you looked down at him.

He wore a smirk. ''Ask me if you can come''

''Fuck Charles'' you moaned. But you needed to come, like right now, so you played along.

''Can i cum? Charles please let me cum''

''Who's making you want to come?''

You won't lie. This new dominant side of Charles was getting you to reach new heights. It was sexy as fuck.

''You Charles. Only you''

''Fuck baby, cum for me. Let me taste you''

And you didn't need to be told twice. You came crashing down, barely able to breathe, seeing stars once again.

Charles worked you through your orgasm, slowing his actions down.

''You are my new favorite flavor'' he whispered before letting you taste yourself on his lips.

''Hmmm'' you hummed into the kiss.

Th hour was just spent cuddling and talking sweet nothings until your stomach growled.

''You need to fuel up, store some energy for later'' Charles whispered in your ear.

''I'm starving. You definitely wrecked me Char'' you replied.

''Come on, let's get us something to eat''

There was something so domestic about watching Charles cook you breakfast. You could so see yourselves spending lazy mornings in like this. Shut out from the outside world. Just the two of you.

You'd talked some more and had decided to keep this new relationship just to yourselves. Of course your close friends would find out soon enough, hell they already suspect things, but you wanted to hide away from the rest of the world. Just be in your own bubble for a while.

After some heavenly pancakes, Charles decided to drag you to the shower.

No prizes for guessing what went on in the there.

The two of you fucked. Fucked harder than last night, harder than you've ever had before.

You back was against the cool tiles while Charles slammed into you. Hard and rough. His lips were on yours. Not really kissing you, but rather biting you. Tongue exploring your mouth again.

You could hardly even hold your body up when he made you come. Your legs were shaking to a point where they felt like jelly. But your Charles was strong. He held you up as he chased his own orgasm. You were both sweating from the heat of the water plus fucking each other. The moans you were sure could be heard by the neighbors were obscene - filled with grunts and french swear words. It was like a scene out of a porn movie.

You came twice more before Charles was grunting in your ear, literally breathless. You felt his warm liquid fill you up as he chanted your name repeatedly.

''Y/N, Y/N, fucking hell how are you so amazing at this. I've never had it so good before''

Breathlessly, you replied ''Likewise Char, but you're the amazing one. Fuck your dick is incredible. It feels incredible inside of me. Like it was made to fit into my cunt only''

After some more kissing and giggles, you washed each others hair and your bodies before climbing out of the shower.

You wore some of Charles' joggers and a T-shirt, which were obviously too big for you, but so comfortable.

Just as you settled onto the couch to find something to watch, the doorbell rang.

Charles pecked your cheek before going to the door to see who it was. In strolled one Lando Norris.

His eyes widened when he saw you. More so when he saw what you were wearing.

''I fucking new it. The two of you are fucking!'' he got all excited.

''I don't now what you're talking about'' you smirked at him, as Charles cuddled you to his side and kissed your lips.

''Blood hell, get a room'' Lando squealed.

''Mate, you are in my house'' Charles joked.

''No seriously, how long has this been going on'' Lando asked, pointing to you and Charles.

''Less than 24 hours'' Charles smiled at you.

''Like shit'' Lando replies.

''No seriously, last night, at the club'' you remarked.

''Fuck me. I thought that has been since Ibiza'' Lando says.

''Hmm'' was all you said back.

''Well, I will leave you two love birds. I just came to check if my thoughts were true, and now that I see they somewhat are, I'll be on my way. Oh and drinks on water tomorrow sunset?'' he asked.

''Ouais'' Charles replied before basically shoving Lando out the door to return to his spot beside you.

The day was spent just lazing around and cuddling. Charles took you back to your place at some point so you could get some clothes and toiletries. He demanded, in a playful manner that he needed you to stay with him for the week until you were both due to fly out to London for F1 shooting.

Going into the next day, it was as if your bodies were starved of each other. It was endless amounts of sex- literal fucking, and slow 'making love' sex.

Later in the day you met up with your friends on Lando's yacht. It was a beautiful day.

As you stood beside Charles, watching the sunset, he said it.

''I love you, Y/N. I think I always have, and I always will'' he said as he kissed your cheek.

You really couldn't believe where the two of you had ended up. Yes, you only properly started dating less than 2 days ago, but feelings started well over two years ago. You knew each other inside and out.

So you looked at him with glossy eyes as you tightened your grip on his hand.

''I love you too, so much Char'' and he immediately locked his lips with yours for a gentle kiss.

''You're finally mine'' he whispered.

[doveywovy]

A drabble trade with @domoz, with the prompts "marriage hunt" & "cultural differences"!

-------

This was the first time in over two hundreds years that the Senju had allowed another clan to be present for the midsummer hunt, much less partake. An act of trust, Hashirama had called it. Tobirama wasn’t entirely opposed, but he did wish Aniki had bothered to explain the details of the ceremony to the other clan.

The Senju Midsummer Marriage Hunt was a celebration of life. It was a matter of connecting to nature, reconnecting to their place in nature. The intricacies of the rituals surrounding it, as most long-ago formed religious practices, were as detailed as they were endless. Dressed only in cotton, bringing only bow and arrows as their weapons, and all of them barefoot- the Senju had taken great efforts to ensure the event remained connected in all ways back to nature. Hashirama had reassured him multiple times that it wouldn’t be trouble- that the Uchiha, as a clan well known for their hunting prowess, would not disturb things where it mattered. 

The sun high, the day hot, and the Uchiha’s arrival to the meadow was already proving his brother wrong. 

They arrived in a burst of color through the brushwork, making noise that shinobi normally are naturally devoid of. Some are playing instruments, drums and flutes, and there’s laughter and yelling and the clatter of wooden geta knocking together. Tobirama makes a mental note to direct the hunt in the opposite direction from which the Uchiha had come; there would certainly be nothing to catch along the trail after that terrible racket. 

Despite all the noise, it’s a smaller group then Tobirama would’ve expected. No children, no elderly; only a small group of presumed-shinobi.

Hashirama’s welcoming smile grows strained, but he still calls out to the procession. “Hello, hello! So glad you accepted our invitation!”

Madara Uchiha makes his way to the front and accepts Hashirama’s excited hug with good nature. As the noise finally died down, the two groups were able to observe each other- and Tobirama is surprised to find matching looks of disdain across the way. Both the Senju and the Uchiha clearly do not approve of each other’s choice in clothing. 

The Uchiha are dressed in finary. Delicate silks, layers of jewelry. Even Madara has bothered to tie his hair back in an imitation of a presentable style. They look dressed to meet the daimyo, not for a day and a half of hunting on a boiling hot summer day. 

 Izuna shoves his way forward. He’s dressed even nicer than the rest, with bright red makeup smeared at the corners of his eyes and his hair a glossy well-groomed braid along his back. He gestures at Tobirama, turns to face Madara, and says, “I told you!”

“Izuna.” Madara responds, in a reprimanding tone near-identical to Hashirama’s. It’s a little funny, but Tobirama hides his mirth for fear of making the situation worse. 

Hikaku- and ah, unusual for so many members of the Uchiha main family to have come all together- makes his way to Izuna’s side and pats him reassuringly on the shoulder. “We mustn’t judge the Senju for….aesthetic differences. If their tradition calls for more practical clothing, we should respect it.”

He says it very nicely, but it certainly sounds judgemental. Tobirama would be offended if he wasn’t practicing a very similar judgment of the Uchiha tradition. Dressing up for hunting in old growth forests seems unbearably foolish, regardless of historical precedent. 

“Look, look, this is my fault. I really should’ve explained it better.” Hashirama offers, which does seem to mollify both halves of the crowd. “We Senju host a hunt every midsummer in honor of all the marriages in the past year. It’s a way to reconnect with our place in the natural order, which is why we tend to dress down and-” 

“Honor the marriages?” Madara stutters out. All of the Uchiha, in fact, seem more confused at Hashirama’s words. 

“Yes, exactly! Because of- you know, the spring babies growing up and…” His voice trails off.

“The Uchiha,” Hikaku explains, face flushed a bright red, “Have our own tradition called a marriage hunt. A tradition where a shinobi can catch a spouse. We had assumed…” 

Tobirama waits until the clamor from his own clan dies down- outrage from some, certainly, but more laughter than anything. Such an outrageous miscommunication, it’s hard for any of them to find anger and not humor. 

“I believe, with some effort, our traditions could be merged.” Tobirama offers politely, and ignores the weight of a very intense stare at his words.

[dead-girl-tells-stories]

I have another idea for a story, but I once again don't know what to write, so I'm building a skeleton.

It's a DC x DP x ML crossover. Damien, Marinette, and Danny are triplets born into the LoA. From birth, they were taught to not see each other as siblings but as rivals for Ra's attention. When they were five, they were dipped (more like dropped) into the pits for the first time. Danny never comes back out. The second time was when they were six. Damien and Marinette came back from a mission gravely injured. Marinette doesn't come back out. Damien becomes the sole heir.

As one can imagine, Danny and Marinette aren't dead but simply taken to where they were needed at the time. That being said, things for these two characters go mostly according to their respective shows after they integrate into society. With the exception that the two of them are more competent and don't fight like rabid raccoons. But things take a dark turn when they turn sixteen.

Marinette

. After finding out that his father is Hawkmoth, Adrien is unable to carry the weight of being the holder of the cat Miraculous, as he doesn't want to fight his father and gives it to Ladybug. He promptly moves to the States to further his modeling career. Marinette, unable to find someone else worthy to be the holder of the cat Miraculous, stores it away and becomes the sole hero of Paris (with occasional helpers). But because of this, her two lives get more intertwined, and she is forced into a corner where she has to choose between being Ladybuy or Marinette.

. But she doesn't get a chance as Hawkmoth is dethroned and replaced by an even greater threat. She is forced to take on the persona of LadyNoir. Her life crumbles as she tries her hardest to balance her life as a hero and a person. She tries to save everyone but someone always ends up getting hurt. Whether it be her as Marinette, clinging to what little of her life is left. Or her as LadyNoir, with no choice but to watch innocent civilians die because she couldn't think of a better plan that could've saved everyone.

. It gets to the point where she makes an unforgivable wish. But every wish has a cost. She only finds out the price when she is forced to stand behind an invisible wall and watch as her life replays before her eyes, the film slowly burning away till there's nothing left. She cries as she falls into an ocean of familiar Lazarus green.

Danny

. Danny's life is also crumbling around him as he struggles to separate his human life from his ghost half. But after becoming the Ghost King, things only became more complicated and even more dangerous as more ghosts started coming through the portal to challenge him for the crown. And while he would really love to give it away, the guys that kept fighting him for it are very clearly evil. So he has to keep fighting, winning, and solidifying his position as the King of the Infinite Realms. But with every win comes a newfound power. Power he doesn't want. Power that scares him.

. It gets to the point when Danny has to drop out of school. He wasn't even scoring double digits anymore so what was the sense of keeping him? But Danny couldn't stay home either, it was too dangerous as his ghost and human halves were slowly becoming one. And his parents' obsession was slowly becoming a threat to him. He thought he had the solution. He was going to shut down the portal and leave Amity Park.

. It was perfect really, as no ghost portal meant no ghost. And he couldn't be vivisected if neither the GIW nor his parents could catch him. He talked the plan over with team phantom and they reluctantly agreed. The ghost portal is destroyed, and Danny leaves Amity and files over Elmerton and a few other towns. But after flying for a while, Danny gets to a sort of border where nothing meets... NOTHING. On the other side was just an infinite void. Nothing.

. Danny slowly realizes that in this world, all he knew was Amity Park. He never actually traveled or went on field trips. Never went to visit extended family nor did any visit. No one 'new' ever came to Amity Park because they were all just nearby. He learned no relevant history besides Amity Park because there was nothing outside of Amity Park. When the realization had finally set in the world began to crumble into the void and it became a race against him and the void.

. Danny knew that he was fast but the void was faster, and before he knew it he was back in Amity. He was going to warn them and try to save as many people as he could. But saw something in their eyes. They already knew. Danny watched how teary eyes and big smiles, everyone and everything he loved crumbled into the void, fading into nothingness.

Scientists across the galaxy, the universe even, often theorize about how everything came to be. Well, it didn't start with a bang, that's for sure. 'Well then how did it start?' you might ask.

Well..., it started with some tears and a scream.

[leohttbriar]

the sequence of “deadlock” to “thaw” to “tuvix” to “resolutions” is so interesting. a sequence of traumatizing events about: what it means to be intimate with no one but yourself, intimate with fear as a simulated person until you both fade from simulated reality but remain in the material one, and intimate with a merged half such that it's not two halves but one whole--and then with an equal with whom, by position and consequence, no intimacy can be allowed to exist. which i guess is just a different kind of intimacy?

it's like a cycle in which janeway learns she is alone in a fundamental way, making decisions and hard calculations with no other cooks fixing the broth, and while there could be a new and equivalent love, there actually can't. no matter the small acknowledgment, she walks back onto the ship to the start of the cycle, again. sacrifice, fear, choice, sacrifice, fear, choice, sacrifice--

in a meta way, there's an interesting read regarding how mulgrew didn't want janeway and chakotay to get together, and how she was right for it: the first female-captain character of this enormous franchise couldn't be the first to also have an explicit romance with her second-in-command. to be in a specific singular position requires constructing some scaffolding that might not otherwise be needed. in this is the implication that, while other captains would be as lonely as janeway, they might not be quite as actually alone. and it's like how strachey describes queen elizabeth i, forever unmarried, but in the most cunning of ways--prevaricating on committing to the personal, leaning into the tension but never breaking it, pledging only in the quiet so it can't ever be interpreted as contractual, all to retain a hold on centered power. a power which, in many ways in the story, is the ethic driving the crew back across the galaxy and acting as infrastructure for the culture of their unbelievably distant home, through sheer will. it's a kind of compromise of personhood to the position that seems particular to janeway, because of her gender and the fact that she's the highest-ranking officer of a distant culture's diplomatic and governing organization for 70,000 light years.

she has to be aware she's more representative than real at this point. like, it's almost an idea somewhat suggested by her brief duplication and her brief simulation. (and like of course she split tuvix back up--she only thinks now with two bodies instead of one, kathryn and captain, and it's inconceivable these separate persons might genuinely fuse.) the solitude of janeway makes either her insane or, as strachey put it, "a sane woman in a universe of violent maniacs."

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑 \ papa emeritus II (secondo) x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 \ a visit to confession takes a sudden turn when the papa invites you to an immediate, more... hands-on atonement.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 \ 4.6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 \ SMUT (18+ ONLY PLEASE), semi-public sex, extreme religious themes/blasphemy, oral m receiving, creampie, degradation and praise, no aftercare cause he's a dick

we take a break from our regularly scheduled copia/frater programming to bring you some straight up nastiness about this creepy old zaddy

You slipped past the curtain and took a seat on your side of the confession booth, sighing quietly to yourself.  “Bless me, Papa,” you asked softly.

“Of course,” the deep voice responded.  “Tell me what you need, child.”

His voice sounded different up close in a small space like this— the polar opposite of hearing him speak in the massive chapels; he was so close, just on the other side of the lattice, but even when you squinted and peeked into it all you could make out was the vague silhouette of him.

“I… I have disobeyed your teachings,” you admitted, “and the will of our great unholy ruler.”

“Mm,” was his only response, a hint of expectance to it.

“I have denied my lust,” you confessed softly.  “I ache for someone, but I have done nothing— actually, I just try to ignore it…”

“Why would you ignore something so pure and precious as desire?” 

“I’m afraid, Papa,” you whimpered.  “Afraid I’m not good enough for him…”

“You know my church is no place for humility,” he scolded, “certainly not shame.”

“I know,” you sighed.

“If the one you desire rejects you, then that is their choice— but you can’t deny your own needs just because you think too little of yourself,” he explained.

“My needs?” you repeated nervously.

“Yes— you need to be pleasured, hm?” he assumed.  You nodded shyly, before remembering that he couldn’t actually see you.  “You need to be kissed and caressed, touched, filled— fucked.”

Your thighs pressed together tightly and you stifled a gasp.  “Y-yes…”

“It’s only natural,” he said casually— like he hadn’t just sent a shock through your whole body with just his words.  “Everyone here understands that… if it is someone in my church that you desire, I’m not sure what you have to be afraid of.  What reason do you have to think that you would be spurned?”

“It’s just… I’m only a humble worshiper,” you explained as your heart started to race, “and he… he’s so important.  He’s… he’s in one of the highest positions in the whole church…” 

You swallowed thickly as a short, but heavy, pause filled the confines of the booth.  “Is he?” Secondo finally pressed, but the depth of his voice gave away that he already knew.

“Yes, Papa,” you shakily relented, “and I try to listen and learn when he speaks, but I just— all I can think about is how badly I need him.”

“Mm,” he said again, annoyingly cryptic as per usual.  “Your carnality is insatiable, my child.  Very good.”

You gripped tighter onto the wooden bench beneath you, eyes fluttering shut; it only took a little stern praise from him to drive you wild, apparently.

“The one you desire isn’t so far away, is he?” Secondo teased.  “You only need a little courage, and you will be given all you seek.”

The partition between the two halves of the booth slid open, and your eyes widened.

“Come here, pet,” he offered gently— he had that way about him, he could be so intense but so gentle and nurturing at the same time, if he wanted.

The booth wasn’t really designed to allow you to stand up fully, so you had to crouch slightly when you got up and moved to his half.  It was quite dark in the booth, but enough light broke through the cracks in the curtain that you could see the shape of him: you could see the familiar dark stare, the sharpness of his painted face, his waiting expression with one eyebrow slightly raised.  

And, maybe this was less important, but you could smell him: some kind of musky cologne, presumably, a sweeter scent than you would’ve imagined, but blessed Belial was it addicting.

He shifted his legs further apart, his robes draping between his knees and against the bench beneath him.  “I will give you what you desire— but you must prove yourself to me first,” he explained.  “Kneel before me.”

You shakily got down on your knees and looked up at him as you blinked quickly; you rarely got to be so close to him, it was making your heart beat faster already.  His stare felt heavy and piercing as it ran over you, and all he had to do was slightly motion with his hand— turning it out in that go ahead movement— for you to nod and reach up under his robes carefully.

Honestly, you’d wondered before what the Papas wore under their robes, and in Secondo’s case, it apparently was nothing.  You pushed the rich fabric out of the way only to come face to face with his erection growing against his thigh.  “You see what your eagerness and desperation has done to me, child?” he scolded.  “When I feel that hunger, I feed it, not flee from it— you know better.”

“Y-yes, Papa,” you mumbled weakly, feeling guilty for your misbehavior but knowing you were soon to be absolved.

“Now, earn your forgiveness,” he insisted, moving his hips forward slightly on the bench to make the angle a little easier, and you nodded before leaning in towards his lap with a quick gulp to suppress your nerves. 

And by the way, when he sang that he is the one who comes richly endowed?  That wasn’t just a lyric thrown in there because it flowed nicely: it was entirely literal and accurate.  You swallowed thickly as you wrapped your fingers around it, trying not to be scared of how thick his cock was… fitting it in your mouth was going to be enough of a struggle, let alone anywhere else if he was so generous.

Giving the silky skin of his cock a few gentle strokes, you leaned in and gently ran your tongue along the underside of the head.

You kept looking up at him expectantly, wishing you could catch a reaction on his face— but for the most part, he was irritatingly stoic as he watched you lick and kiss all over his cock.  You found yourself getting desperate for a response, trying to be better until he gave you some kind of encouragement: you moaned around him, you ran your tongue everywhere you could reach, you batted your eyes up at him.

The only thing that ever got a response was when the tip of your tongue flicked over his slit; for just a second, his nostrils flared, and you beamed excitedly.  “Am I doing well, Papa?” you asked eagerly.

“Keep going,” he ordered firmly, not necessarily answering your question— but it was a good sign.  You did it again before wrapping your lips around his fat tip, suckling carefully and humming at how oddly comforting it felt to have him in your mouth.  You swirled your tongue around slowly, tasting the slightest saltiness leak from his cock, and you purred happily.

It was the slightest movements at first, hardly giving him much friction and focusing instead on getting used to what you had, but you did begin to drop lower down, if only by centimeters at a time.

It took opening your mouth nearly as wide as it would go to get him any deeper, but you pressed on, never willing to disappoint your Papa.  It paid off, since the next bob of your head finally made him groan a little— a small reaction, but it made your body hum with joy.  You moved faster to try to make him do it again; instead, you felt one of his hands rest on your shoulder, which honestly was even better.  

Your lips probably weren’t even halfway down his length when the tip of him bumped into your throat— and you didn’t let it affect you at first, instead just keeping your movements steady, but at a certain point you couldn’t ignore it anymore: you gagged around him, but managed to keep it quiet.

His grip on your shoulder tightened slightly and you heard him moan in the back of his throat, however softly.  Your chest was already burning with pride, and between your legs— well, needless to say you were having a strong reaction there, too.  In fact, it was taking quite a bit of willpower to keep yourself from trying to rub against your own leg or something as you knelt; thankfully, pleasing your Papa was your main focus at the moment.

The next time you gagged, it was a little louder and harder, and you had to pull back slightly as your eyes began to water.  Thankfully he seemed far from disappointed; he groaned encouragingly once again as you drooled over him and your hand smoothed it out, stroking the (significant) portion of him that your mouth couldn’t reach.

His head tilted back until it rested against the wooden wall of the booth behind him— you loved how he looked in that moment, with his eyes shut and his mouth slightly parted: he looked relaxed, in a way that made you realize he normally carried a lot of tension.  

Your eyes shut as well and you really focused on your work, moaning louder even though it was muffled with your mouth full.  Again you could feel his cock leaking precum onto your tongue and you gratefully swallowed it down before venturing down to let him reach your throat again.  You choked slightly with each bob of your head, but it didn’t slow you down one bit— you were chasing after those little groans he let out when you did it, feeling your inner walls clench almost in time with your throat.

His hand slid up your neck, then ran over your hair and pushed your head slightly as he exhaled sharply through his nose; for a moment, you felt his nails scratch your scalp.  He kept you from pulling too far back up off of him, but you weren’t a flight risk— each movement allowed you to take him just a little bit deeper, it seemed, and you loved the feeling of him filling your throat.

You worried you’d done something wrong when he gently pushed you back, but his proud groan as he looked down at you made you less concerned.  “You certainly know how to give pleasure, little one,” he praised.  “But let me show you how to receive it, hm?  Get up and sit in Papa’s lap.”

You hopped up so quickly that you almost hit your head on the top of the confession booth, but thankfully you avoided injury and straddled his legs happily.  “Like this?” you asked excitedly.

“Yes, very good,” he nodded, already starting to reach up for your dress.  “Help me take this off, we won’t need that.”

You reached back behind yourself to open the dress as he slid the sleeves down your arms— the leather of his gloves tickled over your skin and you squirmed a little.  With your dress gone, all that was left was your pair of white panties, which you were almost self-conscious about as he examined them and pinched the waistband between his finger and thumb.

“How cute,” he cooed; that wasn’t really a word you ever expected to hear him say, but it made you bite your lip absent-mindedly.  “I think I’ll have to take these.”

Not quite sure what he meant at first, you yelped softly when his gloved hands took a tight grip of them just to rip them open at the seams with a snap; the show of strength already made your heart flutter, but him shoving the torn garment into a pocket inside his robes was even more arousing.  Already, your mind was racing with ideas of what he would do with them.

“A little gift for Papa, eh?” he suggested with a half-smile— you’d never seen him smile at all before, and it did absolutely nothing to make him look less menacing. 

With you totally exposed for him, he took the opportunity to run his fingers over your pussy, teasing you with just one brief brush of that firm leather over your clit.  “O-oh, Papa,” you shuddered, wishing he would do it again, but he moved on quickly.

“What a precious thing you are,” he praised softly, reverently.  Gloved hands traced over your frame, briefly teasing your hardened nipples and petting your quivering thighs.

When he grabbed a hold of your ass, you whimpered a little but let him guide you to sit up more, until you were hovering over his hard cock— he wrapped a hand around it and moved it closer to you, sliding his tip through your soaked lips.

“Oh, pet,” he sighed, “you’ve drenched yourself, poor thing… I’m going to make all that frustration go away.”

But you couldn’t help but tense up when he even just barely pushed the head against your hole.  “Papa, are you sure…?” you trailed off nervously.

“Do you fear it will hurt you, little one?” he asked, and you nodded.  “If it did, that wouldn’t stop you, would it?”

His condescending tone made you clench inside.  “N-no, Papa,” you whimpered.

“Go ahead, child— slowly, we have all the time we need.”

Apparently he didn’t mind keeping all the other people in line for confession waiting.  Knowing they were all just outside, surely well aware of what was happening in the booth, somehow only egged you on more even if it made your face feel terribly hot.

You sank down slowly, already needing to stop before even the ridge of his head was inside— see, when you were holding yourself up like this, you couldn’t exactly relax your muscles because you were using them.  It made him an even tighter fit, and you winced through your teeth as you started to feel him stretch you open.  “Good,” he praised darkly, his satisfaction egging you on.  

Lowering yourself more, you heard a deep moan jump from your throat. The friction and stretch was always just a little too much right at first, only to fade into perfection after a moment.  Your hands held onto his shoulders, and not just for balance— you loved how strong he felt, how solid.  His grip on you was bruisingly tight, but it made you feel safe.

He seemed to get even thicker the closer you got to the base of him, and before you'd reached the end it was also too much, too sharp of a sting inside you.  You choked on a whimper and he reached up to cradle your head, stroking your temple with his thumb.  “Shh, shh,” he soothed, “be gentle, little lamb, you’re a very delicate thing.”

You slowed down a bit, even though your legs were starting to shake, and held tighter onto his shoulders.  “P-Papa,” you stammered. 

“You're doing very well,” he assured, “I know you can take all of me, I know that you need it.  Go on, little one, Papa's got you.”

Shuddering as you slid the rest of the way down, you shut your eyes tight with a wince of anticipation before quickly sinking those last few inches.

You both sighed with relief when your lap settled into his; he was whispering praises to you but the words were lost in your delirious mind— all you heard was the general sentiment that you were doing well for Papa, and that was all you needed.

You rocked your hips, patiently at first, and moaned lowly at the tense friction.  When you moved like that, the tip of him rubbed against something so far inside you— a dull yet throbbing feeling that made your eyes roll back.

“Good,” he purred again, “don't you see how right it is?  How your body was meant to take mine?”

You were too lost in the feeling to actually answer, just moaning in response instead.  As your moans grew louder with each motion, you heard your own noises echo against the booth’s walls and quickly bit your lip to keep quiet.

“Don’t be shy, pet— don’t try to hide how good it feels,” he growled.  “Take pride in it, it’s a precious gift.  And what do you say when you receive a gift?”

“Thank you,” you panted quickly.  “Th-thank you, Papa.”

“Tell me,” he commanded.  “Tell me everything.”

“I-I wanted you for so long, Papa,” you whined.  “I wanted to please and serve you— I wanted you to touch me a-and whisper to me…”

“About what?” he wondered.

“Fuck, anything!” you yelped.  “Your voice does things to me… things I don’t understand, things I’ve never felt before…”

He chuckled deeply, making you feel even more foolish in an addictive sort of way.  “You’re no stranger to lust, child,” he purred, “it must be really something, if you can’t explain it.  How could I have such an effect on you when you hardly know me at all?”

But he didn’t seem all that surprised— he knew what he had been doing to you, and he clearly reveled in it.  “I couldn't help it, I-I just couldn't stop thinking about you,” you whined.

That whine became even more desperate when one of his hands slipped around you to grab a nice greedy handful of your ass, guiding your movements and kneading your delicate skin.  “And this is what you wanted?” he taunted.  “To ride my cock like a desperate little whore?”

Your throat caught on your words so you just nodded instead, finding a tight grip on the neckline of his robes while you moved.

You stopped rocking your hips and started properly bouncing on his lap, both of you moaning at the more intense feeling.  The sound of skin on skin echoed in the enclosed space; you loved how raunchy it sounded, unhinged and unrestrained pleasure after all that time you’d spent trying to suppress yourself.  Sometimes it had seemed like you were summoning all your willpower just to keep your hands from going between your legs during Mass— and that was, of course, the first place they ended up once you found a chance to be alone after watching him.  But you sort of figured you weren’t the only person in the congregation with that problem.

But how many of them ended up here, with an opportunity like this?  Even if he was known to be pretty generous with his cock, this still felt pretty rare, and special— you felt a grin fill your face as you wondered how many people outside the booth were jealous of you right then.

That smile couldn’t last long when you felt that spot inside you getting even more friction; you had to gasp and let your eyes fall shut.  One of his hands ran up your side encouragingly, groping at your chest as it bounced with each of your motions.  He hummed approvingly, even hissed a little when he pinched your nipple because of the flex inside you that it caused.

“Pretty little pet,” he cooed sweetly.  “Your body is so obedient to me already, hm?  So responsive to just the slightest touch.”

“J-just for you, Papa,” you whimpered.

“Oh, you aren’t usually so sensitive?” 

You shook your head a little, whimpering again when he kneaded at your breast, carefully toying with your nipple between his finger and thumb.  He purred approvingly, his other hand grabbing tight onto your hip and pulling you down onto him— making you take his cock a little deeper and a lot more forcefully.  You cried out instantly, and he smirked at you condescendingly.

“It’s not too much for you, is it, child?” he teased.  “You can take all of me, yes?”

“Yes, Papa, it’s just— y-you’re so deep in me,” you moaned.  “I feel so full…”

“You like how it feels, to be filled completely?” 

“I love it,” you gasped.  “Papa, I love how you feel inside me.”

“Mm,” he purred proudly, “so grateful— you’re learning quickly, little one.”

You bit down on your lip to fight back another needy moan from his praise.

“Let them all hear you, little lamb,” he praised darkly.  “You have nothing to hide from them.”

“O-oh, Papa!” you cried, your head falling back as you sped up your riding.

“Yes,” he hissed encouragingly, gloved fingers digging into your hips to guide you.

When he started to buck up into you, pushing his cock just that much deeper each time you crashed together, you nearly screamed; your hands flew off of his shoulders and slammed against either side of the booth around you, just searching for something to keep you steady.  “Fuckfuckfuck,” you rushed, “Papa, yes!”

He was baring his teeth as he slammed up into you, and soon you weren't even really riding him anymore, you were just holding on for dear life as he railed you.

Your head tilted back and your moans seemed to get deeper— and they were louder, too, but part of that was just the way they echoed off the wall of the booth right above your face.  At this point, it wouldn’t just be those waiting for their turn to confess that could hear you: you felt like everyone in the whole church would know what was happening to you.  But you were too far gone to be self-conscious about it, if anything you felt more proud than ever.

“What a good fucking whore,” he growled through his teeth.  “You take cock too well to act so shy— I should’ve known what you needed from me, I should’ve known you were desperate to be fucked, you weren’t exactly subtle about it, were you?  I felt your eyes on me every Mass.”

One of his hands slid up your thigh, and a leather-covered thumb pressed against your bud just above where his body entered yours.  He barely had to touch it, barely had to move his finger at all; he knew just how to play your body like his instrument, and oh the music you made.  “Yes, fuck, yes, please— Papa, just like that, please keep touching me,” you begged.

He groaned proudly.  “You sound so sweet, little one— you want to cum, yes?”

“Yes!” you all but screamed.  “Yes, Papa, please, please…”

“Just keep begging for me, sweet child, I’ll give you what you need,” he promised.

“Papa, Papa,” you chanted thoughtlessly, “i-it’s so good, it feels so good— fuck!  I’m going to cum, Papa—”

“Good,” he praised darkly, hissing in a breath through his teeth.

Your moans were like sobs by that point, your body quivering but refusing to slow down as you chased your high.  He didn’t slow down either, thank Satan, and you loved how it felt to keep rocking down towards him with each motion— it was more control over this than you’d honestly expected.

“It's almost time, isn't it, pet?  Your pretty little cunt is squeezing my cock…”

You nodded quickly, biting on your lip to cope with the overwhelming intensity that was about to crash into you.

“Do it,” he demanded, “come for me.  Scream for your Papa.”

You figured you did, but it was hard to tell when your ears were ringing like that.  It was that beautiful, blinding black light of ecstasy, and it was so much better than when you brought yourself to the peak in your bed late at night to memories of him.  The feeling went so much higher, so much deeper, so much harder; he was right, of course, that you should’ve pursued your desire instead of trying to satiate it alone.  Nothing could compare to this— there was no substitution for what he could make you feel.

He kept rapidly thrusting up into you, even when you went almost entirely limp above him, even grabbing hold of one of your shoulders to make sure you took the full length of every thrust.  It was a little overstimulating, but you couldn't pretend you didn't love how it felt to be used by him for a few moments.

He stopped suddenly, pulling your hips down and keeping himself completely inside as his head fell back and he grunted roughly.

You smiled— bliss, contentment, a soft sort of pride— as you felt him flexing inside you: his cum inside you was your reward for a job well done, as was his long sigh of relief as he relaxed a bit onto the bench.

His hand moved away from your swollen bud (thank Satan, you wouldn’t have been able to take much more stimulation there) and pet the side of your face in an oddly tender way.  “You’ve done well, my little lamb,” he praised, something especially seductive in his voice when it was heavy with exhaustion and ecstasy like that.

Still trying to catch your breath, you slid your hands down from where they’d pressed against the walls of the booth— your arms were quite sore, and you only noticed once you moved them— and rested them gently on his arms as he loosely held your thighs.

“If you should desire me again, you need only find me in my chambers,” he encouraged.  “There’s no need to fear or avoid your carnal needs— you trust Papa to take care of you, yes?”

You nodded happily.  “Thank you, Papa.”

“Now, redress yourself and go and say your prayers,” he instructed, taking his hands off of you.  “Thank our infernal master for his gift of lust.”

You blinked quickly, realizing a part of you had yet to come back to reality until then— you were still in confession, and you couldn’t just stay here and bask in the sticky, heady warmth.

You didn't rush through getting off his lap, you would've hurt yourself if you did; you both hissed a little as you carefully let his cock slip out.

All he had to do was drape his robes back over himself… you had a harder job, trying to turn your dress right side out again and put it back on.  He didn't offer any assistance, only that trademark dark stare; how could he look so unaffected after all that, basically the exact same as he had before?  The only difference you could spot was that his chest was rising and falling a little bit faster as he caught his breath.

For a second, you hesitated— just in case he said something else— before slipping back out through the curtain and into the grand hall of the church.  You heard the partition between the two halves slide shut once again behind you, and you avoided the gazes of everyone waiting to confess as the next person stepped into the booth.

You weren’t exactly limping, but you were walking awkwardly on account of the soreness in your hips and the thick, hot substance oozing down your thighs.  You passed the line of waiting worshippers, flushing a little as heads turned to watch you.  No one would judge you— in fact, they mostly looked proud and impressed— but it still felt strange knowing they'd heard it all.  Some of your bravery, it seemed, had faded once your desire was satisfied.

Already the trail of his seed was running down to almost your knees, and your dress wasn’t long enough to cover it; you figured by the time you made it back to your bed, everyone that you passed by would have some idea how you’d spent your morning.  

But still, a smile was filling your face; you couldn’t stop thinking about one of the last things he’d said— to find him in his chambers at night if you wanted him again.

Even though you were still sore and exhausted, still leaking out his load, you knew you’d be taking him up on that offer sooner rather than later.

[signanothername]

Hello. How are you?

I've recently been following you, and I really love your art and I love how informative you are. You honestly such a joy to see and listen to.

As a question, what is your opinion on Dream? I don't know if you already answered this or not. But I was wondering.

And, I saw how long that Killer question was, (I read it all), so you don't have to answer this either. You can use a few sentences if you want. But it's totally your choice.

Yeah, that's all. Drink water, eat food, surround yourself with people that love you for who you are, and I love you (PLATONICALLY) <3

Hi!! I’m doing well! Thank you <3333

And awww!! Glad i bring you joy! :D

And thanks for the reminders!! Appreciate them so much! Hope you’re doing great, Love you too! /p

And omg fave little guy no.3 time for another ramble hcchchhc

I actually absolutely ADORE Dream, he’s kind, honest, hard working, and very big hearted

Dream tries his best to be nothing but a joy to those around him, he strives to make everyone happy, and not just cause he’s a guardian of positivity, it’s just how he is as a person, he loves making people happy, to be the sunshine in their lives, even if people are thankless or completely unaware of how much effort he puts into making them happy

His unconditional love for Nightmare and the way he cares so much about him above anything and anyone else, the way it reflects on his actions and how Nightmare’s corruption never changes how much he loves his brother?? Crying i can’t why is this boi so so precious

Yet Dream makes really sad, i mean, he himself endured abuse from the villagers, but instead of relentlessly bullying him, they were taking advantage of his kindness and naivety as a child, he spread himself too thin for them, yet not a single one stopped to think that he is a child, people never truly cared for Dream as much as they cared about the golden apples and the apple incident is an obvious example of that

And i feel like this is one of the reasons he’s an absolute people pleaser, he was conditioned to believe he has to put the happiness of others before his own at such a young age, that it’s somehow his job to make people happy even if it makes him feel bad, and while Dream’s job is obviously to help people, it was never his job to put their happiness before his, but what’s a clueless child to do y’know?

And that’s something i like to believe he never truly grew out of until he expended his energy completely after centuries, even then, Dream still feels guilty when he puts his foot down and tells someone to stop something or when he isn’t willing to help them, the guilt still eats away at him but it’s something i believe he’ll learn to quell, that it’s not his fault, or his job to destroy himself for the sake of what others want

There’s also the fact Dream has to fight his brother, the one he loves the most, it obviously hurts Dream’s heart immensely, he likes to believe his brother is still there deep down, and while he’s half right, time and corruption changed Nightmare, which Dream learns to adapt to, that just like Nightmare changed he has to change himself if he wanted to catch up, it doesn’t change the fact Dream’s heart is beyond broken for losing his brother

The fact Dream had to endure 500 years of being trapped as a statue, the last thing he saw was his brother’s crazed look and countless dead bodies all killed by his own brother, the fact he was willing to talk to Nightmare regardless and the fact it never changed how much he loves Nightmare even when his brother’s actions horrified him, Dream obviously realizes that they were both only children who endured so much and who both experienced a very traumatic event

The thing is, Dream and Nightmare are twins, and unlike none twin siblings, twins tend to be a lot closer and they act as two halves of the same whole, and I feel like half of Dream just feels so empty, the half his brother used to fill, Dream feels so alone in the world, cause nobody holds the same burden he does, yet what does Dream do? Smile, hold his head high, and face the challenges of every dreaded day head on, he doesn’t falter or break even under the immense pressure of his job, his corrupted brother, and everyone’s expectations of him

That doesn’t mean Dream is happy or has a fulfilling life, far from it, he’s broken, and just like Nightmare, he has an inner child in dire need to heal, but he doesn’t let life, his burden, his past or dreaded future dictate how he views today, he survives day by day and is still willing to put on a genuine smile regardless

If that isn’t bravery, idk what is

[heliads]

GIRLFRIEND i adored your lewis hamilton fics and am BEGGING you to write one for our boy charles leclerc!!! reader could be the public relations manager for the team and after another one of ferraris (unfortunate) racing tactics the press is badgering charles about what went wrong and overstepping boundaries and reader (who would be charles' gf or something idk) kinda steps in and puts them in their place

girlfriend!! anything for charles!

masterlist

If there’s one job worse than being a Scuderia Ferrari strategist, it’s being the director of public relations for the same team. The strategists really do try, bless their misguided little hearts, or so they claim, at least, but they do tend to cause a fair amount of trouble. Every race week, you prepare your statements for every kind of mishap, and every race week, you find yourself scrambling to draft responses to all types of new problems. Delightful.

Well, at least it’s interesting. Besides, the need for all these responses keeps you in a job, so you can’t really complain all that much. If there was one person with a legitimate bone to pick, though, that would have to be your boyfriend. He’s the one out there on the track whose shot at the Drivers’ Championship slips away with every bad plan, but for some reason, Charles Leclerc has still managed to keep his public affection for his racing team in fact.

Publicly, that is. When no one’s around but the two of you, when no one can hear you but the moths clustering on the outside of your glowing windows and the curling wind after dark, Charles sighs and runs his hands through his already mussed hair and actually says what he wishes.

It’s sort of funny, actually, that the only person Charles feels safe to be honest with is the PR head for his own company. As if you’d do a thing to hurt either him or his reputation, though. With the daunting task of carrying the hopes and dreams of all the Tifosi, Charles’ image and the man himself are one and the same. If you can protect him in any way, why would you not?

You just have to take care that you’re doing it inconspicuously. Very few people on this earth know about your relationship with Charles, you’d done that on purpose. Both of you were afraid of the toll it would take on your respective careers should the news come out. You would be accused of unfairly favoring a fellow employee, and he would be called out for similar HR violations.

That’s what years of public relations occupations have taught you. That’s the textbook answer:  you don’t date your coworkers and so you don’t have to find out what sort of backlash that blunder would win you. In all reality, you have no idea what would happen. Ferrari loves Charles, and you’ve won them some serious Internet credit over the years. After steering them away from several controversies, you’d think they’d be willing to cut you some slack.

Such a scenario, of Fred Vasseur letting you date his golden boy, isn’t even feasible in your imagination, let alone real life. Your little fantasy of public acceptance will have to stay just that until several miracles happen all at once to twist the popular eye in your favor.

Until then, though, you’re happy with what you have, truly you are. You fell in love with Charles for a reason, despite your best efforts and smartest choices. He is a wonderful man and an even better boyfriend. No one in this world has prioritized you or cared about you even half as much as he does. Charles does nothing by halves– not his racing, not his passion for his sport and career, and certainly not loving you.

With him, you feel wanted, and with him, you are willing to hide until hell freezes over and you’re allowed to go public without risking your job. Right now, you have everything, and there’s no way you’d risk that. Working at Ferrari was your dream, and you’ve had it for years now. Falling in love with someone like Charles was beyond your wildest imagination, but somehow that came true, too.

And, when you speak to Charles, he says much of the same thing. Sometimes, when you talk to him, you can still see the boy who’d promised his father he’d drive for Ferrari, the same kid who stepped into a kart for the first time and knew it would be his world forever. Charles has a spirit wholly unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, yet he still swears that his life wasn’t complete until he met you.

Despite all of his charm, you had still initially tried to resist your feelings for him. Charles had joined Scuderia Ferrari only a year before you did; both of you were relatively new to the love and scourge of the Tifosi. It had been easy, then, to talk with him, to laugh with him, to let him eke out a place in your heart. It was inevitable. It was glorious. It was him.

You hadn’t counted on falling for him, but before you knew it, your heart was doing slow loops in your chest whenever you saw him, and meetings suddenly became way more interesting because Charles always went out of his way to sit next to you. It didn’t matter that drivers usually avoided public relations and media people like the plague, you were suddenly his favorite person in the world.

You watched and waited for it to stop, for him to get distracted by someone else, but that time never came. Charles still stayed hopeless for you, and when you could no longer hide the fact that you felt the same way, he asked you out at last, high on the adrenaline rush of winning a race. You had said yes, of course, and everything after that was history.

Charles is yours now, and you are his. He makes everything make sense, even when the two of you are gnashing your teeth over godawful strategy calls. It’s good to know that he will always be there to discuss the day’s work. It’s good to know that you will always have him.

That doesn’t mean that the Scuderia Ferrari strategists are in any way let off the hook, though. In fact, since you’ve started dating Charles, your resentment towards their bad calls has only grown. Both of your jobs are on the line whenever the strategy team messes up, and yet the problems keep coming.

For example, this week you’re reckoning with another round of bad calls. This time was another erroneous tyre mixup. Charles somehow went into qualifying with two different kinds of tyres on his car, like the strategists ran out of mediums and they decided two hards and two softs would do the same amount of work.

Spoiler:  it did not, and now Charles will be starting the next race from a less favorable position than hoped. In between furious complaints from Charles and utter incredulity from yourself, you’ve been scrambling to come up with some sort of angle for the Ferrari drivers to play during their next interviewers. Yet another crazy turn of events, but when has Formula One ever been boring?

Just in case, you’ll be patrolling the paddock with the other drivers and their communication managers so you can be available if the reporters start asking the kinds of questions Scuderia Ferrari wants to avoid. You split your time evenly between Charles and Carlos; although you may be dating one of the drivers, that doesn’t mean you’ll be favoring him.

Still, you’re not exactly ignoring Charles either. Spending time with him is easier, you can spot his ticks and the invisible signs that he’s losing his patience better than anyone else. That’s the benefit of loving him, you suppose, it gives you the ability to read his mind without needing something as exaggerated as telepathy.

You can see this right now, actually. This one Sky Sports interviewer has been hounding Charles for a good long while now. Charles has attempted to walk away several times, but the guy can’t take a hint and actually started following him, camera guys running in pursuit. Charles’ grin is starting to slip, and his eyes have long since stopped looking happy.

Carlos is still doing fine, so you bid him a hasty goodbye and turn back towards Charles before anything too terrible can happen. As you’re nearing your boyfriend, though, you hear the interviewer pushing Charles more than he should in a simple moment for the media.

In fact, the guy’s getting physical, which is the one thing that certainly should not happen in an interview. Unable to avoid Charles’ attempts to end the prolonged interview any longer, the other man has run up in front of him, actually grabbing onto Charles’ arms to stop him in his tracks.

Charles looks furious, but you are so far beyond that. You appear right behind Charles, stepping in between the two men as quickly as you can. Judging by the fright that cascades across the interviewer’s face, your expression reflects exactly what you’re feeling right now, and that is not a good thing for him.

“I think my eyes must be deceiving me,” you begin slowly, “because it looked to me like you just put hands on my driver. That would be such a monumentally stupid thing to do, so surely something else must be going on. You must have enough fluff in your head to know that laying even a finger on my driver would be a colossal mistake. I know you’re not doing that. I know you’re not. Right?”

The interviewer visibly blanches. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m not– I wouldn’t–”

Your smile is sinister but oh so perfect. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. This interview is over now, right? You were just talking about how Charles has continued to prove himself a capable driver despite setbacks out of his control?”

The interviewer audibly gulps. “Yeah, that. A lot of that.”

“Wonderful,” you grin, “I’ll just stay right here then, to make sure you’re staying on track.”

You take a few steps back for propriety’s sake, but the interviewer doesn’t look like he’ll be trying anything again. You’ve properly frightened him, which feels quite good, actually. Perhaps you should do this more often.

Charles certainly looks like he’s a fan of this. He’s beaming ear to ear, which is certainly a change from the glower that had been on his face only moments before. He’s supposed to be focused on wrapping up this sham of an interview, but he can’t seem to focus for longer than a second without turning around to look at you again. You’ll really have to get after him about trying not to be conspicuous, but you’re feeling pleased with yourself at the moment, so you don’t have the heart for it. Maybe later. Maybe never.

The interviewer shudders. “She terrifies me.”

Charles grins after you, somewhat in a haze. “I know, that’s why I’m so glad she’s my girlfriend.”

Your jaw drops as you realize what he’s said. “Charles!”

Charles’ eyes immediately go wide. “I didn’t– she’s not– shit!”

The public reaction to this is, as expected, insane. For the most part, though, it’s very positive. The fans are glad to see you defending their driver, and thousands of people have voiced their support online for how clearly infatuated Charles is with you. The idea that your bosses would try to split up the two of you is horrible to them, and it’s horrible to you, too.

It’s a good thing, then, that the higher-ups at Scuderia Ferrari would much rather prioritize the future of their drivers and public relations experts than try to cut off this relationship. Vasseur gives you the okay by the next race, and actually adds in some comment about how he’s been wondering if Charles would ever get up the nerve to ask for your number. It appears that the two of you may not have been as expert at hiding your relationship as you thought.

That was your greatest fear, that you would lose your job over this, and now that the danger has passed, you feel an immense wave of relief crest over you. You can keep the life you’d always wanted, and you can continue having Charles be such a main part of it, too. This is exactly what you’d hoped for in your wildest dreams, but your eyes are open now, and full of delight.

Charles is thrilled, too. He immediately rushes to his Instagram to post his favorite photos of you, something he fondly tells you later was a long time coming. The rest of the drivers absolutely destroy him in the comments for being, quote, ‘the biggest simp on the entire planet,’ according to Pierre Gasly, but you don’t think Charles cares at all. He’s got you, that’s what matters most.

And, to make up for the whole debacle, he gets you roses. Ferrari red. He’s a terrible flirt and utterly unstoppable when it comes to winning you over. Shame he’s able to do it every time. It’s almost as if you could never hold a grudge against him for longer than a second. Still, the groveling does him good, and soon enough he’s got a monopoly over your smiles just like before.

So, when the next race rolls around, you’re able to stroll into the paddock holding the hand of your boyfriend. It is not half as terrifying as you’d thought. In fact, it’s kind of extraordinary. Just like him.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

[apolloendymion]

ok! i think tumblr ate my fucking apple cider recipe post. still, my autumn equinox tradition must carry on!

Apollo's Foolproof From-Scratch Apple Cider That Was So Good It Allegedly Landed Me A Boyfriend

you will need:

12 apples (the variety is up to you, i usually do half granny smith and half whatever's on sale plus a red delicious for garnishing)

10oz raisins

cinnamon sticks, whole cloves, star anise, nutmeg, allspice, cardamom pods, any other warming spices u like (whole > ground) (follow ur heart on the amounts, it's like garlic just throw so much in there. just go wild)

1 orange

brown sugar (i don't have measurements but be prepared to use a LOT lmao, i always buy at least one 32oz bag. you'll be sweetening to taste.)

large pot with lid

potato masher (optional)

two large bowls/pots/receptacles to strain the cider into

fine mesh strainer

cheesecloth or coffee filters (optional)

apple corer or knife

citrus zester

slotted spoon or ladle

the steps:

1. scrub apples gently under hot water to remove grocery store wax coating. core apples making sure all seeds & stems are removed. add apples, raisins, and mulling spices to pot with enough water to fully cover ingredients, and bring to boil. reduce heat, cover, and simmer for 1 hour.

2. scrub orange to remove wax. zest and juice, avoiding the pith & seeds. use a potato masher or other utensil to lightly mash boiled apple mixture so every apple slice is at least partially broken up, then add the zest & juice to the pot. bring back to boil, reduce heat, cover, and simmer for another hour. then turn off the heat and allow mixture to cool.

3. place two mesh strainers over two bowls or pots (and cover each with a cheesecloth or coffee filters, if you have them). with a slotted spoon or ladle, remove as much of the solids from the pot as you can and place them in one strainer (the larger one, if they are different sizes) to drain, then press out as much liquid into the cheesecloth as possible.

4. pour the cider from the simmer pot into the second cheesecloth and press. combine the liquid from both bowls.

5. add brown sugar to taste

cooking tips:

the times listed above are bare minimums. once all the ingredients are in the pot (minus sugar!) you can simmer as long as you want, so long as someone's nearby to supervise.

always add any sweeteners after the cooking process. otherwise, they'll burn and make the whole thing bitter.

if it's too acidic, add baking soda or more spices. if it's not acidic enough, add lemon juice, additional orange juice, or apple cider vinegar.

variations:

add 12oz fresh cranberries to the first step

sub oranges for lemons or apple cider vinegar

sub brown sugar for straight molasses, maple syrup, or alternative sweetener of your choice (I'd imagine fig or other fruit-based sweeteners would work best)

report back to me if you try something new!! i want to hear how it turned out!

serving suggestions:

add three or four cinnamon imperials (red hots) to your mug, along with a dash of fireball whiskey if you're so inclined. i cannot stress enough how fucking amazing this tastes.

garnish with apple slices, orange slices, cinnamon sticks, and/or star anise

if you have dairy-free ice cream on hand, pour some cider over a scoop. you can use dairy ice cream, but it's more likely to curdle.

freeze some in an ice cube tray, then blend with some non-frozen cider for a slushie

ok I've never tried this, but i bet blending with pumpkin puree would slap. PLEASE tell me if you try it

this makes a metric fuckload of cider, which is very rich and can be watered down considerably (seriously). share with your friends and/or freeze some to last the season (or halve it, i guess, but that's no fun :P)

[ink-through-her-veins]

Arthur stumbles upon the dragon purely by happenstance, but by gods is the beast a chatty thing. It goes on and on about destiny, Albion, peace, and Arthur’s favorite part how the once and future king (himself) and his fated other half (Emrys) are two halves of the same coin, and everything will become clear when they realize this. Then the beast tells Arthur that Emrys not only has magic, but is magic, and Arthur’s head begins spinning—not with fairy tale romance where he gets swept off his feet as he’d been imagining moments before—but how anyone could have magic and not be evil.

‘Merlin could do it,’ he thinks wistfully, his unrequited crush upon his manservant rearing its ugly head even as he contemplates his soulmate.

He’s pulled from his daydream by said crush ambling clumsily into the cavern, gaping wildly, and then blurting out, “I can explain!”

The dragon laughs. “I already have, Emrys.”

And Arthur’s head starts spinning again. He pushes himself off the ground, takes a single step toward Merlin, and pulls himself back as a landslide of realization clobbers him like a thousand stones. “You knew?”

Merlin looks completely broken when he says, “I didn’t want anything to change between us.” I didn’t want you to have to choose between me or your father.

Arthur’s heart aches. Tears burn behind his eyes. “Of course,” he bites out, but all he can think, is what kind of man can’t be loved by his own destiny? What kind of monster must he be?

Things do change. Merlin’s stiffer. Arthur’s quieter. The dragon beneath the castle becomes one of Arthur’s closest confidants even if it speaks in riddles and leaves Arthur’s clothes smelling so strongly of smoke even his father notices.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispers one night as the smell of Kilgarrah’s sulfurous smoke fills his nostrils as he prepares Arthur for bed. He misses the smell of Arthur’s sweat, and the combination of leather and grease that clings to his armor. He misses the way Arthur used to look at him, joke with him, befriend him before he knew about the magic. “I’m sorry I’m like this.”

I’m sorry I’m me, Arthur thinks as he silently raises his arms to let Merlin drop a sleep shirt over his head. He only grunts in response.

Months pass, and as the ground thaws so do Merlin and Arthur, because though he may speak as clearly as a mud puddle Kilgarrah isn’t wrong: one cannot truly hate that which makes it whole. Arthur clings to Kilgarrah’s promises. One day. One day. Hopefully one day soon.

And the day comes in late summer when Merlin’s nearly skewered by a bandit while he and Arthur are on a hunt. Arthur’s checking him obsessively for any signs that the blood on him is actually his, while Merlin swats at his hands insisting he’s fine.

“Why wouldn’t you use your magic!?” Arthur screeches shoving Merlin’s hands out of the way so he can look over every inch of him.

“So I could be burnt upon a pyre? No thanks.” Merlin manages to push himself free of Arthur and stalk away.

“We’re meant to marry one day. We’re two sides of a coin, soulmates. Do you truly think me so monstrous?”

Merlin’s eyes are big as eggs. “What? Married? Soulmates?”

“What do you think Kilgarrah meant?”

“He’s an overgrown lizard!” Merlin shouts suddenly feeling too warm and too confined despite the mild weather and endless amounts of fresh air. “That…He…Is that what two sides of the same coin means?” He’s pacing the meadow, ignoring the dead bandits scattered in the tall grass. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I am. I…I don’t think you’re a monster, and I’m sorry you have to choose between your father and I. I’m—“

Arthur sees something then in the way Merlin tugs at his hair, eyes full of concern when they swing toward Arthur. Fools, Kilgarrah had called them, and fools they absolutely were.

“There’s no choice,” Arthur murmurs, sidling up to Merlin to take his hand. “It’s you. It was you before I knew of our fate and your gifts, and it’ll be you no matter what stands in the way.”