#cannot wait to see that in polish and being like: ???????????

[pedro-pascal]

SPIDER-MAN: ACROSS THE SPIDER-VERSE (2023) dir. Joaquim Dos Santos, Kemp Powers, Justin K. Thompson

[giuliettagaltieri]

Swarm of Bees

Pairing: Fiancé!Gojō x Fiancée!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru gets a taste of his own medicine.

Warning: angst, arranged marriage, age gap, hints of dacryphilia, Gojō is a bully at heart.

Word Count: 1596

3 of 9

There are many things that Gojō Satoru hates.

One, the higher ups of the jujutsu society.

Two, when people say “No offense, but…” And proceed to insult him.

Three, people who get in his way.

And four, when he is not getting the attention he deserves.

In the past few years, Gojō has been working as a teacher in the Jujutsu High.  He still leaves for missions, it was only expected as he is the strongest sorcerer.  But he stays in the school quite often compared to when he was a field sorcerer.

And quite frankly, he expected more visits from a certain someone.

But he never got them anymore.

Shoko would often put out her cigarette to drop her face on her palms whenever Gojō talks about this.  And he cannot understand why she does that.

From time to time, he receives gifts from you.  But no more letters.  Nothing that adds a personal touch from you.  Just food.  As if you’re sending them so he won’t forget you existed.

But if he were to be asked, forgetting you was impossible as your time to be wedded comes closer and closer.

And now, you are celebrating your 20th naming day.

You turned into a beautiful young lady.  Truly worthy of him. 

But much to his aggravation, it seems like many took notice of your change too.

Men from different clans were hovering over you. 

Greeting you, complimenting you about the simplest of things.  It made something inside him itch and it bothered him to no end.

They only liked you now because you turned out to be a well-polished woman.  They did not see you with snot on your nose as you wailed after scraping your knee, which he absolutely had no involvement whatsoever or when your face bubbled like a squirrel when you did not get your way.

“You’re pouting.”  Shoko comments as she sips on her glass of champagne.

The celebration was at its peak.  The musical ensemble was playing a lively tune and gossips and giggles were filling the floral air of your estate house.

And you, the center of the event.

Almost every pair of eyes were on you.

Gone was the shy little lady of your house.  You are now a woman who is ready to take her first steps into society.  You were like a fresh fruit, ripe for the taking.  Had it not been for Gojō’s presence, many insolent men would have asked, no, begged for your hand right then.

Your hair glittered with every turn of your head.  Your painted lips curving up to a perfect smile whenever a gentleman compliments you.  Yet the innocent smile is always paired with the haughty spark in your eyes as you decline their offer to dance.

It was the fourth time that you declined an offer in the same hour.

And Gojō Satoru cannot stand to watch such blatant disrespect any longer.

Both Shoko and Nanami follow him with their watching eyes as he makes his way to you.  Their feet are ready to move as soon as the man makes a fool of himself or starts a fit in the middle of your perfect evening.  Or both.

They were at the edge of their seats when Gojō clears his throat to catch your attention.  The two of them watch very closely for any sudden movement from any of you.

But like fluid from the most graceful of waterfalls, you rise from your seat, standing on the tip of your toes to lean on Gojō’s chest.

All breaths halted at your action, including the man you were smiling up to.  His crystalline blue eyes watching you, almost calculating your every move.  But you smile slyly at him as your fingers trace his jaw and your lips find his cheek.

“I am delighted to see you.  But I am terribly sorry Gojō-sama, I would have to decline.”  Your thumb caresses his cold cheek.  “My dance card is full for the evening.”

Like a nymph, you slide away from him to accept the hand of a young man who was waiting for you.  And Gojō can only watch as you are being guided to the center of the floor.  

And you danced so beautifully.

The itch turned into a burn.  And Gojō had to sit the entire evening with such sensation nesting in his chest, almost clawing out into a form of aggression.

Whenever your dance partner spins you or their gloved hands wander closely to your bottom, Gojō has to quell the urge to pummel them to the ground.  He did not quite understand the urge to do so.  But after having the feeling for the rest of the night, he has come to terms with it.  Given up on trying to understand the impulse and just settled with the idea that every man who speaks with you is disrespecting him.

And you.

Oh, he is so cross with you.

How dare you fill in your dance card without reserving even a single dance for him.  Have you forgotten that you are betrothed to him?  Or do you just fancy the little game you are playing?  Acting as if he is not around.

The clock hand tells that the night was no longer young.  But you were still being twirled around in the middle of the dance hall.  It was your final dance for the evening.  And by the slight delay in your steps, he is well aware that you are exhausted from dancing for hours.

By the time the last note travels through the air, Gojō was already on his feet and marching towards you. 

You took no notice of course as you were smiling brightly at your dance partner as he bowed to place a kiss on your gloved hand.

But before his lips could touch you, Gojō Satoru unceremoniously grabs you by your midriff and carries you like a mannequin being set up for display.

Your startled squeal catches the attention of every person in the room and they watch as you wrap your arms around your fiancé’s neck in panic.

As the man carries you and disappears behind the doors to your garden, the chatter resumes but now, soft smiles are gracing the lips of every attendee.

They have been granted the front row seats to watch your game of push and pull with the strongest sorcerer.  Some of them have been watching ever since before you learned to walk.

It brought them great joy to see the man finally taking an action to claim you as his woman.

You, on the other hand, have your heart beating wildly on your chest.

Have you pushed too far?

Has your act of refusing his offer to dance been too much of a blow to his pride?

When Gojō places you down, you also pull your arms back to your sides.  You do not want to meet his eyes.  No, not at all.

“Sit.”

You still instinctively look up at him though.  “Huh?”

He gestures to the bench behind you.  “I said, sit.”

Immediately, you pull at your dress to smoothen the fabric as you sit down.  You did not appreciate how the act made you even smaller compared to his full height.

Your fingers twiddle with each other to release some of the budding nervousness in your chest.

“I-I am terribly sorry if I upset you, Gojō-sama.”  You stammer.

There you are.

A smirk finds itself on Gojō's lips.  You haven’t changed one bit.  You were only brave when there were other people around but you are the same shy little girl that he knew the moment you were alone.

He kneels before you to look you in the eye.  “Upset me? Whatever do you mean, my love?”  His tone was dark and dangerous despite him smiling playfully at you. 

You wanted to cry.

And his smile widens when your eyes turn glassy just as your lips wobble.

He just watched your suffering, willing yourself to hold back the tears.  Just as you thought you'd break, he clicks his tongue and digs through the poof of your gown to take off your sandals.

And as he expected, blisters covered your dainty feet.

“How were you dancing so beautifully with such discomfort.”  He says with his voice grim.

You can only watch him as his hands work on healing your wounds.

At times like this, you feel the safest.  As if nothing in the world could harm you.

And without much thinking, your hands cup his cheek.  And Gojō looks at you with still a tiny frown by his eyebrows.

“Are you upset with me?”  You ask with your voice barely above a whisper.

“That depends.  Are you done with your ruse?”  He cocks an eyebrow and you nod shyly.  “Then we’re good.”

“Will you dance with me now?” 

When you smile at him so softly, how can he say no?

But to your surprise, the man grabs you by your waist, lifts you up until your now healed feet are stepping on his shoes.

You hastily tried to get off but he tightens his hold on your waist.

“Stay.”

It was a simple command but you find yourself surrendering all that you are to him.

Your hands find themselves resting atop his shoulders and with the echoes of the music spilling to the dim garden, Gojō Satoru makes you feel as if you too were honored throughout heaven and earth, simply because he had you in his arms and he was swaying you to the faintest of melodies.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[harmoonix]

🌇Sunset-hour Astrology Observations🌇

❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂

🌇- Capricorn or Aquarius in big 3 (Sun,Moon or Rising) is already a confirmed karmic placement to have, the hard thing to know is that karmic debts can be different from person to person, but for sure they are here to end/complete something karmic

🌇 Lilith in Aries/Aquarius/Capricorn really don't like to receive orders from others or just don't like others to tell them what to do

🌇 Lilith in Virgo/Cancer share a common energy and that is the "submissive" energy, they can act submissive and seductive, that tends to attract a lot of people (aswell very toxic people or just dominant people in their lives)

🌇 Neptune trine/sextile/conjunct ascendant can have sensbile skin, their skin can get irritated fast or just having a very soft skin

🌇 Sun - Pluto aspects can have a pretty rebellious energy in them, usually they act how they want when they want and to be pretty moody

🌇 Libra/Taurus in big 3 (Sun, Moon or Rising) and their aesthetic eye for everything around them is admirable, literally they can see some clouds on the sky and think at some aesthetic photos to do

🌇 Leo/Sagittarius in Big 3 (Sun, Moon or Rising + Venus in some cases) can really photogenic like girlll go thattt photossss, the pose, the look, the clothes they wear are always on everyone's look

🌇 Mars in aspects with Jupiter just have uncontrollable feelings when they wanna get dirty. Like is something they cannot control

🌇 Neptune - Venus aspects are too sweet, they often can get so hurt esp in relationships, they don't deserve it to be honest, but sometimes these aspects can create fake illusions about their partners which can lead to so many wrong things

🌇 Venus in the 10th/11th or 7th house love to be complimented, or just spoiled with sweet words by the people around them. They also like to have certain unique nicknames in some cases (Like your friends giving you a funny nickname)

🌇 Uranus in Pisces Generation [2003 - 2010] can invest their time a lot on spirituality/meditation/healing etc, maybe being interested in tarot or special reiki song for healings

🌇 Sun in the 12th house should embrace their spirituality side more, this is an very spiritual placement so try to connect with spirituality it cam help you so much

🌇 There is always a ride or die with Scorpio or Gemini/Aquarius placements, they love to get into challenges, compete and show their intelligence, you are with them or against them

🌇 Sun in the 11th house are actually the people who can listen to their friends stories all the long, these people loveee to spend time around their friends so much and their love for their friends is something else..is something precious to them

🌇 Venus in the 11th house can met their partners in their circle of friends actually??? When a friend told me this one day I was in shock I was like ":0" this cannot happen, just imagine friends to lovers kind of thing, though is very lovely

🌇 Checking someone's chart and seeing that they have Scorpio, Sagittarius or Capricorn placements I just know they are either very revengeful either waiting for the perfect moment to call the wrong people for their mistakes

🌇 Mars in Virgo degrees [6°,18°] can have a good looking waist/body. They can also be slim or jus tall body and usually the waist shines more for them (This may not apply to everyone but I said based on what I heard about Mars in these degrees)

🌇 Mars in Pisces Degrees [12°, 24°] can have pretty good looking hands/nails, very soft or very prominent veins on the hands (esp at men), and the nails can look pretty naturally + people having the impression you always have nail polish

🌇 Mars in Aquarius Degrees [11°, 23°] can have beautiful bone structure esp at legs and hands, (based on my experience most of these people are tall with a very pereftctioned body] Their body loos so good in general

🌇 Sagittarius Mercury or Mercury in Sagittarius degrees [9°, 21°] can be brutally honest. These people don't like to lie or keep hiding so instead they will call out and be honest about everything

🌇 Scorpio and Taurus Moons and their posesive abilities to be posesive and getting jealous fast over small things is insane, esp having a partner with such moon sign can be possessive and sometimes trying to be in control

🌇 Virgo Suns/Moons can end up criticizing themselves a lot of just judging themselves over things they cannot control or just delete over the time. You have to understand certain things happen for certain reasons and the past cannot be deleted but instead try to create a better future for yourself with a good start and positive vibes

❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂❂

🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇

- Wanted to post this post right on time exactly when the golden hour starts to be seen more prominent on the sky, because is also the time when the sun sets for the sun and sooner let the beautiful moon to rule the sky for the next hours

❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️❤️☀️

☀️ Hope everyone reading my notes has an evening/night 🌆☀️ full of warm energy, and watch the sunset if you can 🥰🥰 in my opinion is majestic and one of the most beautiful things on earth ☀️🌆☀️

[dcxdpdabbles]

I loved Summon AU, is it possible that you make more Summon AU?

The aftermath of the summoning leaves the Wayne Manor in a strange sense of foreboding. No one really knows what the Ghost King has done with their list or what it means for them that he has accepted.

Everyone tried to go about their daily lives, attempting to act like they weren't looking over their shoulders. Bruce had nearly broken a blood vessel when he heard about them doing a stupid online trend when they knew magic and gods were real.

They couldn't think of a better excuse for why they did besides "it seemed funny at the time."

Bruce had been so unimpressed with them all that he broke out the big guns.

That night, Alfred grounded them. He really sat everyone- minutes Cass because she had escaped through the window after Danny called- and told them they would not be allowed to use any form of technology unless it was related to their nighttime job.

They would also be given a chore list to complete every day until their punishment was over.

Even though neither Dick or Jason lived at home anymore, they too were grounded and didn't bother to even try to argue with the aging butler. Cass was informed of her own punishment through a text, and she returned about thirty minutes later, ready to face her punishment.

She reorganized everything in storage- and in Wayne Manor, there was a lot in storage- without a single complaint, but she did seem somewhat nervous. And excited?

Like a child waiting to open a present.

That was out of character for Cass, but no one was brave enough to ask her about it. Life before the manor was a taboo topic when it came to Cass.

A week later, her restless behavior finally came to light.

When the doorbell rang, Alfred was just looking over the wood polishing job Tim and Damian had been assigned. Confused- as there were no expected guests and the kids were all still grounded- he approached the door cautiously. Tim was on standby in case things went south.

A young adult, likely barely eighteen, with pretty blue eyes, a vast, charming smile, and a gorgeous winter-themed dress, was on the other side of the door. Their hair is short but styled to have one side longer than the other, framing their face perfectly.

A spinnable circle pin on her dress read Gender Fluid in the unmovable part and "She/Her day" in the spinal part.

"Hi there," She chirps, a dimple on full display. "I'm Danny."

"Good afternoon, Danny. My name is Alfred. How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if Cass was home?" Dany starts surprising Alfred and Tim -who were eavesdropping around the corner- as the girl carefully plays with her hair. "I was hoping to talk to her."

"Miss Casandra is currently not allowed guests." The butler starts slowly. He watches her face fall dramatically before humming. "I can, however, pass along a message to her."

"Oh yeah, that be great. Please let her know Danny was wondering if she would like to go with me to see a ballet tonight. Um if she's allowed to go out."

Tim's eyes widen. A date? Danny had come here in person to ask Cass if she wanted to go on a date? Then had the courage to ask Alfred, to his face, if she could take his grandaughter out?

Who is she? Tim thinks amazed. He wants to text the rest of the group chat, which would invade Cass' privacy. He waits a few minutes until Alfred responds.

"Miss Casandra is currently grounded. Unfortunately, she and her siblings cannot leave until their punishment ends."

Tim winces. Hopefully, Cass being nineteen and still being grounded at her age didn't scare off Danny. Some people didn't understand how much power Alfred's word had over the manor and frankly, those people didn't deserve Cass anyway.

But it would make her sad.

"Oh, that's okay. Thank you for letting me-"

A scream makes everyone jump. Tim whirls around to find Damian pressed against the main stairway. His face has gone three sheets of white, staring at Danny with horror.

"Y-you!"

Danny tilts her head. "Me?"

"Y-you!" Damian gasps and Tim is highly alarmed that his voice is tinted with fear. "Why are you here?!"

"I came to ask Cass if-"

"You will not take Cain from me, Ghost King! I will destroy your core before you try to get near her!" Damian screams, hand suddenly holding a glowing green sword, but his threat doesn't hold much because he is literally shaking in his boots. "You have your summon payment already! You shall leave Cain alone!"

What.

"Oh! You think no, no. I'm not here for her soul or anything. Cass and I go way back when she lived on the streets. " Danny- the ghost king they summoned using a list of their gay awaking apparently- laughs, waving her hands as if to calm the young child. "I liked her for a while but thought she didn't feel the same. Until the summoning, where I saw my name on the list. We talked it out, and I was hoping to take her on a first date, you know?"

"You lie!" Damian races down to point his sword at Danny, looking just as wild as a cornered animal about to fight for its life. "Why would the strongest being in the multiverse live on the streets?!"

"Well....it's not like they pay to rule the dead....I had a rough patch, but Cass helped me get back on my feet." Danny muttered, slightly embarrassed. Then she squits at Damian. "Wait, are you a al Ghul?"

Damian breaks into a sweat as Danny gasps, "You are! You're family owes me so much money in backed up taxes for the healing pool! We cut off contamination maintenance because Ra's refused to pay years ago! Kid, do you know I can get into contact with your family member about the Lazarus pit?"

Damian screamed again, turned around, and ran, leaving a stunned Alfred, Tim and Danny. "Guess not. Anyway, sorry to be a bother Mr. Alfred, I'll come back when Cass can go out. Bye!"

A familiar portal rips under Danny as she falls through with a cheerful wave. Alfred and Tim watch it close in a moment before Tim turns to the butler. "Did I inhale too many polishing chemicals? Am I hallucinating?"

"No, my dear boy, I saw everything as well."

"Oh, good. " Tim pauses. " One of us needs to speak to Damian and Cass."

Alfred closes the door slowly. "I'll find Master Damian. You go for Miss Cassandra and Master Tim?"

"Hmm?"

"The next time, Mister Conner sends you a fun trend to try. Don't."

"Yeah, that's fair."

[anantaru]

okay but. making out with alhaitham in the car.

cw. riding, sloppy make out session, semi public (you’re in a car obviously), modern au, fem! reader

alhaitham downright detests how long it takes for you to drive home.

and the rippling lust for your beauty was settling into his mind and body excessively— specifically his groin that was dwelling with miniature tingles and stings that he knew would slowly but surely turn into something uncontrollable, something— disruptive, if not taken care of.

whatever it may be, it‘s not like alhaitham cannot wait, but this smoldering setting was poles apart from average days where his prickling lust and desires would gravitate in his bones and spread around his entire body and mind.

but he notes that tonight was— outlandishly different.

for some reason simply swallowing down his desires and needs as per usual just wouldn't do it for him.

"you‘re so sweet when you‘re turned on." you pause, alluring a deep gulp of air through your embellished lips, corners plucked in a cheeky grin while he was still in fact, yes, driving.

but alhaitham wondered if he‘d be able to actually find an immediate parking spot where he could park this damn car before something was to happen between you.

"—oh?" he cocks a brow, a drawn out grunt exits his stiffened chest when you idly place your hand on top of his clothed thigh, it makes him relax for the first time during this ride because before that all he could imagine was splitting you in half while pistoling his cock into you in the back seat, more times— yet now, oh now everything was beginning to be set in the right place.

"seems like you have me figured out— for once." and you squeeze his thigh, carefreely blowing down a breathless laugh, polishing your tempting play with a simple kiss on his cheek— this sweet action had him dizzy, out of his mind with his pupils blown out entirely now, but before he can even catch his own breath, you‘re back to making it as difficult as possible.

you grin pettish, finally seeing what your eyes had wanted; because the second your lips touched alhaitham it shook him through his very core and returned to him in a juddering convulsion, holding on his thoughts through a vice like grip, not only that but the buzz got sent straight down to his groin, so much that he caught himself pitch his hips up at nothing but the air.

the following blurred out scenes complete themselves like difficult puzzles finally drawing the true picture— in an uncontrollable phantasm of unlatching the irksome car belt, listlessly sliding to the back seat so you could easily hover over your boyfriends erection.

he‘s huge— itching so badly that alhaitham cannot think straight, and oh well, it wasn‘t possible for you to get or move into another position aside from this particular one— not that you were complaining, that is, something about having your boyfriend at your sight while he chants uncontrollable sobs into your mouth blurred your vision white— because in this squished together setting you were able to observe how his plump lips would silently form into an 'o' like shape while he deliriously groans at each new drag of his cock into your prettiest, softest cunt.

your hands interlock into his lustrous hair to yank him against your lips— you cannot not kiss him, quite frankly, you were starving to have him on your lips and suckle on his tongue while concurrently clashing yourself on him. "how, fuck— fucking much i wanted this." alhaitham circles his fingers around the wet skin on your hips, his tone taunting and seemingly hidden by a deluge of labored breathing.

you adjust and torment yourself on his hips with lowered twitches downward, shamelessly smearing your wetness on his naked lower region. "p.. please—" you wail, then beg.

you're so full but longed for more and it's almost as if you were tortured by how you had already lost your mind from being impaled by his cock, your toes twisting at the bucking warps inside you, "please more!" and again, mimicking a broken record.

your tongue sloppily dances around his own, coursing through the penetrative scent of mint on his lips. you wanted him so bad, though, you had him but you needed more, if he so desired it alhaitham could honestly destroy your insides for all you care.

you knew alhaitham would leave bruises by how alarmingly coated your hips were by his large hands and their stern grip, that you‘d be able to distinguish each creek and curve of his large cock in your rammed pussy, even after he had finished and filled you up, sending your breath into another obscene ensemble of loud hitches.

"aah— curses!" alhaitham squeezes his eyes shut and begins to move you back and forth his cock, desperate and so fervently in tune with you, chasing more biting relief on his swelling erecting while bottoming into you from below, pressing down and down, so your walls were sticking and suckling on his girth, working in tandem with his own strength drifting through you.

"fuck baby!" you had never done this before, fucking in a car out on a random parking lot, and felt a bit dirty.

again— all shamelessly and hot fucking into a closed off parking alley while being too loud for your own good wasn‘t exactly a daily occurance— but you hoped it would become one after this.

"love love you so much!" you kiss alhaitham— strongly and all over his face, plant pecks on his pretty worn out expression and arch your back into his chest.

he likes the view too, but loves you more, the repeated squish of your breasts into him, nosing over his jawline before hiding in his damp neck— leaving it to your sweet and pretty boyfriend alhaitham to bring you towards the edge, urging him to make you feel this sweet sugary pleasure, only he was able to achieve.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[hyperfixat]

hbd to me!!!!!!! here’s a vent fic i wrote a few months ago so proceed with caution; reader attempted suicide, reader continues to have suicidal thoughts/attempts, reader seeks harm onto themself (both from external sources and self inflicted), reader is depressed!!! be sure to evaluate your mental state before reading this fic :3. this also contains a scene that i felt compelled to write for some reason involving assisted hygiene: idk i felt that needed a little acknowledgment..

ik its my birthday fic and it proably should be happy, but theres a bit of hurt comfort to this that i love and i polished it up to share so that hopefully u like it too.. again heed my warnings^

also final note; formatted on my pc, sprry if its funky

The first thing you feel upon waking up is disappointment.  This… you rub your face with your hands.  You can’t do anything right, you sigh.  Waking up is a clear sign of a failure as to your plans.

Although you frown as you observe your surroundings, this isn’t where you would be if someone had caught you attempting to take your life.  You wouldn’t be dumped in the middle of a sunny field.  This isn’t a hospital or ward, in fact there’s no sign of any modern buildings from where you sit.

Just where are you…?

You use shaky arms to lift yourself up, and begin to attempt to find a way home.  Or for something to just kill you.

What luck, you realize morbidly, you spawned on a plateau, and that’s all you allow yourself to think before breaking into a sprint and running both to and over the edge.

You hit the plains with a crack and you wheeze out a pained groan.  Before you can lift yourself up to try again or seek help or check for any witnesses, you feel your body fade away. It’s a weightless feeling as you sink into the earth of Teyvat.

There is not much pain, not as much as you had hoped or expected.  In ways this is a pro, for you are a coward in the face of pain no matter deserved or otherwise.

You fade, but not into the hold of death, at least you don’t think this is death, rather you fade from your spot crumpled on the ground into a sitting position firmly in the arms of an Anemo Statue of Seven.  The marble orb of Barbatos’ lookalike stops you from falling out of the statue’s arms and you heave a sigh.

How unfortunate.  It seems you cannot permanently die here.  Though… what if it was a fluke…?  With another bone deep sigh you fall to the ground and walk back to the ledge and stare down at the fifty foot drop.

Before you work up the courage to take the plunge a high, excited voice calls out for you.  You flinch, opening your eyes to see a youthful bard dressed in Mondstatian green, holding his hands out for you.  Venti is sprinting towards you and you take a step back nervously.  He seems to recognize you… but how could that be?  

His face falls as you back away and his sprint slows when he’s a few yards away from being able to reach out to you.  Venti calls your name again.  He falters, the smile adorning his face slips.

“Wait…” his voice wavers.  “What are you doing, Divine One?”

Why did he call you that…?  Is it some Mondstat greeting of sorts?  You can’t kill yourself in front of him and retraumatize the poor guy, so you allow him to get closer to you, and you don’t stop him when he sweeps his lythe form down into a kneeling bow.

“Hello.”  You greet, unsure of how one is supposed to act when approached by a fictional character.

Venti lifts his gaze from the ground up to your face, looking downright awestruck.

“I, we, have long awaited your descent, Divine One, it is an honor to have you grace the lands of Freedom with your presence first.”  

Uh-oh.  He seems to have confused you with someone else, because you are certainly no one special and definitely not any sort of divine.  How are you gonna break that to him without too much embarrassment on either of your parts?

“Please, come with me to the city, I’m certain the people will be delighted to host the one who shaped the world.”  His voice is high with a musical lilt, and it’s hard to decline him.

“I’m sorry,” your voice comes out dry, and you realize you’re terribly dehydrated.  “I think there’s been a mistake.  I’m not whoever you think I am.”

You take a step back, backing yourself up the hill onto higher ground.

“Whatever do you mean, Divine One?  Your presence is unmistakable.”

You shake your head, stepping further away from the Archon.  Venti reaches his hand out to grasp at the bottom hem of your pajama pants.  “Please!  I’ve waited so long for you.”  He falls onto his knees to beg.

Fuck, his eyes are so pretty when he pleads.  You don’t want to risk angering whatever God he’s mistaking you with, though, “Venti….”  

The blue-green sky of his eyes turns to the color of the ocean as tears well up in his waterline.  His whole body shivers when you utter his chosen name.  “I can keep it a secret from the public.  Surely only Archons and those blessed with a Vision will be able to sense you.  We can keep it quiet, please, Divine One, I beg of you.”

“I’m not this Divine One you speak of,” you kneel and place a hand on his hat.  Venti’s eyes search yours with confusion. As he lifts his head, your hand presses into the curve of his skull, making him lean harder into your touch.

“Th-That’s okay, please just stay in Mondstadt for a night, that’s all I wish.”  He doesn’t believe you, that’s clear, but he seems so eager to appease you.

You pause, looking away from the pathetically begging archon.  His hands clench on your pant fabric.

“Okay.  Just for the night.”  You hope no one else from Mondsat is as strange as Venti is…

“I don’t have any way to pay for this,” you smile at Diluc, placing a hand on the side of the glass to push it back across the counter.

“I wouldn’t dream of making you pay, please drink all you wish.  Let me know if it isn’t to your taste.”

“Does that apply to their guide as well, Master Diluc?”

“No.”

“A shame,” Venti sighs, taking a deep drink from his glass.

You have to hand it to Venti, he is a good guide.  He’s quick to shut down any vision holder you come across with a quick whisper in their ear, and he truly knows Mondstadt in and out.

The bell above the door jingles as it swings open, and you glance behind you in time to see Rosaria come strolling in with a timid Barbara clutching the back of her cathedral robes.  She must not visit the Angel’s Share much, seeing as the hydro-user looks around with quick, nervous eyes.  When her eyes land on you they widen comically, her small hand darting out to steady herself on Rosaria’s forearm.

—

“Farewell, my Divinity,” “Safe travels, Divine One,” and “May the wind bless your travels, Your Grace,” follow your retreating form as you make the hike to Dragonspine.  

Honestly you aren’t certain where you’re heading.  If the other nations treat you the same as Mondstadt, that's a no-go.  You won’t know unless you go, though.  Maybe you should head the same route the Traveler would.  That would mean Dragonspine is your next destination.  

Who will you meet there?  Albedo…?  He’s the only one you can think of that stays there.

As you begin the trek you realize; he’s a research-type dude, you hesitate to say scientist, but he does experiments and such.  Perhaps, you can make use of yourself by giving your body up to him to work on.  Surely an undying body would greatly interest the research of life?

After a surprisingly simple search you find him and present your proposition.

“Absolutely not,” Albedo dismisses you without thought.  He doesn’t even bother to spare you a look.  “That is blasphemy of the highest order, I’d suggest giving that attitude up sooner rather than later.”

You flinch back at the words, taking a step back into the chill of Dragonspine.

“I can offer you sanctuary here if you seek it, but I will not harm you.”  

“That’s…” not at all what you want.  “That’s very kind of you to offer, but I must decline.”

His haunting blue eyes follow you down the snowy path to Liyue.  Once you are far too away to hear, he states calmly, “safe travels.”

As you walk down the icy paths lining the gravel streets you think… Albedo had rejected you just like that.  What’s the next step?

You might as well stop by Liyue Harbor, maybe meet some characters before… before maybe heading to Sumeru?  

Ahhah! It hits you then, the harbinger introduced in Sumeru: Il Dottore.  If Albedo had reservations, then Dottore would have none.

Even still, Liyue is a harbor.  You’re sure to find a way to Snezhnaya from there.

You almost get to the docks without drawing any attention to yourself.  Almost.

Your mistake laid in the fact that you passed the Golden House, the weekly Childe Boss fight.  In your defense you didn’t actually think he’d be in there.  And it’s not like you even went in, only going up the steps and around for a detour.  

And it was a quick route until a strangled gasp came from behind you, making you spin around in alarm.  There, Tartaglia stood, with pupils nearly the size of his gray-blue eyes, staring, completely enraptured by your visage.  Your knees buckle and you make to sprint, but your body is no match for a Fatui Harbinger.

In retrospect you’re not entirely sure what drove you to run, perhaps some fight or flight instinct buried inside of you.

His long hand wraps around your forearm, tugging you to a stop, you face him, and your face must portray your panic clearly because Tartaglia’s twists into sorrowful sympathy.

“My Divinity… it is an honor to meet you in the flesh.”

“Let go.”  He does, promptly so. 

“I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself.  May I ask where you are headed, and if you are in need of company?”

“No.  Thank you, Childe.” 

His face shifts into a serious look, nodding.  “Do you need an escort to Liyue then?  Is that where you’re heading?” 

“No.  I know where I’m going, and I much prefer to go alone.” It’s not entirely false, you know where you’re headed, just not how.

“Well… be safe, okay?  I hope to see you again.”

“I will.”  The lie comes out and you cringe, because its delivery falls flat and its so obviously untrue.

“Does Mr Zhongli know you’re here?  Surely you’re here to see Morax?” He strolls to your other side, offering a hand to lead you to the city.  You ignore the hand.

“Goodbye, Tartaglia.”

“I can’t let you leave alone in good conscience…. You don’t seem well.  Let me lead you to the harbor at least.”

Since he is as unmoving as stone, you let him take you to the main city, managing to ditch him before more people can know about your presence.

The boats docked at Liyue Harbor are hopeful.  “Where is this ship headed?” you ask one of the dock workers.  They look up at your voice before glancing at the ship they’re loading up with lumber.

“Snezhnaya.” They say glancing up at the grand vessel.  “Why?  Where’re you tryna go, friend?”  

“Snezhnaya.  How much does the fare cost, one way?”

—

“News of your travels have reached Snezhnaya, Divine One.”  Dottore starts, fixing his posture from a lean on a surgical table to something more proper.  You shake your head, the weariness you’ve accumulated on your journey weighing down on you.  You’re finally where you deserve to be.

“I’m not the Divine One you speak of, Dottore.”

“Hm?  Do you think so little of my intelligence?  Your presence is unmistakable.”

“No, it’s not that.  But I’m not.  I’m just a regular person.  And I came to you for a reason.”

“Oh?  The Creator themself, seeking me out?  It’s an honor,” the doctor bows to you, smirking at you from beneath his beaklike mask.

“I need you to hurt me.”

“What?”  He pulls himself up with a startled question.  “I’m afraid I misheard you, Divine One.”

“I can’t die, Dottore.  I’m giving myself to you, you…” you heave a sigh as you explain your reasoning.  “You could make use of me.  I’m not whoever you think I am, please just take me.  I don’t care what you do to me.”

“You’re… giving yourself to me?”  

“Yes.”

“Do you know what happens to my… patients?”

“Yes, that's why I’m here.  I can’t die, I imagine I would make a good test subject.”

“Is this a test?”  Dottore seems to be speaking to himself more than anything.  He pushes away from the table and paces to the back room of the lab, muttering madly to himself as he does so.  The door swings open with a loud screeching and you catch sight of multiple mops of blue hair and masks.  

His Segments.

You can hear a conversation ongoing between all of the parts of Zandik, it seems he doesn’t want to be rash and take you in too hastily.  You can understand his (their?) hesitancy; if a god offered themselves up to you, you would surely think it was a trap.  But you aren’t a god, so it should be a no brainer for him.  How often does he get consenting test subjects?

It seems this absurd idea of you being a higher power has infiltrated Snezhnaya as well, which is… not good. Everyone is saying you’re more than what you are, you can’t be a god, you barely consider yourself a human.

An older, completely unmasked Segment sticks his head out of the door, frowning once he makes eye contact with you.  There’s gray leaking from his roots into the teal of Dottore’s hair, and visible aging lines on his face; crows feet and tension on his cheekbones.  Glowing red eyes narrow upon meeting your own, mouth pulling into a tight line.

A younger segment, smaller in size and stature, with a nearly full face mask, only showing part of his mouth.  You think that is the one that the Fandom surrounding him dubbed Webttore.  You usually see pictures of him with a wide, jagged-tooth smile, but, like his older part, he looks solemn.

You wonder just how many Segments Il Dottore has, because you can still hear an entire conversation going on without the two.

The conversation seems to be dying down, not ending without a few red eyes peeking out from behind the door at you.  It’s surreal seeing so many versions of the same person at once; the youthful ones, eyes wide, and the older ones with wrinkles built with time and age, all at the same moment in time.

Eventually though, they do seem to come to a verdict: the Omega segment, the one you met upon walking into his lab, exits, closing the door behind him with a click that resonates through the room.

His answer is a simple word.  “No.”

Your heart drops and stomach sinks at the rejection, and based on il Dottore’s reaction it must show.  “Why?” your voice is small and sounds foreign to your own ears.

“I cannot forsake the true god in such a way, whether you acknowledge it or not, you have that power.”

All the turmoil and hardships it took to get here come crashing down, the light at the end of the tunnel is rejecting you.  You hadn’t known this was something that could happen, your… your savior, the one you were looking for is telling you no.  He won’t lay a finger on you, and it’s tearing you apart.  This was the only thing that kept you from burying yourself in the deep forest of Sumeru and letting yourself rot.

“Oh.” It’s shaky and you nod, trying to take it maturely.  “I see.”  Your voice is warbling like you're on the verge of tears.  Blinking rapidly to dispel the water from your eyes, you lower your head and make to scamper out of the lab.

Dottore lets out a heavy sigh, and his leather gloves wrap around your wrist.

“Wait.”  You nervously glance up at his mask.

“You said you would ‘give yourself to me,’ no?”

Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, “yes.”  Has he suddenly changed his mind? You shouldn't get your hopes up.

“I will take you.  I doubt you will appreciate my intentions, but if I were to own you, you wouldn’t be able to complain.  After all, you will have done it to yourself.”

You don’t know what those words mean, but the stinging rejection welling up in your eyes turns to relief. “Thank you,” he doesn’t stop you from dashing to his side and wrapping your arms around his waist.  You press your face into his abdomen, letting his clothes soak up your tears.  A hesitant hand rubs over your spine, an effort to soothe you.

You pull yourself together, sucking in a deep breath of the sterile lab air.  

“Alright,” Dottore says after he deems you put together enough.  “Come.”  His hand covers your wrist, gently tugging you behind him.  You aren’t sure where he is leading you, as he takes you out of the lab.  The halls are tall and gorgeously crafted, intermittent with intricate moldings on the wall.  

It’s a small room you find yourself in, but it is infinitely better than the wilderness.  The size is comparable to an average hotel room.  Dottore instructs you to sit and stay on the bed, which you do obediently.  Nerves swirl inside of you, as to where he has gone and what he will bring back with - when he will return, if at all.

Il Dottore knows.  While he is not well versed on human, much less godly, psychology, he can tell you’re depressed when you first stumbled your way into his workstation. Besides, he’d be hard pressed to deny the rumors from various agents that had been located in places you’d traveled through.

With a small caddy in his hands Dottore kneels next to the nightstand and places a hand on your shoulder to force you to lay down.  “Arm.”  Is what he prompts for you to let him maneuver your arm to lay open and flat over the edge of the bed. 

The scent of alcohol alerts you to the sanitary wipe before you feel the chill of it.  You keep your eyes trained on the ceiling as you feel the slight pinch of a needle  and a clicking as an IV is deposited into your arm.  Out of the corner of your eye you see Dottore set up a drip, but you don’t bother to ask what it is, the excitement of the day catching up with you.

Il Dottore eventually leaves the room in silence after pushing an odd vial of liquid into the drip, not bothering to look behind him as he closes the door and leaves with confident strides.

Although it’s entirely possible it’s simply the Placebo Effect, as the drip spreads throughout your veins you can feel your eyes getting heavier and heavier.  Before long you can no longer keep them open and slip into a dreamless sleep.

You wake up to a Mirror Maiden tidying up the nightstand next to you.  You observe her work, wondering how she can manage to navigate with the blind pulled over her eyes.  She startles when she catches your eyes on her, though returns back to work, quietly disposing of the used needles from earlier.  You wonder what The Doctor has injected you with; wonder if he added more of whatever it is while you were unconscious.

There’s a brisk, impatient knock on the door and the Maiden straightens up, taking hold of everything to discard and striding over to change positions with Tartaglia behind the door.

You stay flat on your back, looking at the ginger in mild surprise.  Last you saw him he was in Liyue and set to stay for quite a while.  Had he heard you gave yourself away to Il Dottore?   Is he here to plead for you to change your mind?

But to your bemusement he stays quiet, walking over to and kneeling next to your bed.  Instead of speaking he merely rests his head on the nightstand, dull blue eyes gazing at you sadly, yet reverently.

You’re unsure of how long you look up at the ceiling, doing your best to ignore Tartaglia’s eyes on you.  His gaze is unwavering, and eventually, you turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry for my behavior in Liyue.  I was too excited to see you, and my manners deserted me.”

“It’s okay.” You croak, throat dry from sleep.  “I was dismissive as well.”

Dottore doesn’t bother to knock when he comes in.

“I see you’re awake and seem to have found a stray harbinger.”

Tartaglia doesn’t react to his entrance, merely moving to the far end of the bed, laying his head on the covers near your feet.  You realize someone has drapped a plain, solid color duvet over your body when you slept. 

“Are you feeling anything out of the ordinary?” Dottore asks, checking the emptied IV bag.  He unclips it and pulls a fresh one from his lab coat pocket.

You take the moment to assess (how do you spell it) your body.  In all honesty you’re feeling much better, the hydration from the drip really made a difference.

“I feel hydrated.”

Dottore hums, he sounds disinterested.  “How’s your appetite? Can you stomach anything for me?”  He clips a new bag onto the pole, screwing it into your IV’s tube. “Stand if you can.” 

Dottore’s eyes watch you intensely behind his mask, observing how you tremble when you put a leg onto the floor.  “Childe, help them and follow me.”

Tartaglia scrambles to steady your arm as you fully get out of the bed, wrapping the one without the needle in it around his shoulder to support you.  You stiffen, but aren’t in any position to be able to get around without him, not with the emptiness of your stomach and the way black fades into your vision when you stand.  “Get them to the restroom, take care of their needs.  I will return with what they will eat.”

“Come on, I got you,” Tartaglia assures as he leads you to the ensuite restroom. It’s nothing too fancy; simply a sink, shower, and toilet.

You eye the toilet, realizing how long it’s been since you’ve relieved yourself.  A shower would also be nice…

“Allow me to assist you, Divine One,” Tartaglia remains stoic and respectful as he shimmies your pants and underwear down your legs, letting you support yourself on his broad shoulders as you step out of the pant holes.  After making sure you get to the toilet safely he turns around and starts the shower faucet.

The sound of the water helps you get over your pee shyness and by the time Tartaglia finishes soaking and preparing a cloth for you, you’ve finished and are ready to bathe.

With weak arms you gather the hem of your shirt in your hands and remove the remainder of your clothes.

Tartaglia helps you get clean with warm, respectful touches, passing you the cloth for you to clean more intimate areas, before helping you out of the shower and wrapping a large, soft towel around your body.  It’s huge, covering the top of your bust to well past mid-calf, looping around your body almost twice.  He tucks the towel tightly with practiced precision. 

“Il Dottore will be back soon, I’ll help you get dressed before he returns.  Do you have any material preferences?”

—

You sit up in bed, feeling marginally better than the day before.  The day after that, and the day after that all proceed in a similar fashion; each time you feel just a little bit better.  More clear headed, a better appetite, less like a corpse walking.

Only after Dottore deems you well enough to remove the IV do you get your suspicions that it was more than just the proper nutrition making you feel better.  He still stops by your room twice a day for some shots; he encouraged you to choose where he would deposit them (when you said into your brain or through your chest, it did not amuse him).  It feels suspiciously like the antidepressants you’ve been on before.  

It only further confuses you, though.  Does he want you in a proper state of mind for something?  He has no reason other than unfounded faith to help you, you don’t like it.  It’s … uncomfortable receiving this type of care, knowing it’s only because they think you're better than who you really are.

The food they feed you, the clothes they dress you in, it's all much more than you deserve.

“What are you doing to me?”

“Pardon?” Dottore sets the syringe down with a metallic click.  Through his mask you can feel his gaze on you.

“You’re… you’re trying to— to…” the words fail you.

“Mitigate your depressive symptoms?  Yes, I am.  What of it?”  Il Dottore picks the syringe back up, pushing the knob back before stabbing it into the vial in his hand. He pulls the liquid up with ease before removing the needle and pushing to remove the excess air in the syringe.

“Why?”

“Hm?  Why would I not?”  He flicks the syringe and some liquid flies from the point of the needle.

“If I were anyone else you wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Indeed.”

“Haven’t you realized by now that I’m not who you think I am?  That I’m just a normal human in a horrible situation of being unable to die?”

“That is not so.  Your skin cultures and biopsy results do not share that conclusion.  Even if you continue to deny your god-hood, it changes nothing. I know for certain who you are, and you will remain in my care until you utilize your divine right to revoke such.”

Biopsy? When on Earth — Teyvat? — did that happen?  But there’s more important things to discuss with him for now, not that you care how or when it happened.  You’re more surprised you never noticed, that’s all.

“You’re wrong!”  You wail, tears finally coming for the first time in a while.  You had thrown your head back to speak, but now you collapse in on yourself with your head between your arms and legs.  It’s humid, but saves you from having to look at the doctor and his unreadable bird mask.

“Oh my,” you hear Dottore murmur, then he sets his medical supplies to the side and places a hand on your shoulder. He remains there while you sob, when finally the lack of speech seems to reach the boiling point, he heaves a sigh.  “If it is of any consolation, if it were to come to my attention that you are not in any way godly or divine, I would treat you the same.  I’ve put far too much care into you to just toss you aside..”

That consoles you, if only a little, damn the drugs making you want to continue life to see the future.   But you broke the dam of tears, and it’ll take a while for them to stop; you need to cry out everything that led you here….

Your… attempt that put you in Teyvat, the one you tried right after arrival, the false death, all the eyes and praise that aren’t meant for you.  It’s dysphoric.  

The lurches of your body with your cries, stitches your sides and you sniffle harder into the crevice your body makes, the moisture of the confined body space blending in with your tears.

“There now,” Dottore says, quieter as you get so as well.  “Perhaps some more rest will do you good.  I’ll be at the ready whenever you wake.”

[ihearthes]

Title: Hole in One

Author: @ihearthes

Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (1st person)

Rating: Smut (NSFW, 18+ Only)

Word Count: 3100

The sky is the bluest it’s been in months, and I hear birds singing from the trees surrounding the private course. My clubs have been unused for far too long, and I cannot wait to feel the grass beneath my feet. Spying my grandparents talking to a young man who I assume is the club’s pro, I make my way in their direction, eager to get onto the green. The giddy skip in my step is undeniably partly due to the excitement of playing the game again, but mostly because I’ve not seen my jetsetter grandparents since Christmas. 

“Grammy! Gramps!” I call, my hand waving as they turn towards me. Wrapping my grandmother in a hug, I put out my hand for a high five with my grandfather. Gleefully, he obliges. 

“So glad you could join us!” Grammy whoops. “Let me look at you.” Taking my hands, she steps back to survey me in that way that must be a full chapter in the Grandparent Training Manual. “Looking sexy as hell,” she laughs, her greeting likely not in that same manual. “Twirl for us.” She makes that motion with her finger, and I oblige.

As I spin around, my skort not moving in any way that would make a twirl necessary, my grandfather applauds as if I were a five year old at her first ballet recital. 

“Two of the biggest dorks I know,” I giggle. “I’m so happy to see you!” Excitedly, I pull them in for a group hug, wondering why the golf pro hasn’t excused himself yet. So when I step back, I pointedly look in his direction. 

And promptly freeze. 

Fuck. Nope. Not the golf pro. Nor the course manager. Not anyone who works at the place. 

“Hi. I’m Harry.” He leans forward to shake my hand, his left leg raising behind him as a counterbalance to his inclining body. “You must be Birdy.” 

Horrified, I grasp his warm hand, my eyes roaming over his face with that stupid hair clip firmly holding back his bangs and his green eyes examining me, a smile on his face as his dimple deepens. Flustered, I don’t give him my birth name. “A nickname, of course,” I remark inanely. 

“I’m just hoping it doesn’t bode ill for my game today.” His gray pants are matched with a dark blue pullover sweater, a white turtleneck underneath. 

How my mouth continues to work is beyond me, but I throw my head back and laugh loudly. Probably too loudly as I’m feeling a mixture of terror and arousal, and the laughter is decidedly nervous. “I’ve never been a threat to anyone on the golf course,” I comment.

“With grandparents as young as yours, I expected someone younger.” Harry thinks he’s being coy, but my grandmother responds honestly. 

“We’re ancient, Harry, and our Birdie is 31 now. And not getting any younger.” Pointedly, she looks at me as though I had offended her in some way. 

“We’re up,” Gramps points, and we haul our clubs to the first tee. 

“What’s your handicap?” Harry asks as Gramps swings a few times for practice. 

“23,” I announce proudly, on the low end of average. “You?”

“14,” he brags, adding a wink for good measure, an indication that he is aware of his boast. Not that I can complain since I’ve also gloated about my below-average number. He’s too handsome and charming for my comfort, and I engage my attention on my clubs, polishing my driver before withdrawing it from my bag. 

Amiable enough, Harry diverts his focus onto my grandmother, and I’m grateful for the respite to catch my breath. 

“You must go first, Vivienne.”

I want to interrupt and tell him we always go with the oldest first, which is my gramps, but my grandmother has already fallen for Harry’s charm, and she giggles like a schoolgirl as she makes her way to the tee. 

After my grandfather and I have each teed off, Harry prepares for his turn. In those tight golf trousers, his arse is as well defined as the ostentatious naked statue in the fountain at the entrance to the golf club. I find myself unable to stop staring as he bends down to place his tee, and his form when he swings is a thing of beauty. No wonder he has a low handicap. Why couldn’t he be a failure at just one thing in his life? And why couldn’t it be golf? 

Noting where his ball lands, Harry removes his sunnies from the vee of his sweater and slides them over his eyes, shielding his expression. With a nod at the three of us, he twists his body, ready to move on. 

“Shall we?” Gramps gestures, and I hoist my clubs onto my shoulder again, setting off behind the elderly couple who head for a single golf cart. “Sorry, Birdy.” He casually throws over his shoulder as we approach the small vehicle. “We got the last cart. You and Harry will have to walk. But don’t worry. Your grandmother and I will do our best not to burn rubber.” 

If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if my grandparents were trying to play matchmakers. But they wouldn’t have any idea who Harry is. Although maybe it doesn’t matter to them. Perhaps my grandparents just want to pair me up with any Tom, Dick, or ….Harry.

“Mhm. See that you don’t get a speeding ticket, Gramps!” I yell as they take off, leaving Harry and I trailing behind. 

“You seem like a chip off the old block,” Harry jokes as we hike towards the hole. “Get it? Cause a chip is a golf shot.” 

“Oh, I understood the joke, but it was bad,” I groan. “No ifs, ands, or putts about it.” 

His eyes widen. “I see. It’s like that, is it?”

We both giggle, and when he shoves my shoulder at my next golf pun, I wonder if he’s flirting with me. As if Harry Styles needed to flirt with anyone. 

It’s on the fourth fairway that my Gramps gets involved with a joke of his own. “Hey, Harry?”

“Yes, sir?” The polite reply comes as I’m replacing my divot. 

“Why do the golf pros tell you to keep your head down during golf lessons?” 

“I don’t know, Rufus.” Harry withdraws his 3-wood and addresses the ball, shaking his hips in such a way that if my grandparents weren’t around, I’d probably faint. “Why?”

“So you can’t see them laughing.” Gramps guffaws, and Harry shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tilted up as he takes a deep breath and launches his ball closer to the green. 

My grandparents always make me laugh, but today they seem in finer form than usual, as they joke with Harry, my grandmother clearly vamping. Before today, I’ve never wondered if my grandfather was anything other than straight, but the way he touches Harry at every opportunity makes the wheels in my head churn. 

On the 8th hole, Grammy takes a mulligan after her ball sails into the water hazard, just short of making it across. She sighs, pulling another ball from her bag and muttering goodnaturedly to Harry. “Golf balls are just like eggs. They’re white, round, and you need another dozen every week.” 

Harry slaps his knee as he giggles at her pathetic joke. I can almost convince myself that he’s having the time of his life playing golf with these 78-year-olds. He gives every appearance of enjoying the late afternoon game. No wonder no one has anything unkind to say about him. Well, no one he’s met anyway. 

As we walk to the 9th hole, I decide to dive in and bravely ask the question that’s been on my mind for the last two and a half hours. “Why did you join us today?” 

Startled, he twists his head to look at me. “You had three. I was a late single player. The pro added me to your party. Simple.” 

“Okay.” I draw the word out, wondering if I should ask the follow-up question, and when he continues glancing at me curiously, I go for it. “But why do you have a free day today? And why didn’t you bring someone with you?” 

He turns his head away from me, but I still see that left dimple deepen as he shrugs. “I decided on a whim that I wanted to golf in this perfect weather, and my manager was busy preparing for tomorrow night’s show.” Turning around, he walks backwards so he can face me. “But I never thought I’d meet such a fun –” his eyes never leave mine, “and sexy companion.” 

I can feel the red creeping up from my toes through my body to flush my face. How does he do it? Flirting so openly without being gross? If anyone else had delivered that line, I would have gagged. Instead, I pretend that his comment has had no effect on me – like I’m not going to need dry panties before dinner with my grandparents.

“Harry!” My grandfather yells from where he and my grammy have stopped at my ball. “You better watch where you’re going! Sometimes people don’t replace their divots.” 

The musician nods to me courteously as though he hadn’t just made my heart flutter. Turning to face forward, he continues on the pathway where we finish the 9th hole. 

“Birdie,” Grammy stoutly announces to me as she climbs back into the cart. “Your grandfather and I are tired. We’re going to head to the clubhouse and have a drink, but you and Harry should play the back nine.” With that, my grandparents wave to us as their cart drives off towards the start. 

Oh. 

Well. 

That was unexpected. 

This is unexpected. 

Harry has put his hands in his pockets, rocking on his heels. “Well?” He watches me carefully, and I know the decision to continue is mine. 

“I doubt I’ll get to play with someone like you again, so we might as well continue.” 

“Someone like me? A celebrity?” Seeming genuinely confused, he removes his sunnies and scratches his head near that damn hair clip. 

“A duffer,” I tease.

“If that’s the case, it’s because your beauty has distracted me from my game today.” His eyes twinkle when he makes the comment, and that’s the moment I know the flirting is on in earnest. 

When we reach the 12th green, I can’t stand being so close to him without letting him know I am up for more. As he squares up for his putt, but before he pulls the club back to take the shot, I whisper loud enough for his ears only, “If you miss this putt, I’ll let you kiss me.” He doesn’t hesitate, taking the shot that rolls right at my feet where I’m holding the flag. And yet somehow the ball doesn’t go in. 

“Does that deal count if I accidentally missed?” 

Biting my lip, I tilt my head and observe him. “Hmmm…I’m not sure. It’s kind of offensive that you wouldn’t want to miss it on purpose. I mean, here I am, perfectly kissable. I’m going to say no. It doesn’t count.” 

Stalking towards me, he picks up his golf ball and tosses it to the edge of the green. “How about now?” His voice is a growl, and he’s standing close enough for me to feel the heat emanating from his body. 

Fuck. He’s so hot. Beyond sexy. 

I glance around the course quickly to see if anyone is nearby. Spotting no one, I tilt my head up to him. Harry grabs my chin with two fingers, staring into my eyes before he brushes his lips over mine. The moan that emits from my throat is heartfelt and demands more from him, but he steps back, his hand dropping to his side. 

Hooded eyes rake over me, and he smirks. “You’ve never met a golfer with a more delicate stroke than me.” 

“Promises, promises,” I tut, holding out the flag for him to take so I can putt. 

A few holes later, and all pretense has dropped as Harry rests his hands on my hips while I’m lining up my shot. “Are you sure you know how to hold a shaft correctly?” His voice in my ear is so gravelly that I want to drop onto my knees right there on the fairway and show him exactly how skilled I am at handling a shaft.

“Be careful there, Harry,” I murmur, “You’re like a water hazard. You’ve got me soaking wet.” 

“Fuck.” Stepping back from me, he shakes his head. “How many holes?” 

“Three,” I comment, and my eyes bat of their own accord, I swear! 

“Jesus!” He runs his hand over his face. “You’re like a fairway: short, well-groomed, and a pleasure to hit on.” 

“Are you saying you’d like to improve our stroke game together?” 

“I’m saying that I’m not going to make it back to the clubhouse at this rate.”

“Well…” I approach him, again searching the nearby greens for golfers, “...my golf coach says I have a firm grip. Do you want to see if it’s true?” 

“Birdy…” His voice is strangled as I ease my hand over the front of his trousers, feeling his length where it’s tucked safely high and to the left. The air exits his lungs at a faster velocity than a golf swing. “Get your clubs,” he commands, roughly replacing the putter he’d withdrawn and grabbing my hand. 

Yanking me behind him, Harry leads the way towards the parking lot where he uses an electronic key to open the vehicle and throw in his clubs before grabbing my golf bag and more gently placing it on top of his so that the two golf bags look to be spooning. 

“Get in,” he insists, and I don’t hesitate to scurry to the passenger side. 

“Where are we going?” I ask, my hands in my lap after I’ve buckled the seatbelt. The quivering in the lower part of my body will only be appeased in one way.

“Shit. I’ve no idea,” he sighs, not putting the car in drive. “My hotel is too far.” 

“Switch places with me,” I suggest, knowing exactly where we can go. 

With a single nod, the two of us climb from the vehicle and pass each other silently and aggressively on our way to opposite sides. Buckled in, I back the car from the lot and drive the two miles to my grandparents’ house. 

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” I state. “Open the garage before the neighbors spot us.” I share the code, and Harry follows my directions. Without drawing too much attention, we’ve sequestered ourselves in the garage, with Harry waiting impatiently for me to get out of the car. 

The moment I step from the driver’s side onto the pavement of my grandparents’ garage, Harry approaches me, his hands cupping my face as he devours my lips. I do not hesitate, opening to him as my fingers fumble for the bottom of that fucking blue sweater I’ve been jealous of all afternoon because it gets to hug his curves. As I draw the sweater up, he releases my face to raise his arms over his head, and I don’t hesitate, repeating the gesture with his white turtleneck. 

As soon as his skin is free from the clothing, his mouth crashes back onto mine as his long lush fingers make short work of my white polo. He’s backed me almost to the stairs that lead to the house, and he wraps an arm around my nearly naked back just as I’m about to topple over onto them. 

“Where?” His breath is scented with the mint from his gum, and I feel the waft of it across my cheek. 

My brain scrambles. My grandparents’ house. Quickly I discard the master bedroom and the sofa in the living room. Grasping his hand, I haul us both to the only room that makes sense. Stopping to frantically kiss this amazing man, I reach behind me to unhook my bra, his fingers brushing over my boobs as soon as they are bare. 

When I open the door to our destination, Harry pauses, his eyes widening as he takes in the golf trophies, photos of my grandparents with famous golfers on the paneled walls, and the putting green. Shaking his head, he laughs, and the crinkles at his eyes make my panties even wetter. 

“I like my men like a sand trap: dirty, challenging, and unpredictable.” Although I’ve attempted to make the joke with a straight face, I fail miserably as I dissolve into giggles. 

With a face palm, Harry laughs too, glancing at the putting green. “No way am I fucking on that fake turf. One of us would end up with scraped knees, and I don’t know if I would prefer it be you or me.” 

“No question there,” I purr as I drop to my knees in front of him and reach for the button and zipper on his trousers. “I’ve been drooling for this shaft all afternoon.” 

“Well, I am known for my lengthy club.” The smirk on his face drops away as I free his cock and give it a few strokes before sliding my lips over the end and applying light pressure. Pushing his pants and underpants down his thighs, I reach for his balls. “Oh, fuck,” he sucks in air. “I had planned to wash my balls after the game today, but you’re welcome to….ahhhhhh.” The way the sound escapes his mouth when I do as he suggests and lave his balls with my tongue has me hotter than a July game at a Miami course. 

Returning to his cock, I slide his length as far as my throat will allow, practically unhinging my jaw as I take him in. Closing my lips, I use suction until he grabs my head, pulling my hair to remove me from my current activity. 

When I look up at him, I can see the scar under his chin as he’s staring at the ceiling. He takes a deep breath, and I cannot resist scraping my teeth lightly to see his reaction. It’s instant, as his jaw drops and his eyes connect with mine. Just as I get to the end of his cock again, I make a humming sound, knowing he can feel the vibration on this sensitive body part. 

“Birdy…” he gasps. “I need…” 

Releasing him with a popping sound, I sit back on my knees and grin, rather proud of my ability to reduce this cheeky flirt to two-word sentences. 

“What?” I demand. 

“I need to feel your fringe. Taste it even.” 

Closing my eyes, I shake my head as though I’m disappointed with his golf pun, but it honestly gives a zing to my private parts. 

“Fair enough,” I comment, using my current location to remove his shoes and the rest of his clothing so that he stands before me, naked but for his socks. 

“Shouldn’t that be ‘fairway’ enough?” He giggles, his shaft pointing straight at me. 

I groan. “Oh, man. If I weren’t so hot for you, your bad jokes might just turn me off.” 

“Good,” he smiles, and the dimple deepens until I’m confident I could fit a thousand golf balls, each with their own 381 dimples, inside it. That many dimples all in the same space would be overwhelming. “Now let’s put my wood in your golf bag, shall we?” He holds his hand down to me, and I grasp it so that he can pull me upwards, our tongues tangling like a dust devil. 

Fingers fumbling with the buttons on my skort, Harry moves his lips to my neck. “Why ‘Birdy’?” 

“Seriously?” I scoff. “You want to talk about my nickname now?” 

His luxurious fingers shove my panties and my skort down to my ankles, ignoring my shoes completely as he encourages me to kick off the offending clothing. “Yes please.” 

Nude, I plant my hands on my hips, glaring at him from where he’s squatting on the floor after removing my outfit. “My grandfather scored a birdie every time he took me out with him on the golf course when I was a baby.” 

“Oh,” he pouts. 

“Not as sexy as you thought it might be?” 

“As a story, you really should work on it.” 

“I promise I’ll spice up the story with the next single that joins our foursome,” I simper. A look crosses his face that could be construed as jealousy if one were so inclined. Which I’m not. Because he’s just an afternoon fuck. 

As I start to step past him to the leather sofa, he grabs my thighs and buries his face in my crotch, sniffing deeply. Flabbergasted, I pause, my balance off. 

“Widen your stance,” Harry demands, and when I follow his direction, he uses both hands to part the petals at my entrance. Just before his tongue dives in, he blows a puff of air, and I shiver at the sexiness of the move. 

“Fuck, Harry,” I grab for his shoulder so I don’t sink to the floor. Between his tongue and his teeth, I nearly tip over the abyss, but when he uses both hands, inserting one finger in each of my body’s lower entrances, I come, screaming his name as I yank his hair, accidentally dislodging that damn hair clip which skitters across the wood floor. My orgasm continues as Harry rises, one finger still teasing my clit. 

“You were right,” he whispers to me as I gaze at his glistening face, “three holes left. Now taken care of.” Capturing my lips, he delves inside my mouth, his tongue and finger below taking turns, setting a rhythm that would do well in one of his songs. 

Fuck. I’m weak. 

When my body stops shivering, I use both hands to shove him onto the sofa where he lands with both feet out and his driver in the air. 

“Birth control?” he asks. 

“Taken care of,” I grin. “IUD. But if you want double protection or you don’t trust me…” I gesture towards the rest of the house, trying to figure out where a condom might be hidden in my grandparents’ house. 

“I trust you. No one with that nickname and those grandparents could lie about something like that.” 

With a grin, I concede his point. Besides, my grandparents would flip their lids if I got pregnant without a commitment. 

Slowly, as if I’m lining up a putt, I slide onto him. 

“Mmmmm…that’s a hole to be respected,” Harry murmurs as I descend, and I would laugh if not for the fact that I’m gearing up for my second orgasm. 

“Are you up for some stroke play?” I query as I settle completely on him, my insides stretched but happy. 

“Stroke that stroke, babe.” 

With the steady beat of that Billie Squier oldie in my head, I follow his instructions, lifting myself off his shaft before plunging back down as hard as I can. Just when I’m getting closer, panting as I look to the skies, Harry taps my butt cheek. “Turn around here, love.” 

Settling on the sofa with my rear in the air, I am startled when Harry’s finger circles my asshole, and I wonder if I’m in for a different experience than I had originally expected. He’s too big for my back door without a lot of preparation, and it’s clear he knows it as he settles on wedging a finger there while his cock invades my vagina. Between his cock and his inserted finger, I’m so close to exploding that I slam my body backwards into his until he finally removes the finger, grabs my hips, and pounds into me. 

“Drive into me, Harry!” I scream, recognizing the golf pun after it’s already left my mouth. Biting my lip, I reach in front and play with my clit just as Harry shoots his load into me, and I writhe with my second orgasm, his name on my lips as he falls onto my back. 

Seconds, minutes, decades later, Harry disengages from me. 

“That was pleasant,” he smiles, and I wonder if this is it. He’ll leave me here, his cum dripping from me onto the furniture in my granddad’s golf room. “We should probably get dressed and get back to the course. Otherwise, they’ll send out a search party. If we get back quickly, they’ll think we just took our time on the 18th.” 

Agreeably, I laugh. “I can see it now.” Imitating my grandma, “‘But our baby girl is out there with a handsome stranger! They must be exhausted after 18 holes!’” 

Together, we dissolve into giggles at the innuendo as we sort through the discarded clothing and dress ourselves, making our way back to the garage as we locate our shirts. 

“You better drive us back. I’m likely to get lost in your tall bush.” 

“Oh, please,” I roll my eyes. “My grass is perfectly trimmed for the game.” 

“Mhm,” he smirks, “Who’s your caddy?” 

We pull into the parking lot, laughing at our ridiculous puns. Removing our golf bags from the trunk, we make our way into the clubhouse where we quickly locate and join my grandparents. 

“How were the last few holes?” Gramps asks. 

“Pretty good,” Harry grins, glancing over at me. “I got both a Birdy and a hole in one.” 

I want to laugh at his comment, but any suggestion that we did anything other than play golf would get me in trouble, so I simply smile, nod, and announce, “It was quite the round. The best I’ve had in a long time, by par.” 

When everyone at the table howls with mirth, I feel Harry’s hand on my knee as my grandfather speaks up with, “Harry? I think you might be missing a number on your scorecard.” When he winks and gestures towards me, I groan, but my latest lover takes advantage of the moment, holding out his scorecard to me. 

“If you wouldn’t mind…I might need another hole in one the next time I come to town.” 

Reblogs are love. Thank you.

[maries-gallery]

Day 3 of @kissmetwicekissmedeadly 's visions of temptation event! And my first contribution to kinktober <3

genre: nsfw, mdni

character: Licht Klein

wc: 2,5k

warnings: angry/jealous sex, dirty talk, manhandling, marking/biting, dacryphilia, overstimulation, creampie, breading, female bodied reader

prompts: angry sex, "It can wait, I want you now."

mdni banner by the lovely @/saradika

For more content like this, check the masterlist <3

“So I told them-”

Licht nods, features set in their usual neutral impartiality as he listens to the nobleman in front of him; or rather, tries to. For concentrating on anything the man has to say proves to be excruciatingly difficult when his mind constantly strays over to you, crimson eyes aching to search the maze of guests for your form. 

The two of you had been invited to a ball at the duke's mansion, who was known through all of Rhodolite for his garish festivities and exceptional qualities as a host, and indeed, his reputation held true to reality. 

The glittering crystals of a chandelier catch the light and shower the room in shadows of gold. Long tables line the ornate walls, piled high with all kinds of delicacies and flowing with rose wine. And an orchestra sits at the back of the room, playing a merry tune as couples dance in the spotlights in a concerto of steps and a blur of coloured silks. 

Guests had taken their best attire out of their closet for the occasion, glittering rivers of diamonds, bright coloured dresses and ties, new polished shoes and intricate hair ornaments. 

Yet, nothing in the room earns Licht’s fancy, who desperately yearns to be back at your side, to hold your hand and bathe in your comforting presence. 

The ballroom is vast and crowded with luxuries, as well as the members of Rhodolite's high society. Even so, Licht knows it would take but an instant for him to find you, a tug at his centre pulling him to you. An instinct that never fails to inform him of your whereabouts. A call for home. 

A home he can’t wait to go back to once his princely duties free him from this conversation. 

“See Prince Licht, I would love to-“ The man continues, but his words blur in the background and the world goes still around Licht as he finally catches sight of you. 

His heart skips a beat as your eyes meet his, warm as you beam at him, seemingly on your way to the rose garden. And his lips twitch with the hint of a loving smile, his chest too full with tender affection. It just has to spill out through his gaze in soft exchanged gazes. 

Happiness swells in his ribcage at the sight of your attire, a form fitting dress that hugs your waist and dips to your hips before falling in a drape of silk to the floor. He had made sure the colours of his suit matched the shades of your dress. 

Though his favourite part isn’t the dress, but the pleasure of removing it for you later on, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulder as he slips the straps down, then proceeding to gently pull the fabric down your curves and-

No. 

Not now. I cannot be distracted by such thoughts in public. 

Sometimes he wonders if you are aware of the effect you have on him, how easily it is for you to turn him into a being of primal needs and sinful thoughts. How powerless he is in your hands. 

His hands ball into fists, knuckles turning white as he tries to keep his unwanted thoughts at bay. Still he aches to take a step towards you, to join you outside for some peace and quiet, to loop his arms around your waist and hold you close under the twinkling stars. 

But he can’t, so he bears with the heavy emptiness that settles in his chest as you exit the room. Counting the seconds that separate him from you, seconds that feel like years. 

Until the bells of your golden laugh reach his ears from the garden and through the ambient noise in the room. And before he knows it, his legs are moving on their own, called by the mesmerizing sound that never fails to make his heart flutter with wings of wonder. 

“Prince Licht-” The man starts, interrupted by Licht’s raised hand. A gesture that commands silence. 

“Excuse me for a moment.” His voice is flat, betraying nothing of the loud thrumming of his heart and the blood rushing in his veins as he makes a beeline for the rose garden. 

He steps outside, the cold air biting at the heat on his cheeks as his eyes fall on you, light embarrassment dusting your features as you laugh at something a young nobleman had presumably just said. 

His chest tightens as your lips curve in a sweet smile,  not for him, but for another man. Another man who had just made you laugh effortlessly. The tendrils of something dark spread over his heart, the green monster of envy taking over his better judgment. 

He takes a step forward. 

“I was searching for you.” He almost jumps out of his skin at the sound of his own voice, words that spilled from his lips before he could process them. Still it didn’t matter, this got your attention. And relief floods his veins as your eyes light up with excitement as you turn to him. 

“Prince Licht!” You exclaim, and pain needles at his chest as his title coats his tongue in a bitter taste. Still, you distance yourself from the unknown man, unaware of the veil of disappointment that crosses his features. Licht certainly does not miss it, though. And he hates it. “Can I present to you-”

“I need you to come with me.” He says, cutting through your own sentence. His heart squeezes painfully at this realization. Never does he ever speak over you, and you must have seen something was wrong because your sweet smile falters. 

I am sorry, there is just no way I am leaving you alone with this man. 

His gloved hand finds yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles over the top, a gesture he knows you will recognise. Something you do to reassure him. He only hopes this serves to calm your nerves and inform you that nothing is wrong, that he loves you and that you are not the problem. 

“There is someone I want you to meet.” He continues, pressing a soft featherlight kiss to your cheek. Both to calm his racing heart and to send this stranger a message, as your matching attire apparently hadn’t been clear enough of a signal. 

Step away. 

You don’t know what caused such a drastic change in your lover’s attitude, but you nod, letting him lead you back inside and through the maze of guests, straight out of the ballroom and out into the dark corridors of the duke’s mansion. 

The large doors close behind you, the festivity and its concert now nothing more but a whisper in your ears, growing quieter and quieter as the two of you make your way farther down the hall and up a flight of stairs. 

You glance at your surroundings, curiosity tugging at your consciousness as you continue to follow Licht, until the two of you stop right in front of your shared bedroom door. 

“Licht?” You say in a quiet voice, eyeing the closed door, “I thought you wanted to introduce me to someone?” 

A heavy sigh falls from his lips. He knows he shouldn’t have lied to you, but the words left his mouth before he could think twice about it. Guilt crawls over his shoulders at the sight of your worry infused features. 

He just had to take you away, to take you far away from this man, or his heart might have burst. He cannot quite proceed what went through him, what haunts his heart and thoughts at the moment. 

But the sight of you laughing and smiling at another man was unbearable. Had him questioning everything, had him scared and insecure. And in depserate need of your touch, of your scent, of your warmth, of you. 

“I am sorry.” He whispers, a gentle hand stroking your cheek before tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. His heart melts as you place your hand over his, nuzzling in his touch. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your lips. “It can wait, I must have you now.” 

Your answer dies in your throat as soft lips meet yours in an hungry kiss that has you staggering back against the door and has warmth pooling at your core. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him for support as his hands tear at the fabric of your dress. 

“Licht-” You call between greedy kisses that steal the air from your lungs, desire flaring inside of you as he trails open mouthed kisses down the column of your throat and along your collarbones, teeth raking over your skin and sending delicious shivers up your spine. 

“I can’t wait anymore.” He says, scooping you up in his arms and carrying you over to the bed before letting you down gently on the sheets. 

You have no time to catch your breath before he climbs over you, face buried in the crook of your nape, a yelp coming from your lips as his teeth sink in your skin. Pleasurable pain soothed by kitten licks and his knee nudging at the sweet spot between your thighs. 

“You are mine.” He groans against your skin, taking in your scent as his hands roam down your sides, taking down the fabric of your dress with it. The cool air nipping at your exposed skin doing nothing to tame the roaring flames of your desire, your core begging for him to fill the aching emptiness inside of you. 

Fortunately you don’t have to wait for long, Licht’s hands settle at your hips, flipping you on the bed and spreading your legs for him. And although your sweet boyfriend’s touch isn’t usually this rough, you certainly don’t complain about the change of pace and the glimpse of something wild you catch in his gaze.  

“Arch your back for me.” He says, and you do as told, lying your front on the sheets and sticking your ass up in the air, bending like a bow for him. A shiver of anticipation coursing through your nerves as you hear the distinctive clink of metal and the ruffling of clothes. 

You suck in a breath as the tip of his length prods at your entrance, teasingly rubbing over your clit and collecting your honey. Even now, Licht remains the considerate and loving partner, making sure you are well prepared for what is to come next. 

“Could he make you wet like I do?” His question catches you off guard, any thought melting from your mind as his fingers dip in the buttery skin of your hips  and his cock slowly sinks between your folds. 

A high pitched moan stumbles from your lips, your walls stretching out for him as he pushes in deeper. Tears gather at your lashes, both from pain and pleasure of it hurting too good. 

He halts midway, giving you time to adjust to his size and collect your bearings, hopefully enough for you to answer his question. Licht knows he is big, knows that the first few thrusts always mix pleasure and pain as he stretches you out to accommodate him. 

He also knows you like being full, and that nothing fills you up as much as his cock.

“Could he make you wet like I do?” He repeats in a low voice, bending down over you to whisper in your ear, “Could he fill you up like I do?” 

The dots connect in your head, putting two and two together as you make sense of his words. He was jealous. Of a stranger. And although a part of you feels sorry for your lover, another part is much more eager to suffer the consequences of such dark emotions brewing inside of him. 

“No-No!” You cry out, fisting the sheets at your head, “Only you, Licht- Unhg!” 

A soft smile spreads over his lips, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he pushes himself all the way in, brows furrowing as you clamp down around him. Tight and warm. And he’d like to think this is the only reassurance he needs, the only thing he needs for his heart to finally rest at ease in his chest. 

Unfortunately for you, that is not the case. And he wishes he could be sorry for the long night that awaits you, but he can’t, not when you seem to enjoy it and certainly not when you beg for him to move and make you his. 

His thrusts start slow and steady, building up rhythm until each snap of his hips against yours has you holding onto the sheets to ground yourself. Until your eyes cross at the back of your head and unabashed moans fall from your lips. 

“Good- Ungh- Keep making these noises.” He grunts, nails digging in your skin in crescent moons as he pushes deeper inside of you, repeatedly hitting the spot he knows has your toes curling. “Don’t hold back- Scream- Hng- Scream for me.” 

You do, unable to keep quiet, not when one of his hands dive between your thighs to flick his fingers over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Not when he stretches you out so good and has reality collapsing around you. 

Pleasure crashes over you, merciless and destructive as you crumble under its weight. Waves of radiating warmth spread from your core to every nerve ending as the coil of your high snaps. 

Licht’s rhythm falters, the telltale signs of his own release coursing through his veins as he buries his length all the way up between your folds, sheathing his release deep inside of you where he knows it will stay. 

He doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon though, using your own juice and his as fuel for the next rounds. 

“Hu-Ungh! Keep-Keep going!” Your broken cries for more only encourage him to pick up the pace once again, pumping his seed right back inside of your awaiting hole. Until another release washes over you, and another, and another, and another. 

Until he has made sure nothing but his name remains in your mind, nothing but his name falls from your tongue. And until he has made sure his cum would stay warm and nice inside of you. 

Until the Sun rises in the horizon and its golden light filters in through the blinds. Only then, does he tuck you under the covers, gentle fingers brushing away strands of hair from your matted forehead. 

And in spite of his extreme fear of being a parent, a stronger part of him finds himself daydreaming about a part of him growing inside of you, about a small family of your own. About a blissful future filled with love and laughter. 

“I love you.” You murmur quietly through the hazy clouds of sleep, his heart swelling at your words. 

He presses a kiss to your temple, collecting you in his arms as he lies behind you, an arm around your waist. And two fingers buried between your folds to keep his cum inside of you, nice and warm.

taglist: @randonauticrap @aquagirl1978 @nightghoul381 @pockcock @ikesimpleton @ikemen-writer @ikesimp100 @veervers @o0aj0o @elleplaysotome @lichtluv @kalims-pessimist-bestie

[screaminglygay]

KINKTOBER day 8

pairings: ringmaster!yelena belova x fem!reader

summary: you and yelena are getting ready for a big circus night.

warnings: smut!!!, bootworship, leg humping, yelena being mean, like really mean, slight kicking, yelena is being harsh, not proofread, if anything else let me know

word count: 2.2k

an: she´s so mean i love her, also can we all agree that florence is rocking every look? im so gay, i need her asap, also this is very much dedicated to the one annon, who was really happy that i´m writing yelena, sooo if you´re reading this, i hope you like:)

(italics = your thoughts)

!MDNI!

Enjoy this spooky season and be safe!

As you sit nervously in Yelena's luxurious office, your palms are sweaty and your heart racing, you can't help but feel a surge of anxiety pulsating through your veins. Today is the night of the grandest show, and you are waiting for your boss, Yelena, who is the ringmaster of the most magnificent circus in the whole country. Even though you have to put up with Yelena's severe attitude in order to fulfill your demanding duty as her assistant, it's an honor to be a part of her world. But today, she seems to be acting much more furiously. 

The tension in the room is palpable, and you can't shake off the feeling that tonight's performance is more critical than any that came before. Yelena's office has a harsh professionalism that contrasts dramatically with the vibrant circus outside. Dark-colored walls, a finely polished wooden desk, and leather chairs create a refined and serious atmosphere. The few decorations that adorn the room are carefully selected and maintained. Instead of vivid colors, the office is dominated by shades of deep charcoal gray. 

On the walls, there are a few framed photos displaying new costume ideas and sketches. These costume concepts, though they carry the potential for vibrant and dazzling displays, appear as muted pencil sketches, that she made herself. 

The door to the office swings open, and Yelena enters, her vibrant costume and piercing gaze commanding the attention of the room. Her red and gold attire shimmers under the soft glow of the office lights, her face adorned with black make-up, her hair is slick back, and her overall look screams that she owns this place. And much more... she owns the people here too. 

"Finally," she snaps, her voice as sharp, a growl, and you flinch at the acidic tone that cuts through the room. 

Your racing heart threatens to betray your composure, but you hold your ground, offering a tentative smile. "I'm sorry, Yelena. I was just making sure everything was-" 

She cuts you off with a wave of her hand. "No excuses, just be useful for once. The spotlight is on me tonight, and I will not tolerate any mistakes. Make sure the costumes are in order, the animals are ready, and the performers are sharp. We can't afford to falter." 

Her words sting, and you swallow your pride, nodding obediently. Despite her harsh exterior, you understand that tonight means as much to her as it does to you. The circus is her kingdom, and she is the reigning queen. You cannot help but wonder if her anger is just a shield, a way to cope with the immense pressure she carries on her shoulders. 

You´re in for a long night under Yelena's watchful, unrelenting eye, but it's all part of the mesmerizing, chaotic world of the circus. As the ringmaster departs for her preparations, you steal a glance at the eager audience beyond the office window, ready to be dazzled.  

As Yelena gazes out of the office window onto the bustling circus grounds, her expression remains stern. Her crimson-gloved fingers drum impatiently on the window shelf. With a cool, calculating voice, she turns to you, and says, "The show starts in twenty minutes, and I see you've managed to mess up nearly everything, as usual." 

Your heart sinks, and you find yourself on the receiving end of her relentless critique. It's not uncommon for Yelena to be demanding, but today, her tone cuts deeper, her words more vicious than ever. 

She continues, "The costumes were wrinkled, the animals look dispirited, and the performers have that 'couldn't-care-less' attitude. It's no wonder I had to come and check on you, because you clearly can't be trusted to get anything right." 

You struggle to hold back tears as her words strike like daggers. You have poured your heart and soul into ensuring that everything runs smoothly, but Yelena's critical remarks have the ability to destroy your self-confidence. 

Her piercing gaze remains fixed on you, her face says it right away, no trace of empathy at all. "You're lucky you have a boss like me to catch your countless mistakes. If it weren't for my watchful eye, this circus would have fallen apart long ago. There's no room for error, especially not tonight. Do you understand?" 

As you nod in silence, the weight of her criticism threatens to crush your spirit, but you know that, in this world, in Yelena´s world, perfection is the only standard. With trembling hands you put your fallen hair behind your ears, trying to regain your composure and make sure tonight's performance lives up to Yelena's exacting standards. 

Yelena fixes her gaze on you, her eyes still piercing but with a faint glimmer of something resembling compassion. "You know, I could fire you right now if I wanted to," she says, her tone less venomous but still firm. 

You nod quickly, unable to meet her eyes, "Yes, I know." 

A hint of a cynical smile crosses her lips. "I'm being kinder to you than you deserve, you know," she continues. 

Again, you nod, your voice barely above a whisper, "Yes, I know." 

Yelena sighs, her frustration evident, but there is something in her eyes, that you don´t understand, yet. "You might be a mess, but you're my mess," she admits, almost grudgingly. 

Your heart flutters with a mix of relief as you nod again, saying, "Yes, I know." You understand that, for all her harshness, you occupy a unique place in Yelena's world. In this chaotic, enigmatic circus, you're her right-hand, for better or for worse. 

Yelena glances at the ornate clock on her office wall, a rare hint of anxiety crossing her features. "We have just 15 minutes before the show starts," she says, her tone monotone. 

You dare to seize this fleeting opportunity. "Yelena," you begin hesitantly, "Can you please-" 

She raises an eyebrow, clearly irritated but willing to listen for once. "Go on," she snaps. 

You take a deep breath and finally ask the question that has been lingering in your mind for far too long. "Can I have... can you touch me?" You don´t dare to look into her eyes, “you´ve said that if I´ll be good for the next few weeks, you will let me-” you quickly stop yourself before saying the word, that felt so naughty to you.  

 “Cum?” She smirks, but her composure still stays still. 

You simply just nod. 

“I didn´t say I will let you cum, I´ve said I will think about it,” she tilts her head. “And you think you did such a phenomenal job, that you deserve to be touched by me, let alone cum?” She chuckles. 

“Yes, I do.” You mumble, but it was loud enough for Yelena to hear. 

For a moment, Yelena seemed taken aback, as if your answer wasn't what she was expecting. But she likes you being more confident and direct. Then, with a reluctant nod, she agrees, "You have 13 minutes. Get on your knees,” she said it like it was such a bother to her, which it was in a way. 

You instantly drop to your knees. 

Yelena takes a step closer to you. In that moment, you glance down and notice something – a pair of classic Doc Martens boots on her feet, an elegant choice, they also look very new, so she must have bought them for tonight's occasion.  

Yelena notices your gaze fixated on her boots and a sly idea takes root in her mind. She smirks and, maintaining her stern demeanor, she speaks, "You can get off on my shoe." Your eyes instantly meet hers. Before you can say anything, she adds, “12 minutes.” 

“I-” you don´t even know what you want to say to her. 

“Fine, if you don´t want it, then don´t waste my time.” Yelena turns away, ready to walk out of her office. 

“Wait!” She can feel that you crawl on the floor to grip her leg. 

Yelena just looks down and stops in her tracks, “I´m waiting, but the people are not.” She sighs, “11 minutes.” she once again checks the clock. 

As for Yelena´s request, months ago, you stopped wearing panties, first it was just around or in the office rule, but now it´s been almost four months since you´ve seen your panties.  

You simply raise your skirt and get to work. Being wet around Yelena was basically your main task as her assistant, so none of you are surprised when her new shoe is already covered with your juices. You also didn´t want to waste any more time as you knew very well, she would kick you off of her and leave you there without zero pity.  

So you had to do it quickly, it was a week without her touch and even more time without you being able to cum. Yelena is saying “cumming is too distracting, when you need perfection.” And of course, her little stupid toy can´t do more than one thing at the same time. 

“9 minutes.” Yelena says with something that sounds like disgust in her voice. 

Your hips speed up at her words and your nails digs into her calf, which she won´t admit aloud, but she is enjoying this moment a lot. To have power over someone's life was on her daily basis, but it is different with you. She knew you would do anything for her, even if it meant it would hurt you. 

Many times, she wanted to direct her emotions on something, especially her rage and that was a moment where you´ve volunteered and she knew right away, she's going to keep you as her little stupid punching bag, that she will occasionally award with little touch or maybe an orgasm, when you would behave.  

“7 minutes.”  

You know you have permission to release, but you still want to show her how good you can be. “P-please, may I cum?” you let out soft whimpers. 

“Are you that stupid? Do you want me to write a blessing?” She aggressively moved her shoe up and down, and because Yelena was really strong and her thighs could kill people, it wasn’t hard to lift you up.  

“S-sorry...” you whine out loud this time. 

“Did I tell you to speak?” Her gaze met yours and you immediately look away, bitting your lower lip to stay quiet as possible. 

You continue of rocking your hips, feeling how your clit is getting more sensitive, as her shoe is the perfect material for you to hump.  

“4 minutes.” And with Yelena´s words, you come. Your juices being everywhere, on her shoe, on her pants, on your skirt, on the extremely expensive carpet, just everywhere. 

Yelena looks down on the mess you´ve made and with a big sight she says, "Your incompetence is almost a talent in itself." She moves her feet, and you fall as you´re not even fully back from your strong orgasm.  

“3 minutes.” She is still counting down. But to what? You´ve already came. "Is it too much to ask for a shred of intelligence from you? Apparently, it is." She moves her feet in the air, hoping you will finally get it.  

Still nothing. 

Her patience fading, observes the mess you have made and finally mutters, "The shoe won't clean it itself, you know. Or perhaps you were expecting a miracle?" Her tone, as always, laced with disdain and a hint of mockery, serves as a reminder that in her world, only immediate action and perfection are acceptable. 

Oh.  

You quickly lower yourself as you know that you do not have much time, so you open your mouth and your tongue kitten licks her shoe clean, at least you are trying to. Tasting the mixture of yourself and the leather bring you shivers right to your pussy, as you would want to cum again and again and again-  

“1 minute.” Yelena put her foot in the air, for you to clean even the bottom of her shoe. Now tasting only plastic rubber, which wasn´t the most tasteful thing, but your only wish right now is to do a decent job for Yelena and her satisfaction. 

“Get off.” She put her foot down and inspects your work.  

Yelena inspects the work you've completed, and after a long pause, she remarks, "Well, it's not a bad job. I might be a little impressed." 

Your eyes light up with excitement, and you ask, "Really?" 

Yelena smirks and adds with a hint of sarcasm, "Oh, don't get too carried away. I did say 'a little,' after all. We wouldn't want you to think you've achieved mastery, now would we?" 

Coming from Yelena herself, not on paper, but in person, this is a compliment. 

 Yelena continues, "Next time, I expect you will do without being told what to do, a concept known as 'initiative,' in case you're unfamiliar." 

She smirks, "But then again, I wouldn't want to deprive you of the joy of my guidance, would I?" 

Yelena turns to leave, her Doc Martens shoes thudding against the floor with an air of firm authority. She strides toward the circus arena, ready to show the world once more, who the true master of the show is. 

Ahhh so what do we think?

Also thank youuu for reading!! 💕💕

[devildomditzy]

Hey 🥰🥰 congrats on the milestone sweetie!! 💕

May I request Mammon + 💐🤗 + “Do you remember when we first met?”

I thought ab making it sfw, something romantic. I think you'll enjoy it. Everything for our hubby hah 💕💕 he's so wholesome! Tbh can't wait to see what you'll come up with! Have a nice day! ❤️

aaaahh hi! thank you 🥺 you’re such a good artist everytime i see you in my feed i’m like, what are you doing here? im just a little guy.

like a little rat chef, i will cook something up for you!

(This got way too long I’m sorry LMAO, I have feelings for him)

Also, this one is a liiillll suggestive

——————————————————————————-

He’s been really antsy since you fell ass first onto Satan.

He’s been really fidgety since the whole hellfire newt syrup incident.

He’s been really shy since Solomon brought you back to the Devildom for undisclosed reasons.

He’s been really docile since your return.

And for the LIFE of you, you can’t figure out why.

You tried interrogating the others, hoping to gather any information as to why Mammon was being… well… less of a dick to you in general.

You always had this playful back and forth with the second born that you had come to love. But, with his usual bite gone, you began to worry something was just wrong.

“Hun, you always make him all fidgety. And sweaty. It’s really gross”, Asmo says, scrunching up his face in disgust.

You huff, rolling over on his bed to face him. “I’m aware. But this is worse than usual. It’s like he’s scared of me all of a sudden. Like he’s avoiding me.”

“We’ll, Id say he’d be an idiot to ignore the likes of you, but he’s also, quite frankly, always an idiot.”

“Azzy”, you deadpan, sending him a pointed look. He throws his hands up in defeat.

“Okay, okay! I get it. You see something in my poor, stupid older brother. And while I can’t fathom what that is, I know he sees something in you too. We all do, but he definitely wants to fuck you.”

“Asmo! Not helping!”

The avatar of lust continues staring at his nails, fussing with a bottle of polish as he fills in any visible gaps.

“Hmm… have you tried being direct? Sometimes you have to be direct with these men. Ya know, take what you want?”, he glances in your direction, licking his lips.

“I’m just trying to figure out why he’s ignoring me! I’m not trying to get into his pants.”

“A shame, really.”

“Asmo!”

“Here’s an idea! Let’s spy on him!”, he sings, eyes blowing wide with excitement.

“What? No! No, I can’t do that. That’s like, an invasion of privacy!”

“Oh, and you think he hasn’t done the same to you?”

Your face falls a bit as you question him, “…has he?”

Asmo lays a tentative hand on top of your. “Sweetie, we all have.”

“Huh. Like together or?”

“Not important!”, he smiles, “What is important is that we get this show on the road so we can get intel.”

The sickening grin on his face does nothing to settle your nerves.

That’s how you find yourself here, comically shoved up against Asmo as you shared a bench in town square, peering out at the subject of your affection from behind a copy of the latest edition of the RAD newspaper.

“There is absolutely no way he won’t spot us”, you grumble to the strawberry blonde.

“He will if you don’t be quiet! Now watch!”

“What is he doing?”

“It looks like he’s buying something from that stand. ~Oh, could it be?”

You don’t like the glint in Asmo’s voice.

“Could what be?”

“It looks like he did listen to my advice”, he smooths. You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“What advice? Asmo what’s going on? What aren’t you telling me!”, you try to sound urgent, but you have a feeling he won’t tell you either way.

“No need to worry love”, he chirps, “Looks like my dear older brother will be back in your good graces soon enough”. He grabs your wrist, dragging you back towards the house with a force you know you cannot break free from.

“H-Hey!”

“Just trust me on this one hun!”

As night begins to fall, you sit alone in your dorm room nervously biting your thumbnail. You and Asmo’s rendezvous did nothing to quell you worry, and on top of that the fifth eldest was being cryptic as hell since you got back to the house.

A knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts. “Asmo, I already told you if you’re not going to tell me what he’s doing, leave me alo-”

The words die in your throat as you rip open the door to be met with the piercing eyes of the second born.

“M-Mammon…hey uh, what are you doing-”

Once more you go quiet, eyes flitting down to where he held a large bouquet of yellow roses.

As you return your gaze to his face, you find him beet red, and almost…shaking?

“I uh- I-I, I got these flowers and I just thought you’d want them. N-No reason! I-In fact, they weren’t for you! They were for u-uhhh…little d no. 2! Yeah! But since I can’t find him, you can have ‘em.”

You lean against the door frame, crossing your arms across your chest, smiling up at him.

“Uh huh, little d no. 2, huh? What made you want to buy him a dozen roses?”

“What? Can’t a proud papa bring his son some flowers?”

“Oh, so now you admit he’s your son?”

“I-I didn’t. I mean- Ugh! Here! Just take ‘em!”, he exclaims shoving them into your hands, pushing past you into your room. You swear you hear him mumble “pain in my ass”, to himself. You can’t stop the grin that spreads on your face.

You shut the door, making sure to lock it. Something tells you this isn’t going to be a normal conversation, and the last thing you need is Levi bursting in asking you if you want to watch the latest episode of “Help! My Mystical Girlfriend Turned Into A Cat and Now I Want to Be One Too!”

He sits on the edge of your bed, hands nervously gripping his knees for dear life. His gaze is fixed on a spot on your floor, and you can’t help but tease him.

“My floor that interesting, huh?”

He snaps out of his stupor, turning to look at you. You swear you see him gulp.

“So, what’s up with you? Ever since I came back, I feel like you’ve been distant. I missed you Mams, and now I’m here and you’re avoiding me?”

It takes him a beat, but he squeaks out a small “sorry.”

You hum, a small noise of recognition before scooting a little closer to him on the bed. He visibly tenses.

“Mamm-”

“DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN WE FIRST MET?”, he nervously lets out, cutting you off. He still won’t make eye contact.

“Of course I do. How could I forget!”, you giggle. “It’s the first time someone threatened to eat me if I didn’t give them all my ‘mortal possessions’”.

He seems to loosen up a bit at the joke, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I was kinda a dick back then.”

“Oh? Only back then?”

“Watch it!”

You suppress your laughter as he continues.

“At first, I only saw ya as a pain in my ass. AND ya still are. B-But then I got to know ya and we started doin’ everythin’ together and… I dunno”, he trails off.

“You don’t know…what?”, you question.

He runs a hand over the half of his face not cover by his glasses. His eyes close as he takes a deep breath.

He turns his position to better face you, eyes now looking directly into yours.

“I guess…I dunno when you became so important to me.”

“Oh.”

You’re both quiet for a moment.

“Asmo told me I should tell ya, but I’m no good at this stuff,” he gives a small forced chuckle. “And I probably wouldn’t have realized, but yer leavin’ back to the human realm…I think you took a part of me with ya.”

“Oh.”

“An essentially I guess I’m tryin to say…dammit..I’m tryin to say… GIVE IT BACK, OKAY?!”

Your eyes widen in surprise at his sudden raise in voice. “And how do I go about doing that, Mammon?”

He seems to pick up a bit of his usually bravado, finally getting out with it. “Well, obviously if ya take something from the Avatar of Greed, ya gotta pay it back, with interest.”

You smirk, leaning into his personal space, bringing your face closer to his, eyes glancing down to his lips.

“Oh yeah? Can I sign up for your payment plan?”, you mumble, trying to express your need with your movements.

He almost shoots backwards before catching himself, composing his nerves and moving his eyes to your own lips. “I dunno, ya could be payin’ it back yer whole life. Might still not be off the hook after that.”

“Mmm, I better get started then”, you whisper, leaning in to close the gap between the two of you.

He tastes sweeter than you ever imagined, lips slowly molding to your own as you feel goosebumps beginning to form. One of his hands wraps around you, tentatively holding you closer to him, not letting you go, never letting you go.

You lean back after a beat to get some much needed air in your lungs. He shakily breathes out, eyes closed like he still can’t believe what just happened.

You smirk at him as you reach a hand up to his cheek, thumb running gently back and forth.

“Will this destroy my credit, golden boy?”

He opens his eyes, gaze much more intense now as he looks toward you, something unreadable in his eyes.

“No. But… we might just destroy this bed frame”, he grins wolfishly as he pulls you down.

Huh. What do you know? Asmo was right about something.

[justjams2003]

Fast Pace-11

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic. Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, the word 'daddy', mention of sexual assault, old man being creepy (Fred Vasseur ofc), nudity, tell me if I missed any

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @dark-night-sky-99 @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis @carlossainzwho @lordpercevalcharles @topguncultleader @kitixie @serp3ns0rtiae @hangmandruigandmav @therealone4r @keii134 @dark-night-sky-99 @jax-the-oregonian

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

Part 10~Part 12

There is an extremely fine line between want and need. Those born rich believe everything is a need. Oh no, my 14k turquoise necklace hasn't been polished, but I needed it for my gala. Not a want. Need, is something you cannot live without. Need is something that kills you. That burns you when you don't have it.

You need water, or else you'll dry up and turn to ash. You need food, or else your stomach will eat you until there is nothing left of you. You need air or else your lungs will collapse and you drown in your own gooey flesh.  

To you, it felt quite obvious. You need Carlos and Carlos wants you. You need him, or else you would've been kicked out of your apartment. Left to starve as you roam the streets, dirty and unwanted. To ashamed to ask for help, or even tell those who really should be caring for you about your situation.

He just wants you. In your eyes you were just something to keep him busy. To tickle his fancy. Cure his boredom when he's not working his body and mind to the bone. Aid him when the nights become too long. Or show him a good time when it all become too much. He could live without you.  

But, when you think about it, maybe your need was just a want. A tinkle of laziness that your exhaustion had brought fourth. If you were truly honest with yourself, you would've realised that you don't need him. You could easily find a better job somewhere else now that you'd worked your way up the ladder.

You would've been fine. And is his want maybe a need? You thought he was living the extravagant life. Girls on each arm, spending money left and right just for a few laps around the track. But last night, he has shown you the true crack in his walls.  

You see now. The pressure is tough, like the diamonds used to mine more diamonds. The extreme heat the tires are forced to endure. At the end of each race, they crumble and melt. Ripping apart in splinters of their former design. After each race, they're discarded, no reason to use something that's been under that amount of stress, right?

And yet, after each race, Carlos does it again. Billions of people, depending on him, willing him to fulfill their desires. You are the water that cools the heat of mining equipment. The heat gun that warms the tires. The safe haven that he's been needing.  

You see now that you are so much more to him. You see that you need to be so much more for him. He is in need and you must give more. Or else, he might just break and crumble and tear and there will be nothing left of your dear Carlos.  

"Carlos! Wait before you start." He looks so imposing with his whole race outfit on. His helmet makes him look so much taller. You grab him by that very same helmet and pull him down to your level. You open his visor and place a kiss on his cheek. "Pole position, for me?" Now, now is when he blushes. He doesn't answer you, he doesn't make any promises. 

This is the first time you've ever initiated contact. He's always been the first to kiss your forehead. To pull you closer to him. To hug you when you hurt, to care for you when you yourself don't want to. But you've deciphered his words. You see now that he is a chivalrous man who will not touch you, unless you take the first step. That is why you must train your body, treat it with highest honour. He doesn't want to hurt you.  

But as you watch him race by from the garage, and the clock so dreadfully ticks by, you can feel the adrenaline in your toes. All the way up to your heart, beating so loudly you might just faint. "He's doing it!" You yelp, mostly for yourself. It's not like anyone else would listen. Especially with his extremely possessive behaviour all morning. 

He didn't let you out of his site. If he had meetings, you had to wait outside. If he had media, you'd be in the room next door. Walking from place to place, his hand is on your hip. You remember, Ilsa had sent you a video of him at the media conference. You haven't told anyone about yesterday, it's far too private. For you and for him and for no one else to see or hear about.  

"Carlos, this has been an incredibly difficult year for Ferrari. While Charles is quick to anger, you manage to stay positive, how so?" He thought for a moment, licking his lips, combing his fingers through his hair. "My girlfriend, you know she's new to all this. She doesn't know about my failures. In her eyes I'm a superhero. As long as that doesn't change, I have nothing to complain about."  

The checkered flag is waved, time is up. It takes a moment for your eyes to focus, and even longer to believe it. He did it. Pole position. He actually did it. The whole garage is overcome with shouts of excitement. Everyone is jumping up and down, hugging each other, clapping hands.

You can see some engineers even want to do the same with you. Feeling moved by the pure elated joy. At the same time, you see the memories of his growls and flares flash before their eyes. That's alright. You barely know them after all. You're not for them.  

Still you join them in the barracks. He climbs out of his car, jumping up and down, you can only imagine how heavy his helmet must be. His eyes search the crowd, needing you. He needs to see you celebrate for him, just the same that you celebrate each time he makes it alive out of the car. Before his team gets their hands on him, his hands are on you. Hugging you tight, as if his life depends on it.  

The sharp steel of the barricade digs into your skin, but you don't care. You'd face the worst pain all just for him. It is so strange to believe how a fight can bring you so much closer together. Anything for him.

"You did it! You did it!" They all scream but Carlos can only hear your voice. He throws off his helmet as fast as he can. Carlos ignores his engineers and team principal. Instead he places a kiss on your cheek, the first return of a more intimate physical touch. "All for you, mi princessa."  

The team principal places his hand on your shoulder, while Carlos does his interview. "Christ, what did you do to him?" He has a wide smile on his face and clearly means it only with kindness, but you can't help but think of how tight Carlos held you last night. Every time you would stir he'd squeeze you. In his sleep he would whisper in fear, mumbling about how he just can't lose you.

And you can't help but wonder how much longer he can keep going with this game you're playing? Not just that, how much longer can he keep doing this job. Just for these moments that come only once a year.  

Yes he's smiling now, clearly beaming with joy. Not even an incline of last night's fear in his eyes. But how much longer can the both of you keep going? Waiting for him to crash into the wall. Waiting for the day that you get the call. Waiting for the day that you break and this relationship too ends in a violent crash.

Is it worth the smiles he has now? That fast paced thrill, is it worth the sudden stop? Because you can't keep racing forever and you can't keep this up forever. When is the point that you are more? More than just a money-spender? 

"Nothing," you shrug, know he won't understand your next words. "I just gave him a kiss on the cheek before the qualifying." The principal gives a boisterous laugh and then puts both his hands on your shoulders. "Well damn, next time why don't you sleep with him beforehand." 

He laughs, but you feel a strange churn in your stomach. The uncomfortable dissociation that every woman has felt. You feel like a toy, a ticket to his success. Like a piece of the card that they'll discard when it stops working. You feel much more  like an object than your very own Sugar Daddy ever made you feel.  

But his scent overcomes you before you can even open your mouth. That classic scent of Dior musk and freshly iron shirts. But now, more than ever, he's got this overwhelmingly masculine scent about him. The sweat from a hot race and the smell of the burnt rubber is all around you.

He's right in front of you. Carlos takes his team principal's hand and rips it off your shoulders. "Don't fucking touch her." Now that his helmet is off, his gaze is so much stronger. Anger, fueled by that similar to the Ferrari car he'd just been racing with. 

He turns around to continue with his duties but quickly stops in his tracks. "Actually, don't ever come fucking near her again." His hands, no longer gloved, reach under your arms and pull you over the barracked. You can't see anything, there are millions of flashes going off. Cameras, everywhere. Perfect, this will be the word on everyone's tongue.

Carlos takes your hand in his and practically drags you to his driver's room. "Carlos, you're being dramatic! It wasn't that serious!" He slams the door shut, you can feel the anger radiating from him.  

He turns to you, not a single sign of anger towards you in his eyes. But the fury is still there. "Not that serious? Mi dulce niña, you're crying." What? He moves in your space, his hands on your cheeks. No, no it can't be. You're over it, it's been more than three years you have to be over it. You sigh, admiring the new Prada heels you’re wearing, while wiping the tears from your cheeks.  

Your shoulders lift and then drop again. “It just brought back some bad memories. But he wasn’t doing anything wrong towards me.” His jaw locks and you can see he wants to say so much more. “Bad memories?” His touch is even softer now, his brows furrow together. “Yes Carlos, every girl has been assaulted it doesn’t make me special.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Who? Tell me now.”  

A sigh escapes you and you take his hands in his. “Don’t do this, Carlos.” He shakes his head, “No, you can’t ask that of me.” You dry up all your tears in an instant. “It won’t happen again. With you by my side, I’m sure it won’t. So, let’s not focus on it, yeah? You have plenty to do, I’m sure.” You can see his mind is torn between you and his driver duties. He could get in a lot of trouble if he stays here much longer. At the same time, he cares so much for you.  

“Okay, okay. Let’s do that. But, if this happens again, you’ll tell me, yes?” You nod, bringing his face close to you and kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll be okay.” He smiles, forced but still. “Go, go enjoy yourself. You’ve worked hard for this.” This time, the smile is more real as he is reminded of his new victory.   

I speed down the highway, the Ferrari Spider I had loaned for her goes 120km/h. I can see on the dashboard that the car is all the way in 5th gear. Yes, it’s nothing compared to the 360km/h I’m used to, but for her it’s as fast as she’ll ever go. Her hair is loose and wild in the wind. I’ve got the roof off, but still she hangs out of the window.  

Mi cosa bonita has got on the tiny red dress she had shown me the other day. The way she’s hanging, her dressed has hiked up all the way and is one slip up from having me pull over to the side of the road. The cut outs under her breast has a similar effect too. I keep my hand on her calve, to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.  

She’s put on her playlist, the whole car shakes as the speakers boom. She’s screaming every lyric at the top of her lungs. I don’t know any of them, most of them after all are in French. Not that I mind. Seeing her like this, enjoying herself more than ever, her body looking as delightful as can be, is already enough of a celebration to me.  

But as I pull up to the a nearby alcove, hidden away from the public, her eyes grow big. “Is what I think about to happen, about to happen?” She asks, allowing me to take her hand and lead her all the way down to the beach. There is no light but the moonlight. Stars light the path all the way down to the beach waves.  

Crashing down on each other, in a wild tumble and turn. “Carlos, I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” it’s September and there is a cold wind blowing in the air. Not quite Winter yet, but the first sign of it can be found on her pink cheeks. I take her hand in mine, unable to keep my body from hers for long. “I didn’t either, but isn’t it so lucky that we find ourself here after we’ve eaten. By a private beach, where no one can see us?”  

She hums and then wraps her arms around my neck. Her body is pressed up against mine, cold yes, but our friction together forces a warm heat in my loins. “What a strange coincidence,” her lips find my jawline. Placing kisses across my scruff. A delightful feeling that no other should ever be awarded. “Quel est votre plan pour moi, Monsieur?”  

Por Dios, she has me. She has all of me. Nothing I can give her would ever compare to this feeling. “Babygirl, si sigues hablando así, todos mis planes para ti se desmoronarán. Perderé todo el control de mí mismo.” She giggles and shakes her head. “Now we both have no idea what the other is saying.” I too laugh, “I suppose, but you could talk me in ancient tongues and I’d still understand.”  

She laughs and shakes her head, “Okay Shakespear,” my sweet girl lets go of me and turns around, allowing me to unzip her dress. As the dress falls over her shoulders, like water over glass, it is revealed that there is nothing else on her body, but the dress. My hands graze over shoulder, but lips just barely miss her skin as she walks off into the ocean.  

The scene reminds me of a young maiden being sacrificed to the ocean gods. Her beauty being too much for the earthlings to handle. Believing that such a fairness would cure their fish droughts. Am I her guardian? Sent with to ensure that she reaches the gods safely? Or maybe she is one of the Gods and I am only here to worship her. If that is so, it would be the easiest job I’ve ever done.  

At the same time, everything I could possibly do would ever match up to all that is her. Her laugh, her beauty, her kind nature that never wants and only takes what is given and never more. Nothing can be enough, but I will try until the day I die.

“Are you coming in or are just going to watch and stare?” She calls out, just her neck sticking out of the water as she bobs up and down with the waves. Within seconds, I hit the icy-cold water. A shock to all the nerves, more awake than ever. All exhaustion leaving the body as I’m woken, but still, I see she is not a dream.  

My arms reach her waist. Smooth soft waist, so much more skin than I’ve ever before been allowed to see, to touch. My lips find her collarbone, just barely above the water. I need her, I need her more than air. Her soft giggles as my beard tickles her skin. The water soothing the warm ache in my bone, luckily, she cannot see how much I want her as I kept my boxers on.  

“Carlos, I’m very proud of you.” Her soft delicate fingers intertwine in my now wet hair. Her makeup has been washed off, but she’s still just as beautiful. Her gracious up-do has also been wiped clean by the salty water. I cannot say anything that would truly compare to what those words mean to me. “Mi Amor, you don’t know how much that means to me.”  

She pulls me closer to her. Not a word is spoken between us, as we just hold each other. My head in the crook of her neck and her arms wrapped tightly around my head. My arms wrapped tightly around her waist; our bodies pressed tightly against each other. The waves pull and push us from side to side.  

I love her. I’ve known her five weeks now, but that is more than enough. I’ve watched her from afar from what felt like forever to me and now I have her in my arms forever even, if I have to burn the world down. Because this moment is ours and I’ll cherish this each time the world becomes too much.  

New York Times 

“Carlos Sainz’s million-euro watch stolen in front of his hotel.”  

Us Weekly 

“Y/N Y/S/N seen in Gioia Bini on the Paddock.”  

E! News 

“Y/N, Kika and Alexandra seen buying big in Milan.”  

Page Six 

“Carlos Sainz celebrating his Pole Position with a joy ride along with his girlfriend.”  

Glamour 

“Top Five of Y/N Y/S/N’s outfits so far.”  

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @s-silk

My taglist is open, just ask!

[darubyprincx]

One busy evening at Sanctuary's Tavern, one of the rare ones where Pix was able to visit, Sausage was waiting a bar where some of his fellow emperors sat, all chattering amongst themselves and most listening intently to his tale of how he saved Sanctuary from himself. (Technically, he was right! It was just a couple timelines away, and he still counted it as being him.)

"And then Hermes- well, you already know what Hermes did," he concluded cheerfully, polishing a glass. "He did so well!"

"He really did," Joel agreed with a nod. He'd been wrangled into some casual clothes and a much less conspicuous height of 6'0 for the purposes of this evening, reaching the same height as Pixl as he sat on a bar stool. "Cheers to my boy!"

"Cheers!" repeated the rest of the table, raising their glasses in celebration. Jimmy downed his entire glass of tequila, coughing a little, and pushed it towards Sausage for a refill, who frowned.

"Now, Jimmy," he started, "I'm sorry, but you're not allowed to have any more this evening."

"Aw, come on," protested Jimmy, who was a notable lightweight and had downed 4 glasses of alcohol before this one.

"You know how you get when you've had too much to drink," said Sausage patiently but firmly.

"I do not, actually, thank you very much!" said Jimmy, crossing his arms with his face flushed. Fwhip, who had once gotten into a vicious bar fight with the man after too many glasses of his own, just coughed, earning himself a glare from Jimmy and a slight raising of eyebrows from Pixl, who was looking at something that Joel was showing him on his phone.

"Anyways," said Sausage, "you can have water. Just water. As much water as you want!"

Jimmy sulked and looked like he was about to protest, but after a warning elbow jab from Fwhip he shut his mouth.

"That spell you mention using to get out of the prison Bratwurst put you in sounds pretty interesting," said Pixl now, taking a sip of his own drink. "Must be a pretty powerful one if it can break restrictions that strong."

"Mhm," said Sausage, turning around to get some more ingredients for a drink that another patron had called for. "Very old, very dangerous, but the only one that would work in this situation."

"I guess you're not gonna tell us how to do it, then, will you?" asked Joel lightly.

Sausage shook his head. "Oh, no," he said, quite cheerfully. "You'd get vaporized in at least five planes, seven dimensions, and three timeliness. That's if you just pronounce a word wrong!"

"Oh," said Jimmy. The table was silent for a bit before he spoke up again. "Does the recipe include like, end crystals or something?"

"Nope," said Sausage. "Just some simple stuff like a piece of paper, a compass, some candles..."

"Ooh, candles," said Joel, taking another sip of his drink. "Did you trade them from Gem or something?"

"Nope," said Sausage airily, walking across the bar to hand the glass to the patron. Returning, he explained, "They were just lying about in some random universe when I found them and used them for the spell. Don't worry, I only took like, sixteen. That was all I needed."

"Weirdly specific, but okay," said Fwhip with a shrug. "Pix, you good over there?"

Sausage turned around to see Pixl looking slightly scandalized at his description of his actions. He shook his head with a silent sigh, waving it off with one hand. "Yeah, yeah, no. I'm sure it was for a good cause."

"Saving the entire world!" interjected Sausage brightly.

"Exactly," said Pixl, not sounding like he was done. Fwhip hid a grin behind one hand. "However,"

"Shot yourself in the foot, mate," said Jimmy.

"-however," repeated Pixl, shooting him a look, "as the local archaeologist, I cannot endorse those kinds of actions." He took a sip of his drink as Sausage stood there slightly awkwardly, looking to one side for anyone who might need anything as an easy way out. "But that's just me being an arse about it." He shrugged. "There was nobody there to ask anyways."

In Sausage's head ever since he'd merged himself with the other timelines' versions of him, he occasionally got vague senses or flashes of feelings in the back of his mind from those other versions, who were vaguely picking up on what he was experiencing. Sometime these were some instructions for a spell, or his hands being taken over for a brief moment to perform an action that had been muscle memory for him in another timeline (or so he assumed), but at their simplest they were flashes of memories or emotions as this one was.

Somewhere, it seemed, Bratwurst himself had perked up at the mention of his name, recognized Pixl's voice, and had frantically started sending the mental equivalent of "cut it out" hand motions to Sausage... but why?

"Be right back," said Sausage, hopping over the counter with a grin. "Duty calls." The groans that followed him as he found his way to the bathroom and locked the door behind him told him that he'd distracted his guests, at least for the moment, and he sat down on the toilet seat with a sigh, placing his head in his hands. What is it? he asked into the void.

An image of a sandstone pillar in the vague shape of a candle with a conduit floating above appeared in his mind's eye, and he nodded in recognition. That's the Vigil, he said. I know it. But what's the problem?

You took candles from the Vigil? asked Bratwurst with a tone that Sausage had not heard from him before. And not from the candle shop nearby?

I had to be quick, protested Sausage. They were right there and I didn't even know where the shop was!

A general grumbling filled his mind, and he hurriedly shushed them. Guys, he said desperately. I only took the ones that I needed.

Dios mío, someone sighed.

I need to get back there! Sausage said. Please just tell me what the big deal is!

You, said Bratwurst slowly and with utter seriousness, do not mess with the Vigil. A shiver ran down Sausage's spine, but he stubbornly pushed it off. It'll be fine, he reassured. He doesn't remember.

The copper king remembers everything, said Bratwurst, and an image of a man who looked startlingly like Pixl but wearing a sand-covered cloak embossed with copper-colored threads and with a fiercer sort of aura about him popped into his brain. Sausage knew somehow- he didn't dare press- that this Pixl had killed Bratwurst, and in cold blood as well, and he shivered, but again pushed the sensation aside and kept firm. Different timeline, he said. I'll be fine.

You're taking too long, another voice warned, and with a silent sigh Sausage removed his face from his hands, shook his head to get himself back to reality, and walked back to the bar.

"Welcome back," said Joel as Sausage reentered the counter area, using the proper gate this time. "Congratulations on not falling in."

Sausage just chuckled as Fwhip punched Joel on the shoulder. "I try my best," he said.

Pix caught his eye and gestured him over, and suddenly Sausage's chest felt uncomfortably tight with anxiety. Stop it, he ordered. I know this guy. We're fine.

"I just wanted to say sorry about earlier," said Pixl in a low voice that the others couldn't hear. "I didn't mean to upset you. I know you were completely justified by doing that, it's just a bit of a close subject for me." He sighed. "Still, that was entirely unprovoked. Eddie got me a glass of water after I asked."

Sausage relaxed, though adrenaline was still racing through his blood at the serious, intent stare he was getting. "You're okay," he lied. "You didn't upset me at all. It was just bad timing, that's it."

Pix looked at him for a little longer. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Sausage froze. "Well," he started before getting hit with a jolt of sheer fear so strong that he ran to backtrack instantly. "No, actually. Thank you, though!" He stood up and turned back to the bar shelves, pulse racing. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. He'd responded too fast. He'd stood up too fast. Pixl could absolutely tell, and so could everyone else. He was going to kill-

With an effort, Sausage slammed a wall down between him and the rest of his brain so hard that his head throbbed a little with the force of it.

"Is there anyone here who can maybe carry Jimmy out of here?" asked Fwhip, tilting his head toward the man in question, who had his head resting on his folded arms.

"Me and Joel and Eddie can handle it just fine," Sausage said confidently. "Jimmy's not very heavy."

"I could probably lift him myself," declared Joel.

"Oh, dear," said Sausage, determinedly not looking anywhere near Pixl and watching a relatively large group of very rowdy youths walk in instead. "Un momento, por favor."

Thankfully, it didn't take him and Eddie too long to redirect them out into the street and to a local inn, which, given the state that the group was in, Sausage was sure that money wouldn't be a problem for them. He dusted his hands off as Eddie walked back inside into the loud laughter and light of the tavern, turned around, and startled as Pixl was leaning right next to one of the doors, arms crossed. Sausage was glad he couldn't see his expression.

"Hi," he said, unable to keep the nervousness out of his voice. "Is this about-"

"The candles, yes," said Pixl, not sounding at all tipsy or drunk, which was a good thing, Sausage guessed. "Could you please tell me where exactly you got them?"

Sausage swallowed nervously. "Exactly, or...?"

"Exactly," repeated Pixl.

Shit.

Sausage looked him over quickly. No weapons were allowed at the tavern, and he didn't see anything lying nearby, but Pix was incredibly resourceful when it came to PvE, and he did not doubt for a second that he'd be just as good when fighting another person. An image popped into his mind then of that other Pix in a strange arena surrounded by wither roses, moving fluidly around the obstacles despite being blinded, and taking terrifyingly accurate swings at the enemies coming towards him-

Pix sighed. "I won't press it," he said, standing up and walking back towards the door. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on, but I didn't mean to ruin your evening." He paused at the door as Sausage inhaled.

"How," he asked, "did you know about the candles?"

Pix understood the question despite its vagueness. "Something I've been researching for years," he said, voice dropping. "An ancient kingdom called Pixandria. They- a large part of their holy rituals included candles. Sausage."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. SHIT.

"Sausage," Pix repeated again, sounding more concerned this time.

"Okay, I took them," said Sausage quickly, stepping backwards. "But only sixteen. I didn't know about the candle shop or the bee farm or anything, I was going for speed. If I had known-" He paused, trying to slow down a little. "I'm sorry," he finished, breathlessly. "Please don't do anything. It was a mistake. I didn't mean anything by it."

In the moonlight, he could see Pix still standing there by the door, hesitating. It opened and Pix stepped backwards, the light casting his face in a golden glow, and Sausage stepped backwards to make way for the people who were leaving.

"You did what?" asked Pixl in disbelief, and Sausage felt his whole body tense up in preparation of a fight, to run, anything. He fucked up. He was absolutely about to die and it was his fault. He stepped backwards as Pixl stepped forwards, then quicker as Pix broke into a half jog to reach him-

"Hey," said Pix as he grabbed Sausage's shoulders with iron strength. "Sausage. Look at me. Look at me."

Sausage took a deep breath and looked up, fully expecting Pixl's face to be a mask of perfect fury, his eyes glinting behind those rectangular glasses, but instead, Pix just looked slightly confused and... worried?

"I was just going to ask if you wanted to take a break," he said, and in his voice Sausage heard a desperation that he had never heard from him before. No, he had. In another life, he had. The voice of a man who had unknowingly caused the unleashing of an ancient evil and exiled himself shortly after, and once after that again for good. The voice of someone that Bratwurst had once celebrated when he learned that he was gone.

The voice of a friend.

"I didn't mean to overwhelm you," said Pixl, more gently now, stepping back and looking uncharacteristically anxious. "I was just caught off guard. I'm sorry. This whole evening- I've ruined it, haven't I?"

No, Sausage wanted to say, it's me, you've done nothing, but his tongue stayed dumb in his mouth as Pixl continued.

"I can go tell Eddie that you've turned in early because you got overwhelmed," he said. "I'll tell the same to everyone else. I just-" He paused, and even in the dim moonlight Sausage could tell by the shadows cast on his face that he was fighting to explain something that he just couldn't put into words. Sausage stepped forwards tentatively, and Pix glanced back up.

"I think," Sausage said, voice growing stronger as he continued, "that we're both dealing with stuff that's too complicated to be explained while standing outside on a dark street. I got spooked, but," he sighed, "please- just don't take all of the blame on yourself, okay?" He paused. "People mess up sometimes. Doesn't mean you have to forgive me. I'm just saying that you're okay."

Pixl nodded. "I wasn't even mad," he said. "Just startled. I think- I think that maybe a wire got crossed somewhere."

In Sausage's head, Bratwurst snorted. That's definitely one way to put it.

Sausage ignored him, holding out a hand. "So... we're good?"

Pix nodded, taking his hand, but instead of shaking it, he let go to give Sausage a hug, his forehead pressing on top of his shoulder. Sausage fumbled a little before returning it, his racing mind stopped mid-thought in surprise. In the back of his mind, he heard someone chuckle. I told you he'd forgive you, they said.

Mmmm, responded Bratwurst.

Pix gently backed out of the hug, exhaling. "Yeah," he said, voice sounding much lighter now. "I'd say we're good."

Sausage nodded awkwardly. "So, are you going back in or..?"

"Are you?" asked Pix.

Sausage paused before nodding again.

"Alright," said Pixl, stepping backwards a pace and waiting for Sausage to follow him before turning around and heading back towards the tavern's large double doors. "I know you insisted that we would all get free drinks this evening, but I'm paying for mine-"

"Pix, please," said Sausage. "You really don't have to-"

"-but I'm paying for mine and that's final," Pix interrupted firmly. "If you won't accept it then I'm either handing it to Eddie or breaking into your house when you're out doing something and putting it into wherever you keep your money."

He looked back at Sausage, who understood that he either had to hand over the money or tell Pixl where his safe was, and it wasn't that he didn't trust Pix inside his house, but he didn't want any more trouble over this. "Okay."

"Thought so," said Pixl with a nod, opening the door and holding it for him.

"However," Sausage said as soon as the door closed shut behind the two of them, loudly in order to be heard over the resounding din, "you get a 50% discount and this is also non-negotiable."

Pixl's face fell a little and Sausage had to laugh. "Non-negotiable!" he crowed as he slipped behind the counter again. "I'm holding you to this, Pix!"

"Did you lose a bet?" asked Fwhip.

"You could say," answered Pix delicately. Joel looked at him questionably, but was silenced by Fwhip shaking his head.

"So," Fwhip said cheerfully and oddly smugly, effortlessly changing the subject. "Centaurs have six legs and are therefore insects. Discuss."

"Oh, you little," said Joel with a growl as everyone within a two meter radius immediately started shouting at Fwhip.

[radiant-reid]

hi luv can you please do a blurd of reader being morgan's sister and find out about her and spencers relationship and he has a simiular reaction to ross f.r.i.e.n.d.s also love your writing litteraly makes me so happy

omg it's been so long since i've seen friends

"Alright, what do you think, baby girl?" Derek asks, showing Penelope the new living room of his renovated townhouse. It's gorgeous inside, refurbished to peak, antique condition.

"This is amazing." She agrees, looking around the polished wooden floors in the living room. "You've done such a good job."

He grins, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. "Thanks."

"Don't you think it's weird you can see into your sister's windows from here?" She asks, remembering your townhouse is across the street. Also a townhouse he renovated, especially for you. "See her bringing boys home?"

He scoffs. "Please. Y/n's not bringing boys home."

"You bring girls home." She reminds him.

"She's my little sister. She can't do that." He complains.

Penelope rolls her eyes at him, walking closer to the window. "Uh, your little sister has a boy in there right now." She tells him.

Derek's never walked faster than he does to the window, looking into the windows of your living room... where you're involved in a heated make-out session with Spencer.

"What?!" He yells. "Get off my sister!"

He sprints across the road, not looking for traffic, and Penelope follows, ready to calm him down. All you know is one moment, you're kissing Spencer, ready to take your shirt off, and the next, someone's banging on your front door like a madman and looking in the beautiful bay window. That someone is your overprotective big brother.

"Spencer Reid, Y/n Morgan, open this door right now!" He hollers, getting concerned looks from passersby.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." Spencer says, climbing off you and running a hand through his hair.

You get off the couch as well, looking at him with a grimace. "Uh-oh."

"Alright, bye, I love you." He says, giving you a kiss before backing away. "I'll call you once I get to Mexico or somewhere far, far away from here."

He looks terrified, and although you feel it too, you know enough is enough. You have to be with Spencer publicly, and you grab his arm. "No, you're not going to Mexico. I can handle Derek."

Derek's still banging on your door like he's possessed.

"You might be able to, but I cannot," Spencer tells you. "He's strong and he knows how to get away with murder."

"He's not going to kill you." You assure him. "Come on." You manage to drag him towards the door. Casually, you open it, smiling at your brother and Penelope. "Hey, D, what's up?"

Derek storms inside, pointing a finger at Spencer. "What the hell are you doing!?" He demands to know angrily.

"Hanging out." Your boyfriend replies, hiding behind you.

"Making out with my sister is what you're doing," Derek answers his own question. "My sister and my best friend."

You reach out to hold his hand while holding Spencer's. "Brace yourself." You warn him. "But I'm in love with him."

Spencer shouldn't be smiling, considering the situation, but he is. "And I love her. Derek, we're not messing around here." He assures your older brother. "Y/n's the one for me."

You squeeze his hand at the confession. "Please let me be happy, D."

Derek knows you're both adults, and the smiles you've both had on your faces over the past few months are unparalleled. "Okay." He agrees. "Wow, my sister and my best friend." He brings you both in for hugs, easing the tension. "Wait, why aren't you more excited about this, baby girl?" He asks Penelope, who's not shocked at all. For someone who lives off gossip, that's not possible.

You bite your lip, not wanting to admit to your other secrets. "She knew."

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐦

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 — teacher!jeff skinner x teacher!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 2.4k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — their students decide to play matchmaker before a school dance; will their scheming pay off?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — written to fill a short n sweet request last year for my patreon fic-mas <3 and if you catch the lil nod to two of our favs, you're a real one

“I know we’ve been having a hard time concentrating this week, which is understandable with all the excitement surrounding the Snowball Dance, but you do have one more day of work before you can totally kick back and check out,” Jeff Skinner, a high school social studies teacher, says after the tardy bell chimes.

The students are settling into their seats but listen intently.

He continues, “That being said, I will still be collecting your annotations for chapters eighteen through twenty that we started during Monday’s class. While I’m doing that, a sign-up sheet for the Unit 5 case study presentations will be floating around the room. If I were you, I’d grab the earliest slot available to get it over with and be done for the semester. But, hey, that’s just me!”

His twelfth-grade AP Government class meets this with a chorus of groans. A subset of students lightheartedly boo him from the back row. Oddly, though, the ruckus pleases him.

Mr. Skinner strives to create a classroom environment where the teens feel comfortable sharing their honest feelings and have the space to do so if they choose. Their vocal push-back signifies their trust in him. He also appreciates their mutinous spirit because it arose after their deep dive into the Declaration of Independence and its twenty-seven grievances; they were combative but in the name of freedom for the cohort and the individual. Jeff saw that as a Teacher Win.

“I know, I know. I’m a tyrant, and you hate me. But unlike this country, this classroom is a monarchy, not a democracy,” he returns the teasing. “And if you looked at our agenda when you walked in this morning, you would’ve seen that—because I am obviously the nicest person ever—I have allocated today’s class period to independent work time. So, you can complete whatever you may need. That means putting any final touches on this week’s chapters, polishing up your Supreme Court case PowerPoints with your partner or group, or finishing any outstanding assignments.

And if you recall, I give full credit for late work, so long as it's on my desk before the cut-off tomorrow at noon. You’re welcome." Sarcasm is his favorite—and most effective—bonding strategy. "If you're squared away, you know where the board games and art supplies are. Just no more explicit drawings. I don’t care, but Mrs. Benson next door does.”

The class laughs, fondly recalling the fiasco the day before Homecoming.

A couple of students decided to use their free time to create a few political illustrations. While they were historically accurate and objectively hilarious, they were not “school appropriate,” according to the 9th-grade Geography teacher who glimpsed the comic strips as she passed the open door.

She demanded Jeff punish the perpetrators for their vulgarity, but instead, he had the drawings laminated and bound into a resource book. Said book has since found a home on a bookshelf, wedged comfortably between Howard Zinn’s A Power Governments Cannot Suppress and The Words We Live By: Your Annotated Guide to the Constitution by Linda Monk.

In his peripheral vision, Jeff sees a student waiting by the door and invites them in. He segues, “Before I leave you to your own devices, it looks like we have a visitor from ASB. So, please be nice, give them your full attention, and don’t embarrass me. Capiche?”

The class agrees to comply, and the boy, an underclassman if he had to guess, hesitantly walks to the front of the room.

Jeff remembers how intimidating seniors felt when he was that age, so he gives his students a pointed warning over the kid’s shoulder. A few of them perk up, noticeably straightening in their seats.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m Leo, and I will be filling in for Gabby today.” He looks down at the printout of the day’s announcements and clears his throat. Then, Leo begins reading them aloud:

“Feeling stressed this finals season? Stop by the quad next week during both A and B lunch blocks to decompress with some therapy dogs. If you need further or individualized support, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson will be opening up their schedules for one-on-one sessions. Appointments can be made using the yellow slips in the main office.

Work permits are available in the career counseling hub. If you plan on getting a job or need to renew, please submit an application as soon as possible. No permits will be issued during Winter Break.

Remember that your final exam period is not the same as your regular meeting time or day, so be sure to check your portals this weekend for the updated schedule.

Still need a ticket for the Snowball Dance tomorrow night? Please stop by the ASB room or contact Owen Power, the senior class president, before sixth period today. They’re $15 with an ASB card and $20 without one. Trust me; you don’t want to miss out!"

The audience of seniors cheers, hooting and hollering out their delight. The underclassman beams, confidence swelling, and tucks the script away. His smile grows. “And now…drum roll, please!”

As the students bang their desks with open palms, textbooks, and stray pencils, the ASB student angles a pair of jazz hands towards the open door.

“Santa Claus!”

Peyton, the current school mascot—in an ill-fitting costume that's certainly older than he is—materializes in the empty space. He hauls a lumpy velvet bag over his shoulder as he saunters across the room. The tiny gold bells affixed to the sack twinkle with every step.

“Ho, ho, ho! Candy Cane Gram delivery!” Peyton bellows.

His impression is unexpectedly convincing, in Jeff's humble opinion.

“Santa” roots around in the bag and pulls the first set out. They’re paper-clipped together, indicating both were for the same person. “Taylor Zimmerman? Two for you!”

He passes the slips of paper back to the student who raised her hand.

The distribution of festive notes, an annual fundraiser put on by the junior and senior class councils to bankroll the dance itself, fades into background noise as Mr. Skinner begins looking over the pile of essays he collected last period from his squirrelly 10th-grade World History class.

The prompt had been to explore the impact of globalization in the post-Cold War era, and they’re off to a great start. The first essay's author touches on “transnational actors” and their impact on overall global wealth—in the introductory paragraph. Pride blooms in his chest. Maybe someone had been paying attention after all.

Jeff gets through three and a half papers—all 95% and above, but who’s counting?—before he feels someone standing over him.

“Uh, Mr. Skinner?” Peyton whispers in his civilian voice.

“Yes?” Jeff replies.

To mark his spot, Mr. Skinner sets his pen below a particularly eloquent paragraph highlighting how American consumer culture polluted local ecosystems abroad.

The sophomore nervously looks around the room. After deciding his peers were too engrossed in the social politics of sending and receiving Candy Cane Grams and Ice Court nomination speculation to hear, Peyton pulls a slip of paper out from inside the thick, red coat and sets it on Jeff’s desk. It’s crumpled, and the miniature candy cane is barely hanging on.

“This last one’s for you.”

“Oh, thank you very much,” Jeff smiles. The polite expression is meant to relieve the student from his classroom, but Peyton remains glued to his spot. Gently, he asks, “Is there something else I can do for you, Mr. Krebs?”

“Aren’t you going to see who sent it?” the boy asks, all toothy grin and twinkling eyes.

Well, that’s not at all suspicious, Mr. Skinner thinks as he slides the slip closer.

He scans the generic template, reading his name and room number scrawled beside washed-out festive clipart, but doesn’t understand the fuss... until his eyes drift down to the section for an optional message.

Mr. Skinner,

Just like a snowflake, you’re one of a kind. Be my date to the dance tomorrow night? It would make me SNOW happy!

Jeff almost believes it’s from you. Had he not been familiar with your handwriting, it would have been an excellent forgery. But, he knew your penmanship. Maybe a little too well.

His anchor charts were all in your hand; he could see at least three from where he was sitting. Jeff can’t recall the last time he attempted one on his own.

In exchange for mercifully sparing him from teenage ridicule due to his poor penmanship, he handled the construction and refurbishment of the props and sets necessary for the Winter Showcase and spring musical every year. Whatever you, the brilliant and beloved drama teacher, dreamed up, Jeff dutifully built.

Including, but not limited to, an impressive Audrey II, the iconic Venus flytrap from “Little Shop of Horrors,” a life-size bubble for their Glinda to float around in during performances of “Wicked,”  and the massive tire that anchors the dilapidated junkyard set for “Cats.”

He was ambivalent about musical theater when he bartered the informal contractor role, but Jeff grew to love it after a few years. Due in large part to your infectious passion.

He gives the mastermind—or masterminds, props for trying, though.

“Oh, wow!” Jeff exclaims, deciding to play along. Peyton's face brightens; there’s no way he’s not involved. “Out of respect, let’s keep this between you and me for now, okay?”

“O-of course, Mr. Skinner,” Peyton sputters, as though he’s shocked Jeff didn’t notice anything amiss or ask any follow-up questions. “That’s why I waited to give it to you. It felt too personal to announce in front of your entire class. Especially after the whole Homecoming thing.”

“Thing” wasn’t what he’d call it, but this kind of dramatic exaggeration was one of the many reasons he loved working with teenagers.

During a pep rally in October, the student body president crowned the two of you the faculty Homecoming King and Queen. Jeff wasn't even aware that was a thing he could win, and neither had you, but you bashfully accepted the titles and accompanying crowns in front of a thousand rowdy high schoolers anyway.

Later that night, you slow-danced to Ed Sheeran’s “Perfect” under a sky of twinkling stars—clear fairy lights repurposed from the previous year’s "Camelot" canopy—black glitter tulle, and a plywood crescent moon.

The students lost their minds then and were yet to get over it. Obviously.

“I appreciate that,” Jeff says, biting back his amusement.

Peyton salutes him and hoists the sack over his shoulder again. He and Leo say their goodbyes and move on to the next classroom on their route.

The remainder of the school day was agonizingly hectic. So much so that it meddled with his plan to swing by the auditorium where you held classes.

His projector kicked the bucket in the middle of his lecture on the two-way exchanges collectively known as the Columbian Exchange; Jeff couldn’t get it back into commission until his prep period, so he would have to explain how the triangular trade route emerged from colonial mercantilism policies in the new year. His 9th-grade World Geography class refused to participate in the activity he organized to mimic the Arctic landscape and harsh climate, so, somewhat reluctantly, he cut his losses and threw on an episode of Where On Earth Is Carmen Sandiego? And right before his sixth period, some bored senior pulled the fire alarm, forcing the entire school to spend the glacial afternoon lined up in the parking lot.

All that said, it was safe to say Mr. Skinner had never been happier to see his driveway and his dog than he was this evening. The border collie shepherd mix, Chips—affectionately named as a tribute to the trained sentry dog who became the most decorated canine in the Second World War—is waiting on the porch. Joyously, he howls when Jeff gets out of his car.

“Hey, buddy,” he says as he reaches down to scratch between the pup’s ears. Chips jumps up, his muddy paws landing on Jeff’s coat. He begins licking his owner’s cheeks with reckless abandon. “Okay, come on, crazy dog. Let’s get you back inside.”

Immediately after Jeff opens the front door, Chips darts down the hallway. He chuckles, shaking his head as he sheds his coat and tosses his keys into the bowl by the door.

Jeff rescued his dog as he was wrapping up his undergraduate degree at NC State, and the two were as thick as thieves up until a few years ago.

That’s not to say anything happened or there’s bad blood; Chips simply found a new favorite person.

Jeff trails after Chips, following the furry tail and the delicious scent wafting from the kitchen. He makes a pit stop at the fridge to grab a beer before turning to address his successor to the rescue's heart, standing at the stove stirring a giant pot of soup.  

“You won’t believe what happened in my second period today, babe. Every day, I’m surprised by how bold teenagers are. Hell, when I was their age, I was petrified to sharpen a pencil without asking. Their latest scheme wouldn’t have even crossed my mind. Seriously, I don’t think you could guess what shenanigans they got up to if you tried.”

He's met with melodic laughter, a sparkly sound that still makes his heart skip a beat.

“Maybe not, but I don’t need to.”

Jeff’s brows knit together, confused. Then his eyes zero in on the slip of paper identical to the one in his back pocket.

If it were possible, his jaw could sweep the tile floor.

“Guess we aren’t as sly as we think,” you smirk, waving a counterfeit Candy Cane Gram of your own in the air like a white flag.

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[theinnerunderrain]

Their favorite attributes of you

Characters: Kaeya and Diluc.

Warnings: Yandere themes, suggestive content, unhealthy relationships, violence.

+

Your words.

Kaeya never really regarded himself to be a verbose man, despite his reputation for being one. Kaeya enjoyed engaging in conversations with a variety of people, from light-hearted banter to in-depth debates from time to time but it wasn't his favorite pastime. Kaeya, however, prefers to listen to your voice above his own during exchanges between the two of you.

As long as Kaeya can hear your voice and acknowledge what you were expressing, he would do whatever it took to aggravate you, even if it meant employing the crudest insults and taunts. He does not really mind if you spew hateful and vicious things as long as he can hear you speak.

Although ordinary social interaction usually meets his demands, hearing your thoughts while you're under his authority seems to be almost certainly more pleasurable. He is enamoured by how quickly your speech becomes agitated, how a tiny movement raises your voice to a high note, and how a simple nibble makes your heart quiver. Your speech becomes slurred anytime his hands brush a lower portion of your body as even the smallest stroke or trace of his fingertips on your flesh can easily cause you to fall undone.

Then your words begin to sound sickeningly sweet, as if another woman had seized control of your body and coerced you into speaking certain seductive sentiments.

As though a lustful devil has taken possession of you.

But Kaeya doesn't mind. Even whether you screamed in wrath or joy at him, or if you sobbed and begged him to let you go. Kaeya doesn't care how you're feeling as long as he can hear you speak and hear you.

As long as your voice is solely his.

It doesn't matter.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Why don't you continue, it seemed like you were finally getting to the interesting part of the tale. I'm waiting, so do continue."

Your eyes.

The brilliance in your eyes seems to be something Diluc cherishes. Even on the gloomiest of days, the illumination within your eyes is joyous and brilliant, like the beacon at the coast that offers the travelers a glimmer of direction. He enjoyed the way your eyes could catch his reflection in them when they peered at him through your heavy eyelashes, fluttering at him in a youthful manner.

He liked how they would look up at him and beg for things he couldn't quite comprehend, but he knew you were pleading for something.

His mind wandered to the innocent deer whose round, doe eyes he used to constantly glimpse in the forest next to the winery, looking timid and fragile. Which might occasionally—more accurately, on extremely rare occasions—provoke the urge in him to slay the deer and hold it in his possession. However, he simply is unable to carry out that thinking; he simply cannot.

Diluc could see everything in the recesses of your eyes. From his aspirations to his wishes to his ambitions to his objectives to his thoughts to his thoughts to his secrets to even his whole existence, which he wanted you to be a part of forever. He observed life through your eyes, predicted the birth of your children, and imagined how you would appear while carrying the blessing you two had created.

He saw it all.

Diluc was by no means an artist, therefore his ability to portray the glimmer in your eyes was severely constrained. Even if he had attempted to portray the serenity of your eyes, all the painting truly achieves is to take that allure away from you, turning you into a doll inside a work of art. In the painting, they resembled glass orbs since they were polished and dark which wasn't something Diluc wanted to see.

That's the reason he was willing to rearrange his schedule just to spend more time with you; he enjoyed taking walks around gardens and listening to you chat about your days, as well as the way your eyes would brighten at certain points. It makes him forget about all the suffering and pain he's gone through and temporarily frees him from his misdeeds.

Your eyes are indeed beautiful.

He doesn't deserve to look at them.

"I love you."

However, there can be instances when he prefers that you keep your eyes shut, particularly during the still hours before morning when he might softly make meaningful confessions. Confessions that are only audible if you listen carefully, as they have the potential to be hollow as swift as the wind, leaving him to flee whenever you awaken.

He was relieved that he couldn't see your eyes staring at him in dread when he leans in to steal a quick kiss from your sleeping form when your eyes are completely closed.

Your eyes are beautiful.

However, it would be better if they were closed to filter out the bloodied corpse of your lover.

"Don't cry...I'm sorry you had to see this. Don't worry everything will be alright, come here. I'm sorry I had to do this."

[linkemon]

Maid/Butler headcanons 1

Friendly reminder that English is not my first language. You can check my Masterlists both in English and Polish here.

Hiring a good maid or butler for a mansion is not easy. Especially when a loyal and helping hand is needed. Some workers can be really interesting people...

Arataki Itto

✧ Itto usually says more than he does. There are moments when you genuinely want to strangle him for it. Guests are almost at the door and he's not in the lobby to greet them yet? Standard...

✧ Often brags about being able to do things that he actually cannot do or that other employees have to correct after him. However, this does not change the fact that he has a heart of gold. You've already gotten into trouble once because when one of the guests spread bad rumors about you, he didn't fail to point it out (he almost beat him up but we're not talking about that...). Demands were made to fire him but you knew he meant well and you didn't.

✧ If someone needs to get rid of bugs, he's the perfect guy. Apparently, he collects them and arranges fights between them with bets among the other employees. You don't care much as long as the bugs are out of sight.

✧ He is perfect for escorts. You are definitely not in danger with him. Even its appearance deters pickpockets or bandits when you walk outside the residence.

✧ Need to chop wood? No problem. He doesn't mind that it's outside of his responsibilities. Sometimes you can see quite nice views from the window...

Clorinde

✧ She is a woman who knows and values etiquette and honor. She is extremely loyal to you. You can be sure that once you hire her, no amount of money will bribe her to leave her position. Your opponents have no chances because no gossip will leave the mansion.

✧ Clorinde carries a weapon close to her and no one can stop her, although many criticize that it is not fitting. She puts it nearby when she works so as not to scare others. However, it must be a place where she can reach it quickly. Sometimes you feel like she's more your guardian than your maid.

✧ She once defended you during an assault while you were riding in a carriage. You always thought she only carried a sword. To your surprise, it turned out that she also has firearms, and she definitely knows how to use them. You owe her your life.

✧ Past attacks are no excuse for lack of good manners. Your collar better be in perfect condition, or she'll come to check it out...

Layla

✧ Overslept on her shift again? Standard. It got to the point where the other maids let Layla know to come in earlier than she really should, otherwise she's never on time. Of course you figured it out anyway but everyone pretends everything is fine.

✧ The girl is really trying. Which results in some very odd moments of brilliant flashes that keep her working at the mansion. Sometimes you feel like there are two Laylas inside. One of them sleeps while the other invents a star-inspired ball that has become the best of the season. For a long time, guests reminisced about the twinkling drapes, the constellation-shaped cakes, and seeing the constellations together through the telescopes she made herself.

✧ She has no trouble falling asleep but you can be sure that she will solve all your sleep related worries. Warm milk, a comfortable pillow or a story about her favorite stars. She'll fall asleep faster than you but I'm sure she'll be able to help you.

✧ She is educated enough to help you with the paperwork for managing the residence. She's doing really well at that field.

Kamisato Ayaka

✧ The girl is an example of complex help in the mansion. Or at least that's what many who don't know her inner dilemmas think. Ayaka tries to be perfect which pays with great fatigue. She often has the impression that everyone is looking at her hands and waiting for a slip, which she does not intend to allow.

✧ For a while she refused to be friends with you. It is rare for maids to be so close to their employer. But over time, she got used to the idea and enjoy it. Especially that her perfection makes it difficult to make close acquaintances among co-workers. She is ready to listen to your problems and advise you as much as possible.

✧ Perfectly understands politics in salons and words slipped between the lines.She is able to catch what even you yourself sometimes did not heard. She will advise you on whom to turn to and how you can convince others to your point. Thanks to this, the residence gains many business partners and new clients.

✧ She has many talents. Traditional tea brewing or the art of dancing with fans are just some of them. If things don't go your way and you need to distract your guests from the mishap, she certainly won't disappoint.