#Me when. Me when it's spring basically <//33

[anothermonikan]

Why am I hearing birdsong right now. I hate it here

[leclsrc]

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

genre: summer love!!!, slight age gap, porn w plot basically...

word count: 10.5k  

Whatever preconceived notions you have about your summer at the beach house are all toppled over when your parents announce the arrival of a guest, who happens to be your dad's friend. title from this

auds here… hiii :) req'd by several people! few notes... carlos is aged up a tad, the age gap is 21/33 so not too bad (i aged him up bc the age gap was 7 yrs and i was like. Huh. thats tame). if ur not into that (tho everything is consensual and reader is legal) its ok! anyway im sorry this came so late i had like 6 anons asking ab carlos and lana haha. also big thanks to dani whose work got me thru 4 writing ruts

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, oral sex (m and f receiving), deepthroating, semi public sex ish?, praise central, size kink, like a flash of spit kink sorry..., overuse of the term good girl

Half past noon and after a particularly snappy call from his manager, Carlos bites the bullet on summer plans and decides to accept what is arguably the least glamorous offer on his roster. By no means a dazzling standout, the offer to stay at a family friend’s house in Comporta seems to be the most comfortable option—besides, he doesn’t feel himself to be in the glitzy mood for cities like Los Angeles or Monaco.

Lando, beside him, is thus the first to get wind of the news that “grumpy old man” Carlos will not be accompanying him to the ultimate, tequila-flavored “summer extravaganza” in Morocco.

“You’re boring,” Lando moans, pacing the room. Outside, London’s skyline moves passively. Carlos hangs up his phone call with his assistant, receives a picture of his flight details, and looks up amusedly.

“Portugal is not boring.”

“Morocco. DJs, drinks, girls.” Lando raises one hand. “Comporta. Family friends, apple cider, sand in your eyes.” He raises another hand a few inches lower. “See the difference?”

“I appreciate the difference.” Truth is, Carlos has needed this kind of quiet, calm time off for a while now. The season gets heavy and intense and tiring, and sometimes just staying by the beach with a beer is the best kind of reprieve.

“You’re getting old,” Lando says with a sour grimace. “Old.”

“That is,” Carlos says, searching for the word, “defamation.”

Lando shrugs, moves off the subject as he shoves a handful of crisps into his mouth. “Are you meeting family there?”

“No.” Both of his parents are out of the country for the next few weeks; Carlos was invited by his dad’s friend, though the bond they share is more friendly than just the standard uncle-nephew type of relationship, and they often refer to each other as just friends. “Just friends. Gallery owner and a company owner, I think.”

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

In response, Carlos nods. “And their daughter, who’s visiting from university in the States.” The details are fuzzy in his head, but the gist is about right.

“Sounds boring,” his friend snorts. “Come on, mate. You, me, Daniel. One last chance to watch Peggy Gou’s set and take shots and have fuuun.” He says the last part with the suave that would only rival a preteen’s.

Carlos, for a second, lets his resolve waver. Maybe it would be better watching loud DJ sets, dancing, getting all flushed with alcohol. But he blinks and shakes his head anyway. He hopes his decision is the right one, that summer in the beach house ends up being worth it. It’s a few weeks by the beach, anyway—what’s the worst that could happen?

—

Any recollection of your childhood almost instantly connects to the beach house in Comporta, big and wide and right by the coast. You spent fall, winter, and spring in a constant bumbling state of excitement to spend summer there. Your parents owned it, and often offered family friends to take up residence there when summers in the city got unbearable; for the most part, though, it was the three of you and, on rare years, a guest.

Your summers there have since smudged into the same few memories, of your mum and dad’s faces, of swimming and the learning curve of sailing, of bonfires by the beach on cold nights. And they have since become just that: memories. Summers grew sparse with time, and eventually the idea of meeting distant family friends became more embarrassing than exciting; by the time your parents moved you out of Europe for college, you’d lost almost all memory of the house.

So when your parents ask if you want to fly back to Comporta and spend a few “quiet” weeks there, you figure there’s no harm in seeing what the house is like and what summer can offer you beyond the weekly club outings. Instead of the usual quiet and overall lack-of-bustle that comes with summers, however, you open the front door to three housekeepers dusting every surface in your immediate eyesight.

“Are we hosting a wedding?” You ask when you find your parents tending to two sweaty glasses of champagne. You gesture faintly to the cleanfest inside. “What is going on?”

“We have a guest,” your mother says as she gets up to hug you tight. “Staying for the summer.”

“You said this summer would be quiet,” you deadpan, eyes narrowing underneath your sunglasses.

Your mum pinches your elbow. “I wasn’t lying,” she defends, raising her eyebrows. “Carlos’ son is coming.” She pats your arm. “You know? The race driver! He’s close with your father.” And, leaving no space for you to voice your dissent, she slips back into the house through the screen door, your father kissing your cheek then following suit. Your mouth parts, thoughts beginning to rush with implications of what your mother has just told you.

Carlos—if you’re correct—is Carlos Sainz, Sr., a good friend of your dad’s, and his son is Carlos Sainz, Jr., another good friend of your dad’s, because if there’s one thing rich Europeans do well, it’s the repetition of names. You’ve never met his son, only heard of him and seen a few pictures, but being so far detached from life here, you can’t even shape his face.

All you recall is the fact that he should now be thirty or older, which makes him rather older than you—and therefore effectively incapable of providing any break from any possible summer boredom. For fuck’s sake, he’s close to your dad. You’re at the top of the stairs when you hear the commotion by the front door, peeking at the foyer to catch a glimpse of him.

He’s solo, you observe; upon a glance into the front parking, you notice he’s driven here in a Ferrari, one a bit too modern for your taste but beautiful nevertheless. He carries only two pieces of luggage, and the sun blinds you for a moment before he’s finally at the doorframe, smiling politely, talking to your dad in casual Spanish.

He is, for lack of better word, insanely handsome. He wears a polo that shows off much of his arms, that flex as he puts down his luggage to shake hands with your parents; you follow the movement of his hands to watch one comb through his thick hair, then down to his smile, back up to his brown eyes, deep and so, so pretty.

Maybe this summer deserves a little less begrudge, you decide as you retreat back into your room, still brewing with residual annoyance.

Your parents send him off after a drink and a brief conversation, catch-up, tour of the downstairs area. Carlos knows his room is supposed to be upstairs, but the problem arises in the fact that there are two upstairs rooms and he doesn’t know which one he’s supposed to be staying in. Setting his luggage down for a minute, he knocks on the first door; permissive silence greets him for half a minute, so he turns the knob and prepares to enter.

To his surprise, he finds somebody already inside, a figure by the mirror on the other end of the room. What catches his eye is not the tiny skirt, but the half-tied bikini top currently being wound around two fingers at the centre of your back. You’re basically clothed, but Carlos can’t decide if he’s thankful or not—he doesn’t have time to when you catch him in the mirror and turn around quick, mouth agape.

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

“I did—I knocked, but you—there was no answer,” he explains profusely. “I’m Carlos. Sorry, apologies. Truly.”

You introduce yourself. You’re his friend’s daughter, this and that, and you’re visiting from the States to spend summer here. He apologizes again when you finish. 

“Well, seeing as though this is my room,” you shoot back, “that must be yours.” You gesture vaguely to the one down the hall. Amused and a little embarrassed, he mouths apologies as he closes the door.

Carlos exits, departs and doesn’t have time to take in the room before he’s facedown on the bed. Any sleepiness he’d collected from the trip over, from the day drinks, from the headache that’d been blooming at the temples of his head, has dissipated. His mind’s been imprinted with one image only, and it’s down the hall in a tiny skirt.

—

Lunch brings lemonade and pasta, two staples for every summer meal. You, however, find yourself hopelessly distracted by the presence of your guest, and despite your best efforts, the churn in your stomach disables you from fully enjoying the carbonara on the table. The conversation between Carlos and your dad ends up taking your attention instead. “So you’re racing again in a few weeks?”

“Sí,” Carlos nods in-between forkfuls. Then, to add, “Busy, busy times.”

“Well. It’s the worst of our days,” your mum says, a quote she picked up from—of all places—a BBC sitcom she watched to tears last winter. “You are a talented driver, Carlos. Very cultured. I’m sure you’ll enjoy Comporta.”

“I have not been around much,” he says; his gaze flutters over to his glass, which is devoid of water or lemonade. “Any recommendations?”

“A lot, cabrón. Our daughter will be happy to take you around,” your father says on your behalf. He turns to you. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” you say, allowing a terse smile. “There’s some places around here that aren’t so boring. But that’s being generous.” Carlos laughs at your joke, raucous and goofy, and you would definitely be lying if you told yourself it didn’t get you blushing a little bit, eyes casting themselves to your still-full plate.

“While you’re here, Carlos,” your dad continues, “I have an old car in the garage that could use some looking at. Are you—would you know how to—?”

Carlos nods, accepting the favor—then the conversation naturally slides into one of cars and racing. Carlos chronicles his journey in Formula One, his Toro Rosso days back then when he was younger, his McLaren period, and now, his time representing Ferrari. He talks of pet peeves on the grid, annoyances but also praises for the sport.

“I’d appreciate the downtime, actually,” he explains, “that I’d get from working on a car instead of in one.” He laughs, eyes briefly meeting yours. He looks away, then looks again. He can’t help himself. He wonders if he’s being obvious, if you can tell the way his looks are anything but casual. “Can you pour me a glass?” He adds.

“Yeah,” you mutter, sitting straight to pour lemonade into his waiting glass. You meet his eyes and almost pour it over the pasta. The rest of the lunch is uneventful, a series of adult conversation you can’t seem to engage yourself in fully, and whether that’s because of personal preference or Carlos’ presence, you don’t make an effort to try.

“…ney. Honey.” Your mum’s voice distracts you from your thoughts; when you look up, half the table is clear and Carlos and your dad have ventured inside to deposit plates at the sink. 

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

“Your father and I are heading out for the evening. Carlos will be working on the car. That okay, or you want to come along?”

“Um…” You pretend the latter is even an option before shaking your head. “No, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” She strokes your hair. “He could use the company.”

You follow her walking figure inside, where you station your eyes on Carlos. He’s sipping a lemonade. His eyes meet yours for a second and your face is outrageously flushed when you realize you’ve been caught staring, just like his had been earlier when he walked into your room.

—

You’re hellbent on solving a Sudoku puzzle when the dinner bell rings, and you have to finish it on the stairs. Your dad’s always been a stickler for arriving to dinner on time—every meal, but a gargantuan emphasis on the last—and you’ve been victim to scoldings about being five to six minutes late, an instance you don't wish to repeat.

9, you scribble, bare feet moving with speed through the living room, indoor dining room, then to the patio door. 4 comes next, your footsteps following the smell of grilled meat. 8, you write as you turn into the outdoor dining area. You’re halfway through 2 when you stop, look up, and find Carlos preparing dinner.

“Oh—” You pause. “You rang the dinner bell? Are my parents not…?”

“They are at a dinner,” says Carlos, eyes meeting yours briefly. It reminds you of earlier and you clear your throat, looking away. “So I hope my cooking is good enough.”

“It smells great,” you offer, seating yourself down and pouring a glass of wine. He sets the plate down—just-cut steak, a smear of potatoes. “Christ, you cook better than Dad.”

“I take that as a compliment,” he laughs, sitting across you. “Listen, I want to apologize for accidentally walking into your room earlier.”

Your face warms. “No, it’s okay. I was just surprised.”

“It was wrong of me. Let’s start over. I’m Carlos.” He reaches over to shake your hand, still standing. You take it, eyes flitting over his hand, spotting no glinting ring on his finger. With a saccharine smile, you assure him it was an honest mistake, so he segues into a different topic, the corners of his mouth turning up. “So, do you have an itinerary for me tomorrow?”

You hum, passing the wine over to him. “A bookstore, an ice cream parlor, and a bike ride. Anything else is seriously not worth it. You’ll have the next few weeks to explore town. If the house gets that boring.”

“I haven’t been bored so far,” he says, eyes glinting.

“Oh?”

“You know, with the car fixing.” He points vaguely to where the garage is. “But it’s only been a day.”

“Car fixing is boring,” you state matter-of-factly. “You’ll have fun tomorrow.” You cut into the steak and bite into the forkful you stab at, eyes fluttering.

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

“I love it,” you mumble. “You’re so good at this, Carlos.”

Carlos retires to his room that night, and finds that today has held a collective motif of losing his shit. He’s anything but sleepy. Restless, wild-eyed, combing hand after hand through his hair. God, if he’d known you were this pretty—this hard to resist, on his first night here, no less—he would’ve been watching some DJ spin out a set with Lando right now.

Instead, he finds he can’t stop himself from thinking about you, the way your eyes had fluttered when he tried saying something on the edge of flirty. Your hair. Your hands, your fingers, lithe around the stem of your wine glass.

I love it, you’d said, you’re so good at this, Carlos. You knew exactly what you were doing, skittish tone putting him on edge. Despite himself, he can’t help but squeeze himself through his pants when he sits down on the edge of the bed, breathing heavy to purge himself of thoughts so low and dirty.

You’re so pretty. You’d be so easy to wreck, make his, goad little moans out of you, get your lips around him, puffy and pink and pretty. He wedges his eyes shut tight and hopes these thoughts will dissipate as the week passes.

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

The tour is delayed because your dad insists he go fishing with Carlos three days in a row, but eventually (likely due to your mum’s insistence) it pushes through. You greet him with a smile, waiting by the door, wearing a sundress. Sundresses will definitely be his demise.

You’re a good tour guide, though, Carlos figures when you’re finished pointing at every turn and sign and dictating what goes where and where the passage to the coast is, when you’ve even quizzed him about where you are and where the house is supposed to be.

After he points in the correct direction, you nod approvingly. “That’s how my dad made sure I wouldn’t get lost,” you explain when he laughs at your choice of tour guidance. 

“And you were what—twelve?” He asks, walking beside you. It’s fairly empty in town, a few tourists mulling about carrying shopping bags and plastic cups of juice.

“Try fourteen,” you argue. 

“Well, quizzing a, uh—a fourteen-year-old is really not the same as quizzing a grown adult.”

“Ha. Call me when you can’t find your way home tonight,” you diss sarcastically, making a turn toward the bookstore down the street. “Okay, here we are. Don’t get too excited. They’re just books.”

For a relatively empty town, the bookstore always has new batches of titles, displayed proudly for natives and tourists alike front and centre. But you’re already going to the right side of the store, busying yourself with looking at the signs. 

“The classics shelf is always my favorite,” you say, already walking ahead of him. Your dress bobs softly with your legs as you pace, short and sweet and white. You turn and his eyes slide back up instantly, and he hopes he was quick enough. “Do you have any authors you like?”

“I am not a big reader. You?”

“Huge,” you say, smiling a little. “Okay, we can browse. Are you into any genre…?”

Carlos proceeds to tell you his track record in the literary field includes: reading half the Harry Potter series, a car manual, and a few other titles in Spanish he cannot recall the name or plot of. But, he adds, he’s always wanted to read, found the activity so quiet and still and perfect, so he allows you to lead him through the titles stacked on each table and condensed on each shelf. He points at, sometimes, or picks up covers he finds appealing.

“How about—?” He reaches for a pink cover that reads It Ends With Us, but your hand loops around his wrist before he can pick it up and you’re pulling him into another aisle.

“…Not that.” You continue perusing the books around you, your hand still wrapped around his. With your free finger, you point at the top shelf, and tiptoe against the bookcase to try and get it. You come close, but not close enough.

Carlos, behind you, is successful, not even needing to tiptoe to reach for the red hardbound you’d been pointing at. It also means he’s pressed up against you, heavy and big, and the sensation dizzies you. When he finally pulls it off, you turn to him and find respite in the proximity—you two are so close, every exhale out of your lips causes a puff of air to blow against his hair.

He steps backward. You smile and gesture toward the book he’s holding. “That’s a good one.”

“Gabriel Garcia Marquez.” He reads out the author’s name in one fluid sentence, his Spanish accent becoming naturally more obvious.

“Okay, colonizer.” He knits his brows. “Trust me,” you insist. “One Hundred Years of Solitude—so good. It was one of the first books I read front to back twice in a row.”

“Wow, what an honor,” he teases sarcastically as you move along the aisle, fingertips brushing against the indents of the books. You turn to narrow your eyes and stick your tongue out. Unfortunately for Carlos, the effect this inflicts upon him is not oh she mocked me, but oh how would it look if—

He needs ice cream. Or to just get out of this aisle.

—

You punctuate the day with two cones of it, melting way too fast in the heat of summer. He’s already half-finished with his vanilla, and you’re taking your time with the lemon sorbet you’d gotten for yourself. Apparently, this is the only other highlight the town has to offer, and judging by the fact that most of the other stores are expensive clothes, souvenir shops, and a Bible bookstore—yeah.

Carlos is also more than sated with the three books in the paper bag he’s holding. Scratch that—six books, you bought a haul for yourself—but it’s not a particularly heavy load, so he’s fine. His phone has been buzzing with Lando’s update requests that he’s been deliberately ignoring.

“They make the best ice cream,” you rave, smiling. You lick over the melt on your lips. “Right?”

He might actually drop his cone now. “It is delicious.”

“Well…” You look around, your hair flying with every turn of your head. Lick over lips again. Again, and again. He has to look away.

“…Do you wanna stop by anywhere else?” You turn to him and ask, licking over the tip of your ice cream cone.

It’s hard for Carlos to pretend he’s looking around your surroundings, at the signs and storefronts, and not at your sticky lips, your pink tongue just peeking out to lap at the quickly melting gelato around your hand. His eyes flit downward, to where the hem of your tiny white dress has flown up in the coastal wind, exposing more of your thighs.

“Carlos?” You repeat, voice sweet and waiting.

He snaps his eyes back up and wills his voice to remain passive. “We can head back.”

So you do, meaning your tour ends around noon, and your parents greet you both with lunch and the round of inevitable questions. Did Comporta live up to your expectations? What books did you get? Was our daughter a good tour guide? The latter, Carlos answers with a smile—very good. You allowed your face to flush, blamed it on the sangria.

Now, though, it’s the brink in-between chilly and hot, sticky traces of the summer afternoon still lingering in the air, mixing with the cool of dusk when you decide to exit your room and fix yourself a glass of something, preferably sweet and alcoholic. An empty driveway save for a Ferrari means your parents are gone, leaving you and—if you’re lucky, which you hope you are—

“Carlos,” you call out from the window you’ve just tugged open with the expertise of somebody who’s lived here for twenty-one summers. “Thirsty?”

He looks up from where he is, outside, continuing his operation on your dad’s car. The hood’s been cranked open, and his long hair is damp with sweat, flying gently in the face of the sunset breeze. He smiles when he sees your figure peeking out.

“For what?”

“Whatever you want,” you respond, taking your bottom lip between your teeth. His white shirt’s stained with oil and dirt, tainting it beige and grey, the tight fit even tighter from his sweat. You can make out the outline of his abs just underneath. 

He squints. “Beer?”

You make an exaggerated eugh face to tease him, but duck back inside to bring your homemade aperol and an open, frosty beer outside. When he sees you, he walks closer, smiles and takes a swig of the drink you offer. He makes a noise of satisfaction and you have to make a real effort to maintain a semblance of normalcy, eyes averting from his lips to gaze instead at his solid shoulders, his build, big and tall.

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

“Tastes like shit.” You raise your aperol. “The sweeter, the better. How’s Dad’s car?” You blink, sidestepping him to try and gauge his progress.

“Casi termino.” You look at him, raising your eyebrows, and he translates. “Almost done. It wasn’t that destroyed, if at all.”

“You think he’ll let you drive it when you’re done?” You ask playfully, swiping your condensation-wet finger over the side of the car. You turn, smiling expectantly; Carlos laughs a bit, shrugs.

“It is just a favor. But if he does, I’ll make sure you get to come along.” He says. “You like that?”

“Mmm,” you nod, sipping on your aperol. You part from your straw, lips stained, and smile up at him. “I do.”

His gaze is stuck on your lips. You lick over them, and he looks away with a slow blink. You watch as he ruffles his hair, rounds the car and crosses his arms to view it from the back.

God, he’s handsome. You think of the long-winded nights you’ve been spending trailing your fingers over your legs or texting inspired paragraphs to friends back in university about him. Their responses are almost always Send pic now and a cacophony of heart eye emojis when you manage to snag a stolen shot of him doing just about anything.

His gaze is scrutinizing, every little detail of the car, and eventually he closes the hood again. “Should be good by tomorrow.”

“Where’d you learn to fix cars?” You ask sweetly, nearing him. The wind bites at your legs, your flowy skirt bouncing sporadically and held down by your free hand. When your eyes flit to his, waiting for his response, you find them snapping upward. He’d been distracted.

“I work with cars, so it comes natural.” You lean on the hood of the car and he comes to stand in front of you, his eyes pointed downward at you. “That’s not a very good habit,” he adds.

“Drinking?” You pout, raising your half-empty glass. You blink up at him, the corner of your smiling lip caught in your teeth.

“Biting your lip.” His gaze is intense. “You do it a lot, I noticed.”

You smile, leaning backward a little. His resolve is breaking. “Can I borrow one of the books you got earlier?”

“The three ones you bought not enough?” He raises a brow, downing beer again. Some of it dribbles out of the corner of his lip. You’ve never been one to like the taste, but you’d lick it off him if you could.

“I just wanna browse it,” you push. “I’ll return it tomorrow.”

“Fine,” he relents. “I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

—

He sees you the next day after lunch, which you’d skipped because you “weren’t hungry.” You’re wearing a dress, hair clipped into a bun when you excuse yourself to pick up an earring in front of him. He almost thinks it’s a fib until he sees it, the pink gem on the floor.

“Sorry,” you say, voice mellow, and then you’re bending over to pick it up. You’re wearing pretty lace panties underneath.

Carlos clears his throat and excuses himself, adjusting his shorts as he goes upstairs.

—

He gives you Norweigan Wood after dinner, like he promised earlier in the week. Two raps on your door, and when you open it, he’s already handing it to you with a quiet smile. “Goodnight,” he says, his voice clipped.

“Our tour isn’t over yet,” you tease, tossing the book onto your bed and descending the steps back downstairs. Confused and interested, he follows you, to the back area of the house, past the swinging screen door, down the steps, and onto the sand.

“Tour?” He repeats, for clarification. The only things to tour are sand and twigs.

“Yeah, Carlos. This is the real tour,” you joke, walking backwards. Every step sends your foot sinking into the cold sand, slowing your pace until Carlos catches up, matching your steps once he does. “Comporta—real and unfiltered.” You both laugh at your hyperbolic, MTV-worthy statement, and he waits for more, entertains you further.

“What is so real about this?” Carlos laughs, allowing himself to humor your little schtick.

“Well, mister. This isn’t bookstores and ice cream parlors.” You point to a nearby spot in the sand, just by a rogue stick. “This is where I smoke without getting caught. Near enough that I can run back in seconds, but faraway enough that my parents can’t immediately see what I’m doing. Granted, I don’t need to be sneaking around much, but if you ever want to do something in secret—”

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

“So you smoke,” he says when he sits himself on the sand, observing the now-dark skyline of the area. You continue pacing around a little, and when you raise your arms up to stretch, he catches a glimpse of your abdomen, the waistband of pink lace underneath the low rise of your denim shorts.

“Occasionally. Don’t play Holy Mary,” you warn, standing in front of him and stretching your hand out to reveal a box of Marlboro Reds. 

“Wasn’t planning to,” he responds, taking a stick and inserting it in between his lips. “Got a light?”

“No,” you tease, taking one for yourself and sliding your lighter out from your pocket in one quick motion. The flame illuminates your face, casts a light on your thin white tee and on the bikini top you have on underneath. You puff out a small cloud of smoke, and Carlos reaches up to take the lighter.

“I said no,” you giggle, your lips knotting into a pout. You hold the lighter just out of his reach, red and bold against the bleak evening. 

“Give it.” He sits up higher, reaches harder; he almost gets it, but you step backward and raise your arm out of reach. Again your shirt rises with the movement. The view he gets, this time, of your hips, the lace that hugs the area there, is much more close.  The laugh you emit sends a cloud of smoke out.

“No, no,” you continue, laughing, a sweet sound.

Carlos gets up, tries again to lunge for the lighter. At this point he doesn’t even care about the cigarette in between his lips, just wants to entertain you. He tries again but you’re quick with it, ducking every lunge just in time.

“Come on,” he goads, laughing himself. You pace backward, smoking, until your ankles hit the shallow shore water, water that goes deeper and deeper until you’re knee-level, still smiling at him mischievously. 

“Fine,” you relent, shrugging. You throw your hands up in surrender, in the process taking the stick out of your mouth to blow smoke out. “Do you want it? C’mere, then.” You beckon him closer, wave the lighter tantalizingly so he steps closer, closer, until you’re holding the flame to the cigarette between his lips.

He’s so tall, he has to bend a little to let you light it, his eyes meeting yours, illuminated by the pale moon and the orange of the flame.

It all goes to plan. Once you light it, you place two hands square on his shoulders, whirl him so he’s behind you and thus even deeper in the water, and with all your might, push him into the sea. 

“Brat—” he manages to gasp out as he goes, the word leaving his lips in the first and last puff of smoke he lets out. He surfaces, every dip and ridge of his abs and chest accentuated, his linen polo near invisible with how saturated it is with water. His long hair, too, sticks to his forehead; he combs it backward, reveals his amused-irritated eyes, the dead cigarette spouting seawater and ash.

He spits it out. You stare and pinch the soggy stick in between two fingers, stuffing the trash into his chest pocket. “That’s bad for the environment.”

“I am freezing,” he says in response, but you’re just stifling a laugh.

He narrows his eyes, and with unsurprising ease given his build, picks you up and carries you over his shoulder. You barely have time to protest, almost dropping your own cigarette into the water, kicking and pounding on his back to please put me down. You can feel the water getting deep, deeper, and when he finally dunks you in, it’s only a second of dryness before you’re submerged in the chilly water.

Your cigarette dies, and you manage to collect it, because you’re not in the interest of leaving your stick floating; you wedge it into your pocket.

“You’re such”—you gasp for air—“a dick!”

You’re smiling, though, flailing your legs to stay afloat. Carlos can’t help but stare, entranced with the way your eyelashes stick together, damp, the droplets of water on your cheeks, your two hands wringing saltwater out of your hair, and when you swim upward, the way your white tee leaves nothing to his imagination.

You can tell. He can tell you can tell—because the next thing you do, with some faux exaggerated sigh of annoyance, is say, “Can’t swim, too heavy,” and you’re taking off your shirt so all he sees is the red of your bikini top underneath. The white tee bobs softly with each passing wave, and you’re smiling up at him. Checkmate, you’re saying. I’ve got you. A skittish, playful smile on your lips.

“I can help you swim,” he offers—retaliates, more like, his height offering him great advantage. He finds your bare ankle underwater, guides it to wrap around his waist. Naturally, your other leg follows until you’re flush against him, held up by him so you don’t need to wag your legs around just to stay above water.

Your hands go on his still-clothed shoulders first, then eventually around them, fingers linking at the nape of his neck. Your smile is wicked. You’re so sinfully pretty. He wades deeper, holds you all the while, two big hands on either side of your waist, thumbs rubbing over your sides so you can shiver.

“‘M so wet,” you say, voice shaky with chill and laughter. His grip tightens and he has to squeeze his eyes shut to try and pretend you didn’t just say that.

He dips you underneath the surface to surprise you, and your shriek is cut off by the water—he pulls you up quick, laughing, but underestimates his strength because as he tugs, you barrel right onto him, forehead bumping his.

Your eyes are closed, and you momentarily detach from him to wipe salt out of them. “Ass.”

“Brat,” he responds.

You open your eyes to find he’s close, so close you could just lean forward an inch—an inch—and you’d be meeting his lips. You wonder how they feel, how he kisses. He’s confident everywhere else, would he kiss you like that, too? You lean closer, a wrecked gasp escaping you.

“You’re so pretty,” you say, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but your breathy voice is genuine, honest. A thumb swipes over his eyelashes, causing him to blink, then the bridge of his nose. He leans upward, tries to catch your lips, but pauses, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

“This is wrong,” he says in a quiet breath, making no move at all you stop either of you from kissing right now.

You want—need—to kiss him, but you can play the long game if he wishes to. Your eyes flit back up to his, dark brown and reflecting the moon.

“Then let’s head back,” you suggest, even if both of you want anything but.

Long game. He guides you back to shore, picks your tee up, uses it as a sieve for any loose ash and cigarette bits in your path back to shore, even finds your red lighter that’s now dispensing water. He apologizes for not having anything to dry you with, and drops you off at your room with a puddle in both of your wakes.

“Thank you again,” he says, his voice a whisper through your ajar door. He observes your room with what little vantage point he has. The posters on the wall, the art, postcards. The laptop on the bed, open. The phone charging on the nightstand. The thong hanging out of the hamper.

“No problem,” you say back, voice saccharine. Your hand wraps around his wrist. “See you tomorrow.”

Even if you’re doused in seawater, he can still smell the traces of your perfume, the summery sweet of it, when you close the door. He stays for a second, blinks, relishes in the hint of floral.

—

You spend three days walking on eggshells around each other, testing the limits of interaction.

Your night at the beach was risky, dangerous, thrilling—but it was fun, sending you both into antsy, restless trains of thought. Carlos self-medicates with coffee, beer in the afternoon, working on your dad’s car, and the first two hundred pages of the Marquez book you insisted he pick up. He spots you sometimes, lounging on the beach with his book in your grip, the waistline of your bikini bottoms leaving a tanline he can’t stop staring at when you walk back into the house.

But he can’t act on it—he was the one who labeled it wrong, the one who suppressed himself, held the urge back. He told you it was wrong. And it is wrong. He’s older, he should be wiser; he’s close with your dad; and a cacophony of other rational reasons he shouldn’t be playing into this skittish summer crush.

“Dad said the boat’s free,” a voice says, and he looks up from his book to find you standing in front of him, wearing nothing but a bikini top and a skirt, loose and riding low on your hips. Your lips stretch into a sweet smile. “Wanna come?”

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

So he goes. He’s thirty-five. That’s a grown age. If anything, he’s capable of making sure he stays responsible. He dog-ears his page and picks up his beer to follow you to where the boat is docked. He’d been on your dad’s yacht earlier in his trip here, to go fishing, but it’s quieter today, bobbing softly atop the water. You lie yourself down on the sunny side of the boat, sunglasses over your eyes.

“Stay anywhere you like,” you say charmingly. It’s silent for a while, Carlos seating himself on one of the lounge seats in the shaded area, and then you’re moving around on your towel.

You peer over your lenses, blinking and sitting up, and this is when he knows he can’t do it.

“Carlos,” you call out. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?” You get up again, rifling in your bag for the bottle of sunscreen, dragging a hand through your hair to comb it out. It falls in loose waves, swishing when you turn to hand him the bottle. He pretends he’d been distracted on page 210 when he accepts it, watching as you sit in front of the seat, your back turned to him, your little figure in-between his spread legs. 

A minute passes with no hand at your back. “Go ahead, move even slower,” you joke, and the tension breaks a little; he humors you, laughs and apologizes.

“It’s because hour hair is in the way,” he says, touching it gently, combing it to the side.

“Wait—” You dig through your bag again and pull out a blunt pink ribbon, slipping it into his hand. “Can you braid it for me?”

“Braid?” He doesn’t know jack shit about braiding hair. “I don’t know how.”

“At that age of yours and you don’t know anything about how to please a girl,” you whistle lowly. “Adult virgin?” 

But you guide him through it despite your teasing, teaching him to divide your hair in threes, weaving one strand over the other until “it looks half decent.” He fucks up a few times and your hair looks odd at some point, but in the end, it’s—well, it’s a braid.

“How is it?” You ask, and he can hear your smile.

He does the job well enough for a first-timer, he thinks, finishing it with the ribbon, which he ties loosely lest you’re unhappy with the finished product. It becomes easier to move your hair out of the way, and once your back is saturated with sunscreen, you unfold your legs and get up, turning around and smiling down at his sitting figure.. Loose tendrils of hair frame your face, the braid resting at your back softly, already loosening.

“Your hair can be braided, too,” you comment quietly, knotting a rogue few strands in your fingers. It hasn’t been this tense since that night at the beach, but that ended before the tension rose further—this, now, keeps going. You step closer and he leans back, smiling. “Can I?”

He blinks, nostrils flaring, then nods, his grip on your hips gentle when you sit on his lap, your legs on either side of his. You smile coquettishly, feeling how hard he is underneath you, the denim of his jeans rough against the skin of your bare thighs. Your skirt’s riding up on them with every little shift you make, just to rile him up.

Carlos drinks in the sight of you, sunkissed and on his lap, legs sprawled out, pretty little face framed, bottom lip in your teeth. You’re inviting him closer, your gaze meeting his with sleepy, demure eyes—do something. You look so fucking precious, so pretty. It makes him want to give you everything right now.

You reach forward, make an attempt to try and weave his hair together—but he grinds upward, your breath hitching and a whimper punched out of your mouth.

Your hands are shaking now, barely able to piece his hair together with how good his clothed cock feels pressed against you, where you need it most. 

“Carlos,” you gasp, and all he can really think is—where’d all your fight go? You were so used to being a brat and a half, now you’re whimpering, on the edge of begging.

“Be quiet,” Carlos grunts, digging his fingers into your hips. His other hand lifts your skirt, bunching the fabric around your hips for a better view of your cunt rubbing against the bulge in his pants. The damp fabric of your panties is swallowed between your lips with every grind you make forward and he has to stop himself from cursing out loud at the sight. “Good girl.”

Your hands move from his hair to his shoulders, sturdy and broad; you can feel him squeeze your waist with both hands, then pull you down against him, just once, so your weight presses down on the hard shape of his cock. It makes him shudder and you whine out loud. You resist the urge to grind over it; you’re already so wet you’re making a mess on his jeans.

His praise, mumbled deep and slow in your ear, gets you feeling all warm, almost ditzy. Your hips roll on their own, chasing the delicious drag of rough denim against your clit, slick soaks into and through your panties, making the material cling to the shape your folds. Carlos’ hands are rough when they wander and grope, hiking this godforsaken skirt up so he can press a thumb against the centre of your folds.

“Been so good for you, Carlos,” you whine, circling your hips against him. He can’t stop staring at your pretty, fucked-out eyes, your bitten lips. He shoves two fingers in-between them, imagines how they looked just a few days ago slick with ice cream—now your tongue is laving over his hand. The braid you'd just taught him is quickly unraveling with every nod of your head. “‘M gonna—can I—” The pleas leave you quick, your voice choked.

Euphoric, your mind lifts, foggy and saturated with pleasure, the braid almost completely undone now. His praise is so addictive, gets you worked up and needy. Come on, he says. Make a mess. His accent, his deep voice, the way it rumbles right through you—his voice drops, his touch a little heavier as he presses harder.

You gonna cum for me? His thumb rubs faster until you’re gasping, shuddering, little ahs leaving your lips. He’s got the upper hand now, but you can hear the strain, the suppression in his voice as he rubs over the soaked fabric; you feel his cock growing under you, getting harder. 

P—please—I want to—please let me, you say breathlessly, and you’ve never needed it to the point of begging before, but Carlos is different. He keeps going, doesn’t give you permission, rubbing faster, your heart hammering in your chest.

Feel good?

Y—yeah, you whimper, trying your best not to fall apart here, on your dad’s boat, where anybody could walk on—or maybe see you from afar, humping your dad’s friend in broad daylight. He loves watching you like this; you’ve somehow become even prettier, face flushed and voice shaky.

Come on, he goads. Be a good girl. Cum for me.

It’s the only instruction that matters to you right now, your body seizing with it and cute little moans escaping you as you finish. You catch your breath against his chest, craving warmth even if it’s hot—maybe you’re craving him, his touch, Carlos, just Carlos. You maneuver yourself so legs, exhausted from shaking, are on one side of his body—he holds you close, humming.

He rubs a steady hand across your lower back, gentle and firm and you want him so much more now. “Are you okay?” He asks. “Talk to me.”

“Perfect,” you pant against his polo, fingers playing with the stitching, tugging the collar down so you can mouth at his skin. His hand plays with what’s left of the braid, winds the pink ribbon around his fingers. “Let’s go for a swim.”

—

“And we drove the jet ski around, too,” you say gleefully, your damp hair bobbing with every move of your head. Your face is sunkissed, a little sore from being in the sun for most of the afternoon. Carlos laughs along from where he is at the grill—he’s cooking for dinner, on a quest to make burgers because he’s known for making the best ones back in Madrid, apparently. Your dad, of course, insists on joining, and the two have been asking and answering questions while you and your mum sip rosé at the table.

“Did you have fun?” Your mum asks, her head turning to address Carlos.

“Yeah, tons,” he replies with a smile, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second. You know what he means. It’s been only two days since the afternoon on the boat, and since then you’ve mostly swam and ridden around on the jet ski with Carlos—nothing more.

“See, sweetie,” she adds, placing a hand over yours. “I told you this summer would be fun with him around!”

“Mmm, yeah,” you say, nodding and parting from your glass, “I can really count on him for some excitement.” The statement catches his attention and he almost trails off, eyes returning to yours, before he continues speaking in Spanish to your dad about something or other.

The burgers’ reputation precedes them, and is warranted, you learn later when you’re biting into it for the first time. The remainder of dinner passes by in lively conversation, the sun setting low underneath the Comporta horizon, wine taking the place of rosé. Carlos mentions the racing world again, about how he’ll be back into the thick of it sooner than later, and you pulse with something akin to sadness.

Your parents, apparently so grateful for the blessing that is Carlos’ burgers, offer to clean up and before long, they retreat to their downstairs bedroom. Upstairs, you marinate in your thoughts, blinking up at your ceiling, twining your pink ribbon around your fingers as your hair dries splayed over your bedding. You let your arm down, in the process bumping your elbow against a hard surface.

Upon investigation, you find it’s a copy of Norweigan Wood. 

Carlos is at his desk, taking a timezone-separated call about simulation and season prep, when two soft knocks go at his door and it creaks open. He turns the chair away from the desk to see who it is. An ankle steps in first, then more leg, and then you—in a lovely, pretty pink lace dress, your face illuminated by the moonlight outside. One hand clutches a copy of his book; the other, the ribbon he’d used on your hair earlier.

He’s nursing a bottle of beer, just to help ease the drag of the day, and he watches you approach him, your footsteps quiet against the hardwood of the floor. Wait, he mouths, finishing the call in a hushed tone, and when he hangs up you approach him again.

“I thought you should have this back,” you say, offering him the book. Your eyes rake over him, wearing the same getup he’d worn to dinner—denim jeans, because he’d ducked out to buy food, except he’s ridden himself of his shirt. 

He takes the book, places it on the table, continues staring up at you. “And I thought you should keep this.” The ribbon, pale pink, is now looped around his wrist and tied into a delicate ribbon at the apex of it. You admire your handiwork with a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

You lean down, face just shy of his. “We shouldn’t,” he manages to eke out, his voice strained.

“But you want to,” you respond softly. “No one’s going to know. Our little secret.”

His eyes are shut, contemplating, and then he’s kissing you—the only thing you’ve wanted, craved, touched yourself to the thought of over the course of the summer. You reciprocate immediately, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper, a whimper leaving your mouth. He kisses like he knows he’s a good kisser, and he really is. His scent is intoxicating, a drug, sending arousal and desire straight through you.

You part, eyes half-lidded as you stand straight again. You cock your head slowly to the side, and with your head’s movement your hair follows, gathering on one side. It exposes much of your shoulder and collarbones, which lay underneath the thin lace dress you wear to sleep, and which is now subject to Carlos' unwavering stare. He has no shame, eyes raking over you, up and down and back up. One hand curled around a bottle of beer, the other coming up to slowly graze the back of your thigh.

Your breath hitches. “Do you like the dress?” You ask softly, teasingly. It’s nothing special, Carlos, you seem to say; it’s just a nightie.

His hand is rough against the thin skin of your leg, traveling upward. He gives you a nod in response; he does like it, the sheer material, the pink color, the loose way it hugs your body. Roughly, he voices his assent. “Come sit on my lap.”

“Wait,” you say, pouting. Your knee rubs softly against the material of his jeans, and you slowly sink onto your knees, hands placing themselves on your thighs. His grip goes from the back of your thigh to your hair, combing it softly, cradling your face. 

“Let me,” you say, letting your silence imply everything unsaid. He’s going crazy, losing his mind.

“So pretty,” he says, nodding. his voice thin. “Go ahead, baby.”

The petname gets you dizzy. You lean forward, resting your face on the hard bulge in his pants, smiling up at him. You’ve got these big, doe eyes, begging him, and he’s not so sure he even has the upper hand anymore—he would do anything you asked, any request that left those pretty bitten lips. He gathers your hair in two hands, forms a messy, unclean braid, crisscross at the back of your head just so he has something to grip while he fucks your throat.

You make quick, deft work of unbuttoning his jeans, and he watches, leaned back on the chair, legs spread wide with bent knees on either side of your body, caging you in. Carlos’ eyes are half-lidded, a hand at your braid, bringing his beer to his lips, swallowing before he sets it onto the adjacent desk.

His cock is big—thick, intimidating—and you can’t help but wonder how you’re going to fit the whole thing in your mouth without choking. It twitches in your palms the longer you stroke him, precum weeping from the head and slicking up your palms. Gruff expletives, in Spanish and English, slip past his gritted teeth and the sounds travel directly to your core, causing you to instinctively press your thighs together to soothe the ache blossoming there.

You take head of his cock into your mouth, feel it roll over your tongue, heavy and warm. Drool gathers in your mouth and your fingers dig into the muscle of his thighs in anticipation. The hand wound around your braid, pressed against your head, presses heavier slowly, slotting the first few inches of cock into your mouth while avoiding the back of your throat. You relax, letting your lips seal around the length, cheeks hollowing and tongue lulling at the underside. He curses.

You continue bobbing your head, lewd noises leaving your mouth with every move you make; it embarrasses you, but also sends slick gushing out of you.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes when the tip of his cock grazes the back of your throat; you cough, fingers heavy as they dig into the flesh of his still-denim clas thighs; drool trickles onto his balls. The hand remains there, though, pushing you and keeping you pinned in place as he slowly thrusts upward. You haven’t even gotten him all the way.

You gag and sputter, eyes fully watering the harder Carlos bullies his cock into your throat; you’re dizzy with arousal and submission, maybe one, maybe both, you’re too far gone.

“Easy,” he orders, and you will yourself to breathe nasally, relaxing, burying more of him in you. He loves seeing you like this, hair all pretty—his braid, too—and on your knees, trying your best to please him. “Being so good for me, good girl,” he says, losing resolve. You’re so pretty when you cry, eyes rimmed and bloodshot, tear streaks all over your cheekbones.

He ruts shallowly into your throat, every move punctuated by a guttural gag from your end—once, twice, a third time, before finally he releases you. You let out a cough, and a gasp, breathy, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He doesn’t want to cum yet—not like this. You gaze up at him, big eyes anticipating, and he guides you upward, on the bed.

He kicks his jeans off and readjusts his briefs, watches you scramble to position yourself on the bed, sitting down properly. “Will you fuck me now?” You ask, your sweet voice raspy. He likes knowing he’s the reason why.

You inch yourself backward so you’re fully on his bed, a hand traveling to stop your tiny dress from riding up any further. He steps closer, one knee on the bed, caging you in again, and stops you. His gaze flickers down to your legs, forces your knees apart so he can see in between them. Your pretty cunt’s soaked through your panties. “Don’t hide from me,” he says, voice rough as he steps back off the bed and kneels beside it.

“Carlos,” you breathe, letting him have his way with you. Your mind’s all fuzzy, but it’s okay—he takes care of you. 

Strong arms snake around your thighs and pull you toward him until your cunt is level with his face. His breath, warm, fans against you, muted by the thin fabric of your panties and it does nothing to help the unadulterated, dirty arousal throbbing in your cunt. He bites at the flesh of your inner thigh, then hooks two fingers into your panties and pulls them aside.

The taste of you is so good; it goes straight to Carlos’ head. And all of your embarrassed, whiny whimpers, the way your fingers knot helplessly into his hair as he drags his tongue up your cunt — that drives him absolutely crazy. He licks at your pussy, sticks his tongue in, nudges your clit with his nose, ekes whimpers and debauched moans out of your lips.

He pushes two fingers into you, doesn’t give you time to adjust before he’s fucking them in and out, moans spilling out of you involuntarily. It’s lewd, it’s dirty, getting his friend’s daughter all spread out for him like this, but Carlos loves it. More, you sob, more, please, I need—yeah—

His skilled tongue doesn’t let up, continues toying with you, licking up all the arousal oozing out of your cunt. He eats you, fucks you with his fingers, until your eyes are welling up with overwhelm and the need to release, your hands pulling at his long hair—your pussy dripping, quivering, right at the edge of your orgasm.

Any of the reservations you had are now out the window. Your grip on Carlos’ hair is tight, pushing his head deeper into your pussy and grinding against his mouth mindlessly.

I’m cumming—!

Your voice is so dirty, so lewd, so needy, when you finally finish around him, slick dripping out and your pussy twitching, clenching and unclenching around nothing as you release. Panting, you hoist yourself on your elbows, your braid surprisingly intact, and pout down at him.

“I said fuck me.”

“So you complain,” he responds with a coy smile, his lips shiny with your slick. You want him to fuck you stupid.

He does eventually, gets you all calm and lying down on the bed, knees to your chest. Your feet cross and uncross with anticipation. He lets his cock rest first on your stomach, where it twitches, smearing precum under your belly button.

“That’s where you’ll be,” you say, stroking him. When he finally does begin thrusting into you, he wishes he could save the image of your pretty eyes fluttering closed, puffy lips open in a whimper.

Your legs tremble with the size you’re taking, his hand gentle as it is firm on your hips, forcing you to take him, take him good, take him better. Good girl, he’s saying, good fucking girl. Inch by inch, you struggle to take all of him, his girth thicker than what your cunt is willing to take. You’re positive you’ll feel him in your stomach.

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

“Fuck,” is all he can muster, watching your pussy swallow him. “So tight.”

He’s drunk on the feeling of you, wet and clenching around him, so tight. He can tell you’re high on it too, on the stretch of him, the way you keep trying to meet every thrust, legs already beginning to tremble with pleasure and deep arousal. He bottoms out, an expletive leaving him in Spanish, and then slowly begins to fuck in and out of you.

He watches your face, the way your brows knit as you take him, take his cock, eyelides fluttering. “So good,” you moan, mouth open. He drops a glob of spit onto your tongue, tells you to swallow—you do, presenting your empty tongue to him. Good girl, prettiest girl—any and all praise leaves him in dizzy, heady breaths.

“Teasing me for so long,” he pants, his dick splitting you in half. “This what you wanted? Hmm?”

But even in your cloudy mind, you find the grit to retaliate, teasingly, a cloy smile on your lips. “You said it was wrong,” you gasp out with every thrust. “Fucking your friend’s daughter.”

“But you love it,” Carlos goads. “Do you?”

You nod, cockdrunk, but it’s not enough. “Use your words, pretty. You can do it.”

“I do, I love it. I need more,” you whine, getting off on his teasing, on the implication that this is all wrong, that neither of you should be doing this. “Needed this so much, Carlos.” You crack your eyes open to watch the bulge in your abdomen, the shape of his girth splitting you open. He slams into you harder and you try to squirm away, but he keeps you pinned in place.

“And if your dad walked in?”

You gush slick all over him. “Carlos,” you plead.

“Saw his daughter taking his friend’s dick?” He says it low into your ear, bending to make sure you hear all of it. “Taking it like a good girl, too.” He pulls out, slaps your ruined hole with his dick, then shoves it in deep again, groaning when you cry out—getting off on you whining about how sensitive you are, the way you tremble under him and around him. Your pretty little face, all sweaty and ruined.

“I’m gonna—fuck—I’m, Carlos—I’m gonna cum,” you say, nodding. You’ve probably cum twice already, little bursts of pleasure causing your cunt to twitch around him, sensitive. “Can I—?” 

“That’s it,” he praises. “Come on, cum for me. Been so good for me.” You tremble around him as you finish, broken moans fucked out of you with every surge of his hips forward.

He’s close, too, having held off fucking you for the past how many days, and you can tell; his thrusts get shallower, faster, until his hips are stuttering and he’s panting your name out, long hair framing his flushed, pretty face. You reach up to comb a hand through it. “Cum inside me,” you beg, watching him go crazy, his nostrils flaring and eyes blinking quick. 

He pumps his cum into you, thrusting several times as he rides it out, fucking you full of him, of his cum. You relish in the feeling, of being his girl, his good girl. “You’re a mess,” he comments, his face buried into your neck. He pulls out, both of you sighing at the sight and feeling of his cum dribbling out of you, onto the bed.

You unfold your legs, sitting up despite how sore you feel. Your dress is damp with sweat, and slick, and cum. “I feel a mess.” You pout.

“You look pretty.”

“Can I sleep here tonight?” You ask, voice meek. He nods, holds you tight as you both drift off, like he knows that you won’t be his to call his by the time the summer wanes and Comporta is left empty again.

—

“It’s the post-race interview,” Ali calls. “Hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” You hop into the living room, tossing her the bag of popcorn she’d requested you to cook. Fall has officially dawned upon the city, adorning it with orange and red leaves, jazz music and cold nights—and weekends watching races.

Around you, all your university friends watch with intense gazes at the winner of the latest Formula One grand prix—something none of you had been remotely interested in just months prior.

You watch, eyes glittering, at the winner. Tan skin, long hair, jogging over to the journalist. Sainz, what a stellar drive! She sounds awestruck, genuinely taken aback by his dominance on the track today. She asks for a message in Spanish, as always; a few words of inspiration, and then, just as a fun little tidbit—did you have a good luck charm today?

He smiles to himself, like he’s just heard an inside joke and seems to think for a minute. “No, not really.” Then he combs a hand through his hair. There, looped around his wrist, is a pretty, pale pink ribbon.

[frogchiro]

Omg ur centaur könig got me thinking about a waternymph! reader who takes care of a local waterfall which she had been born into by the soft ripples splashing on the shore of the small lake, small bundles of flowers and cloaking trees practically it shroud it from sight and any passing adventurers. You're alone, the lake can't hold more than a single one of you and you can't help but feel lonely..

SO YOU MAKE IT A POINT TO TAKE TO ANYONE AND EVERYTHING THAT SOMEHOW MANAGES TO WALK PAST OR FIND UR RESERVOIR

You chat up to a passing chimera called Farah, then another few harpies which had flown by looking for her, another pretty nymph, a few satyrs who tried to be cheeky and get you to come out of the water despite your flustered protests. It's that you couldn't, you just find it odd! You protest despite their little teasing tugs, hands wrapped around your bicep to pull you up where instead, you mischievously pull them down and get them doused and their flutes ruined. You even meet a hulky centaur who seems very sleep deprived, with many other nymphs toddling around him! You greet them with an excited smile and you all immediately become BESTIESSS you help them refill their water, and even let them bathe in your spring, you even manage to talk to the massive centaur who is actually quite polite and curious about you. By the time they leave, you're all basically bawling your eyes out and hugging and despite their insisting you join them, u just can't leave ur little spot like that:( they leave and u wave them goodbye with a chirp and a song. You somehow met the formidable minotaur who had managed to escape the labyrinth, scarred and dirty and helped him bathe and drink some water. He returns the favour by catching you a deer for a nice, hearty meal and some wine which had been left by the entrance of the labyrinth he'd left, forgotten offerings. He leaves after a month of recovery and it's just as teary. But it's alright! U don't mind..:(

Until all of a sudden, when you're just happily sunbathing on one of the tilted rocks in the middle of the small lake, napping on your side,, when you're practically jolted awake by arguing! Uh oh, everyone you've ever met is back and arguing on the lake side about who exactly means more to you(in a more comical way, not in a weird boyfriend girlfriend sort of thing?? Idk how to explainnn) like:

"Well, she combed our hair and gave us forehead kisses!" Arguged one of the many nymphs, pointing at the band of satyrs who looked like they were going to shank someone with their flutes. "So? She played in the water with us!" One of satyrs snaps, giving the girl a mean mug. "How stupid! She let me drink from her personal cup, fools!" The chimera yelled. "Yeah, same!" The harpies tried to butt in. "I stayed with her for a month." The minotaur adds as well, his voice rumbly. Alongside them are myriad of other creatures you didn't even know you had made such an impact on, it would make u cry lf happiness if not for the fact they're still arguing. They all are rather passionate about ur happiness, and they all want to be the cause of it:((

And all waternymph! Reader wants to do is just take a nap..but first priority in her mind! Hugs and reunions! Fuck your arguing! You want to hear about everyone's adventurers! So, with a cute smile, u get everyone to set up around the lake and that night is filled with a ton of fun festivities, drinking and a lot of wrestling among different species(for fun and competition, it's actually really funny to watch!)

SORRY FOR THE LONG SPAM BUT THIS HAS BEEN COOKING IN MY MIND FOR SO LONG<<33 I LOVE UR WRITING SO MUCH I JUSTTTTT MWAH MWAH UR AMAZING!!! MUCH LOVE XOXXOO

It's very much okay darling, I don't mind!! Thank you for all the love and I'm sorry for not responding earlier :((

I hope you guys enjoy the read and please send me more of your thoughts on nymph!Reader and CentaurKönig♡♡♡

[sanemistar]

Hey lovely! Is there any chance you’d do a Sanemi x female!reader (she’s a hashria) one shot?

She’s been dating him for ages but all of a sudden she breaks up with him and gets with some other guy straight away, so sanemi is super hurt/angry about it (he was about to about to propose). Anyway, fast forward to the hashria training arc and she’s there with the new guy (he’s a demon slayer), he can see that reader is super uncomfortable around this guy so he’s super suss about the whole thing. Sanemi ends up overhearing the guy she’s now dating that he was actually threatening reader to hurt everyone she loves (especially Sanemi) if she didn’t dump him and date her. But fight insures and blah blah blah, happy ending with them getting back together!

I hope that makes sense, but you have creative freedom to whatever you think is best! Also if you don’t want to write it I fully respect your decision, but if you do write it thank you so much ❤️

never let you go | sanemi shinazugawa

pairing: sanemi x hashira fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, lovers to exes then back to lovers

wc: 2.2k+

warnings: usage of threats, slight swearing, not proofread oops

a/n: i hope you enjoy reading <33 this was so fun to write thank you for requesting lovely anon !!

you and sanemi have been dating for ages, everyone knows how madly in love you two are with each other. you two are basically inseparable, wherever you are you’re always seen with him, to the point where other people start whispering 'that's the wind hashira's girl' when they see you. you two are the epitome of love basically. so it’s to be expected that you two will end up married at some point, and that’s been your longtime boyfriend’s plan all along. he has been planning to propose to you for so long and today he’s about to finally take that next big step in your relationship.

on a lovely spring day, sanemi leaves you a message with his crow, asking you to come by his estate later because he wants to tell you something very important, so you prepare yourself and excitedly leave your estate to see him, wondering about what is that important thing that made your boyfriend so eager to see you. your train of thought is forced to cut short, though, when someone grabs your hand which stops you from going any further. you take a moment to inspect the person standing in front of you, he seems to be a demon slayer but one of a lower ranking based on his attire. but something about him feels odd and you feel slightly uncomfortable around him.

"going somewhere, y/n?" his way of addressing and talking informally to you as if you two are very familiar with each other pisses you off, can't he see your haori, does he not know you're a hashira and that he should speak to you respectfully?

"and why i should explain myself to you?" you push him out of your way and keep on walking, you don't want to be late for sanemi's meetup. but he grabs your hand and stops you once again, this time his grip is harder than the last time to ensure that you stay still.

"i can't let you go, y/n. i love you. please go out with me." you're taken aback by the sudden, uncalled for love confession. does this guy not know that you already have a boyfriend? and he's not just any boyfriend, he's the infamous wind hashira.

"don't you think you're too bold to ask me such nonsense? i have a boyfriend, you know?" you inform him, eyes looking sharp. he's clearly pissing you off, you should be in sanemi's arms right now, but instead, some random guy is wasting your time.

"i don't care, i'm not leaving until i make you mine." the guy is still persistently pestering you. no matter how many times you reject him, he still begs and pleas. you've had enough of his constant begging and finally reach your limit, so you quickly grab you katana and point it against his throat.

"if you don't stop what you're doing, you're going to regret what i'm about to do next." you speak sternly. but he doesn't seem to be fazed in the slightest. to your surprise, his entire demeanor changes and he pulls away your katana as it drops on the ground. and before you even get a chance to react, he quickly turns around points his own katana very close to the crook of your neck.

"i think you're the one who's going to regret what i'm about to do if you don't go out with me, someone might get hurt, like your boyfriend for example." he whispers into your ear, with a voice full of threat. you know sanemi is a very strong man, but you simply don't want to put the love of your life in danger because of you, you'll never forgive yourself if anything happens to him. so you choose to give up and surrender yourself to the man's demands, all for the sake of sanemi. you always put his safety and wellbeing before everything else, even before your own desires.

"i'll let you go for now, you know what to do, right?" he warns you. you grit your teeth, trying to suppress the tears eager to fall down your cheeks. it pains you to leave the one man you love the most in the world and the only one for you, after you had promised each other to never be apart until death do you part. you can't believe you're about to break your promise in the worst way possible.

with now a heavy heart, you walk towards your boyfriend's estate and sanemi instantly greets you with a tight embrace. you bury your face deep in his warm, bare chest. you wish you could stay there forever, but the words from earlier ring vividly in your ears, causing you to jolt, startling both you and sanemi.

"you 'kay, y/n?" sanemi asks in both confusion and worry, he's sensing there's something unusual about you today, but he can't seem to know exactly what it is.

"i'm... fine." you try your best to assure him. though he's still convinced you're acting strange, he decides to drop his suspicions for now. he has something much more important to tell you, his long awaited proposal.

"i have something to tell you." you both say in unison, but sanemi insists that you should go first. you take a deep breath, your heart weighs heavy. you feel tongue tied, as if your body refuses to let you say what you're about to say next, but you force yourself to.

"i... i want to break up, sanemi." your words drop on him like a bomb, he's surely never seen this one coming. he's hurt and angry, he knows you love him so much, so why are you suddenly asking for a breakup.

"shit, tell me what is it that i did wrong? i promise i'll fix it, just please don't leave me, y/n." you've never seen sanemi this vulnerable before, you can clearly hear the pain and desperation in his tone. it breaks your heart knowing that you're causing him to be in this state, but you're left with no choice. you have to protect him, even if it costs you to earn his hatred for the rest of your life.

"there's no point. it can't be fixed. thank you for everything and goodbye, sanemi." you kiss him goodbye one last time before you quickly run away as the tears you've been holding for so long finally get released, forcing yourself to never look back. because you know that you'll get weak and throw yourself in his arms once again if you do. he watches as you slowly disappear from his line of sight before he breaks down, he's feeling utterly bitter at you for leaving him behind just like that without telling him why.

fast forward a while later, amane-sama summons all the hashiras and announces that there will be a hashira training to prepare for the final fight against muzan, and everyone must participate, which means that you’ll meet up with sanemi more frequently. if it were any normal occasion, you’d be very happy to spend time with him. but with everything that has happened, you’re not looking forward to it.

after the meeting is done you immediately prepare yourself to leave, unable to stay a minute longer knowing that sanemi is right there but you can't hold him in your arms. obviously the rest of them notice how awkward you behave around each other now, wondering why you broke up with sanemi and left him for some random guy who seems to be much less than what you deserve, especially when you and sanemi were so perfect for each other. but they decide not to pry into the matter further in respect of your private life.

the minute you step into the training grounds, you're met with your 'new boyfriend' waiting for you at the entrance as he wraps his arm around you. the sight of him brings immense pain in your heart, you can't stand seeing his face.

"how was it, baby?" your stomach turns upset upon hearing his voice and you feel sick to your core the moment he lays finger on your skin.

"good." you reply nonchalantly. you always keep your replies to a bare minimum, usually reply with a short sentence, sometimes even with just one word. you'd rather not talk to him at all, but you force yourself to.

sanemi notices that you're feeling very uncomfortable around the guy, it’s very clear to his eyes despite him standing at a distance. which makes him instantly feel something is wrong about the whole thing. like why would you date someone you're not comfortable with? he knows this is unlikely of you, so he starts to investigate further.

even after the breakup, sanemi still has feelings for you. he's never moved on from you, he’s only ever loved you, no matter how many times he tries to. he has no interest in any other girl, you're so exceptional he can't seem to find a girl that's as amazing as yourself, you're the only one in his eyes. so he promises himself to do everything he can to bring you back to him once more.

then one day while he's cooling off after a long training session, sanemi sees a bunch of low-ranking demon slayers gathered around a guy and he immediately recognizes his face, it's the guy that stole you away from him. he tightly clenches his fists until his knuckles turn white, furious is an understatement to describe how he’s feeling right now.

he accidentally overhears them asking him how he got you to break up with one of the strongest hashiras and date him instead, and he tells everyone how he threatened you to hurt your loved ones, especially sanemi himself, if you refuse to break up with sanemi and date him.

everything makes sense now, why you broke your promise to him by suddenly asking to breakup without giving any justifications whatsoever. sanemi is incredibly enraged by his statement, his blood is boiling and his veins are popping up, his vision is blinded by all the pent up anger. his body moves automatically towards where the guy is and delivers a strong punch onto his face, completely destroying that cocky look smeared on it.

"you fuckin' asshole!" sanemi shouts angrily as he continues to ruthlessly punch that jerk multiple times to a point where his knuckles start bleeding, no one is daring to intervene in any way. they just let sanemi beat him to his heart's desire. after quite some time, sanemi finally stops and grabs him by the collar.

"you better fucking never show your face to y/n or bother her ever again, ya hear me? try being near her again and i'll fuckin' kill you." the guy only nods in fear, not even being able to speak. sanemi lets go of him and drops his now passed out body on the floor.

desperately searching for you, sanemi keeps running and running asking everyone around for you. until he finds you as you're about to enter your estate. he rushes to you like crazy and embraces you from behind, startling you.

"why did you handle this all by yourself, y/n? why didn't ya tell me?" sanemi asks you in between his crying, and your whole body flinches upon hearing his cries. you know how sanemi hardly ever cries in front of anyone, especially you. because he doesn't want you to worry about him, so he only shows you his strong side.

"i had no choice, i wanted to protect you. i wouldn't have forgiven myself if you had been put in danger because of me." you join him in sobbing as you turn around and bury yourself in his chest once again. you cry your heart out in his arms as he pats your head softly until you slowly begin to calm down. he cups your delicate face in his hands as his calloused thumbs wipe away your tears gently.

"i love you, y/n." he speaks softly, as if he's whispering. you feel butterflies all over your stomach the moment you hear your name slipping out of his lips, you've missed his voice so much.

"i love you too, nemi." you reply back, looking at him ever so endearingly. you lean closer and capture his lips in a loving, passionate kiss. you feel his hands move from your face and rest onto the sides of your waist, pulling you closer to him and you smile into the kiss.

after some time, the two of you break the kiss. yet your eyes are locked on his big, lilac ones.

"i'll never let you go, not now, not ever." sanemi kneels down on one knee, grabbing out a small box with a beautiful ring in it. you feel tears slowly forming into your eyes yet again, this time they're happy tears.

"will you marry me, y/n?" he finally proposes to you, sure the proposal isn't the most grand or extravagant. but you don't mind it in the slightest, this is more than enough to you, the fact that you're finally back together with the man you adore the most is what's important to you.

"yes, of course. my nemi." no hint of hesitation is to be found in your tone, it's the easiest and quickest yes you've ever said. you can't believe you're about to spend the rest of your life with your one and only love. you have no idea what life has in store for the two of you, but one thing for sure is that no matter what happens, you'll always be by sanemi’s side and never leave.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hello <33 I'm trying to come up with a title for my fluff self-insert, but I'd like some better ideas for a title. Basically it's about curiosity and the inexperienced touching of another you're attracted to, a fiery type of heat as they fall in love with the sanctity in each other's trust and clothed adoration.

If you can give me a list of poetic phrases and words, even the more simple to the uncommon ones, that'd be great :D

Hi! Thanks for sharing a snippet of your story with me <3 Here are some words/phrases related to curiosity, coming-of-age & youthful passionate love:

Be soft on someone - to love someone or like someone very much

Besotted - to be completely in love with someone and always thinking of them

Butter wouldn't melt in someone's mouth - used when someone looks as if they would never do anything wrong, although you feel they might

Carry a torch for [someone] - to be in love with someone

Ephebic - relating to or like an ephebe (i.e., a young man, especially in Ancient Greece, or a young person who is not yet a fully grown adult)

Ephemerality - the quality or state of lasting only for a short time

Estival - relating to or typical of summer

Indian summer - a period of warm weather happening in the fall when you expect cooler weather

Look at/see something through rose-coloured/rose-tinted glasses - to see only the pleasant things about a situation and not notice the things that are unpleasant

Novitiate - the period or state of being a novice

Red-letter day - a special, happy, and important day that you will always remember

Road to Damascus - your road to Damascus is an experience you have that you consider to be very important and that changes your life

Saturnalia - an ancient Roman celebration that happened on December 19; a party where people behave in an uncontrolled way

Spring beauty - one of several small, wild plants, originally from North America, that have green leaves and small pink or white flowers in the early spring

Spring fever - a feeling of excitement because the weather suddenly becomes warmer in spring

Tenderfoot - an inexperienced beginner; novice

Vernal - relating to or happening in the spring

Volte-face - a sudden change from one set of beliefs or plan of action to the opposite

Worship the ground someone walks on - to love and admire someone very much

Xanadu - a very impressive and beautiful place, or a place that is perfect

Perhaps some Victorian flower language may inspire you:

Abatina - fickleness

Aster - love, daintiness

Camellia (red) - flame in one's heart

Carnation (white) - innocence, pure love, sweet love

Crocus (spring) - cheerfulness, youthful gladness

Daffodil - regard, unequalled love

Daisy - innocence, loyal love, "I’ll never tell"

Larkspur - open heart, levity, lightness, fickleness

Lilac - joy of youth

Rose (white) - innocence, heavenly, "I’m worthy of you"

I hope you find the right word or phrase here. If not, perhaps this list could inspire you to create the perfect title—incorporate characters' names, places from your story, do a bit of word play etc etc :)

Sources: 1 2 3

[radiant-reid]

hiiii !! kinda tipsy rn</33 i need something a little self indulgent so can you maybe write spence taking care of drunk reader? <333

- 🐟

Spencer's been keeping a watchful eye on you all night, knowing you've had a few more drinks tonight than you usually would. It's no secret this case was difficult, and you're ready to pour your negative energy into a good night out.

His supposed vigilance is why he's surprised when familiar arms wrap around his waist and you spring up beside him without him realizing you're there.

"Spencer!" You squeal, loud even though the music is loud.

His conversation with Hotch pauses, and he looks at you. "Hey, what's up? Are you okay?"

You nod, hugging his side. "Just wanted a quick hug." You tell him, and he's happy to oblige. "We're going to do more shots." You say when you untangle yourself from him, cheerily stumbling away.

Spencer's eyes dart back to Hotch, apologizing for ditching the conversation in favor of going after you. "I've just got to deal with that." He says, searching around the room to find out whether you went off to the BAU's table or the bar. Hotch laughs understandingly, nodding for Spencer to go off.

Before you can take the shot, Spencer takes it from you, and you pout up at him, reaching out for it. "Give me it." You request.

"I think you've had enough, sweetheart." He tells you gently, handing the shot glass to Emily who's had far less. He wraps his arm around your shoulder. "Let's go home."

You cup his cheeks, making him blush at the affectionate gesture in front of all of his friends. "Only because you're so pretty." You agree, tapping his nose and making everyone else laugh.

His cheeks are red as he leads you out of the bar, basically having to keep you upstanding and avoid you drunkenly tripping over and injuring yourself.

He gets you strapped in the car, making sure you're safe before getting in the driver's side.

"You're so perfect, Spencer." You babble, unable to stop the flow of compliments when you're drunk. He finds it adorable, and he always reminds you of what you've said in the mornings. "Like I've never had a boyfriend as good as you before, and you're so kind and smart and funny and I just love you so much."

Spencer chuckles as he drives, smiling over at you at the red lights. You sit there contently for the rest of the drive, thinking about how lucky you are.

He helps you inside as well, getting you undressed and into bed. When he goes to leave the room, you reach out to grab his hand. "Don't go, Spence. Stay with me."

"I'm just getting Advil and water for you." He assures you. "I'll be one minute, tops."

"60, 59, 58..." You begin a countdown as he walks away, smirking.

He's back with five seconds to spare, making you sit up a little to get some painkillers and water into you before he puts the rest of your bedside table.

"You okay?" He checks, pushing your hair out of your face. "Need anything else?"

You nod quickly. "Cuddles."

[megistusdiary]

mm titfuck with scaramouche? <33 he’s had a rough day, you’re willing to help him out! ^^

— 💌

i might be the flattest person alive but i can appreciate a good titfuck 🙏

also i am so sorry for vanishing i have been so busy with school and home stuff, and i wanted to write over fall break, but i was with my bf basically every waking moment and had no time ;w;

anyways i just registered for spring semester and it is looking like an actual nightmare rn but i did it to myself to save gas money 👍

anyways... scaramouche is a harbinger in this fic and theres a shit ton of useless plot!

warnings: switch!scaramouche and switch!fem anatomy/pronouns reader

scara fucks your tits 🧚‍♀️, exhausted but bitchy scara, consent check, oil as lube, scara calls you 'good girl'

scaramouche sighed, throwing his bag to the floor and dumping his hat onto the table.

the noise startled you from your accidental evening nap, jolting upwards to see scaramouche turning on the lights in your home.

his hair was slightly ruffled from where his hat rested atop his head, eyes half-lidded as he walked towards you.

"oh...i didn't realize you were there." was all he said as you rubbed your eyes, moving to stand up.

"i guess i fell asleep on the couch after i got home." you shrugged, folding up the blankets around you. "how was work?"

scaramouche once again sighed, sinking into the couch cushions, leaning back to let his head hang off the edge. "shitty."

"i'm sorry to hear that." you frowned as he swung his head in your direction, sighing yet again. "is there anything i can do to make you feel better?"

he let out a grunt, folding his arms over his chest. "unless you can make the rest of my...coworkers," his fingers coming up to act as quotation marks when he spoke, "get off my back, then no, i don't think so."

"what about some tea? i picked up your favorite on my way home." you offered, lips quirking up when he finally perked up a little. "stay here, i'll go heat some water up."

as you moved to stand, he grabbed your wrist, tugging at your arm. "what-"

"wait." scaramouche grumbled to himself, digging in his pocket with his free hand before pulling a bracelet out, holding it in his palm.

"scaramouche-"

"ugh, don't even ask. it's for you, i would never wear something so ridiculous. as incessant as he is, pantalone has an eye for jewelry. he helped me pick it out."

"you didn't have to do that for me." your face felt warm as he gently turned your wrist to clasp the bracelet, letting you feel the cool metal against your skin.

his touch lingered for a moment, fingertips trailing across your palm before retreating. "can't you just thank me?" scaramouche asked, turning away to hide the slight blush covering his cheeks as you smiled.

you leaned down, gently pressing a kiss to his cheek, smiling against his skin. "thank you, it's very beautiful." you walked off towards the kitchen, feeling giddy as you pulled the kettle out to set it on the stove.

it was a gift from childe, another one of scaramouche's coworkers whom he detested for his overeager disposition.

you recounted him being a very sweet gentleman, presenting you with the kettle when you first visited snezhnaya. though, the kettle itself was from liyue, 'a gift from a friend to a friend,' as childe put it.

it was a beautiful gold shade with trees painted along the sides, and it shone in the light of the kitchen as it slowly started to boil.

you left the pot briefly to pick out a tea set to match the kettle, opting to choose scaramouche's favorite cups. he had said before he didn't care about such useless things, though you could see the little sparkle in his eyes whenever you brought out the hand-painted forest tea set.

once the water was ready, you took great care in steeping the tea leaves to the perfect color in scaramouche's cup. you added the perfect amount of sugar as well. despite his words of saying he preferred his tea bitter, you knew he really loved sweets secretly.

you carefully set everything on the tray, bringing it over to scaramouche who looked like he was deep in thought. "what are you thinking about?"

"hm? oh, work, it's nothing." he shrugged you off, moving to sit across from you at the table as you slid him his cup. "it smells good."

"i know, i checked every bag i could find. even though it's rare to come by here, i wanted to find the perfect one."

scaramouche hid his slight smile in his cup, shaking his head as he took small sips. "i'm surprised you even remembered i liked this specific brew. it's been a long time since we had tea in liyue."

"of course i remembered." you scoffed, looking over at him with a cheeky grin. "you bought the whole stock when you thought i wasn't looking."

scaramouche rolled his eyes, setting his cup down in favor of resting his chin on his hand. "maybe you're more perceptive than i thought."

"oh please, don't even. if you thought i was dumb, you wouldn't have spared me another glance." you stated, setting your own cup down as you clasped your hands in front of you. "maybe you're just surprised you're not as slick as you thought you were."

"you should watch your tongue." was all he said, narrowing his eyes.

"what are you gonna do? bite it off?"

"i bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" scaramouche watched you finally turn away, relishing in the delight of flustering you.

"what happened to being all tired from work?" you asked him, watching as he drummed his fingers along the edge of the table rhythmically.

"i'm not tired, just pissed off."

"well, why don't you let me make you feel better." you slowly leaned towards him, cupping his face with one of your hands.

his hand came up instinctively to cradle yours, meeting your gaze with his own intrigued one. "what exactly did you have in mind? it better be good."

you bit back your laughter, standing up and moving behind his chair. you leaned down, letting your chest press against his back as your breath ghosted over the shell of his ear. "why don't you let me surprise you, hm?" you smirked softly as he shivered, turning his head to grip your chin firmly.

"well, don't keep me waiting then." he pulled his chair out, allowing you to take his hand and lead him to the bedroom, forgetting the tea on the table as you pushed him to sit on the bed near the headboard.

you cafefully crawled into his lap, leaning up to kiss him before he stopped you with a single finger pressed to your lips. "what is it?" you asked, muffled by the digit.

"do you want to do this? if you're tired, it's fine. you don't have to, you know." that was his way of checking in on you, making sure you were okay.

"my surprise is all about you, don't worry." you smiled, pressing a kiss to the tip of his finger. "you can repay me some other time." you grinned up at him cheekily as he grunted, moving his hand to let you kiss him properly.

as you pressed your lips to his, your hands traveled down to his waistband, playing with the ties as he inhaled sharply through his nose.

you carefully pulled the fabric down, feeling his happy trail against your hand as his cock sprung free against his stomach. you smiled as you moved down his body, pressing a small kiss to his tip and watching his dick twitch.

you scooted off the bed to grab the bottle of oil from the nightstand, pouring some onto your hand and rubbing it between your fingers before wrapping your hand around the base of his cock.

"fuck-" he sighed, letting his head lean back against the headboard as you played with him. you moved your hand up and down, twisting gently and running your thumb over the slit.

his eyes opened, narrowing at you when you pulled away. before he could object you moved his hands to the hem of your shirt. "help me get this off." you asked, feeling him slowly peel your shirt off. "the bra too."

he flung your shirt off to the side, reaching behind you and fumbling for the clasp of your bra, pulling it off of you and allowing it to fall to the floor. when he reached for your pants, you shook your head, sliding back down.

"i told you, this is a surprise for you." you moved to press his dick against your chest, rubbing against his dick as he watched with wide eyes.

"come on, don't tease me." he warned you, sounding ever-so-slightly breathless. you obliged, pressing his dick between your breasts as he sighed, feeling the tightness pressing around him.

you pushed your hands on the sides of your chest, pushing your breasts together and moving your body up and down. "does that feel good?" you smiled up at him as his thighs tensed, hands gripping the bedsheets.

"more, faster-" he whined at you, losing his composure. your body pressed into him more, leaning your weight onto his legs.

his hips moved on their own, hands coming to grip your shoulders and head as he fucked your tits at his own pace, moving you at his leisure. he grunted quietly, explicatives spilling from his lips as your chest became covered in oil and slick from his dick, coating your skin.

"good girl, good girl..." he sighed, moving his hips faster, feeling you press your breasts against him tighter until he let out a gasp, arching his back and coming hard.

his release shot up against your chin and neck, coating you in white as he slowly leaned back against the bed, hair stuck to his skin with sweat.

you pulled yourself up, laying on the bed with him for a moment before he wrinkled his nose, pulling your hand. "the bracelet has cum on it."

"it's from your own dick, and-"

"this is gross. we're showering."

[kissagii]

A sunny day in the rainy season sums up what it’s like to love Yoichi.

cw: gender neutral reader, 1.2k words, food/eating mentions, mild cursing like once, yoichi is a dense idiot, it’s pure sappy fluff <33

Loving Isagi is soft and warm, like the first day of sun after a week of nothing but rain – a day so long awaited that the only thing he can think to do is spend the entire day at your side, celebrating the good weather that he just knows means spring is on the way. When it’s the golden rays of sun that wake Isagi up, he’s sure it’s you that’s shining: your glowing face and smile that’s brighter than a thousand suns. At long last the tiredness is gone from his aching muscles, and he’s sure that’s your work too. He should get up, he thinks, he should cook you something to celebrate the return of the sun, but you cling onto him so tightly… there’s no harm in staying, is there?

“Hm… I’m so glad I don’t have practice today” he mumbles, half to himself, basking in your warmth and the gentle rays of morning that peek through the curtains.

“Why?” you ask, roused by his gentle mumbles.

He freezes and blushes like a schoolboy with his first love, not having intended to wake you up. “It means we can spend the day together. The rain finally stopped and it’s already sunny, we should celebrate.”  

“Celebrate what, Yoichi?” You ask. It’s another one of Isagi’s silly ideas, and you can’t be bothered to understand it, not when his touch is so warm and gentle and laying there together in his bed that’s not big enough for two you think you’ve finally understood what people mean when they say someone can feel like home. Isagi feels like home.

Isagi’s not sure exactly what he wants to celebrate beyond the fact that today just has to be celebrated. He nuzzles close into you and says, “Well… that we survived the rain. That the sun’s back and spring’s on the way. That we’ve been together for a year.”  

“A… year?” Has it been that long already?

“Yeah… crazy, right? It’s still a while until the day we made things official- official… but we were basically dating before then, right?” 

So it has been… One almost-spring to another. You both remember the time with fondness, though in the moment the stormy weather had been a perfect representation of how you felt. The maybe-relationship stage had been confusing and scary and frustrating, but everything turned out alright, so really, how bad could it have been? It brought Isagi closer to you, after all, so for all he knew it was the best blessing he had ever received.

“I guess we should celebrate then,” You say with a laugh, “A sunny day after the rainstorms to celebrate making it for a year after whatever that was. Fitting, isn’t it?”

He pulls you close by the waist, placing a loving kiss on your forehead. “Mhm. We should go have breakfast at that one cafe where you got upset ‘cause the barista gave me her number.”

“Oh god, the one where I called you a dense idiot?” You remember the café clearly, a quaint little place where you almost rethought your entire relationship with Isagi. You’d gone back once or twice since that day, but never with him.

“Yeah, that one. You were right though, I was being a dense idiot,” He laughs, untangling himself from your arms to get out of bed, though he’d really rather stay there with you all day, wrapped in the blankets without a care in the world. 

“But now you’re my dense idiot, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Just as he promised, Isagi takes you to breakfast, though he insists you walk together to properly enjoy the weather. He holds your hand the whole way. Every flower you pass he points out, saying it reminds him of you in some way. One was the color of a shirt you wore on a particularly memorable date, another he swears was in a bouquet you gave him once, a third he remembers seeing outside your apartment, and most of them he just thinks are pretty like you. 

Like a gentleman he pays for the both of you, and he has your coffee order memorized. It’s the same coffee you got that day last year, when he ordered your favorite from memory for the first time. 

“When did you first memorize my coffee order?” You ask as you sit down at a little table on the patio, the cafe owner’s cat sitting on the railing and watching the two of you with wide eyes. The sunlight makes Yoichi’s equally wide, lovestruck eyes sparkle sapphire blue.

“I don’t know… early on, I guess. I think it made me finally realize that I thought of you as more than a friend. I can hardly remember Bachira’s order after all this time, so why did I get yours so easily?”

For a moment you sit in silence – it was true, you realized. Who else could he order coffee for without messing up their order once? Even before you were together he would surprise you with something after a rough day, always timed perfectly though you never really told him how you were feeling.

“I think I realized I had feelings for you when you took me to the park after a particularly rough day… Do you remember that? When you grabbed my hand and we ran around under the stars it was like everything made sense.”

“But that was so early…  damn, I really am dense, aren’t I?” Isagi laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. His smile is shy and lopsided, it’s the smile you fell in love with so quickly.

You think back to what you said a year ago, the memory vivid in your mind. “Isagi Yoichi, you are a dense idiot! I think you’re the stupidest man I’ve ever met, and I’ve known a lot of stupid men in my lifetime. I swear, I can’t stand you sometimes!”

At first, he seems taken aback, but immediately he bursts into laughter. “I love you too, sweetheart. You’re right though, I am pretty dense, aren’t I?”

The day is yours, yours and his, but mostly yours because to Isagi you are the sun, and the sun is here to illuminate you at long last. Everything he says and does, every word and every action, no matter how small, is a new way to say “I love you.” You visit every place that was important to you back then, in an almost-spring a year past, the parks and restaurants and streetcorners that defined a whole rainy season. And when the day grows late and you return to Isagi’s home, a home that may as well be yours, the sun is gone until another dawn but Isagi doesn’t mind. It never was a day to celebrate the sun, it was a day to celebrate his love for you, which feels just the same as a long-awaited sunny day.

“I love you, Yoichi,” You murmur, running your fingers gently through his soft inky hair, watching as his chest rises and falls peacefully. 

“I love you too…” He murmurs, half asleep, “In the sun and in the rain… last year and this year and next year and every year after… I love you.”

Spring may be far – weeks away, perhaps months – but all of its beauty is not something Isagi longs for anymore. No, the wintertime may be rainy and cold, but with you in it, he feels as though every day is graced by the gentle sun that is love. Your love, his love, and the steady, sunny glow where they meet.

i love him a normal amount

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Am I the AH for refusing to be friends with someone who flat out hated me?

From ages 22-26 I was friends with R 29-33. R had only worked once in her life which was mcdonalds for 3 months to buy anime merchandise her grandma didn't want to buy her. R's grandma is in her late 80's now just for reference. R's granny had married a rich military dude who was on his 3rd marriage or so then died, so she got all his assets which included like 5 houses, 3 were being rented out which is how she'd get her income. So R never worked and just sat at home getting into internet fights. My friend had invited her into our discord and I'd be civil with her despite knowing how shes been with others. I was working full time for shit pay and going to school full time too. R was very, idk how else to say it, but she always demanded our attention. The other people in the server were 5 from ages from 16-22, we never used how much older she was against her, but she really didn't acknowledge or respect alot of us were in school. Many times we'd had to tell her to step back and set boundaries with us. It did result in people leaving the server. So, in summer of 2019 R decided to go to college. She got alot of financial aid and said her goal was to become a therapist cause she was everyone's "mom". That stuff wasn't even remotely true, she was always a total bitch to everyone. R unfortunately didn't understand that going to school means having to put the work in. She was more interested in spending the financial aid on gacha, anime merch, and other stuff. She lost her financial aid after the spring semester of 2020, and refused to talk to her school about the pandemic stress and other shit. During this time, she tried making me do her assignments and I kept saying no or only helped a little. I had my own assignments, school, and I was stressed. Well, when she lost her financial aid due to academic probation, she blamed me. When the pandemic hit my school did this thing where you'd get partially refunded your semester depending on how you did. I was so thankful for that since I barely scraped by to pay for school. R was so fucking nasty about it. I didn't tell my friends that to gloat, I actually said that before she lost her financial aid. She said I didn't deserve it, cause people like her struggled more. Which is fucking weird since I'm a first gen POC and made a few bucks above minimum wage where I live. I didn't even enjoy my time at school cause of the stress and never having money. So she kept harassing me for getting government aid. I wasn't eligible for financial aid! My parents weren't even eligible for food stamps and we always fucking struggled. But I didn't deserve help, who cares if R is a cis white woman in her 30's that only worked once for a few months, she has it harder. Then R left our server when the pandemic started getting nastier, alot of us struggled but we stayed close in the discord. Then one day I reached out to R in late 2021 to say happy birthday and she said "whose this? New phone." I was hurt she didn't keep my number, but whatever. In 2022 she reached out to me for gossip cause I broke up with someone. Then now in 2023 she reached out cause she wants resources to be a vtuber. I'm sorry, she was shitty to me, I've been struggling, and she reaches out for that? Idk even know how I'd be able to help her with that. I told a friend from our old server and she told me how she had been doing R's assignments for school, but stopped cause she was getting stressed cause she had her capstone class that semester. So wow. R basically didn't do shit for school and gets pissy i get some financial relief. I then had another mutual friend tell me how R had told them she sent me a gift and I didn't send her one, one year. Uh? I tried. I ordered something online for her, and the company sold out, but kept my shit on back order. So R got it like a month late, it was a Christmas gift and I explained it to her, sent her screenshot of when i placed the order and sent her an Amazon gift card as an apology. So she bad mouths me for something out of my control?

I've been getting "hey" messages from R lately, and idk. I'm so done with her.

What are these acronyms?

[not-alien-girl-v]

Never Be (Rory Keaner)

warning: me being lonely so i include too much detail of readers life and friends and beautiful house and neighborhood so i don’t feel as bad about my own ugly life <33 escapism?? i think so

note: here’s the song of the day / song to listen to while you read. or don’t. i can’t tell you what to do

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Something about an elephant, a warehouse, and a blond head of hair. These were the only major parts of your dream that you could remember before the doorbell is suddenly ringing rapid-fire. You're awakened by it, however, you close your eyes to see if your parents are going to answer, but you spring into action the moment you remember your current situation.

Your parents are out of town for the weekend, so unfortunately, it would have to be up to be you to answer the door, which also meant you would have to leave your insanely comfortable bed. Curses.

The hardwood floors are ice cold even through your fluffy socks, and the t-shirt and pajama pants you wore to bed do nothing to make you any bit warmer.

You twist your hand around the banister of the staircase as you make your way downstairs, shivering at the lack of heat in the house, and you stop at the door to glance through the peephole. Through the small hole, you observe the same blond head of hair you had been previously dreaming about, and suddenly, the notion of leaving bed on such a cold day doesn't seem all that bad.

You twist the lock open and swing the door on it's hinges, smiling at the boy standing before you, joined with 4 of your best friends trailing behind, being Ethan, Benny, Erica, and Sarah.

If it weren’t for his vampiric endurance, he’d be panting out of breath at your doorstep, but he’s completely perfect as he stands before you and grins widely. By your arm, he pulls you into a tight hug that you’re glad you didn’t have to ask him for.

Erica pushes past you with a huff, not genuinely upset, just her natural peeved state, “get a room, you two.” You know she is going straight for your bedroom to raid your movie collection.

“This is my house,” you counter but it falls on deaf ears as she’s already most of the way up the stairs when you say it.

Rory’s still holding you tightly as you pat his back to let him know to let you go and he does, reluctantly, his touch lingering on the curve of your shoulder while he slips past you into the house.

It’s Benny and Ethan’s turn for a greeting now, and Benny holds up two of the latest installments of the Scream franchise, the 3rd and 4th movies, he waves them in one hand in front of your face.

“It’s your lucky day. Someone,” he points to himself, “figured out the basic spell of persuasiveness and got the deal of a lifetime over at Blockbuster. Two movies for the price of free!”

“The price of free?” You question. Him, Ethan, and Sarah follow you into the house and you close the door behind them, locking it.

“The price of free! It’s too bad the spell calls for such obscure ingredients, else I’d be able to do it all the time. How hard is it to find an albino dragon’s tongue, anyway?”

“Pretty hard. There’s only ever been 2 sightings of it in history and one of them was you last Christmas,” Ethan corrects.

“Hey it’s not my fault Rory’s so pale and knows how to fly! He’s practically translucent, reflective in the moonlight!”

“Is that, like, a vampire thing?” Ethan asks.

“Nope, just a Rory thing,” you answer, and lead rh all to the couch, seeing that Rory has collected a number of snacks from your kitchen, along with a plethora of pillows and a variety of blankets, and he’s thrown them loosely over the couch in front of your TV, which Erica is fussing with, inserting the fourth Scream movie, which has only just came out, and the 6 of you have been rewatching the previous one over and over in preparation for this release. Why did they have to wait 11 years in between 3 and 4?

Benny shovels handfuls of cookies into his mouth, soon becoming a game by the addition of Ethan, trying to see who can fit more in one’s mouth at a time without choking.

Rory’s about to jump out of his seat on the couch when you plop down next to him. He blushes at the closeness.

“Good morning,” you say to him, wondering if it’s too late now to say it.

“Good morning. Are you excited for the movie? I heard the cast is super good this time!” His step is too peppy for so early in the morning, maybe he stole some of his fathers coffee before he left home this morning.

His home, there’s something so wonderfully cozy and peaceful about his home. He has a mom, a dad, an older sister and a younger brother, and an orange cat named Garfield.

His house is the warmest home in the winter, his bed the softest, you wish you were over there instead of here, but you still have him by your side, so you’re not complaining too much.

You look at his face closely, “hey, remember when you used to wear glasses?”

He laughs, “heck yeah, I remember. My frames were so heavy, they recommended physical therapy for my entire face to support the weight of them.”

You scoot in, half because Sarah’s taken a seat next to you and half because you want to cuddle with your boyfriend. You lean into him, and let his arm fall around your shoulder, throwing one leg over both of his.

When Benny is distracted beefing with Ethan, you steal a cookie from the jar he’s clutching tightly in his hands. Breaking it in half, you hand one over in Rory’s direction only to find him waiting with an open mouth, and you gigglingly place it in his awaiting mouth.

Sarah is the designated ‘remote man’ and she’s not letting anyone else steal the duty from her, it’s hers and hers alone.

The group of you settle into your spots as the opening scene begins of the 3rd movie.

After an hour in, you begin to get restless, and you combat it by excusing yourself to walk out back, exiting through the back gate.

Your backyard is scenic. The ever green grass is lush within the confines of your back fence, but once you exit and continue further, there is a quaint little creek that flows right by.

When you were little, you and Sarah used to hunt for crawdads and give them names. It wasn’t until the 3rd grade that you learned some of the crawdads were boys and they shouldn’t all have been given girl names, but it was too late at that point. You wonder if Sarah still remembers it as vividly as you do.

You wonder if in 100 years, all your immortal friends that were once little children alongside yourself will have forgotten these humble roots from which they grow.

Rory, Sarah, Erica, they will go on being eternal teenagers, and you will grow old and gray and one day you’ll die and you hope for the sake of yourself, they won’t stick around that long to see the worst of it.

And Rory, he’s only 15 and he will always be 15. To start out with, you were already a year older than him, then a year of vampirism passed and you turned 17, things will only get worse the longer you hold things off and choose not to talk about these very real and serious issues.

You’ve resorted to sitting on a large, stable rock down by the creek to temporarily sort out your thoughts.

“Y/N?” You hear him call, he’s at the top of the small hill of your backyard, you’re far down below, and when he spots you there, he easily descends the trail of shaky shifty tiny rocks with ease, unlike your wobbling endeavor.

You glance up at him, “hey.”

He’s concerned, he comes and pushes you to the right to make space for him on the rock you sit on. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” You play dumb, and a lot of times, it works with him.

“You know what I mean.” Ugh, you hate when he gets reasonable. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, seeing him so grave and severe when he talks about the things that bother you. It’s good that he doesn’t take your issues lightly, but it’s still odd to see him so committed to something in this way.

You huff out a sigh and lean into his side. He lets you. “What are we even doing?”

“Oh, well we’re almost finished with the movie in there, but you and I are sitting at the creek.”

“I mean like, in the long run. Like, in 10 years? I’m gonna be… 27. And you’ll be 15. I’ll be too old to be this in love with you but I don’t think I can just stay friends. Maybe with Sarah and Erica, but not you, never you.”

“So what are you saying?” He’s pretty sure he knows but he wants you to elaborate anyway, last time he assumed he knew what you were thinking, he found himself waking up in the trunk of the principal’s car. It’s a long story.

“I’m saying that I’m going to die. I have about 70 more years, maybe less, then I’m out of here. Forever. And in those 70 years, you’re just going to be, what? My 15 year old friend? How are we supposed to keep going like this? Even in a few years, I’ll already be a grown adult, and I can’t expect you to string me along on your eternal teenage shenanigans. I’ll have my own life to live.”

“But don’t you want that? Didn’t you always say you wanted to live your life?”

“Only if it’s with you. It’s not living if it’s not with you.”

He turns and takes both of your hands in his and he holds them like you’re a fragile insect to his predatory species, which there is truth in, in this case. “Just tell me what to do.”

“I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Just tell me how I can fix this. For you, what can I do to fix this?”

Air puffs out your mouth like it’s a statement in itself, like a simple sigh will tell him there’s nothing you can say to him, that it’s his decision, if he chooses to make it. You haven’t spoken about this part before.

Frogs croak behind bushes and crustaceans wade in the shallow water that rushes past in a sauntering manner.

“I’ll become human again. I’ll find a way, go to the ends of the earth. Is that what you want? Do you want that?”

You aren’t sure what to say. You never are, but especially not now.

“I could turn you. We could be this way forever, but together. Nothing would have to change too much.”

“But is that what you want?”

He shakes his head confused. When is he not confused? “It doesn’t matter what I want, you’re the one who’s unhappy, it’s my job to fix that, I’d do anything-“

“But it shouldn’t be all about what I want, this has to do with you, too. It’s your decision to make.”

He stands up suddenly, pacing around. “So it’s on me to decide? I have to make the choice?”

You just nod.

“I can’t do that, I can’t- why can’t things just stay the way they are? Things are good. I like this, why do we have to change?”

“Because we can’t go anywhere!” You don’t mean to snap at him. You’ve never done that before, never had a reason to and never even had an urge to, but it truly just slipped out, without any control.

And you wish you could control the way he feels, but as tears start brimming his eyes, you know you can’t, you never can.

“I’m sorry, I just, I need to go,” you speak to him and swiftly scale the hill up the creek, hopping on your bike leaning against your back shed, and you take of speeding down the deserted suburban street you live on.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:*⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

[moongothic]

Obligatory "This was a DIY-blog before a fandom blog and so if I wanna post my projects on here THEN I WILL AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME"-disclaimer

New blanket who dis

Another project that started out as an attempt for me to clear out yarn from my mom's stash, this time being some black Tynn Line from Sadnesgarn. There was a decent amount of it, and I didn't know what to do with it. Didn't want to work in just black, so I bought some of the orange yarn (while also doublechecking this was in fact Tynn Line like I suspected, because I wasn't 100% sure)

And I mindlessly started crocheting some basic granny squares.

Originally I figured I could maybe make a granny square cardigan, but once I got going I soon realized I probably had far more yarn than a cardigan would need (this was in fact a false estimate on my part because I am stupid), and I figured, if I had the yarn for it, then why not just make a blanket for myself instead

Now we all know and love the Blanket of Darkness I shared like a year ago, and let me tell you, I love that thing to death, it's a fantastic blanket and it has kept me so warm this whole winter. That said, while that blanket is fantastic in the middle of the winter, I did find myself kind of struggling during the fall and spring, when like. It's just slightly cold enough that I wanted an extra layer, but the thick, pure wool of that blanket was actually a bit too warm.

So when I realized I could make myself a thinner blanket, like, yeah, I wanted to take that. The Tynn Line is 53% cotton, 33 viskoce and 14% linen, and it's a thinner yarn, I used a 3 mm hook for the project. A perfect yarn for me to use for a fall/spring blanket.

And so I ended up committing to it, got more yarn so I'd have enough for a small blanket, and got to work. I think I started working on this around November 2023? Maybe December? Can't remember, foolishly I did not write down when I started working on it.

Now originally I was going to make this a striped blanket, but as I was going along, making those squares I started to rethink that plan a little

I also considdered attaching the smaller squares together to make bigger squares, but after asking friends for a second opinion we all agreed the middle design would actually look the coolest

Not that it mattered too much, I had to first finish the granny squares before I'd actually start putting the blanket together

But eventually I finished the squares. Each square is a little over 8x8 cm so the 10x18 square blanket needed 180 squares.

Now I have my personal preferred way to attaching granny squares, which is zigzagging down from one corner of the blanket to the opposite corner. But I wanted the blanket to look somewhat seamless, and I knew I wouldn't be able to do that if I just started attaching them one by one. So I decided to start by attaching all the squares into 1x3 square strips (as seen on the chart), and once the strips were done, do my usual corner-to-corner zigzag with the strips. This way I was able to attach the orange squares together with the orange yarn so the orange strips looked more solid, while the rest I could do with the black yarn.

Also I found out I had made four granny squares too many, lmao

But it was fine, actually. Because I did then proceed to finish the blanket, only to realize... It just felt too small. I just wasn't happy with the size. Like the blanket was fine if I wanted to wear it on my lap when sitting or something, but I wanted to throw this thing onto my bed to keep me warm, and the coverage wasn't going to be enough for that.

So as much as it pained me. I ordered four more balls of yarn. And made 68 more squares (those four spare orange squares did not go to waste lmao)

So the total went up to 252 granny squares as I extended the side by two rows and the lenght by one pattern repeat.

But yeah. Made those granny squares. Weaved in the tails as I went along and turned the granny squares into strips too while I was at it. And once done, finally added the extension to the blanket. Finished it off by adding a single row of double crochet around the edge. Badabing badaboom we got a blanket.

Now the blanket does have two sides to it, a good and a bad, because I was lazy and chose to crochet the squares together instead of sewing them with a needle. Had I done it with a needle it would've looked better without a doubt, but god damn, I did not have the patience, not this time.

So the backside looks better than the actual front, and that's fine by me

In anycase, I'm glad I finished this project, it turned out super cute, and now I have a perfect blanket to keep me slightly warmer as the weather changes ✌️✨

[meowjaa]

✧ parent teacher conference ✧

context: levi ackerman x fem!reader, parent teacher conference, y/n is a teacher, levi is an adult and mikasa is his little cousin, 3 part series <33

a/n: originally was going to make mikasa levi's little sister but changed my mind basically levi had to pick mikasa up due to her parents being busy at work (iykyk) and so that's when levi meets reader who is mikasa's teacher enjoy my loves also this will be a series <3

Levi was sitting on the couch while all he could hear was the chatter of Eren, Armin and Mikasa were all talking about a stupid tv show they've been fixated on. He had his phone in his hand as he lurked on y/n's instagram page photos of her classroom, or of her on vacation mostly his eyes fixated on the one of her in Los Angeles on the beach in a floral bikini...

A few weeks after the tense parent-teacher conference, Levi found himself back at Mikasa's elementary school for their annual spring carnival event. With her parents occupied with work as usual, Levi begrudgingly agreed to accompany his young cousin.

The schoolyard was transformed with booths, games, bouncy houses, and throngs of excitable children hyped up on cotton candy and popcorn. Levi stuck close to Mikasa, warily eyeing the chaotic scenes unfolding around them.

Mikasa eagerly dragged Levi from game to game, determined to win prizes at each one. He obliged, successful at ring tosses, balloon darts, and goldfish scooping thanks to his impeccable aim. Soon Mikasa's arms were loaded with stuffed animals and toys.

As they passed by the dunk tank, Levi heard a familiar voice call out, "Fancy seeing you here!" He turned to see Y/N perched above the water, volunteering to get dunked for the fundraiser event wearing a white shirt that was soon to be see through.

"Oh, Y/N," Levi said, caught off guard.

"Come on Levi, try to dunk me!" Y/N said playfully. Mikasa nodded excitedly.

With a reluctant sigh, Levi paid for balls and took aim. Y/N taunted him jokingly, saying there was no way he could hit the target. Levi's competitive side flared up.

With three rapidfire throws, he hit the bullseye each time, sending Y/N plunging down into the water again and again. Sputtering as she resurfaced, Y/N laughed.

"Cheater!" Y/N spoke up and all the kids around her started pointing their fingers and laughing including Mikasa.

Levi just shrugged, fighting off a small smile. He glanced at Mikasa who gave him a knowing look. Maybe this school event wasn't so intolerable after all.

After dunking Y/N multiple times at the carnival dunk tank, Levi felt an odd sense of satisfaction. As Y/N climbed out dripping wet for the final time, y/n's shirt very much see through she walked over to Levi and Mikasa.

"Good arm on you!" she said with a laugh. "I should've known better than to challenge an Ackerman."

Levi rubbed the back of his neck, uncharacteristically shy in that moment. "Well, you kept egging me on," he mumbled.

Mikasa piped up eagerly. "Can we go play more games, Ms. Y/N?"

Y/N smiled down at her. "Sure! I was just about to head over to the ring toss. Want to see if we can win some more prizes?"

Mikasa nodded and hurried off toward the game, leaving Levi and Y/N walking together.

"Thanks for bringing Mikasa today," Y/N said. "These school events mean a lot to the kids."

Levi just grunted in reply, unsure how to navigate small talk, especially with someone he had been so short with previously.

They made their way from game to game, with Mikasa accumulating more stuffed animals and Y/N enthusiastically cheering her on. Despite the noise and mayhem, Levi found himself almost…enjoying the atmosphere.

The day wound down and parents began collecting their kids. Mikasa went home happily clutching her pile of new toys.

As Levi turned to leave, Y/N called out, "Levi, wait!"

She walked up to him with a tentative smile. "Here, I wanted you to have this." She held out a stuffed penguin. "You know, as a thank you."

Levi accepted it, feeling his cheeks grow warm. Their fingers brushed lightly and his heart skipped a beat.

"I'll see you at the next conference?" Y/N asked hopefully.

"Yeah…see you then," Levi murmured. As he headed home, he thought maybe it wouldn't be so bad to attend another school event someday. Especially if it meant seeing Y/N's smile again...

part 3...

[bratanimus]

33. you are such a nerd

@khaleesa, thank you for this awesome prompt! It was a lot of fun to write. And thanks to the lovely @pipergirl17 for betaing! I hope to work on the other prompts in my Ask box soon.

~*~

Hoard

Eddie sprawled on his stomach across Chrissy’s white eyelet comforter and peered over the edge of the bed, like the invisible Bilbo peeping at Smaug. All around herself, his girlfriend (someday he would stop italicizing that word in his mind, but today was not that day) had spread a veritable dragon’s hoard of paper, folders, notebooks, flashcards, pencil cases, and pens of all colors on the pink shag carpet. 

Sitting cross-legged in her running sweats, framed in a patch of afternoon sunlight, Chrissy looked luminous as she carefully pried open the lid of a box of new pencils as if it were a treasure chest.

“Tell me again,” Eddie said.

He pushed up the long sleeves of his T-shirt and rested his chin on the heels of both hands in what he hoped was a coquettish and distracting manner, his jean-clad legs bent and kicking his socked feet behind him like he was at an honest-to-god Annette Funicello pajama party. 

“Why are you doing this, exactly?”

Chrissy gave him the briefest of eye rolls, because she’d already started to explain on their way upstairs…though she’d been interrupted when they’d passed the Cunningham household’s actual dragon, who’d bellowed after them, “Door stays open!” Eddie could almost feel the mistrust billowing like acrid steam from Laura’s sewing room. Well, the old reptile would get used to him sooner or later. Or not. 

“Make fun all you want,” Chrissy huffed (oh, she was cute when she was miffed at him, and maybe he shouldn’t rile her up, but he was a dumbass still getting used to having her undivided attention, so sue him if he occasionally resorted to his old habits of poking and prodding and other sorts of ill-advised provocation, and anyway, she didn’t seem to mind). “But it’s the end of spring break.”

With that, Chrissy pinned him with a friendly glare, as if a reminder of the calendar date should’ve made everything crystal clear. 

Smirk (and dimples) still firmly in place, she broke the eraser off one of those brand new pencils, an unexpected act of violence that made Eddie’s eyebrows shoot upward. She tossed the nub into the flowery little trash can under her desk. Then she grabbed a fat, pink, arrowhead-shaped cap eraser from a pile of them and twisted it onto the top of the pencil. 

“Ah, I see,” said Eddie, not seeing at all. 

Chrissy only laughed at his confused expression, so he lay flat on his chest, chin on the bed’s edge, letting his arms dangle so he could fiddle with the felt tip pens scattered on the carpet. He stole a glance at Chrissy and pondered why one eraser might be somehow inherently better than another, so much so that she had to amputate and reattach, like some nerdy bookworm version of Mary Shelley.

“School starts back in a couple of days, right?” Chrissy went on as she attacked the next pencil.

“Uh-huh.” 

Eddie shoved aside her big green binder and slid his fingertips along the pens as he lined them up, orange and purple and red and blue—

Bonk! Another brand new nub landed in the trash can, and another cap eraser got reamed by a wooden writing instrument.

“I always reorganize my school supplies after fall break, Christmas break, and spring break. It helps me stay focused.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he bullshitted, as if he had any idea about systems for focusing.

He arranged the pens according to the colors of the rainbow, remembering Roy G. Biv, the acronym his seventh grade art teacher had taught for the progression of colors. But Chrissy owned way more than the seven basic shades here. There were at least two dozen. Did she carry these to school every day in a pencil case, a small treasure trove in her pink backpack?

“I love school supplies,” she gushed, continuing her mutilation of the pristine set of Ticonderogas, popping off a dozen heads one by one and replacing them with bloated Frankenstein ones.

He knew she had a thing about control, and Eddie had seen her do her fair share of feverish erasing in the two classes they shared this year. But were twelve cap erasers really necessary?

Messing with the felt tips on the floor, he must’ve asked that last bit out loud, because Chrissy said tightly, “Oh, you know. Just in case I need to correct a lot.”

Oops. He’d touched a nerve. He needed a distraction.

“I bet you pack five extra pairs of underwear for every overnight trip,” he mused, “just in case you have a blowout.”

“Ew!” she squealed.

An eraser nub hit him square between the eyes, which made him flinch and blink. 

“Seriously, Eddie.  Are blowouts something I should worry about?”

“Oh, I dunno. Hang around with me long enough—”

A larger arrowhead eraser smacked him on the cheek. He caught it before it fell off the bed, stuck it on his pinky, and made it speak over Chrissy’s giggles.

“Look, lady,” he Muppet-squeaked, “you have an eraser problem. And possibly an underwear problem. You need help!”

Chrissy pointed to his pinky. “Speak not to me, nor my Trapper Keeper, ever again. You’re just jealous of my loot.” 

“I have absolutely no use for dragon-guarded treasures,” Eddie murmured, quoting Tolkien as he slipped the eraser from his pinky and laid it reverently in Chrissy’s outstretched hand, “and the whole lot could stay here for ever, if only I could wake up and find this beastly tunnel was my own front-hall at home.”

Watching him, Chrissy’s eyes glimmered, prettier than any gemstones. His cheeks warmed. 

It was something to be looked at by her, wasn’t it? To be admired? He dropped his gaze back down to the pens he was arranging and hoped his face wasn’t too red.

“That’s it.” The words were barely a breath.

Eddie’s gaze rose again to find Chrissy staring down at her hoard of loot, hands upturned helplessly on her knees, the arrowhead eraser still in the center of her palm like the One Ring.

He tried to match her hushed tone. “What?”

“That’s how I feel. All the time. This house. All my things. It’s just…stuff.”

And she had no other home but this beastly one.

Eddie's heart pinched.

“Come up here,” he said.

She did, lying on her stomach next to him, chin resting on her folded arms as she watched him arrange the felt tips into different configurations with one hand. Gravity made his veins bulge a little; they looked knobbly and greenish-blue in the bright light from her window. His hand could almost be a pale dragon skittering over its mountain of treasure.

He didn’t know what to say, because he couldn’t say what he wanted to.

Come away with me. Let me be your treasure. You are already mine.

Leaning into her with one shoulder, he reached awkwardly into his front pocket and scrounged for the ever-present handful of mismatched polyhedral die, which he tossed to the floor, a field of shimmering stars around what he’d written across the landscape of her Pepto-Bismol carpet.

“Wait.” Chrissy’s head lifted from her forearms. She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “Does that say—”

It did indeed. Eddie had arranged her plethora of pens to read 

NERD

“You are such a nerd,” he whispered, creasing his brow and dipping his chin for emphasis. He wondered if she could somehow read on his face what he was really thinking.

Chrissy looked back at him and smiled like he’d just placed a crown on her head. He swallowed. Maybe she could read his thoughts. Eddie tucked her lovely smile away into his own mental hoard, for safekeeping.

“Takes one to know one,” she said, cutting the inhalation for his retort short with a kiss.

He nodded his fervent agreement until her widening grin made further kissing more difficult, but not impossible.

The eraser lay forgotten on the floor with the rest of the hoard. 

[acourtofthought]

Making the Case for Elucien’s Book Already Having Been in the Works

The link to SJM’s Live Talks LA with Eva Chen is linked below and takes place after the release of ACOSF but here are some of the important take aways:

Do you have a book planned for the other sister? (referring to Elain)

24:50 - “Yes, to everything.  As soon as Nesta and Elain came back on the page in ACOMAF, I knew they would have journey's beyond what the reader was seeing.”

27:55 - “each book is a standalone that features it's own couple”

28:50 - Writing ACOWAR but finishing up ACOMAF - she told her editor  "what plans I had for Elain"

29:50 - "because this is where I wanted it go it allowed me to plant things for her journey and even Elain's journey early on"

30:48 - "I always try to keep one eye on the horizon when I'm writing just to make sure in the book I'm working on, I can set up for things later on. So there's lot of little secrets in SF that set up for later.” (this entire line of responses was based around having set up Nesta and ELAIN’s journey so it’s safe to say that some of the secrets she’s referring to in SF are in reference to Elain.  E/riels always use Elain and Az’s Bonus Chapter as proof of endgame and that Elain is Az’s secret but SJM is talking about secrets she’s left for the reader to find.  Nesta claiming “Az’s secret to tell” is not a secret to the reader at all.  Secrets are.....why Nesta placed the carving of the rose made for Elain next to a goddess figure.  Secrets are....hinting that Spring was MADE for someone like Elain.  Secrets are....placing both Lucien and Elain in Spring in future books as well as hinting that they’ll both end up traveling to the continent where Koschei is.  Secrets are the hints that someone other than Rhys may be High King and Lucien is showing the first markers of becoming a High Lord.  Secrets are what the real reason for Elain’s stealth like behaviors might be.  

33:13 - "basically I want to go everywhere except the Spring Court because Tamlin sucks.  But I love the Spring.  That's my problem.  Some of the seasons I adore but the people who run the courts are like giant douchebags.

50:00 - (talking about Silver Flames) We sent it off to the printer this past fall.

57:00 - Are there any iconic couples in pop culture of history or movies that you "stan", that might have been inspiring for any of the couples in any of your.....

57:36 - I don't think I was inspired by any of the couples but during the pandemic I’d done a bunch of rereading of Pride and Prejudice and listened to it and watched that BBC adaptation but Elizabeth and Darcy are......I can't get enough of their sexual tension.

58:40 - They have just as much sexual chemistry and tension as any graphically described relationship  

58:50 - I have spent a lot of time imagining what the Darcy / Elizabeth wedding night would be like.  

59:20 - I've spent a lot of time thinking about Pride and Prejudice lately. Elizabeth and Darcy and their relationship and what he does for her by the end of that book and how she evolves and changes by the end of the book.  I mean they both change and evolve and that's what I love most about their story, they're still very much themselves by the end of that book but they develop an understanding of each other and they've also grown because of each other and grown because of confronting each other.

After the last comment at 59:20, SJM then brings it back to Nesta and Cassian saying “and Nesta and Cassian I’m not going to be arrogant enough saying they’re just like Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy because they’re different stories but that’s the kind of relationship I like to write about.

.......But, Silver Flames had already been released and at 59:20, she said that she’s been spending a lot of time thinking about Pride and Prejudice lately.  So to me, she’s not thinking about P&P because of Nessian since their story had already been told and theirs was definitely a graphically described romance.  She then says Nesta and Cassian are maybe a reverse P&P where she’s more like Mr. Darcy and he’s more like Elizabeth but to me they don’t give off P & P vibes.  Sure, Nesta had stubbornness but it was more about her own self hatred.  Elizabeth and Darcy’s issues arose because of the first impressions they had about the other person which is very similar to the way Elain and Lucien found out they were Mates, it set the tone for their entire relationship so far (not to mention Lucien initially felt humans were inferior to the Fae in ACOTAR as Darcy struggled with Elizabeth’s “lesser” class).  There also wasn’t a lot of sexual tension in Nessian’s book considering the sex played a large role very early on and they lack the propriety that Elizabeth and Darcy did.  

There is no other SJM couple that embodies Pride and Prejudice more thoroughly than Elain and Lucien, two characters who need to learn to “confront one another” and I can't imagine why she would have repeatedly been reading / watching / listening to it unless she was channeling Elucien.

Azriel may be broody but his thoughts are extremely graphic in nature and he's violent (not at all Darcy like).  There’s also no way for him to still be "very much himself" by the end of his book and end up a match for Elain. SJM likes her characters to grow but not be unrecognizable.

In the same interview she spoke of hints for Elain’s journey, she calls Tamlin a douchebag so I highly doubt she’s building towards a Tamlain ship.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XrC23s33UxI&t=1742s

[imsososolesbian]

hi raph it's Mills but for some reason it's making me go anonymous 💔💔

I saw your post and I wanna DESPERATELYYY know what your favourite season is and why because I find you very interesting and knowledgeable :33!!

That’s interesting… not sure why it would do that? Maybe if you like have a side blog it does that? I’m not sure.

I’m pretty basic. I like spring, because it’s when my birthday is. But I also like seeing the flowers and leaves come back. My all time favourite is the birds start coming back. Waking up to the chirps. The weather is just right, because like six out of 12 months are cold for me (like not cold cold, but like cold). I like when the ducks come back round, even Canadian geese. I don’t have to wear a coat but I also don’t have to wear shorts n a tank top. It’s nice. Also watching the rain is calming.

How about you? Favourite season?

[totheidiot]

intro post :)))

hm okay so most basic information about meee. the name is arian, my pronouns are strictly he/him. i am a sex-averse asexual (not sex-repulsed. keep that in mind because i do interact with suggestive content like a sex joke or a smut fanfiction sometimes. so be wary of that please !!). also on the arospec, specifically panromantic. i like to write A Lot and you will know from my posts. i am regrettably not a funny person either. hmm i think that's all !!

fandoms !

stranger things - all posts tagged under #the monster show that got really popular - don't exactly post so much about it? you might see this tag only when i might be engaging with my st mutuals or when i post a fanfiction update

the magnus archives - all posts tagged under #rusty quill presents: this man has too many eyes. - a tag you shall see very often !! have not begun s5 (will touch that probably, next month?) but got hugely spoilered for it.

the magnus protocol - all posts tagged under #rusty quill presents: the lack of eyes is causing me unease. - i am in the place with most of the fandom ! waiting for the next episode that is.

the goldfinch - all posts tagged under #the gay bird book - you will probably never see it now, still worth checking out my old posts? i don't even remember if they were good or not.

the hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy - all posts tagged under #crash into the 42nd answer - newest hyperfixation !! i am re-reading the series again this summer and it's just so great like damn.

tags !

#🍂 arian's shit : all text post that i wrote myself ! every post i didn't reblog, all of that !! even some reblogs are tagged with this if i add a lot of my own thoughts to another post.

#🪐 arian's asks : my replies to asks i get :) anons are tagged with #those who have no name and the hate anons are tagged with #those who deserve no name i only got one hate anon even that was in my old blog but it's best to be prepared ! if it's not an anon ask, i will tag it with the asker's username or if they are mutual, they get a special tag !

#📷 arian's friends <33 : all the interaction with my mutuals and friends <3

#📝 arian writes fanfiction : pretty self explanatory !! all the times i mention my fanfiction !

☁ arian's very complicated and strange dreams : a very miscellaneous tag ! basically talking about my dreams

#🌌 arian contemplates his universe : textposts written by me that are not really connected to a specific fandom. posts might get a bit personal/random/vent-y

fanfiction !

the goldfinch

things we don't talk about . : xandra hears strange, loud and suspicious noises from theo’s bedroom. upon closer inspection, she discovers that boris is staying the night. the next morning, she confronts them about it. 1/1 , tw references to alcohol, implications of underage sex, internalized homophobia. not my best work at all, but you can read this one !!

six of crows

a fool's game : modern era hs au where the crows are hired by their principal van eck to steal the rival school fjerda high's mascot before the games. 6/? abandoned. tws of six of crows really. don't read this one, abandoned and i don't know how to even feel about this.

stranger things

i got your letter (hope you feel better than i do) : will gets sent a series of anonymous love letters in his locker. mike's been awfully quiet about this. 2/2, tw internalized homophobia. i don't really like this one but it's been very well-received so you can give this shot if you !

your apparition passes through me : that's the masterpost, everything you need to know :)) DO read this one, this is still very much ongoing <3

we both matter (don't we?) : mike asks max if she could go to California with him on spring break. that sounds like a bad idea, but she goes for it. el is unhappy in lenora; she is not in love with one of her first friends, but she is painfully in love with the certain red-haired skateboarder girl, who makes her laugh. 1/2 i have no idea if there will be a continuation? this was really good in my opinion, kind of sucks that it didn't get any love :((

upcoming !

stranger things

two byler fanfiction, both coincidentally i'll be co-writing with mutuals :). one of them is a eeaao au, written with @qulizalfos and the other is very longfic, slightly crack fic written with @iamtheoneandonlyever that documents mike and will's life from college, all the way to their fifties.

the magnus archives

আমি তো চক্ষুর বস্ত্র ধরে / দেখতে পাই অতীত, ভবিষ্যত, পৃথিবীর অধ্যাত্ম। : a character study of jonathan sims, before being the Archivist. all written entirely in bangla, bangladeshi!jon obviously, a focus on his language, his grandmother and his culture. only like two people in the fandom probably can read this.

here are my side-blogs :)) : @incaseimakeit-daily and @16-04-16-daily . also, credits for the dividers goes to @//saradika-graphics :))