#i ascend to another universe every time

[gxlacticlove]

tbh I think that Made In America probably goes the hardest out of all of Starkid's songs and I don't think it gets enough attention

[talaok]

Needy

Pairing: Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Joel needs his fix of you, and he doesn't care if it makes you late.

Warnings: smut| oral sex (f receiving) and coming untouched. Joel is a little more sub in this one and he's obsessed with eating you out.

a/n: guys, i have a confession to make, i do not know what this is, i wrote it tonight and boy i'm so tired that i'm honestly not really sure about what i typed, but i was in the mood and i like this thing of Joel tuesdays im doing so... hope you'll enjoy.

"you look gorgeous, baby"

It didn't take a genius.

The way he wrapped his arms around you, pressing his body to yours, the way he whispered in your ear, the way he didn't break eye contact, looking at you from the mirror as he kissed your neck...

Joel Miller might have been a hard man to understand many times, but not when it was about sex.

"Joel" you stopped him immediately, neglecting the shimmers of pleasure he had ignited inside of you from such a small gesture "We don't have time"

If he heard you, he didn't show it.

His kisses only grew hotter and lower down your neck.

"Baby I'm serious" you breathed, feeling one of his hands travel down your sides "We're gonna be late"

Even with a bad ear, he should have definitely heard that, but his only response was a low groan and an attempt to hike up your dress.

"Baby-"

"just a peek" he murmured, sending a shiver up your spine "Just wanna look at her"

Even if your natural response was to roll your eyes, hearing him so desperate was doing things to you.

"please" he breathed "I'll be quick"

And after a moment of silence, as you considered what he'd just said, you finally huffed out a "fine"

It's just one peek after all, what could go wrong?

He had turned you around and was on his knees before you had time to blink, and your dress was pulled up to your belly before you could take a breath.

You watched him as he held your waist like you were a long-lost treasure he'd just found, and as his eyes trained on your clothed core with so much hunger and lust to turn them completely black.

And then slowly, oh so slowly, his right hand came to help, removing that torturous piece of fabric obstructing his view of (as he referred to it) "the most perfect pussy on the planet" 

"fuck" he groaned, his pupils dilatating so much they were one with his iris.

You let out a small chuckle at his amazement

"There, you saw it, can we go no-" you tried to speak, but were quickly interrupted

"just a kiss" 

He didn't even sound like himself, but like he was in a trance.

"just one" he breathed, leaning closer

You sighed, before agreeing 

"one"

And he didn't even answer you, he just went straight to it, groaning loudly as he kissed you right on your clit.

"Joel..." your hand found his hair, as a shock of pleasure coursed through you.

"just another one" he murmured, not giving you time to protest before his lips were on your core again, this time forcing a whimper out of your mouth.

"baby-"

But another groan of his interrupted your train of thought

"fuck you taste so fucking good" his eyes glanced up at you "I could eat you for every meal"

"Joel we're gonna be la-"

"let me taste you a little better" he growled, "just a bit, ok?"

But again, before you had time to give him a half-hearted excuse, he'd dived in, taking your pussy in his mouth like it was his lifelong duty.

His tongue was now swirling over your bud, your hole, and along your slit, making you forget all about your plans and the people waiting for you at the restaurant.

"shit baby" you moaned "f-fuck"

His hold on your waist got tighter, and soon, you realized his definition of "a bit" was much different from yours, as he didn't look like he had any intention of stopping, and to be honest, you were more than happy about it.

His nose was rubbing against your mound, you could feel his mustache tickling your skin and the way his tongue was tasting and savoring all of you was making you ascend to another universe, one where you didn't fall for Joel Miller's stupid tricks every time for example.

"J-Joel" 

And usually, he was very talkative during sex, for being such a man of a few words he really loved to talk when he was inside of you, but not when his mouth was busy, never, when his mouth was busy.

Eating your pussy for him was like a drug, I’m not kidding, you'd never met any other man who loved giving head like Joel did, most mornings than not you'd wake with him between your legs and go to sleep the same way, and when he didn't get his fix... well, you ended up arriving late at the restaurant.

"oh my god" you moaned, gripping his locks with more strength as his lips closed on your clit, sucking it deliciously "Joel fuck I-"

And that's the other thing, not only was Joel obsessed with going down on you, he was also amazing at it. Sometimes you didn't even last a full minute.

"f-fuck baby I-"

And with one final stroke of his tongue, you were pushed over the edge and left wailing and crying as the orgasm took over your body.

He drank every single drop of your pleasure, not stopping to lick your pussy until you literally pulled him away by his head because you couldn't do it anymore.

"fuck" you exhaled, as your breathing tried to get back to normal.

He fixed your dress for you as he stood back up

"you're perfect" he murmured, a smile from ear to ear plastered on his face before he kissed you, letting you have a taste of yourself "fucking perfect"

You chuckled as you wrapped your arms behind his neck and kissed him again"We don't have time for me to take care of you too baby"

His lips pulled into a more shy smile now "yeah, that's not really necessary anyway"

You frowned, looking at him, before you let your eyes fall to his crotch.

A dark stain covered the front of his jeans.

"oh my god" you huffed out a laugh "go change"

"right away m'am" he nodded, giving you another quick kiss

"and wash your mouth a little bit"

And at that, he smirked 

"not a chance, sweetheart"

Your head tilted as you rolled your eyes at him.

"You, Joel Miller" you cocked an eyebrow as you looked into his hazel eyes"are a gross, gross perv"

A lazy smile pulled at his lips

"Only for you darlin'"

[channelinglament]

Aeon of Unity.....the first aeon....they were there since the beginning they gave life to all and showed every life they created love and protection but when a threat known as honkai arrived they gave there life to seal it away in another world unknowingly becoming the object of its obsession now millions of years later you've returned and your already showing your creations that love and protection they missed oh so dearly but it seems your divine power has weakened so it's only natural your creations offer some hell right

Low on credits not anymore cause Asta, herta and Himeko have generously donated millions to your mailbox

Not enough resin to continue farming calyx for material's don't worry gepard and bronya have already sent the silvermaine guards to farm as many supplies as you need

Simulated universe giving you trouble well guess what now you can pick 2 paths and you get a bonus curio named [Divinity derived from unification] that buffs all characters depending on how devoted they are to you (you one shot gepard twice with Serval)

Even though they've given you all there love and you give it back 100 fold they still hear you speak of other worlds.....what are honkai, what's a archon and why does the broken claymore in herta's collection give himeko an uneasy feeling and make yoy cry the first time you saw it while saying "your sorry"........they may never know that your loved by not just them but beings of elemental and universal divinity.....maybe one day you'll meet all of them you are the great unifier after all

WOWIE

This is a big brain moment here

This is amazing

Also I think I accidentally altered it a bit- while I was writing- I was rereading it and just noticed that, so I am sorry 🙇

You had all three games installed. You played all of them. Everytime you saw a reference to the previous game, you either squealed of happiness, either cried if sadness.

They all saw you as their Aeon. Aeon of Unity. At some point it is true, as they exist ONLY on your device. Only on your account. Nowhere else. Whatever you do with them, will be there permanently. You can kill them, by deleting your game. You have all 3 games. All the universes. You "unite" them all. So, in a way, what they call you is not a lie.

You gave them life when you downloaded the game.

When you first installed Honkai Impact, you didn't expect Honkai to do...all that. Then you payed Genshin. All that amde you feel sad. Considering they all are alive (well...not exactly-) you can't help but feel sympathy towards them.

You gave them your everything, your love and affection. You did truly love them. At some point, you couldn't continue helping them out. No matter what you do, new "bosses" and enemies get in. They get injured, they die, they revive, and the cycle continues. No. That's not what you want. You want them to be free. To be happy..

So you did what you thought was best. You decided to free them from this "nightmare".

You deleted this games

You did regret it, you felt bad, but.. You reassured yourself that it was for the better.

Plus, now that they're.."dead". When you tried downloading again...they were just a bunch of codes. They weren't themselves anymore. They were not aware.

"I'm so sorry"

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

Later, new game came out.

Honkai: star rail

You downloaded it.

They became aware aswell..simialrily to previous game.

The guilt of.."killing" their other counterparts..or their other selves was eating you away. They WERE alive. And you had "unalived" them.

So you promised yourself to not repeat this mistake again. This time, you will talk to them and explain your worries. They could help you, while you help them.

You don't need to worry about them dying anymore, as your healers, Bailu and Natasha have the best healing light cones and artifacts. You don't need to worry about damage aswell.

You don't need to worry about them dying because of a string enemy. You can easily ascend them, because you always have resources now.

If in the past you never talked about this and tried to farm it all by yourself..now

Now, that you talk to them about it.. they help you out with it.

You need credits to ascend something? All donated to you.

You want another character? The crystals are donated aswell, while during the ten pull you get to E6 them. You get their light cones. And 4* are coming in aswell.

You need materials? Silvermane guards are doing it for you, and your characters are doing it aswell!

You make them all strong. You make sure they're able to defend themselves in a fight, while staying at full health.

You've seen video of a person who defeated Kafka without even giving her a single turn? Yeah that's how the fights go without you. While you're here, the game doesn't always let them do that (meme teams are best trust me-)

Oh, the SU is too hard? Dw they got you!

You grace them with your presence, you make them healthy, you make them strong, you CARE about them. You LOVE them

So all they ask of you is your eternal love and attention. Though, you already give it to them.

Sometimes, they hear you crying behind..whatever separates your..worlds

You say sorry, when you look at strange glider. Or a broken claymore. Some feel stable emotions looking at it. (Welt and Himeko)

When Traiblazer hears a strange female noise coming from nowhere saying "Let's explore this area later" you laugh..and cry a bit?

You laugh, and it flutters Trailbazer's heart!

But when you cried? They were confused. Didn't you laugh a moment ago?

Anyways, they're bathing in your attention and affection. They will give you their everything, just ask them!!

Ah, how they wish you came to their world!

Well, it's not a problem anyways..Herta and Aeons found a way to bring you here..

for now, you will see them when you're asleep. For them, you're in SU, but to you..you're just dreaming..right?

They never keep a secret from you, but.. no

This isn't a secret..this is a surprise! You will be happy aren't you oh dear Aeon?

Soon, you will finally be united with them.

Meanwhile the..other worlds..

They are not exactly "dead", since they were never quite "alive" to begin with

They're stuck in some void...

They've seen your attempts to come back to them, and they're grateful for it. They know your reason for..."killing" them

And right now, they're trying to find a way to contact you..you seem to be moving on from them, focusing on other world. Oh nononono...

That's not how it supposed to be..focus on ALL of them..

It seems they need to pay hsr a little visit... hopefully, you will smile at them the way you always used to

[unholyhelbig]

https://www.tumblr.com/unholyhelbig/748001277238181888/ive-reread-the-entirety-of-oversight-again-and

i’ve done this as well. i think u should 😌😏😉☺️🥰

Title: Rose Colored Glasses [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Reader gets word that Natasha is hurt and rushes home to assess the situation.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): injury to nose & foot, slight blood, and shrimp

[a/n: Did someone request more oversight? Because I've got you covered. This is pure fluff, sorry for the lack of angst! It's short, and sweet, and not proof read because I don't have time :( ]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

A quiet house was never a good sign. Growing up in the foster care system teeming with other wards of the state had taught you that. Often, you were three or four to a room. There were bunk beds with sheets slotted against the ceiling or stuffed under the mattress above your own, just for some type of barrier. It was an illusion of privacy, most of the time. Because houses like that were never quiet.

When you’d moved in across from Darcy after your 18th birthday, things weren’t quiet. Above you was a Latin-American couple that would wait until just past midnight to turn on a slow, rhythmic song and dance. Their steps were soft, and calculated. They carved out time for one another every single night between shifts. Just for the two of them. You often let the thumping base lull you to sleep.

The city was just outside your window. In the summer, you could prop it open with a brick and let the sounds of cars become a backdrop. There were sirens, and when the fire hydrant on the corner was loosened, the world welcomed a cold blast of water, sprinkling into the street. That was the opposite of quiet. That made your chest feel light, and warm.

After marrying Natasha Romanoff, you settled into the loudness of her home. Your home. Veronica was constantly running around the twists and turns of the bottom floor, Clint or Kate or Darcy galloping after her with a big smile on their face. They slowed themselves to make sure they didn’t break anything, but they wanted her to win, too.

Yelena often came with the muffled sounds of Russian techno bands coming from the headphones around her neck. It was a staple to find her in the kitchen with her head down, slicing into an apple from the backyard with precision unknown. Natasha would tug the headphones off to get her attention, or to send her into annoyance.

The night that Natasha got hurt was stifled with the sound of rain. It had soaked you to the bone, dripping onto the linoleum floor and then the carpet as you ascended the stairs two at a time. You’d been at the docks later than usual, the storm that had plagued the side of the harbor was relentless and delayed shipments.

The captain of the shipping boat your family had utilized for decades wanted to discuss something over whatever crap coffee you could beat out of the machine in your office. He spoke with a thick southern drawl, his mustache was encrusted with salt and sand. You had shed your coat and tried to warm yourself up by hugging your mug to your chest. Nothing seemed to work.

While you weren’t opposed to giving the man a raise, you were not the final say. Natasha was, and you figured he could use the company more than anything. The captain flicked through books that were on the shelf, taking two or three for his next journey out to sea. It was like clockwork with him, and you indulged his need for quiet companionship each time.

When your phone rang, you never looked at the caller ID. Those who were privileged enough to get your number knew to talk without any of the pleasantries that they were used to. Clint’s voice came through the receiver in a smooth, hushed tone that made you believe he wasn’t supposed to be calling you in the first place.

“Look, y/n, there’s been an… incident.”

“What kind of incident?”

He was meant to escort her to one of the many cocktail parties that Carlos LaMuerto was throwing at his mansion that bordered the same body of water that you resided on now. They were lovely get-togethers that you often attended with your wife. This, however, was the fourth one this month and your stomach was turning at the idea of another cocktail shrimp and lamb pate.

Clint had offered, seeing the desperation in your eyes. And while Natasha was reluctant, she ultimately agreed. No news of a bust had reached you yet, nor had a gun blazing argument. While the Captain licked his dry lips and scanned the books in front of him, you continued in hushed tones.

“Nat’s hurt. It’s not a big deal, you can finish up your business. She’s just being stubborn is all.”

An escaped sigh “I’ll be there.”

No shit, she was being stubborn. Your wife was bull-headed and wouldn’t admit to the smallest defeat. It eased your nerves slightly, and only slightly, that Clint said it wasn’t a big deal. No gunshot to the back, or knife to the throat. It wasn’t good enough, however.

Natasha would be upset that you tracked mud into the house and left your boots sloshing by the door. You were panting by the time you reached the double doors that led to your bedroom. They were, of course, blocked by Clint and Kate. Yelena was leaning lazily against the railing that was parallel. She regarded you with an uninterested stare.

“You did not have to come here.” She said, “We’ve got it handled.”

“She kicked all of you out, didn’t she?”

“What? She certainly did not!”

Yelena’s voice pitched with her lie. Kate’s cheeks turned an off-shade of pink and Clint just rthe hallway, that was a good sign. Still, neither of the two moved to let you into your own room.

“If you’re not going to get out of the way, can you at least tell me what happened?”

There was a muffled reply from behind the door. With the way that the voice flitted, you knew that she was trapped on the bed. Otherwise, she would have leveled you with a glare right here and now. The words were simple “Do it, you die.”

“Oh, come on,” You whispered harshly, turning your attention to Kate instead. She was the easiest to break. “Katie, what is the harm in letting me through? I’m going to catch my death if I stay in these clothes.”

“Catch your death?” Clint scoffed “What are you? A poet from the 1800’s?”

“I’m about to be breaking your fingers if you don’t-“

“You can’t even break wind,”

The two of your voices combined as you kept at it. You didn’t’ miss the wary look that Kate shot Yelena. One way or another, you’d get into your room. You refused to be banished to the couch again, especially in wet clothes. If you had to threaten ruining the rugs with your muddy footprints, so be it.

“Oh, Jesus Christ!” You held up both of your hands, silencing the chaos of the corridor. “Nat, you are my wife, you’re hurt. Whether you like it or not, I’m coming in. Does anyone have any objections?”

Kate went to raise her hand, but Yelena yanked it back down and shook her head no. You tore into Clint with a look that could drop him dead. He relented and stepped away from the door. While you had a moment of peace, you walked into the dark of the room. She’d turned out the lights, save for the half-moon that showed a pale pattern against the carpet.

When you reached for the light switch on the wall, Natasha let out a noise that was similar to a wounded animal. You halted, your actions and made out her form on the bed. She was folded in on herself, her silhouette rigid.

“Baby,” you cooed, closing the distance between you and the bed. She grunted again, this time in pain. She attempted to turn away from you. You lowered yourself onto the sliver of bed, approaching the situation softly. “Can I turn on a light?”

“No, I’m hideous.”

You chuckled softly “I highly doubt that, my love. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Natasha had never liked being vulnerable around you. It had taken a full weekend of you nursing her back to her feet after the incident on the pier for her to let herself cry. You held her for hours, her nose pressed against the small of your neck. She’d gripped onto you, as if you’d leave. But you never would.

Eventually, you saw her shadow nod. Before she could change her mind, you flicked on the lamp on the side table. It didn’t’ have a far reach, but the light was less harsh on the both of you. It was impossible not to notice the blood that had dried against Natasha’s nose, a split right down the middle.

You’d seen her with broken bones before, bruises that wrapped around her midsection. You’d put ace bandage around her ribs after drawing her a bath. This was nothing to be ashamed about. In fact, she often saw them as battle scars that would heal in a pink gash.

Her foot was wrapped up with a bag of peas and one of frozen carrots that Clint, or even Yelena had situated. There was bruising around her ankle, it looked painful and you internally winced at the coloring. She groaned into the small of her elbow.

“I want to die”

“Natty, it’s okay. This is nothing a cozy weekend inside can’t fix.”

She said something that was quiet and muffled by her arm. You didn’t understand her one bit, but she squeezed a single tear from her eye that you wiped away dutifully before it could reach the silk of sheets.

“What was that, baby?” You asked gently.

She threw both of her hands down and glared at the ceiling. Her fingers eventually found yours, squeezing your palm in reflex. Her words came out in a quick breath, “I tripped over a carpet at the stupid dinner party and hit my face on the catering table.”

You were effectively silenced. That was very un-Natasha. But lately, you and Clint had been pestering her about her eyesight, especially at night. It wasn’t something she wanted to hear. In fact, each time you brought up the idea of glasses, she would effectively silence you with a glare, or even a kick to the shin under the kitchen table if you had company.

You bit the inside of your cheek and ran your thumb over her hand. She clutched your hand tighter. Now was certainly not the time to laugh, and while you fought back the initial giggle, you were more concerned about your wife.

“I’m so embarrassed.”

“I bet you got right back up.” You said, pressing your palm against her cheek. “None of those fancy party types would dare question your influence on this city.”

“Shrimp went flying everywhere.” Natasha pouted.

“Everyone was tired of shrimp anyway, even the shrimp.”

She grasped at the collar of your jacket and pulled you closer to her, pressing her lips against your own. They were warm, the warmest thing that you’ve felt since getting caught in the passing storm. You were careful not to lean on her ribs, breathing in the rosewater scent of her.

Natasha pressed her forehead against yours, running a hand up your spine. She grimaced. “You’re all wet.”

“Well now I am,” You smirked against her jawline, leaving a little nip in your wake. “You need to get glasses.”

“Don’t change the subject. You’re getting the sheets all damp, and you smell like fish.”

“I smell like fish?” You giggled, pressing a kiss to the exposed part of her neck. You felt Natasha laugh too, using her hands to cover her face from the blush that was blooming against her cheeks. “We’re talking about me?”

She laughed harder, attempting to shove you off but you let your body go slack against her, not using your arms to hold yourself up anymore. “Yes! Go shower!”

“Mm, but you’re so warm.”

“You’re not going to be warm if I make you sleep on the couch.”

You gasped dramatically, pulling your head off her stomach and meeting her dark green stare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. After the day I’ve had, I refuse to sleep next to my wife when she smells like a marina.”

Even while she said it, her voice was gentle, her fingers working over your scalp to brush the wet hair from your eyes. You pulled yourself up to give her another peck on the lips, careful to avoid the split nose and busted ankle.

“Fine, but only because you need more aspirin.”

She grunted, crossing her arms over her chest. “Can’t believe I let you through my defenses.”

“Uh-huh. Get some rest. I’m going to go talk to your defenses about getting you an appointment with an optometrist.”

You turned to move towards the bathroom, already craving the warmth of a shower and some clean pajamas. Two steps from the doorway and you felt a plush throw pillow hit you directly on the back of the head. Natasha had amazing aim, always had, and always would.

You bent down and picked up the gold upholstered pillow, giving her a faux glare. “You’re not getting this back.”

“Oh, come on, baby.” She stuck out her lower lip “I have to prop up my foot.”

“You should have thought of that before you launched it at my head.”

 [Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[tragedybunny]

Well since you are asking for asks, here's one! How about a Astarion one (shocking I know) where they are on their way to baulders gate to confront Cazador but Astarion is plagued by nightmares that he will lose Tav/reader to his former master and goes to them to ensure they are still there and its angsty with fluff. Please? Thank you!

My usual apologies for my work rate Anon. I hope you enjoy.

What Haunts His Nights - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion is plagued by nightmares on the road to Baldur's Gate.

Astarion didn't really sleep, Elvish meditation was usually enough, unless the vampire ended up injured or exhausted, then he'd fall into healing sleep like the rest of his kind. So how he managed to have nightmares any time he tried to rest seemed like some sort of immense joke of the universe. Which would fit with the rest of his existence. Ever since you'd ended things at Moonrise Towers and your path to the city was clear, the same subject haunted him. 

Cazador. Only this time it wasn't just him who suffered at those accursed hands. It was you, Cazador had somehow learned of your relationship and would use it to make you both suffer. Sometimes he killed you outright, other times he'd kidnap you and torture you until Astarion willingly returned to him. Worst of all were the visions of you made into another spawn, forced to serve the Vampire Lord.

For the most, he tried to hide it, much as he loved you, it wasn't in his nature to trust you with every fear and flaw. But they were getting worse, more haunting, even as his attachment to you grew. The more he loved you, the more afraid he became. Tonight though brought that fear to dizzying new heights, his siblings had found you, here at Wyrm's Crossing, meaning Cazador could find you all as well.  

Instincts had firstly led him to secure their cooperation in the ritual. It hadn't been a lie when he'd said it was to protect you too. Losing you would be the same as losing himself. But now, laying here next to you in the tent you'd been sharing, other thoughts had crept in, the reality crushing down on him, Cazador could take you if he wanted to. This was no home he had to be invited into, there was no protection here. 

Trying to push it from his mind, Astarion let himself fall into meditation, no deep sleep needed tonight. As soon as his mind quieted though, there was Cazador. "A willing substitute, a lamb to the slaughter." You knelt before him, bare from the waist up, the dagger in his hand carving the same Infernal words into your skin that Astarion himself bore. 

Weeping silently, you endure, until the foul work is finished. Then it is as though Cazador finally notices him. "If you would have just come home boy, she wouldn't have to suffer. But look what she does for love of you." 

A scream nearly tears itself from his throat, and the meditation breaks. Rolling on his side, he chokes and gasps, an impressive feat for someone who doesn't need to breathe. Squinching his eyes shut, he finds himself unable to turn and look at the place you were sleeping, knowing it would tear him apart to find you gone. "Just a nightmare, " he whispers, trying to convince himself. Gods, how unfair was this, he'd barely learned how to love, and now he had to worry he could lose it at any moment. 

You had to be there though, safe and undisturbed, he couldn't even fathom anything else. He rolled, dead heart aching, to find you where he'd left you, sweetly asleep in the little nest of blankets the two of you had made. Almost immediately his eyes began to sting and he swallowed a cry. Cazador didn't have you, and when Astarion ascended in his place, he could make sure nothing ever threatened the two of you again.

Arms enfold you as he snuggles tight against your back, calming as he concentrates on the rhythmic sound of your heartbeat, the motion of your chest as you breathe, the warmth of your skin, all the signs you're real and here with him. He must be holding you tighter then he thought because you stir. "Love, you alright," you murmur, half awake. 

There's a bit of guilt in waking you, but hearing your voice is a soothing balm he hadn't realised he needed. "Nothing to worry about my Sweet," he tries but his voice is shaky. 

"Another nightmare?" Now you're alert and he feels terrible. Even worse, he hasn’t been able to hide this all from you. 

"... Yes," he confesses, "Cazador." The name spills from his mouth like a curse. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" Fingers lace with his where they rest over your stomach and squeeze. 

"Not really, I'm sorry." You're so kind to want to listen but he just wants to try to forget. The thoughts of Cazador have left him reeling and he worries he'll anger you by not talking, even if he can't remember a time you were actually angry at him. 

"Don't apologise, I'm here if you need me, but you don't have to tell me anything." Then miraculously, you take his hand, bring it to your lips, kiss it delicately, before cradling it with both of yours. "Love you," you whisper sweetly. 

In a completely undignified moment, he whimpers softly and holds you even tighter, kissing the back of your neck. "Love you too." He can't lose you, and soon he'll be strong enough to make sure that never happens. 

[verstappensrealwife]

A Second Chance - Lando Norris x Reader

angst, fluff

approx. 1300

warnings: fighting, swearing. lots of time cuts :(

lando norris masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

He'd been distant for months, seemingly indifferent to your final year of university. The rollercoaster of emotions, from being ignored to fervent pleas for your company, only to be met with anger when you prioritise your studies, has left you drained. His words, oscillating between confusion and outright rejection, always ended abruptly.

His words pierced the air like daggers, each sentence laden with frustration and desperation. "I don’t understand why you won’t spend time with me?" he'd lament, his voice tinged with a sense of betrayal. And then, in a sudden shift of tone, he'd declare, "No, Y/N, I don’t want to see anyone right now!" The finality in his words left no room for negotiation as he abruptly severed the connection, leaving you alone with the weight of his words echoing in your ears.

You were exhausted. of university stress, incessant arguments, and endless nights. Exhausted of him.

Now in Australia, supporting your boyfriend, you followed quietly, the aftermath of yet another weekend argument hanging in the air. But amidst the turmoil, the racetrack thrived. Fans flooded the grandstands, eager for the excitement about to unfold.

As you stepped into the F1 paddock in Australia, a vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds enveloped you. The air was alive with the hum of engines revving in the distance, the scent of burnt rubber mingling with the faint aroma of fuel. Colourful team banners fluttered in the breeze, each one a testament to the fierce competition that awaited on the track.

Amidst the hustle and bustle, you caught glimpses of mechanics working feverishly on sleek race cars, their metallic surfaces gleaming under the bright Australian sun. Everywhere you looked, there was a sense of purpose and urgency, as teams strategized and drivers prepared for the challenge ahead.

Celebrities and VIP guests mingled with team personnel, their animated conversations punctuated by bursts of laughter and the occasional roar of an engine. The paddock buzzed with energy, a palpable anticipation that hung in the air like static electricity.

In the distance, the grandstands loomed large, a sea of eager faces eagerly awaiting the spectacle that was about to unfold. It was a scene of controlled chaos, where every detail was meticulously orchestrated in pursuit of victory on the track.

After a great race from your boyfriend, him placing P3, you both went back to the hotel to get ready for some after party.“And umm, i was wondering if you were gonna come to my graduation. I checked and it’s not during a race weekend and-”

You were cut short by him hurrying you out the door, “Yeah, baby, ill be there,” He said dismissively and pushing you quickly towards the exit of the hotel.

The anticipation hung heavy in the air, coiling around you like a relentless serpent as you stood on the precipice of your greatest moment yet. Each passing second felt like an eternity, nerves tightening their grip on your every fibre, threatening to unravel your composure.

With each beat of your heart, the tremor of excitement mingled with a hint of apprehension, sending shivers down your spine. This was the culmination of years of hard work, the apex of your academic journey, and the weight of its significance bore down upon you like an invisible burden.

"Y/N Y/L/N!"

With steady steps, you ascended the stage, eyes scanning the crowd, eager to spot familiar faces among the sea of spectators, parents, cousins, aunts, uncles. all there to witness your triumph. Yet, amid the sea of loved ones, an empty seat caught your eye, causing a fleeting pang of disappointment to flicker across your expression. Swiftly, you masked it behind a determined facade as you exchanged pleasantries, accepted accolades, and grasped the coveted parchment wrapped in ribbon before gracefully departing the stage.

Of course, he didn’t show, why would he?

-

And of course a screaming match erupted between you two. 

“It was one fucking ask for you to come and you were what?!”

“S-streaming…” God he knew he fucked up.

“What the actual fuck is wrong with you?” You shouted, “Do you not care about my accomplishments anymore or is it just your own you care about now?”

He sighed, clearly getting agitated, “Fuck- Of course not! But its not like youre there for mine either!”

You scoffed incredulously, was he serious? “Because- Lando- I have a fucking job, I have school!”

“And thats more important than me?”

“When did i say that? ugh do you know what?” You stopped yourself and walked off from the kitchen to his bedroom, taking each piece of what you owned with you. Shoving it all in a bag that was clearly too small to fit it all but in your rage you managed to get it all in.

He panicked, “What - what are you doing..”

“Leaving.”

And he didn’t stop you.

-

-

You were single now, and happy.

He was single now, and not so happy.

God, how he missed you. He took you for granted, treated you wrong, and all he wanted was you back.

Even his own friends were telling him how much he fucked up.

And he knew it.

He especially knew it when he saw you, shyly walking around the silverstone pits with your best friends who were in love with the sport. He didn’t believe it at first, but you were here! Really here!

“Y/N!” He couldn’t control his own mouth, or legs as he ran over to you.

You turned around to see the messy brown hair and neon orange fireproofs. He was a sight for sore eyes. Still beautiful- probably more than before.

“Oh. hi Lan,” You smiled. Lan. He wasn’t completely in the dog house. “How’ve you been, heard you got with Joao’s girlfriend,” You said.

“No!” He exclaimed, “I - I meant no,”, It got quiet after that, he needed to say something- anything! “Because i love you still-”

As he stumbled over his words, the world around them seemed to fade into the background, consumed by the intensity of your encounter. The Silverstone pits buzzed with activity, mechanics tinkering with race cars, the distant roar of engines serving as a constant backdrop to their conversation.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, the vibrant colors of the racing gear and the gleaming metal of the pit equipment painted a vivid tableau around them. The scent of gasoline lingered in the air, mingling with the faint hint of anticipation that hung thickly over the pit lane.

But amidst the chaos of the racing environment, their exchange unfolded like a scene from a romantic drama, the tension palpable in the charged atmosphere. As he poured his heart out, his words echoed against the backdrop of pit crew chatter and the occasional screech of tires on the track.

You stared blankly at him. Your friends were long gone now. And you couldn’t think of anywords than… “Okay.” OKAY? It was not okay! “I- Well- same but we–”

“We can,” He interrupted, “Ok, we can, I’ll prove it. Make it up to you in any way you want, please baby”And as he pleaded for another chance, the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for your response. It was a moment suspended in time, where the lines between love and longing blurred against the backdrop of the racing world, leaving them both teetering on the edge of uncertainty.

“Take me on a date and we’ll see,”

“Yes! Definitely!” He said, about to run off with you when he remembered the race- “Just after this race, I promise!”

“I’ll be waiting,” You bite back a smile at him as he giddily runs off towards his car

el fin 

BLEHHH posting quickly before i leave the house

[sena-shi]

SAGAU but with Scheming Creator!Reader Imposter AU

PT. 2

Lmao, honestly, I dunno what title to put in this one soooo, just let it stay like that I guess?

*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You kept running and running; you travel to wherever destination the wind was blowing you to. In spite of the fact that Venti is the Anemo Archon, it seems as though the wind favors you more than it does him. You are grateful for this, as you are able to consistently enjoy a decent night's sleep without getting stabbed.

You get a considerable amount of pleasure out of playing with them, even though it may be rather exhausting. Although your new body is one that is gradually becoming endowed with divine energy, you are nevertheless able to experience tiredness, but it is manageable.

Your next objective should be the land of contracts, which is home to the Geo Archon, given that the entire city of freedom is actively pursuing you at this point.

You can't help but wonder if Zhongli will make an effort to eliminate you as well.

You are always excited by the prospect of encountering something new.

Even though they had been given orders to execute you on the spot, Venti was the one leading his nation in the pursuit of capturing you alive and bringing you back to their city. Why? Maybe for his own personal gain.

Even though he managed to cut your arm with the razor-sharp edge of the wind that he controls, you have a sneaking suspicion that he isn't actually interested in hurting you.

When you locked your disappointed and betrayed gaze with his, you did notice how he flinched and appeared to be considering whether or not to continue.

However, you were also able to observe the frightening gaze that he cast in your direction the moment he first laid eyes on you. It infuriated him to think that someone would break into the holy grounds while dressed as his creator and even wearing his creator's skin.

Even then, he was still fairly alright in the head and was not yet an idiot who would unhesitatingly pounce on someone just because their master commanded them to do so.

In this world, the existence of gold blood is not anything that can be considered extraordinary. Even though it is extremely uncommon, it can still be seen on a few persons who are believed to have been blessed by the creator.

The substance that emerges from your wounds is not blood but rather star glitters. And as if the world were devoid of gravity, it will not drop on the ground but gradually ascend towards the heavens until it is once more reunited with the stars. It was believed that the creator carries the universe within them, and some people may even speculate that you are the universe itself, and that Teyvat is just one of the many lucky worlds that you have created.

It was also said that the creator once shed a tear, and that tear took the form of a dazzling crystal as it fell to the ground. It was brilliant and untainted, much like you are. Even if it is stunning and would like to see it in person, they will never be able to find it in themselves to bring another tear to the eyes of their maker.

They would never stop listening to you soothe them with your gentle voice, especially the vision holders. And when you had finally descended, the Teyvat itself did not rejoice, despite the fact that the Archons and their people did.

You were humming softly, and the stars in the night sky seemed to glow even more intensely in response to the sound of your voice. The wounds that you have sustained have at long last healed. You honestly made sure that all arrows launched towards you would hit your body, and you didn't dodge anything, not even the sharp cut of wind that Venti would inflict upon you, nor the scorching heat of the fire that grazed your skin. You made sure that every arrow will hit your body.

Whatever it is that your children present you, it goes without saying that you will gladly accept it with open arms. Having said that, you do harbor the hope that when the time comes for you to eventually decide to pay them back, they would likewise accept it with open arms.

“Mm. They move exceptionally slow, don't they?”

As you moved to a position on top of the tree in Windrise that was more comfortable for you, your melodious voice echoed throughout the surroundings. The wind encircled your body as though it were trying to reassure you, that they will come soon, and the rustling of the leaves on the tree generated a soothing swishing sound. You moved your feet around gracefully while the wind played with your long hair and made it dance.

As soon as you heard the sound of footsteps coming towards your location, a sly grin spread across your face.

They discovered you seated on a branch of the tree, gazing down at them with a melancholy expression plastered across your face.

Jean, Diluc, Kaeya, Lisa— and won’t you look at that? The Anemo Archon himself.

You observed as Venti appeared to take a breath in deeply, as though he was appreciating the wind. Indeed, Venti was reminiscing; it seemed like an eternity since the Windrise had experienced a moment of tranquillity. Because this is the location at which he had his initial encounter with the voice of the creator, it is and will always be for him a place of great serenity. But, as is always the case, it does not feel complete; rather, it gives the impression that something is missing.

But today, he seems to have a feeling that his soul is whole. To the point where he feels like his heart is going to explode from its own fullness. But why is that?

You couldn't help but crack a fake smile when you saw Venti in such a relaxed state. It's probably about time that he finds out the truth about who you truly are. The moment is drawing nearer when he will start seeking you.

However, when that moment arrives, you will make it sure that you are unreachable and far away from their grasps filled with desire.

Desire for you, and only you.

“Imposter.”

You did not speak as you quietly observed them.

“Although we have received the order from her grace to kill you on the spot, we will be lenient and hand you over to our divine creator instead,” Jean said, the disdain in her voice was not really new to you, but you did not really know what to make of it.

But they are aware that the reason is not because they want the divine creator to settle their differences with you personally. Something itches well down in the depths of their hearts, but they are unable to identify the feeling that they are experiencing. Is it because your appearance is so similar to their creator? However, considering that you are an imposter, this would make complete sense, but still— they can’t—

Their visions trembled as if they were resonating with the bearer's genuine emotions and attempting to draw closer to you, but none of them saw this.

On the spur of the moment, the wind appeared to be suffocating. The abrupt change in the wind caused Venti's eyes to widen, and the others' facial expressions toward you became increasingly hostile as they frowned.

The wind is going mad with rage, seeking retribution for the fact that it has angered their creator; it wants to suffocate them, it wants to—

"The Divine Creator..." You mumbled.

Then it stopped.

The tension was finally broken by a gentle voice, and the wind quickly returned to its previous state.

“Are you—" You were on the verge of laughing at the amount of garbage you had heard, but you managed to force it all back down.

Your looked down at your hands resting on your lap as you spoke quietly, “Are you replacing me now?”

“Ha! And here we are offering you the opportunity to maybe continue your life under her grace, and you had the nerve to imply that you are going to be replaced?"

"How can we worship you as our creator when you were never our creator? An imposter being delusional, I see."

When they saw the pained smile that formed on your face, their hearts all ached. But none of them paid attention to it. Perhaps they are experiencing these emotions because, ever since their creator descended, her grace has never given them a glance that is so heart-wrenching that they feel as though they will suffocate from the amount of guilt that it causes. Their divine creator, who is seated on the throne, experiences constant joy without any of the slightest bit of suffering, as she ought to in that position.

“I see…” You whispered to yourself as you slowly released a trembling breath.

Is that all there was to it then? When they have reaped all of the benefits that your grace and blessings have to offer, they will simply find someone else to fill your place? Even more so, with a face that look exactly like yours?

You couldn't help but laugh on the inside as you played out your part as a discarded creator, someone who was simply substituted for another.

You are quite interested in performing the final play that you have written, but not just yet. It is still necessary for you to invite the other nations to participate in the game with you all. At this very moment, they are most likely looking for you as well. However, waiting can be extremely taxing, so instead of waiting for anything to happen, why don't you go out and get it for yourself?

You just like seeking death, don’t you? Your actual life was comprised solely of boring and unimpressive things. Nothing will ever make you happy or give you the satisfaction you crave.

"However, I am not attempting to impersonate your Divine Creator. I only wish to be left alone to live my life in peace, can I not stay in this world?" You uttered your words in a soft tone as you kept your gaze fixed onto them with a kind expression.

Your ears suddenly filled with the sound of a low chuckle, but it was not one of amusement or any other emotion. It seemed as if they were making a mockery of you when you said that.

“Not imitating, I see.”

At this point, you are feeling exhausted, and it does not appear like they will allow you to live in peace within the world that you have created.

"If that is what you want, then I will remove myself from your line of sight,”

You spoke as the wind wafted closer to you and your surroundings.

You fixated your gaze on each of them, attempting to make a mental note of the surprised emotions on their faces.

But Venti. Oh, your poor Venti. He must have realized everything by now.

It is possible that you will run into him again sooner than you had originally anticipated since he appears to be normal enough and is not acting like a crazed dog that is barking for the person they call their true divine creator.

"However, I will not allow myself to be handed to your creator.”

The previously pleasant voice that greeted them when they arrived had become ice-cold and emotionless in its tone by the time it was their turn to speak.

“You—!” Jean let out a yell while she stood there with her hand on the hilt of her sword.

“Wait—!” Venti yelled and made an effort to approach you, but even his own wind repelled him and kept him at a distance.

And just like that, you were gone, like a breath of fresh air.

Venti was only successful in grabbing a handful of wind from the location where you had been previously. The feeling of completeness that he had experienced once more before had begun to dissipate completely. At this given moment, the wind in Windrise is behaving exactly the same as it does on any other day.

It is true that there is peacefulness.

But once again, there is something missing.

Venti collapsed to the ground, and he experienced a sudden weakening in his knees. When you spoke to him with a harsh tone in your voice, he was not able to bear it. It seemed as though the absence of you caused him unexplainable anguish in his heart.

It was much like those other times, whenever you give words of comfort to him. It seems as though he is only a few steps away from you but is unable to approach you. However, now that he had the opportunity to touch you, he let his ignorance get the best of him, and as a result, he lost everything.

Truly, it hurts more when you yearn for something that you cannot have anymore.

Far away from the Windrise and away from the city of freedom, you, who stood serenely on top of the Guyun Stone Forest, patiently waited for the new danger that is about to come.

Your beautiful appearance was not diminished in any way by the tattered dress that you were wearing. You almost look like the loving, benevolent, and holy creator that you are. Except for the fact that there was a look of amusement on your face at the same time. Like some divine being that was taking joy in watching their creations rushing up to worship at their feet.

The ground violently shook, and everything that Teyvat has to offer their one and only creator is ready to protect you from any potential threat that may appear anytime soon.

And indeed, he did not fail to live up to your expectations; there behind you stood the Geo Archon himself, scrutinizing every aspect of your being. His glare was aggressive, and it appeared very much as though he wanted to force you into going to the ocean floor with Osial, where his divine creator won't be able to look at such a revolting imposter as you.

You slowly turned your head to look at him with the same tenderness and warmth in your eyes that is currently the reflection of the night skies above you. You appeared to be delighted to see him by the way you stared at him, but then you pretended to be astonished by the way he was glaring at you. You blinked your eyes pretty slowly, giving the impression that you were really hurt and surprised by the way he welcomed your return.

His glare wavered, and he began to relax his stance, as though he were thinking back to the days when his divine creator had not yet descended to their world.  Those moments when you would only communicate with him from above.

Having witnessed his behavior, you almost found yourself amused at how soft Zhongli can get when it comes to you.

Good child, you didn't disappoint me.

One wonders what sort of surprises he would bring.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

;; peh, why beta read when you can just drop a bunch of sentences and post like boom boom bakudan

[hana-no-seiiki]

ok Aeon of light Reader has piqued my interests, especially their relation with Nanook. Please make more about them please :D??? It's alright though if you don't want too

END OF A DREAM, BEGINNING OF AN ERA.

notes: OH GOD i forgot to edit the title of the second story. They’re supposed to be the Aeon of the Dream Path + Imaginary element. My bad! I also changed up the timeline there making reader way way more older since I found out Xianzhou residents live for long ass times.

Anyways, thank you! I honestly expected that fic to flop so I’m pleasantly surprised. I spent a long time researching gods to come up with a concept for reader’s path. Very long. Like long enough that I have this obscure fun fact about there being a god called Mama Killa. It partly was because the other Aeon’s concepts / powers are pretty vast (i.e. IX (Nihility) is the god of meaninglessness but can be considered the aeon of insanity and despair as well due to its powers)

[ here is the link to the fic we’re talking about / previous fic ]

YANDERE! NANOOK x READER (AEON OF DREAMS)

warnings: pseudo-incest/godcest, nanook is “born” from your inner hatred towards the universe before he ascended making them technically your child tho this fic can be interpreted as platonic, edgelord aeons, canon divergence. UNEDITED AND RUSHED AF.

I. Ad Somnum Pueri

Hatred always had and will have a root to its madness. Your endless entrapment since your conception ‘birthed’ Nanook. A loathing for existence. A passion for ending every one and every thing. In their path, their destiny, there will be no living beings, there will be no space or time. Only the void, you and the avatar of entropy.

But first they had to take down Yaoshi. After all, even Aeons had to face mortality and if that useless Lan wasn’t capable of keeping you safe in your cradle then it was clear Nanook had to put a hand down.

The Lord of Destruction prided themself for regarding everything — but you — as equal. Everything had to be erased, so there was no point to having favourites or a specific distaste towards another being.

However Yaoshi had broken the camel’s back at your kidnapping. Thus, Nanook decided against their ‘morals’ to give them a special opportunity.

To be the first Aeon whose reverent ichor is in their hands.

II. In Somno In Infinitum

Even after your ascended body was taken and locked away by Yaoshi. You could never argue with the fact that Nanook’s obsession with you remained the most powerful across the universe. You were an Aeon they worshipped vehemently as a young mortal up until now. It was as if they breathed only for you. It came to the point that they even owed their creation to you or not their biological parents.

You were incredibly flattered by such a fact in the beginning. Doting and showering them with blessings, assisting them in the goals in both the waking and slumbering world.

Sleepwalkers was what your scholars called the vessels you used to do your godly work. And Nanook was known throughout the realms to be your favorite.

But when they made a declaration to be a menace to the world, you withdrew all of your support and contact with Nanook. Utterly disappointed with what they have become.

That did not halt their fame and name as your chosen hero from spreading. Their sheer charisma overpowered your network.

Because if there was one thing that was stronger than dreams it was reality.

Indeed you pleaded with your followers never to follow the Lord of Entropy through their sleeping fantasies, but how could they deny Nanook’s efficiency? Their all-out, unbridled, unfettered adoration of you?

And thus, the Dreamcrawler Legion. Now also known by its other name, the Antimatter Legion, was established. With one goal and one goal alone.

Lay the world in a bed of flames and ruin. For when they everyone else goes to eternal sleep, you — their ever generous, loving Aeon — will be free.

III. Mundus Erit Terminus

You never visited Nanook after their ascension. You only ever loved their mortal self. Their path was something you could never hope or desire to follow. Sure, there was a phase of your life where you despised your eternal sleep. But what you learnt from living so long was that acceptance of your situation felt infinitely better than spending eternity filled with loathing.

But Nanook always visited you. While Yaoshi burdened themselves with the task of witnessing your body while asleep. Nanook enjoyed it much more when you talked, your words of guidance — though now reduced to silence — was what made them fall in love with the you who spoke, who moved, who looked at them with open eyes through dreams.

It didn’t matter if you moved your target of hatred to them. Nanook’s love was unconditional and blind as his desire to seek destruction.

“My lord.” Nanook forced you into an embrace. Within their dreams, even when it was your domain, you felt as powerless as you did with Yaoshi. Their golden ichor bled unto your clothes.

They could see you. Your face, your entrancing features, just as he always had, just as he always wanted to. But it lacked a certain glow, a loss they attributed to Yaoshi digressions. Because they knew for certain that your love for them never disappeared. You were too benevolent, too magnanimous. “[Y/N]. My promise is soon to be fulfilled.”

“Every cage you have been trapped in will be gone.” Every cage but his love. Every chain but his arms.

“And you can finally feel the beauty of reality once more.”

A reality that was completely reset and build back up by them.

Translations:

Ad Somnum Pueri - Go to Sleep Child

In Somno In Infinitum - In Endless Dreams / Sleep

Mundus Erit Terminus - The World (shall) End.

©️ hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2023

[aziraphales-library]

are there any WIP or long post s2 fics you guys are keeping an eye on? I want to get into something for the long haul! love you guys, thank you!!

I don't read WIPs myself, though I have a couple bookmarked for once they're complete. Here are some long ones for you, which may or may not be completed by the time this posts...

Flaws by indigo (E) (WIP) (now complete)

Aziraphale cannot just sit back and hope any longer; Crowley is too precious to him to allow any risk at all to his continued existence. The Metatron's offer was far too good to pass by, and even if Crowley refuses to see it, Aziraphale needs to take this chance to make Heaven into the place of light and good that it should be. Crowley will come around eventually, the angel knows that impetuosity was always one of his flaws. But what of Aziraphale's flaws? Naivety, perhaps? I am jumping into the post S2 whirlpool with my own thoughts on What Happened Next. Whilst I have every confidence that NG will FIX THIS, I have some fears that Amazon will leave us hanging... and anyway, I want my happiness for them NOW, not in another four years... Angst in places, but they will end up on the same page, eventually! At least one update a week for now, settling into weekly updates by September.

how do we turn on the light? by moonyinpisces (M) (WIP)

Aziraphale ascends to the highest level of the Archangels. And he remembers—well. It’s not important what he remembers.

The End of My World Is You by T_O_S_T_E, WeepingintheTARDIS (G) (WIP)

If finding the Truth means the end of the Universe… would you still proceed? Something’s Up, and that something is the Second Coming. Although many people - sorry, angels - seem to be involved, there’s only one among them who knows what’s really cooking in the hot oven called ‘the Great Plan’. Although — only one?

Don't Fall Away From Me by PhoenixRose314 (M) (WIP)

if i fall, on that day, i only pray don't fall away from me. What if there was much more to Aziraphale and Crowley's history than Crowley remembers? What if there had been an "our side" even before the Fall? What if Aziraphale's guilt was the only thing keeping them apart for the last six thousand years? And what if the only thing that could pull them back together again was the firm belief of a plucky little angel-turned-human-bookseller that love really does conquer all? Don't Fall Away From Me is a post Season-2 Good Omens fic that rotates perspectives between Muriel, Crowley and Aziraphale.

Are We Meant to Read the Footnotes? by RiaTheDreamer (T) (WIP)

After Aziraphale’s decision, Crowley chooses coffee, not death. Life goes, painfully, on, and Crowley does his best to adapt to his new lonely existence. It hurts. Until it suddenly doesn’t. Someone has opened the Book of Life and erased Aziraphale’s name. Old habits kick in, but how can Crowley save someone whose existence has been destroyed and forgotten?

- Mod D

[theywhowriteandknowthings]

Dave York x OC/Reader (TPATD universe) Seeking Comfort.

This blog is a 18+ space, Minors, do not engage. If you are under the age of 18 you are not welcome here. Your reading and consumption of my work is your responsibility but I will endeavour to mitigate any discomfort for you, the reader, as possible. Once again, this is a 18+ space and minors should not interact.  Specific Warnings: Cock warming, mentions of Dave's job(hitman), longing/yearnig, established relationship, PiV sex, unprotected sex (be responsible wrap it up).

Thanks again to @angelofsmalldeath-codeine and @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin for taking a quick look over this one. I got inspired by @creedslove's Post Here for this one. I just became obsessed. Thank you for this inspo. 2000~ Words [Read on Ao3]

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Dave slumps against the front door, suitcase falling with a dull thud against the wooden floorboards as he finally lets out a sigh of relief.

Every time he crosses the threshold into his home – your home – calm begins to settle over him like a warm, weighted blanket. It leeches the cold emptiness from his bones, brings him back to himself, to you.

But he can’t fight off the phantom blood on his hands, the constricting guilt of what he does. He forces himself to get up, pushing off the door with a groan as he shrugs off his coat. He toes off his loafers too, setting both of them on the shoe rack before hanging up his coat.

Practiced, simple, movements that help him ground himself.

“Baby?” He calls out but you don’t respond, “I’m home?”

A pang of fear cuts through his gut like a knife as he strides into the kitchen, eyes frantic as he searches for you. His panic is short lived as he sees you, your back turned to him as you’re hunched over an inordinate number of papers splayed across the breakfast counter.

Dave smiles to himself as his heart rate slows. He pads up behind you slowly and places his hands either side of you. His thick fingers gripping the countertop as he rests his head on your shoulder. He spots the headphones stuck in your ears and tuts.

“Hey, baby,” you grumble as you pull the earbuds out, “You’re home late.”

“And you’re up late,” he counters as he presses his strong nose behind your ear, his plush lips raking over your skin.

“Couldn’t sleep, got court on Monday and I’m not sure I can win this case for her.”

“How long have you been banging your head against the wall, baby?”

You groan as you’re forced to face that reality yourself. The clock on the oven blinks smugly at you, red numbers mocking you as you realise it’s gone two in the morning. You had completely lost track of time.

“Shit, I don’t know,” you groan as you lean back against Dave’s broad chest, humming softly as he sucks gently at your skin. His eyes are already closed as he breathes you in.

“Come on, bedroom,” his voice is barely a whisper as he issues the command.

“But, Dave, I need to get this-,” you start but Dave’s eyes flick open, and he gives you a look you know all too well. It tells you that there’s no arguing with him. But you don’t mind, you’re all too willing to follow his command.

“Fine, but I need to be up early.”

Dave hums in agreement as he nips at the column of your neck before stepping around to your side, holding his hand out for you. You gladly take it, and he pulls you into a tight embrace, his strong arms wrapping around you, fusing you to him as he kisses the top of your head.

Once he’s ready to move he scoops you up in his arms, bridal style, before ascending the stairs to your bedroom. You cling to him, hands fisted in his shirt as you try to get as close as you can. You know he’s carrying something especially bad this time, he’s trembling by the time he sets you down on the bed.

“Clothes.”

You nod, knowing that he prefers to keep things short, efficient, when he’s come back from a job. You strip in front of one another, and you let your eyes linger on his cock. It curves up a little, his tip covered by his foreskin, but you know that he’s leaking by how hard he is. His lips are curved up into an amused smirk when he catches you staring. He silently sits on the base of the bed and spreads his legs wide, welcoming you with a silent command.

You slot yourself between his legs, hands on his shoulders as you bend down to kiss him slowly. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, his callouses pulling and catching delightfully on your skin. You shudder at the sensation, running your tongue along the seam of his mouth. He lets you in, his tongue dancing with yours as you groan into his mouth.

His firm hands lift you up, careful not to break the kiss as he sits you on his lap. You can feel the heft of his cock between your bodies as he holds you close, unmoving for a while. You’re dripping already, the anticipation for what is to come driving you insane.

But you know that you have to let Dave have control here, he needs to do it at his pace. Like always, this is more than just about sex.

One of his hands slides between you, his thick fingers dipping down to your core. He moans into your mouth as he drags his middle finger through your folds.

“Always so ready for me, aren’t you, Princess?” Dave taunts you as he breaks the kiss, pressing his slick forehead against yours.

“Could say the same thing to you, Duke,” you chuckle softly as you lean back and wrap a hand around his length, pulling back his foreskin slowly. You love the way he groans as you pump him slowly, his precome smearing over his tip as you work.

“Up.”

Dave’s voice is little more than a hoarse whisper as he returns his hand to your hip, already lifting you to line up over his cock. You hold him steady as he notches his tip at your core. He guides you down slowly, letting you sink onto him at your own pace. You cradle the back of his neck with your hands, thumbs pressed against his throat as you move.

The burn is delicious as you feel him stretch you out. You pant and whine at the way his dick twitches inside you. Dave’s hands are firm on your hips, making sure you don’t strain yourself. You try not to grind against him as he settles deep inside you. Your thighs are clammy as you feel the weight of Dave inside you. It’s so tight, so snug, you move your hands to his shoulders, blunt nails digging into his skin.

“So good to me,” he mutters as he presses his head against your sternum. His strong arms snake around you, one around your waist, holding you down. The other arm presses against your spine, broad hand splayed between your shoulder blades.

You rest your chin on Dave’s head, burying your nose in his hair. Your arms rest on his shoulders as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. It’s getting long enough to curl ever so slightly at the ends. He smells like cheap hotel soap, and you close your eyes as you try not to think too hard about what it’s covering up.

“Missed you while you were away,” you say softly as you clench around him. You don’t mean to, but the soft, wet kiss to your damp skin catches you off guard. You whimper a little as he twitches inside you.

Dave doesn’t respond verbally, he simply tightens his grip on you, pulling you down onto him. But there’s no room to move, you’re already so tightly pressed together. The action is symbolic, a silent “thank you, I missed you too”.

You don’t need him to say it back, you’ve been together long enough, been through so much. You know what you mean to him, even when he can’t say it.

You stay there for some time, both of you needing this. Needing to just feel one another after so long apart.

You, after knowing there is always a chance Dave won’t come home. No matter how many times he comes back to you, no matter how many times he promises he will. You always feel a gaping hole in your chest when he’s gone. You need him to mend that tear in your chest.

Dave needs it so he can feel human again, to know that no matter what he has to do. No matter how bloody his hands get, that he still has a soul. He needs to feel you like he needs oxygen to breathe, like he needs to eat and drink, you sustain him. You make him feel whole, wanted, human.

You begin to tremble as the need for him to move becomes too much. You’ve been warming him for less than twenty minutes but you’re so desperate. The hand splayed across your back moves to cup your jaw. You lean back and smile down at him as his dark brown eyes threaten to swallow you whole.

“Hey,” he mumbles as he rubs his thumb over your cheekbone.

“Hey,” you respond, your thighs tremble as you watch him tilt his head up, pulling you down to kiss him.

It starts slow, soft, tender kisses as his hips grind slowly, his cock nudging your g-spot. You moan, your mouth falling slack as you finally feel the relief flood through you. The pressure eases, building quickly into a fizzling sensation at the base of your spine.

Dave runs his tongue over your bottom lip, and you dart your own out to meet him. Your tongues twist together outside of your mouths before you slot your mouth over his. You thread your fingers through the hair at the base of his skull as you invade his mouth, swallowing his groans as he slowly fucks up into you.

It’s slow, intimate even, as he takes his time. He pulls almost all the way out, making you whimper at the teasing action, then he pulls you down once more. You feel every ridge and vein of his cock rake through your walls as he fills you up again. It’s so slow it’s maddening, and you can feel your orgasm building. Pleasure ripples under your skin as Dave’s kisses get greedier, his tongue dominating your mouth. No matter how hard you try and match his tenacity he doubles down.

His hips start to snap up harder, his cock punching up into your soaked cunt. You wail as you feel the thick pad of his thumb swipe over your clit. His palm on your pubic bone, pressuring your abdomen as he increases the speed and intensity of his thumb on your swollen bundle of nerves.

Soon you’re both panting into one another’s mouths, no longer able to keep your lips on each other. You’re whimpering and whining at every drag of his cock inside you. His grunts are getting higher pitched, breathy and desperate as he buries his face in your neck. Your cunt squeezes tight around Dave as your release bursts from your core. You cry out as you feel the pressure on your clit increase just as Dave sucks hard at the skin on your clavicle.

His pace doesn’t falter until the last second as his lips leave your skin as he fucks up into you hard one last time, stilling as he spills inside you. He lets out a barely there whimper before he lolls his head forward, his forehead pressed against your sternum.

“Thank you,” he breathes as he pants heavily beneath you, his arms wrapped around you as he holds you close. His hot breath fanning out against the slick skin of your chest, his lips brushing your skin with featherlight kisses.

“Don’t need to thank me, Dave, I needed that too,” you admonish him with a playful slap on his shoulder as you bury your face in his hair. No more does he smell like cheap hotel soap and regret. He smells like you, and him, and the beautiful concoction of your combined pleasure.

“I missed you,” he mumbles, his voice already heavy with fatigue, “Love you.”

“I love you too, Dave,” you nuzzle your nose against his scalp as you press barely there kisses to his damp hair, “Now come on, I need to pee, and we both need some rest.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You ease off of Dave’s lap and hold your hand out to him. He takes it without hesitation, and you lead him into your shared bathroom. In less than five minutes you’re in bed, cleaned up, sated, and snuggled into Dave’s side. You feel him pull you close as he begins to drift off and you can’t help but smile. You’re finally at peace, at home, now he’s here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi

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[drvmekoo]

regroup | jeon jungkook [prologue]

summary: drifting away from your best friend is never an easy thing to deal with. it's a good thing a very important project is forcing you both to regroup.

➳ pairing: jungkook x reader (f)

➳ genre: college au, fluff, angst, smut (eventually)

➳ rating: 18+

➳ warnings: there's no smut in the first part (sorry!) but there will be so beware! just a mention of s*x in this!

➳ wc: 0.9k

➳ author's notes: so this is my new fic! i have no idea how many parts this will have but i swear i will try and update as soon as possible! i hope you enjoy!

PART ONE | PART TWO

“There you are! I was starting to think you weren’t gonna show up!”

You greeted Namjoon as he sat beside you, plonking his textbooks on the desk in front. The lecture hall was starting to fill as the time drew closer to the hour. 

“Please don’t start, I feel like I got no sleep whatsoever last night.” He rubbed his eyes “Jimin and his stupid friends decided to throw a party on the floor above and I swear I heard like four couples have VERY rough sex by the constant rhythmic thudding.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling “What were they even celebrating? It’s literally the middle of the semester? Exams haven’t taken place, right?....right?” 

It was Namjoon’s turn to laugh as you panicked, digging through your diary and frantically flipping through the pages for any missed dates. 

“Relax, they were probably celebrating not getting caught skipping all their classes or something.

You both burst into fits of laughter, people turning towards you as you pushed Namjoon away comedically. Wiping your tears, both of you calmed down as the lecturer walked in and started to step up at the front of the hall. As you got your laptop out, the booming voice of the professor travelled across the room 

“Everyone, please take your seats! Let’s get started! Today is a very important day!”

The room quietened down and people seemed to settle in their seats at this command. 

“Now as you know, you all have a very big project coming up, weighing over 60% of your overall grade.” The lecturer started “Of course, one of the key skills this course observes is collaborative work. Which is why-”

The bang of the door abruptly interrupted his big announcement, as a tattooed figure rushed in.  “Sorry, sir…I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He smirked as many beading eyes stared at him while he climbed the ascending stairs to an empty seat.

“Jeon Jungkook.” The professor pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why am I not surprised? 

Jungkook leaned back in his chair and shrugged his shoulders, not evening bothering to get even a pen from his bag. 

The lecturer cleared his throat “Just…please don’t interrupt me again.” 

“You got it, boss.” Jungkook winked cockily.

Namjoon leaned over to you, both observing the encounter like the rest of the hall, and whispered  “What an ass.”

You didn’t reply. Knowing Jungkook for a big part of your life, it saddened you that he had adopted this new, arrogant persona since starting college. You had once known Jungkook as this shy, kind and respectful guy, your best friend who would visit your house every day. Both of your parents thought it was a great idea that both of you were attending the same university.

How wrong they were. 

Something switched between you two in the summer before college. Jungkook stopped coming over, stopped answering your texts. He barely spoke to you even when your families met together. On the day of moving into the dorms, you both planned to celebrate by going out to dinner but instead, he ditched, texting you a simple ‘i’m a little busy. maybe another time?’

No emoji or anything. 

And from that day, you guys haven’t spoken at all. Not one word. 

It seemed like the Jungkook you once knew and loved had gone. 

“Anyways.” The professor continued “As I was saying, this project will very much focus on a joint effort between two students. Which is why each of you will be paired with another in this room. You both will have 3 weeks to complete and submit this project.” A murmur echoed across the room as he continued “Details of this assignment will be posted later today on the student forum and your partners will be emailed to you tomorrow at 8 am.”

The lecturer carried on talking for 20 more minutes, running over the exceptions for the project as well as answering any questions some students hay had before dismissing everyone. 

Namjoon turned to you as everyone packed up and filed out. “Imagine if we got each other? That would be such an easy A for us both huh?”

“That would be so lucky, ugh fingers crossed!” you replied, putting away your laptop and diary. “Hey, I’m kinda hungry. You thinking what I’m thinking?”

He smirked shaking a phone in your face  “Already ordered the chicken nuggets!”

- 

[8:03 am] joooon: HAVE YOU CHECKED YOUR PARTNER YET? THEY JUST CAME IN

[8:05 am] joooon: I got jin which is cool! he’s really smart!

[8:08 am] joooon: hello? who did you get??

Namjoon's text alerts felt so far away as you stared at your computer screen. This couldn’t be happening to you. Why you of all people? Just why?

Hi Y/n, 

You have been paired with Jeon Jungkook for this assignment. 

Remember, this is 60% of your grade! So work hard!

You weren’t a violent person usually but you’ve never wanted to punch your computer screen more than at this moment. How did they expect you to work with someone who hasn’t even so much as looked at you since the summer?

You were fucked. Royally fucked. 

Another chime sounded from your phone. You sighed, deciding it was time to text Namjoon back and tell him the bad news. 

But instead, you were met with something else. 

[8:11 am] Maybe: jungkoo: So, when do we start?

read part one here!

taglist:

@swga-ficrecs

please like and reblog to support the fic!

if you wanna be on the taglist for this fic, please let me know!

[gxlacticlove]

tbh I think that Made In America probably goes the hardest out of all of Starkid's songs and I don't think it gets enough attention

[ruiniel]

ok I just thought of this but Alucard x reader where the reader has been turned into a vampire (while he's away or something or during battle)and feeling like maybe he won't love them anymoreeee?

Ouch, anon!

This will be so angsty.

A Place to Hide

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x Reader

Count: 1.5k

Rating: T

Tags/CW: Oneshot, Mutual pining, Angst, Context of battle, Mention of death, Alternate universe, Dark fantasy AU, Alucard POV, Vampirism, Longing, emotional hurt/comfort

Summary: This can be considered a follow-up of sorts set after 'To be free'. The murder of Lisa never happened. Instead, sometime in the future there is strife in the vampire world with an alliance of rebelling war chiefs over territory and Dracula is forced to respond. Reader character is an apprentice learning the doctor trade under Lisa. Trying to seek Adrian out after he left for battle was not a successful endeavor...

All characters depicted are 18+

"And you worry too much…"

Your words ricochet through his mind as he dismounts in haste along with the returning troops, the too-hindering armor singing mournfully with every movement, as it had done all those cold, cluttered days and nights he'd been away.

He crosses the barracks area built before the castle and ascends the stairs of his home, a bloodied letter crumpled in his right hand.

"Adrian!"

Like a ghost, a drop of crystal-clear water in a sea of blood, his mother runs towards him, sullying herself against his filthy form as she enfolds him in a fierce embrace. Her dainty fingers curl into his tattered cloak, and Lisa holds on to him with a frenzied relief after, he knows, weeks of fretting.

"You’re safe," Lisa murmurs, "You’re home," she shivers, drawing back to run swift, trembling fingers through his windswept hair. 

"Mother," his eyes press shut, and he falls against her. She whispers to him, and all he wants is to drown in her arms and forget; the missive burns like hot coal, still crushed in his hand.

"Your father arrived ahead of you," Lisa says, holding him fast to her. "...they're still assessing status in the council chamber." 

And Lisa, for her part, had been running the improvised hospice for their human allies. She looks as weary as he feels. "I know." He can barely speak. "Mother I… I received your letter; before the last skirmish."

They won. Careful tactical planning and losses included, there will be peace again in the borderlands without. For how long? None ever know.

He does not care. "... Where?"

Lisa releases him, slowly, holding him by the shoulders. "Adrian, will you not take the time to... to …"

"Where?" His voice cracks, his bones ache. He wishes he'd never welcomed you here, wishes he'd never met you, befriended you, loved you. He wishes, wishes, wishes as fools do.

"Why do you always push me away?"

Your voice, your face: enraged and so desperate. You needed him then, needed him and he was not here, and the closer he is now, the more the truth gains a near physical weight he pushes against with sisyphean misery.

"Adrian," his mother tries again, as he slowly pries her from him, shaking his head.

"Please."

She tells him. She tells him how you insisted on riding after him, two weeks or so prior, with a meager company through war-torn lands. How Lisa had done her utmost to deter you, but the influx of wounded human soldiers demanded most of her time and energy, day in, day out. She failed, and you would wait no longer. "Forgive me, forgive me..." 

He brings Lisa close again, fervently kissing the top of her head, "Don’t. Please. Just... just tell me."

They stay embraced for another moment as the clamor of many rises up to the high, domed ceilings, and figures wade around them like wraiths. "The east tower," Lisa whispers, finally.

By the time he reaches the door, having carelessly stripped and cast off pieces of armor on the way, his vision is blurred. Memories of that day, that last day when you were angry with him but would not leave his side, had been a torturous comfort to his nights through each cut and healing wound, each enemy pierced, each slash of the sword; that day, when he awoke the evening of his departure with you in his bed and in his arms while the chamber's golden light caressed your bareness.

The hinges creak. The door opens, and darkness greets him.

"How am I to learn, Adrian, if you stand in my way?"

He calls to you. He seeks a heartbeat, but there is none; of course, there wouldn't be. The letter falls from his hand like a withered autumn leaf. He calls again, and again, stepping inside the room.

Darkness never posed a challenge to his sight, and as his eyes follow along the richly woven rug, he sees a bare foot, slowly retreating; a huddled shape, in one corner.

"Leave." A broken, barely audible voice.

Never again. Adrian nears and kneels by your side. "But I’ve only just arrived," he says through a forced, trembling smile.

A stir, a rise of hunched shoulders. "... you..."

"Yes, me," he says. "And I’ve missed you… so, so much." 

A sigh his only answer, Adrian curls and uncurls his fists. "Will you look at me?"

"Why?" The shape stirs anew. He cannot tell what you might be feeling, not anymore. The signs are gone, but of course, it is you; wherever you are, whatever you are, he will always know. 

"Because I… you went seeking for me, and I understand. A part of me... longed for you to do so, from dawn to dusk, every hour, every minute and second." He swallows. "Please," he begs even as a pair of glowing eyes meet his.

He reaches; cups your cheek and falls in dismay when you shun his touch, hiding your face away from him.

Your beautiful, determined face. His anger is boundless; he wants to know who, and make them pay. But you would tell no one of it, from what he learned, and it matters not at the moment. An interrogation is not what you need, nor does he. 

"I am sorry. It should have been your choice, if it ever were to happen. I did not listen to you that night where... where I should have."

"Not your fault," he sees half of your face, eternal now, cut by a beam of moonlight. "I was impatient, wanted to reach you, to see you. I was—am, a selfish, selfish fool," you press your knuckles into your eyes "And now, look at me..."

Adrian carefully sits beside you. "No," he objects, poorly, but he's too exhausted, too weak; entranced by you being here, so close, alive despite the shadow imbuing your essence.

"You cannot hear it anymore, can you?"

Adrian shakes his head.

"It is gone."

"But you are not." He reaches, tentatively, and takes your hand, massaging into the knuckles.

"You're so... so warm..." you whisper, close to tears. "I never noticed before, but now, now..." Your words are as cold as your skin. "... what you knew is gone."

He is exhausted, you are hurting. It is over, it should’ve been over, he’d barely convinced you to stay behind back then, to keep safe and continue your work; but here you are anyway. Adrian tenderly pries your other hand away from your chest. He remembers the texture of your skin so well, remembers it soothing his face, his chest, gripping his hips with earnest abandon. Now, it barely returns the slightest pressure. He brings it to his forehead, breathes in deeply and raggedly before pressing the hand to his dry lips. 

What can he say? That he regrets not being there? That it eats him from the inside like rot? That he’s never felt such longing nor such pain, and unless you demand it, he will never let you go again?

"I've not slept in days."

Adrian nods slowly, bringing a tentative arm around your shoulders. "It will be so for a while, from what I know." The freezing nightly air glides through an open window by your naked feet, but he realizes it has long ceased to be an issue for you.

"I hear everything around me; every beat of wings, every sigh of wind or flutter of a living heart. The darkness in all things speaks to me in a language I understand, and yet do not."

Unable to resist any longer, Adrian brings and cradles your head to his chest. "There are other changes, yet to come. It is fresh, and you will… you will hurt for a while longer. But... but I am here now, and, if you'll have me, will... I can help."

You're shaking against him, and he knows, if you had tears to shed, they'd be blood. "Adrian, I regret what I said to you that night, how I pushed you, how—"

"I do not." He tips your chin up, rubs his thumb over your lip. "You spoke your... our truth. And for that, you were much braver than I," he follows. "I missed you," he repeats, like a craven. 

You melt against his side. "You are warm, I am cold."

"You will take from my warmth."

"I've lost… I’ve lost myself, my very being, my humanity, all my doing," you murmur, spent.

"No," he shakes his head, "Humanity consists of much, much more than a beating heart, you know this."

You smile sadly against the black canvas of the room. "So many out there who would beg to differ."

"... and none of them will ever lay a finger on you in this life, or any other."

Adrian dares to bring you more into him, a hand pressing into your back. You feel the same, he feels whole again. Will you see it? Will you understand? 

"I hunger," you speak, the word coated with shame as you melt into him. "I hunger, but I refuse to… to…"

"You must drink to live, now. That is the way of things." 

Your fingers claw at his chest. You are strong, so very strong. "My creed is to save lives, not take them."

Adrian draws you into his lap as you finally meet his gaze fully, a peek of fang between your lips. "And so it will stay," he tells you, soothingly but with conviction, pressing you closer as his hand cups the back of your head, as he reaches and unfastens the collar of his tunic. "... I promise."

MASTERLIST: CASTLEVANIA SERIES x READER

More of my work is on AO3 [many stories not on tumblr]

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Likes/comments/reblogs always and forever appreciated

[allwaswell16]

All the One Direction fics I read and enjoyed in February 2024. You can listen to my podcast to hear me talk about each of these fics as well as an overview of what was posted on ao3 including the fics on this month’s fic roundup which you can find here! Please let the writers know if you liked the fics by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

Fanfictional Podcast #59 |  ko-fi | fic recs

- Louis/Harry -

🩷 with venom on your tongue by wildestdreams / @thelavendrhaze

(E, 91k, enemies to lovers) a boarding school AU where Harry and Louis are academic rivals until they realize they’re more similar than they thought

🩷 another dream but always you by you_explode / @nobodymoves

(M, 60k, superpowers) Harry is a Dreamwalker; he has the ability to visit people in their dreams and help put them on the right path. He's assigned to Louis, who's struggling after the break-up of his band.

🩷 through walls of trees by @ineverateakiwi

(T, 41k, fantasy) Elesdon is a country divided into five kingdoms and had long been considered peaceful. After a coup in the heart of the country, Lady Sulia ascended to the throne and imprisoned the four courts, stripping them of their powers. With the exception of King Louis Tomlinson, who submitted to her favors.

🩷 Get Out Of My Head (and I'll get out of yours) by Imogenlee / @imogenleewriter

(E, 29k, exes) “You really that desperate, are you?” Despite it being a shitty thing to say, Harry didn’t mind too much, as the bitterness in Louis’ tone sounded like music to Harry’s ears. Harry was winning tonight. “Can’t find anyone new to be interested in you, so you try to hit on Zayn.”

🩷 this love is alive by @stylinsonwritingpalace

(E, 10k, writer Louis) When Louis's favorite fictional character, Harry Styles, comes to life, it's up to him to decide if he should stay.

🩷 Pretty and Preposterous by @brightlyharry

(NR, 5k, neighbors) Harry donates a copy of Pride and Prejudice to his little free library. He never expects what comes next.

🩷 In Jest by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup

(T, 4k, soulmates) Louis, who smiles at Harry as he reclines in his chair. Louis, whose soulmark is visible thanks to his low-cut top. Louis, Harry’s soulmate, who seems to either be blissfully ignorant of that fact or maliciously ignoring it.

🩷 All This Time (I was Waiting for You) by @ohharold

(E, 4k, vampire/fae) Harry and Louis have always been destined for each other. Some time apart has Harry reminiscent of their first meeting.

🩷 Jealousy Looks Good On You, Baby by cigarettesbeforesex

(M, 4k, pwp) A flirtatious stranger wanted to entice Louis by buying him a drink from the bar. The handsome 29-year-old tavern manager with curly hair, who Louis (often) flirts with, is currently working on shift...Poor Curly, because he's the one that has to deliver the drink to him.

🩷 the "Falling" series by we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

(T, 4k, exes to lovers) Harry looks like he wants to say something but thinks better of it, and just nods, putting the CD in a box that’s filled with all kinds of knick knacks from their bedroom. Or, no. Louis supposes it is his bedroom now. Or will be, after today.

🩷 spring in your eyes by @nouies

(NR, 3k, fake relationship) “Just Go with It” inspired AU where plastic surgeon Harry pretends to be married to his assistant Louis to avoid unwanted attention.

🩷 Dirty Diana by yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

(E, 3k, epistolary) In the month leading up to his 30th birthday, Harry writes to his confidante Diana every day, sharing his fantasies about Louis.

🩷 From the Dining Table by @littleroverlouis

(E, 3k, established relationship) Harry's thirtieth birthday hasn't gone as expected. Things start looking up from the dining table.

🩷 You Could Give That Aspirin the Headache of Its Life by LetTheMusicMoveYou / @letthemusicmoveyou28

(M, 3k, exes) the one where Louis is a football player who gets stuck on a flight with his ex-boyfriend Harry. The universe might be conspiring against him, or is it?

🩷 What’s in a Name by @hellolovers13

(T, 2k, soulmates au) Louis had always known Harry was his soulmate. The name on his arm disagreed. But what did his soulmark know about true love anyway.

🩷 miles away from seeing you by LiveLaughLoveLarry / @loveislarryislove

(T, 1k, social media) Harry is in his final year studying marine biology, and is doing an international exchange at the University of Auckland. His boyfriend Louis stays behind in England, but they keep in touch regularly through texts, snapchats, video calls, and more.

- Rare Pairs -

🩷 Can You Feel Where the Wind Is by @fallinglikethis

(M, 3k, Zayn/Liam) He remembers arguing that he had no real power over anything, so no one would care about him, let alone try to hurt him. But that assessment had proven to be untrue today.

🩷 Skin on My Skin by Layne Faire / @laynefaire

(E, 2k, Zayn/Liam) Let me touch you where you like it Let me do it for ya

🩷 Stray by @haztobegood

(E, 1k, Zayn/Harry, Harry/Louis) Finally, Louis catches a glimpse of familiar curls weaving through the crowd. The man’s arm is firm around Harry’s waist until they stop in front of the booth. “I found this stray wandering around. I believe he’s yours.”

[inaconstantstateofchange]

Raphael/Haarlep | there is wise valour (and there is recklessness)

A/N: 18+ | a pre-canon exploration of the possible origin of Raphael's Ascended Fiend form, and the begrudging rapport between him and Haarlep.

Words: 3.4k

Read it on AO3

Raphael stalks through the halls of his House – nothing so grandiose as to deserve the epithet, yet, but he is prepared to impress his will upon the universe until it is – cringing imps scattering into the shadows as they avoid his fearsome tread. A telltale haze shimmers at the edge of his vision, overwriting the dull stonework with rippling red. The door to his personal suite looms out before him, and he scrabbles at the handle, forcing it open just enough to allow him entry, then spinning to force it closed again with a barely-tempered thud. The resolute click of the arcane locking mechanism grants him some small measure of relief.

His servants, few as they are, know not to disturb him here, so he will have his peace.

This simple and inanely optimistic certainty is broken almost immediately, with the voice of potentially the last being he desires to encounter in this moment: Haarlep, his lord father’s wretched consolation gift.

Oh, he certainly did not deign to express it as such, but the timing made the implication exactly as clear as the Archduke of Cania required. Too slow to profit as he had desired – as he had planned, painstakingly – from the fall of Netheril, and the fatuity of the fool Karsus, the Crown and its fearsome power already swept up and shelved away in the vaults of Mephistar, to be ignored or studied – then ignored again – at his father’s leisure.

“Oh dear, our little lord’s in quite a state today, is he not?” The silken tones of the incubus’s voice might be enticing to another, but they grate against Raphael’s ears like the music of a fingerless bard.

Raphael grits his teeth, refraining from digging his horns into the wood of the door before him by willpower alone. Haarlep, his father had named the wretch, an insipid mirror to reflect his every action back to Mephistar. He could not afford to be known to his father in this state.

A fit of temper was one thing. Hypocritical though he be, Mephistopheles could not deny his blood ran true in such matters. An uncontrollable beast-form, however, one twisted and warped by the broken magics of Netheril? Such knowledge would bring either disdain or interest — and a scrutiny he would not be liable to profit from in either event.

“What are you doing here?” He grinds out, refusing to turn around. Poor form, to leave his back to an enemy, but better the suspicion of weakness than the truth of it, until he can master himself as he ought.

A light, chiming laugh floats through the air like gossamer webs, undulating as the incubus steps closer to him. They run fashionably tapered claws in maddeningly delicate tapping motions down his back, between the base of his wings. He’s certain it is meant to entice, but all it does is make his skin itch and crawl, hungering for slaughter – for satiation – in a ravenous manner he has not felt before.

The desire itself is certainly not new to him, but the drive to follow through, and damn the consequences? That is more of a struggle. He’d thought the beast-form would take a mighty shape, one that would augment his own power and prestige, that he could gloat about to rivals and hold over the heads of his siblings.

Instead, he is left to feel grateful for his position of no note, that he has no true household staff to warn away from loose tongues. Only a few wretched imps, too foolish to put one brick atop another were the plans directly before them, and the incubus, its true thoughts held scrupulously behind dancing eyes. Said incubus’s vexatious tapping continues, clawtips light enough to refrain from marring even a thread of his richly embroidered tunic, but refusing to respond to the intimation of his shifting motions and leave well enough alone.

“Why, I aim only to remind my lord that I am here at his disposal, of course.” The incubus’s tone is conversational, as though they are speaking over a formal luncheon, rather than after they had barged into his own private chambers without so much as a by-your-leave. Raphael’s fingers curl against the door, leaving slight gouges this time.

The incubus is not finished, however, continuing on languidly, “We have had so little opportunity to connect, you and I, since I was first remanded into your… care.” The subtle emphasis put on the last word indicates the incubus’s cognizance that the reality was anything but, and invites him to commiserate with their shared circumstance. Raphael declines. Their situations are nothing alike, and he’ll not be condescended to by this… this… wretch.

At his limit with the damned touching now, Raphael spins away, knocking the incubus’s overreaching arm to the side. “Enough, damn you!” His voice begins as a snarl but he manages to quell it to a hiss. “Your presence is neither desired nor requested, and thus you should be anywhere at all in the estate but my private chambers.” He gestures to the door in a clear dismissal. “You may count yourself fortunate that I have more pressing matters to deal with at the moment than your insolence.”

He knows as soon as the last word leaves his lips that he’s made an error. The incubus’s eyes light up behind the graceful drape of their hair, filled with a dancing glow as its plump lips curl with keen delight. “More pressing than making use of an esteemed gift? The little lord is keeping secrets.” Its tongue flicks out, long and forked, wetting its lower lip with a glistening sheen as it draws, achingly slowly, back in.

Raphael tears his eyes away from the gallingly-enticing gleam, displeased to find that, yet again, his threats are as puffs of air to this detestable creature. He attempts to draw himself up, mantling his wings with oblique menace, and flattens his voice to a firm register. “I have no obligation to keep counsel with you, cur.”

The incubus taps one long, slender finger mockingly against its chin. “Mmmm,” it lets out a long, unnecessarily drawn out hum. “‘Obligation’? Certainly not. I would not dream of prevailing upon the goodwill of your august personage to demand as such.”

It pauses, a glimmer of sweet-edged malice drifting across its face. “However… It might behoove the little lord to indulge an ally, rather than order an adversary.”

The hellfire haze, nearly dissipated while he was not paying attention, blazes back into being around him. The beast howls within, clawing at his bones, desperate to cleave flesh and willing to settle for his own if more suitable sacrifice was not provided. Raphael grinds his teeth against the cry of pain, keeping his voice unaffected even as it feels like speaking through blades of infernal iron.

“You presume much, gift-of-my-father. Perhaps too much. Why should I seek to find an ally in one so markedly bound to higher loyalties?”

The incubus laughs, light and mocking. “Loyalties? What a precious concept. A lord must have strength enough to protect his vassals, in exchange for their loyalty.” Their friendly mien drops entirely, pinning him with a flat, piercing gaze as that damned finger taps, slow and languid, against their chin. “Thus far, I have seen no indication of any such strength from you, little lord.”

At this final expression of disrespect, the delicate webs of Raphael’s remaining self-control fracture and wisp away. A hideous sound of ripping flesh and crackling bone echoes around the room, dissipating against the sound-muffling enchantments etched into the stone. Between one interminable blink and the next, his vision doubles, then trebles, the shifting haze edging out to line the fringes of his new sightlines. He looks to the incubus standing before him in triplicate – a reflection now in truth – with fury the forenote of the increasingly bestial bent to his mind. He loosens his disjointed jaw in anticipation, and awaits the wretch’s usual twist of mockery.

Haarlep stares – up, and up – at the mangled, marvelous creature before them. So this is what their little master has been hiding since his return from the broken remnants of Netheril, bare days after their own arrival. He’d slammed back into the House like a meteor strike, a furious tempest raging throughout its halls ever since. Haarlep’s sole attempt to ingratiate themself had been met with glowering fury followed by curt dismissal, and a silent, fraught détente ever since.

That, of course, simply would not do. Perceived failure at such a level would, sooner or later, make its way back to the lord of Mephistar. And, generous though the terms of his commandment had been, none were that generous.

Haarlep had bedecked themself in their finest things, gauzy drider-silks embellished with blood-pearls and ornate, embroidered sigils, and hied away to the little lord’s personal chambers for one final attempt. Either they’d finally come to some conclusive understanding, or… Well. The consequences for a failed contract with the lord of the Eighth Layer would not be pleasant. Haarlep took pain to bed as a lover as willingly as pleasure, but even their malleable form and aberrant senses had their limits.

And, at first, it had seemed like their cause was just as lost as it had initially appeared. The stubborn little brat, refusing to treat with them as their positions demanded, to engage with the realities they were – the both of them – constrained within. They’d pushed, pressed up close to his body the way they knew he loathed, needling at him with claws and words alike, pricking about for any crack in his obdurate mask.

And then — not a crack, but a shattering entire. Emerging from the stagnant shell of the lordling was birthed a monstrosity, pure and twisted.

An agglomerate skull, eyes glowing baleful and amber from cavernous sockets. Jagged limbs unsuited for movement and coated imperfectly with dappled scale, internal fire licking out from the crevices against undefended flesh, searing and cauterizing in continuous agony. Wings, groomed and genteel mere moments before — now marred with rot and ruin, mantled in tattered shreds held in place by blackened scar tissue.

What a mess. Haarlep could understand why the little master had been so reclusive if this was the shape now lurking within him. His new form’s structure might be passingly compared to that of a cornugon, but only to a witless imbecile. The bone-plate, tarnished and burnt, bore some similarity to the lustrous ossified mail of an osyluth, but lacked entirely their ordered and brutal beauty. In truth… beneath the surface, there was truly nothing of the Hells about this form at all, but rather — something far more Abyssal in origin.

Haarlep smiles, slow and sweet, their long tongue flicking out from their mouth and dragging back the scent of the beast as it returns, a delectable sweet hint of Chaos just discernible below the rest. Their smile grows wider still as they savor it, subtle fangs bared by the action.

“Little master has been quite the naughty boy, hasn’t he? Dabbling with magics too powerful for him, perhaps? Snooping around in pilfered Netherese parlors, grasping at scraps?” They tut chidingly, shaking their head at him.

The beast huffs out a gusting breath, fetid air coursing from its maw, its blackened claws all too obvious as they raise to strike.

Haarlep coos. “How cruel of the little lord to keep this lovely surprise all to himself. Why, we could have been playing together long since.”

Silence, for a moment. Then a reverberating growl shudders from its chest, emerging as a guttural hiss from its frayed vocal cords. With a crack of over-stressed bone, the beast crouches, then springs forward, toppling them both and slamming its forelimbs down on either side of Haarlep’s head. Its bone-jaws open and chitter against one another in accompaniment to its hissing. Hot, silvery liquid drips from the base of its throat, settling in searing pearls on Haarlep’s face before streaking wincingly away.

Haarlep clucks their tongue, reaching out a hand to caress along the roughened bone of the closest skull. “You can certainly take me like this, if you’ve a mind,” they say leadingly, rolling their body languidly upward to brush against the delightful texturing of the beast-form above them. Oh, it has been too long since they’ve dealt with any of Chaos’s get. An admittedly amateur transformation, perhaps, but nothing they cannot endear themself to their little lord by offering some much-needed assistance.

The beast responds with a huff, moving toward their touch for one brief moment, then away again, the creaking of misaligned joint and bone filling the chamber with a grisly cacophony. It seems the little lord isn’t particularly accustomed to his new form’s mind yet, either. That will make some things harder — and others easier.

Haarlep rolls their body up against the beast’s once more, to regain its attention and realign its purpose. Its triune head with trebled skulls, raised to scan the room around them, swings back down to pin him with those flat, glowing eyes, set so far back in their sockets. The vision on this beast-form must be disorienting indeed.

A snarling rumble rises up from the cavernous chamber of the beast’s chest — perhaps a disdain of the presumption, or an unfamiliarity with the sensation in this form. In either case, the little lord is welcome to communicate his desires to Haarlep should he choose. Otherwise, they shall do as a good attendant ought, and attend him.

They undulate again, aiming with particular focus for the most likely location of a hidden pleasure structure, sparing a moment to hope that their rash little lordling had not botched whatever ritual he’d stumbled upon with such talent as to lose that. Haarlep could certainly make an exemplary showing without any such element present – and had upon multiple occasions in the past – but it would certainly help the situation along. After a long moment, they feel an answering pressure coming from the boiling hot area between malformed limbs, and devote particular attention to encouraging it to emerge further.

The beast, plainly feeling the results of their efforts, snarls again, its claws scraping against the stone floor and leaving deep, gouging furrows. Its central skull flashes down and fastens around Haarlep’s throat, just barely stopping before it would cause true harm. They freeze for a moment, elegant neck extended, and luxuriate in the dull prick of those rending fangs — then moan, low and throaty, relaxing into them until the prick becomes true penetration.

The beast huffs, in what resembles nothing so much as sheer bewilderment. Haarlep throws their head back in laughter, relishing the bite of the bone-tooth collar, and the gentle rivulets of blood that begin to seep steadily from the punctures. “No stomach for the devouring, have we? A pity. By all means, then, allow me.”

They slither sinuously free of the beast’s hold, loosened in its surprise, earning more tender tears from the delightful drag of fang on flesh. The beast seems fully lost in its puzzlement now, crouching back on its haunches, its budding member just beginning to poke forth from the sheath at the twisted apex of its hips. Haarlep feels their mouth water, venom pooling slick and sweet, as it emerges in jerking, ungraceful spasms. Their eyes curl up in a true smile.

“Look at you,” they croon. The cockhead is blunt and brutal, with raised ridges at irregular intervals across its surface. The shape of it tapers just under the first bullying bulk of the head, then flares outward again, with diagonal, tiered ridges forming concentric circles underneath it. It looks delectable.

They slide closer on their knees, bowing their head and letting the smooth flood of their hair fall to the side to keep the nape of their neck – and its sluggishly bleeding marks – exposed. The beast observes the motion, skulls twisting to keep them centered in its vision and mantling its tattered wings, but makes no move to dissuade them by force — a clear invitation if Haarlep has ever seen one.

They lean closer, tongue flickering out to wrap around the flat tip and taste. The beast lets out a screeching cry, contorted hips juddering forward and one hand slamming down to tear at the floor. Misshapen then, but no less sensitive for it, it seems. Haarlep retracts their tongue slowly, savoring the taste of ash and burnt sugar. All things taste saccharine to them from contact with their venom, but the overwhelming edge of conflagration on the beast adds an alluring dimension they hunger for more of. And they’ve certainly never been one to deny themself an indulgence.

Prepared this time for the response of the beast – so clearly never touched before in this form – Haarlep wraps their long fingers around it, inanely delighted by the way they nestle into the hollows created by the banding ridges. The size would be difficult to fully encircle for the average mortal, but fits the grasp of Haarlep’s long fingers near-perfectly. The beast gives another rattling cry, starting forward as the stimulation encourages forth one final pulse of the cock from its sheath, a raised nodule at the base of the cock itself tugging free from the lip of the sheath.

Haarlep hums, eyeing the little structure with consideration, then moving their thumb down to caress it with the barest edge of claw. The beast growls, and the blaze of heat about it increases as it curls forward, its skulled head coming to rest in the air just above Haarlep’s upper back. They begin to feel enshrouded in the waves of heat rolling off of the beast, caged between it and caught in the dizzying miasma of Chaos.

They send their tongue out once more, this time holding the beast still by their hand around its cock. Their tongue flickers dexterously in between their fingers and the roughened flesh of the cock itself. The beast pants above them, gusts of air teasing down along their spine. With more of that ash and cinder scent filling their senses, Haarlep widens their mouth and takes the beast’s cock within them, the blunt head rubbing pleasantly up against the back of their throat. Their venom catches and pools in the crevices on the cock’s surface, easing its glide as it enters them. They shift away their fingers bit by bit as they usher the cock into their mouth, adjusting their mouth to its size before removing the last implicit constraint on the movement of the beast.

The head catches against the opening to their throat just as the beast recognizes its freedom, chasing the sensation they’ve granted it with jerking thrusts of its hips. Haarlep angles the flexible muscle of their throat to better receive it, feeling the ridges pressing back against their flesh as the beast bullies its way further into them, utterly uncaring of their own welfare. It is for the best that they’ve been the one to give the little lord’s beast its sorely needed outlet. Any other and the lordling would have more likely awoken to a shattered corpse, with the whole House aware of just how fastidious he is.

Overcome by the sensitivity of its fledgling flesh – and, if Haarlep might be so modest, the experience of their own peerless form – the beast only lasts a few more minutes before its thrusts grow even more frenzied. A sizzling heat permeates Haarlep’s throat as the cock flexes and shudders within it, seeming to grow larger for a few moments as the taste of ash and honey intensifies.

The next moment, the beast is tearing back from them, just barely avoiding slicing itself on their fangs as it stumbles backward, flesh cracking and splitting in a grating inversion of its earlier transformation. Its own form sizzles and steams, a haze in the air around it for a moment before, transmutation complete, their little lord stands before them once more. He looks lost, for a moment, before his scan of the room – now in quite some disarray – comes to a halt with his eyes on Haarlep, still kneeling gracefully with their hair cascading about them. His face twists, too many emotions to quantify spasming across it all at once, before settling on a faint, haughty sneer.

Haarlep licks their lips – and the visible remnants of their activities – slowly, sensuously. “Why, little lord, I do believe you and I have much to discuss.”

[httpcarlossainzcom]

idealizations concerning real life relations- cs55

In this fic carlos has tattoos bc i wanted to write something abt a guy with tattoos cause i love them

warnings: i have very bad grammar (sorry not sorry….) also this is an 18+ fic minors do not interact!

summary: Carlos loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

song inspiration: summers over interlude - drake and majid jordan, each time you fall in love - cigarettes after sex, from the dining table - harry styles

word count: 26k (sorry babes)

this is split up into multiple parts so dont worry :)

pt 1

summer

Souls are stars. Half of a star to be exact. Clearly this means your soulmate, or whatever shares the other half. 

When you die, your body becomes the earth. The trees, the flowers, the grass. Dirt. And your soul becomes stardust that ascends back to its rightful place in the night sky until the other half of your star meets you there. 

And there you stay until it’s your time to live again. You’re then a falling star. Shooting, flying, breaking apart as you soar across the sky. Pieces of you and them scattered who knows where, some pieces falling longer than others, some finding their place on the earth immediately. Until the universe decides to bring you back to one another. Born again. Together again. If you’re lucky enough to meet in this lifetime. But if not in this one, then perhaps the next. Or maybe you were together in the one before. Maybe it’s guaranteed. Once a lover, always a lover. In this life and in the next. 

Who knows? You sure as hell don’t. 

It doesn’t make sense. The way you think about the stars and the people around you. You know that. It’s not like you live by it or anything. You don’t even like space. Know that realistically stars are just gas and that when they fall from the sky they are dying, not reincarnating. They smash into the ground and then. Poof. Gone forever, nothing but a black hole left behind. You also know that soulmates are a fairytale at best and a beautifully spun cruel web of lies at worst. 

But being a part of a star and having a… person sounds a lot better to you than eternal damnation or a forever of nothing but void darkness. 

“Iced Hazelnut macchiato sub oat milk for __!”

Blushing Brews is hectic but the barista is a smiling little caffeine fairy granting your wish for energy in the form of a small plastic cup. You smile as you take the drink from him. His smile is blinding, it hurts to look at him directly.

You think that maybe not everyone is part of a star and that maybe some are just random, pointless space rocks that fall to earth. But not the barista. He’s definitely part star.

“Thanks,” you say.

You shuffle through the people waiting for their drinks and take a seat at your usual table. The whole coffee shop is quaint and cute, the chairs vintage and upholstered in different shades of velvet fabric. The tables have dried flowers and flakes of gold encapsulated in them. Your table is a little to the left next to the large window, with the order station still in view. You get to people watch the folks outside and person watch the one inside, only one soul able to hold your attention indoors. Aside from the friends sat with you at your table of course. You stir your drink.

“I bet his cum tastes like the oat milk he puts in my coffee.” You stare at the barista behind the counter, innocently just doing his job, oblivious to the way he glows so bright. “Thick and creamy… kinda sweet…” 

“You are so-” Luisinha starts. 

“Disgusting. She’s disgusting,” Charles finishes for her. If the barista is a star, Charles is a space rock.

You raise your eyebrows, contemplative. He’s not wrong. Dirty, nasty, disgusting. You’re all of the above. But you’re also a hopeless romantic. Forever in love with the idea of love and all the different parts of it. Always looking at every aspect of life, through rose-tinted glasses. If you wanted to idealize the barista’s sperm, you would. Who was Charles Leclerc to stop you? You take a sip of the coffee the barista prepared for you. “You know he never charges me extra for it, even though he’s supposed to.”

“He should. Considering he could probably get in trouble and also how you objectify him.” Charles grimaces as he downs his black espresso.  

“I don’t objectify him, I romanticize him. I simply observe him and speak everything that goes on in my pretty little head.” Both of your friends give you a flat stare. “Okay, it’s not like he doesn’t know what he’s doing.” He may not know the extent of his charm, but you know he knows he’s charming. “He has a whole sleeve and wears massive stompers to crush hearts. What’s he doing working in a coffee shop?”

“His job?”

“No. He’s trying to subtly leave an impression on unsuspecting creative writing majors that never had a strong male figure in their life, just so he can further ingrain in their head that while he is breathtaking, and makes an incredible iced hazelnut macchiato sub oat milk, he will surely leave just like everyone else, only to become a distant pink memory that they can’t forget, no matter how hard they try and how insignificant.”

“He doesn’t even know your name,” Luisinha says, with a roll of her eyes.

“How can you go from talking about his nut to calling him breathtaking and pink?” Charles pulls his laptop out, an exasperated sigh leaving his lips.

“Of course he knows my name. Also. You know what else I bet is pink? His big fat-”

“Shut up.”

You hum, swiftly transitioning. “I’m multifaceted and the definition of dichotomy.” Out comes your notebook. You could at least look like you’re being productive. “I only handwrite poetry and I pull over when I see a field of flowers and I think we are all made of stars, but I also like getting railed and degraded, as well as emotionally demeaned,” You pause, thinking for just a moment, “Though that’s more for my art than anything. Duality.”

“You’re something, that’s for sure. Don’t look now but barista baby is walking this way.”

Barista baby. A pastel feeling starts to creep its way over your skin, leaving goosebumps, and a blush in its wake. You glance in the direction of the counter and sure enough, during a lull in traffic he’s out from behind the counter and he looks like he’s coming directly for you. His big black pants that are decorated with a chain jingle as he takes heavy steps with boot-clad feet. Maybe you’re dramatic but you think you can see a trail of stardust behind him. You look away. Too bright.

“Hey, can I clear these cups for you?” he asks, reaching for Charles’ empty one, and Luisinha’s mostly full one. His voice is deep and as soft as the velvet you’re sitting on. He pauses when he feels the weight of Luisinha’s cup. “Oh sorry about that.” He sets it back down.

“Take it, she doesn’t even like coffee, she just gets it for the aesthetic. She’s an art major.” You roll your eyes, sipping your drink.

“Why do you add my major at the end of every insult?” Luisinha groans at you before turning to the barista. “Do you even know her name?”

“Luisinha!” you gasp. Charles’ laughing quietly next to you, typing away.

The barista looks between you and your friend hesitantly before saying. “Of course I do, it’s __. She comes in here like at least 3 times a week.”

Luisinha sniffs and you beam.

“Do you know my name?” the barista quizzes.

Your eyes flicker from his face down to the little chalkboard name tag attached to the mauve apron that he’s wearing over his short sleeve black shirt. ‘Chili ♥’ is written in pink chalk. Cute.

“Yeah it’s Chili,” you say, leaning forward on the table, giving him your full attention.

He smirks. “Don’t let my manager hear that. It’s actually Carlos.”

“Well, Carlos, you would not believe what __ had to say about the oat milk you guys have here. She said-” Luisinha starts.

“I said,” you cut her off shooting her daggers, “That it’s super thick and creamy, really yummy.”

“Speaking of oat milk,” Carlos says unfazed, “You literally break my heart every time you stir that drink.” He leans forward bracing his hands on the table, kinda crowding your space, and nods his head in the direction of your half-empty, light brown coffee.

‘You literally break my heart every time you look at me.’ You think. You slow blink at him. “Why is that?”

“It’s supposed to be consumed in layers.” His eyes are twinkling, and his smile is just a little crooked.

You hum, thoughtfully. “Would it make you happy if I consumed it in layers?” You look up at him through your eyelashes. He’s trying to suppress a smile, his shoulders shaking lightly with poorly concealed laughter.

Luisinha fights back a gag as she chokes on the tension radiating off of you and Carlos. Quickly she raises to her feet, and snatches Charles’ laptop right from his hands, tucking it underneath her arm before she’s pulling the older boy out of his seat. 

“Charles I just remembered that we need to finish that project-“

“Luiza you’re an art major, and I’m an engineering major. Our classes are in completely different buildings. There’s actually no plausible way for that to be believable and I would literally never pick you as my partner. One because you…” They fade out as they get closer to the door, making their exit.

Carlos glances at the newly free seat before peeking at the counter. Still no queue. He takes it upon himself to sit. He places his chin on his hands, tattoos and rings on full display. “Yeah. It would.” He states plainly.

You shift in your seat. It’s so hard to look at a star close up. You squint. “What if that made me not happy?” It truly would ruin your day. Why would you drink straight oat milk, and then straight espresso when you could mix it and enjoy both flavors at once?

He searches your features before cocking his head to the side, a tiny closed-lip smile on his face. “What would make you happy then?”

Your heartbeat is fast and heavy and you can hear it in your ears, everything else subdued and muted. You bring a well-manicured hand down trace at one of the blossoms in the table. You can’t look at him anymore, not when you say it. With faux confidence you speak, “You could take me out.” 

You see him tense in your peripheral. You’re still tracing the flower, breath stuck in your throat. 

“No,” he says. Your hand jerks, ruining the perfect petals you’ve been outlining. You recover quickly, clearing your throat.

“Well-”

“You could take me out.”

Your head whips up. Eyes wide and doe-like before you get your composure. You scoff. “What’s the difference? Also, why haven’t you talked to me before?”

He looks like he’s thinking, a brief flicker of something flashes in his eyes, gone too fast for you to place it. He looks like he’s settling when he says, “I like to be pursued.” 

A smile slowly graces your lips. You nod. “Fair enough.”

He brings his hand down and brushes his pinky against your finger that was tracing the flower. It’s weird how your whole body burns hot and ignites from such a small touch. “I gotta go,” he says, tone soft and hazy and baby pink. 

You glance towards the door just as a couple walks in. You purse your lips and make a soft agreeing noise.

Carlos raises from his seat, smoothing out his apron. He’s walking away when you speak up.

“Why don’t you ever charge me for the oat milk?”

He glances back at you, a radiant star-filled smile on his face. “To make you happy.”

A small rush of air pushes past your lips as you watch him walk away. You wonder if anyone has ever been successful when pursuing a star. 

You do your best to get to work, though your eyes keep flickering to the counter. Carlos catches you just once or twice. Each time he smiles and looks away, focusing once again on the orders he’s being given. 

The couple that interrupted your and Carlos’s conversation ends up sitting a few tables away. Not close enough for you to hear, but close enough for you to watch. Ever the daydreamer, you wonder what they are saying. What should we get for lunch? Did you call your mom like you said you would? Do you want to stay the night? Are you the other half of my star?

The girl is offering the boy a sip of her drink, his hand coming up to cover hers as he guides it to his mouth. She smiles big, eyes half crescents, when he nods in approval, leaning in to place a soft kiss on her cheek, grinning into it. They settle into a conversation, hands moving, heads shaking.

You close your notebook and head to campus. Carlos doesn’t notice you’ve left until a few hours later.

~~~~~

autumn 

“Fancy seeing you here!”

You jump, almost knocking over your coffee and glance next to you to see the beautiful boy who scared you. 

Carlos is fresh-faced with his eyes brighter than ever, and he smells like freshly ground coffee beans. The expensive imported kind. From Colombia or something. Maybe Paris. You think a pretty boy like Carlos would look good in Paris. Anywhere beautiful really. A beautiful boy in a beautiful place. It just makes sense. He’s still got his apron on and his hair is tied up today, little flyaways framing his face like a halo. 

“Is it really?” you ask, trying to sound bored. Trying to quiet the butterflies in your tummy. 

You’ve got your laptop with you. No distractions in the form of pointless scribbles or poorly written couplets about boys with coffee eyes and kisses that probably taste like coffee to match, today! You’ve got a Humanities paper due in about 8 hours.

“I guess not, considering you’re here literally all the time.” He grins and scoots closer. “What are you doing?”

“I have a paper due later, so I’m just finishing that up.” You ignore the scoff he makes when he sees you’ve barely got half a page written.

Carlos reaches to his other side and offers up a new coffee, figuring yours would be watered down by now. Considering you’ve been here since opening. It’s particularly quiet for a Friday, but the lull in business is always welcome. Carlos glances to the counter at the storefront, only to find that Lando’s staring and when he catches Carlos’s eye, he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. Carlos smiles a tiny grin, but other than that, the other barista is swiftly ignored.

You take the coffee with a small ‘Thank you.’ and then hold his gaze as you deliberately stir it, mixing the carefully poured layers. You smile when Carlos’s eye twitches.

“Very unhappy right now.”

You sip away.

“What’s your major?”

“Creative writing. Do you go to school? I haven’t seen you around campus.” You make sure to save what you have so far, just in case you get even more distracted and forget to do so later. 

He shakes his head, pretty earring twinkling in the window light. “I would hate to be stuck somewhere for 4 years, and then not even be guaranteed a job after all that debt I would be in.” He pauses and then chuckles at how gloomy he sounds. “I do apprentice at a tattoo shop every now and again. Your major makes sense though. Seems fitting.”

You tuck the tattoo apprenticeship information away, saving it for a later conversation. “How do you know what fits me?” 

His expression is sly. “I know more about you than you think. I hear the way you talk about things, and see how you look at them. Plus you’ve always got your nose in your notebook. Do you want to be an author?”

You scoff and roll your eyes, a trace of bitterness seeping through and tainting your expression. “We all want to be authors.” You unfold and refold the napkin in your hand, before tossing it to the side. “I’m going to be an editor, or a journalist, or… something.”

“Don’t worry you have time to think about it.”

You give him a sideways glance. “I mean- not really, I graduate at the end of the spring semester.”

He regards you with curious eyes for a second. He looks like he’s trying to figure you out. His eyebrows furrow like he comes up empty with no explanation for what he is wondering. So with a faint confused smile, he asks, “Why do you live like that?”

You place the coffee you were about to sip back down, caught off guard a little by his genuinely inquisitive and soft tone. “Like what? With long term goals?”

He laughs, loud. It’s brash and startling in the quiet coffee shop. He throws his head back and his eyes crinkle. Some people turn to look at you both. You don’t care. “I mean that’s one way of saying it. But what I mean is like- what if you change your mind? Or like I don’t know… get bored?”

You pause. It’s a loaded, scary question. You wonder if the jobs you listed would really be enough to satisfy someone like you. Someone who’s always thinking about things in a way that makes them seem better than they are. Someone who sees things in extremes and thinks stars are inside of people. Someone who has a constant feeling inside that always wants more. You wonder if you actually will get bored. What you’d do if you did. You don’t want to think about it anymore, so you don’t. Instead, simply stating, “I love writing. I won’t change my mind about that, and as long as I’m doing something that has to do with it, then I’ll be fine.” You think you’re telling the truth, mostly at least.

He makes a soft noise of understanding, but you’re not sure if he actually does.

“I guess if I had something I loved like you love writing then I would see things differently. I just don’t love anything that much. Nothing but my freedom. And it seems like everything tries to take that away eventually.”

Your breath catches and you think something cracks inside of you. Can you ever truly contain a star? Or is it the tighter you hold it, the more likely it is to explode? A supernova waiting to happen?

Before you can respond he speaks up again. “But hey, listen. We should, like, hang out.”

“Oh? I thought you wanted me to take you out?” You jest.

He rolls his eyes, fighting a smile. “You’re still going to.” 

~~~~

The thing about being a hopeless romantic is that you think about life in could be’s. You could be his, he could be yours. You paint a picture of potential in your head, all different shades of pink and red and doused in stardust. 

You’re levelheaded and sane in most areas of your life, can understand the consequences of moving too fast, not taking the time to think, and not seeing things for what they truly are. But when it comes to things that have to do with liking, with loving, with wanting… You’re brash and eager. You cling to idealizations and dream of scenarios. It makes you infatuated quick, attached even quicker. It’s not a bad thing really. You just fall fast and love easily. You’re good at hiding it, but that sweet pink feeling? It’s always there, just simmering under the surface. 

The party is loud and so is your beating heart. Thump, thump, thump. The room has an almost opaque hazy feeling to it, smoke lingering in the air from whatever everyone is smoking. You take a sip from your red plastic cup, grimace, then drink some more. You don’t drink that often, but it’s nice. Once you can’t taste or feel the burn of it anymore. Once it makes you float a little. People are bumping into you, as you leave the kitchen. You just refilled your drink. Vodka and some juice this time. 

“__!” 

He’s running towards you at the speed of light. At least it seems like it. Maybe it’s the alcohol. Maybe it’s because he’s just fast. Maybe it’s just because you’ve got a crush. He doesn’t need to run, you’ll still be there. He’s stopped by people here and there, ugly moths flocking to a bright flame. He flutters away with soft dismissive smiles, a few ‘Hey I’ll catch you later, okay?’s. It makes you feel fuzzy.

“You made it!” He’s beaming, and he’s not out of breath but his chest is moving a little faster than normal. You can see his muscles through the thin fabric of the t-shirt he’s wearing. You stare. He crowds your space, comes close enough for your hand that’s holding your drink to bump into his tummy. Very firm, very strong tummy. He’s so warm, kinda sweaty from all the excess body heat in the room. Or maybe he was dancing. You wanna watch. See how he moves. You take another drink, grazing his stomach as you bring your arm back down.

“You came,” He says again. He’s talking to the top of your head, mostly, your eyes still distracted. His hand comes up to grip at the elbow of your bent arm, just resting there. Just touching.

At last, look up at him, and you have to consciously take a breath. He’s glowing so bright in the hazy, smoky room, surely he doesn’t belong here. At the party. On Earth. He’s wearing a wide neck tee, it shows off the length of his collarbones. They are pretty, strong. But you don’t linger.  And you ignore the fresh blossoms of sore red skin that are already there. Just peeking out. You showed up late. Carlos doesn’t seem like the type to wait. Not that he was waiting for you. Maybe he was. You hope he was. Even if he found things to keep him occupied while doing so.

“Yeah, I came.” You look at him over the lip of your cup. You’re almost there, almost floating.

He doesn’t say anything when he takes the cup from your hand, holding it from the top, taking a sip of his own. He doesn’t grimace. Maybe he’s already used to the taste. You’d say something but the drinks make you a little sluggish, your quick-wit slowed down. You’re not drunk, far from it, you’re just feeling… nice. He takes your hand, drags you through the crowd of people. That feels nice too. His hand is big and warm, kinda rough yet baby soft at the same time. You’ve always loved contradictions. He’s pulling you to the living room. There’s a ratty couch in the corner with your name on it. Probably spelled in a variety of questionable fluids.

“My friends-” you say realizing you lost Luisinha and Charles.

“They’ll find you, don’t worry. The house isn’t that big.” It’s kind of hard to hear him. You lean closer.

To your surprise, Charles and Luisinha are actually already there, making quick friends with the other barista from Blushing Brews. Lando, you remember Carlos mentioning him here and there. A few other people are around too, some you vaguely recognize from campus or just around, some you’ve never seen before. There’s not that much room on the couch.

You glance up at Carlos, but he doesn’t seem bothered, easily finding a place for himself. He’s still got your hand, so you’re dragged with him, settling half on his lap half on the cushion. You’re kind of sideways, back against the arm of the couch, side pressed against him, legs over his lap. His hand is on your mid-thigh, fingers on the inner seam of your jeans. He’s not doing anything but it feels good. He’s got his other arm around the armrest of the sofa, around you. It’s a little too hot to be sitting so close, but you don’t say anything and neither does he.

The conversation around you is hectic, bouncing from topic to topic. You’re content just sitting and listening, casually just nursing your drink. Luisinha’s going on about the latest piece for her portfolio and how she got accepted to be part of the university’s winter showcase which was kinda of a big deal, and a guy named Alex is talking about the wonders of botany, and the medicinal benefits of plants. There’s a couple of girls around too, you smile whenever you accidentally make eye contact with them while people watching. They smile back, eyes flitting curiously between you and Carlos. He squeezes your thigh. You press them together, subconsciously, mostly a natural reaction.

“Hey,” He says quietly, so only you hear.

You turn your head to look at him, instead of the people around you. You make a surprised noise when you see how close you are, noses almost touching, him already looking at you. You question him with a look.

He doesn’t need to, your proximity already near, but he presses his lips against your hair, right next to your ear, his cheek brushing yours. “Are you comfy?” You feel him smile more than see it. 

You wiggle your toes in your sneakers, press your side a little closer to his chest. “Mhmm.” You glance down when you feel his fingers start to trace the seam of your pants, no longer just squeezing and holding. You honestly can’t help it if you spread your legs just a bit wider in response. You think you feel his breath hitch, before you definitely feel his hand settle high on your inner thigh. It’s nothing scandalous, but it’s something. Makes that sickly sweet feeling boil in your belly.

“You look pretty.” There’s a lazy grin on his face, he’s looking at you with so much contentment that it makes you squirm. You wonder if he’s high. His hand on your thigh tightens. You ask him if he is.

He giggles, cute and quiet before pressing his face into your shoulder like he’s embarrassed. “No, I was but not anymore.” When he looks at you again, his cheeks are tinted pink. He looks pretty too. You tell him.

He rolls his eyes, and looks like he’s about to argue. But the bubble you both were protected in is popped by Lando’s loud voice, mentioning his name.

“Don’t let Carlos hear you say that. He’s the most cynical person I know. Will crush the little daydream in your head so quick.”

Carlos laughs, before chiming in, “Who’s day do I need to ruin?”

One of the guys you don’t know speaks up. He’s got broad shoulders and plump lips. “Sofia, over here thinks she’s found her soulmate in the form of her Mathematics professor.” He rolls his eyes like it’s the most absurd thing he’s ever heard. 

You look at the girl and she’s laughing light heartedly, not taking the jabs too seriously. You catch Charles’ eye, and he’s already looking at you, eyes bubbling with soft concern, like he knows where this conversation is going to go. 

Carlos adjusts you on his lap, not much, just enough so he can sit up some more and be fully attentive. He keeps his hands all over you. You don’t miss the way almost everyone’s eyes are on you, nosy and full of questions.

“Sofia, let me ask you this. Let’s say on the incredibly off chance soulmates do exist, why the fuck would he be in your hometown, that you literally have never left? There’s 7 billion people in the world and you think you met your ‘one true love’ at your University?” he even uses air-quotes. 

Sofia sniffs, and turns her nose up. “I think it’s fate that-“

Carlos interrupts her with an obnoxious buzzer noise. “EH. Wrong. Please Sofia. Believing in that shit is just setting yourself up for disappointment.” He shakes his head, exasperated, before he settles back into the couch. His fingers start tickling your inner thigh again.

Everyone’s kinda chuckling, even Luisinha when she asks, “Damn man… Who the fuck hurt you?”

Everyone really chuckles at that. Except Carlos. He shrugs trying to come off unbothered. Calm, cool, and collected. Like he didn’t just passionately crush a girl’s hopes of finding the one. Although you will admit, falling for your university teacher probably wasn’t the best path to follow on the quest for finding your person. 

“No one,” Carlos says, “I just think it’s stupid.”

Lando cackles, high pitched and teasing. “Yeah okay. Don’t listen to him. He got his heart broke a few years ago and hasn’t been the same since.”

Carlos laughs like he’s over it. You wonder if he is. “Shut the fuck up Lando.” His eyes still have starshine in them when he turns his attention back to you. “I’m gonna go get another drink. Do you want one?”

You shake your head, giving him a small smile. He squeezes your thigh before he goes, leaving with a quiet, “Stay here okay? I’ll be right back.” 

Luisinha’s quick to take his place, plopping your legs in her lap like Carlos had. “You okay?”

She says it lightly like she’s trying to not make it a big deal. And it’s not. Not really. Sure you thought of a few could be’s and wished on a few stars. But you know he’s right in some ways. It’s a good thing you don’t really believe in soulmates either. Not really. You believe in people and in stars. In could be’s.

“Yeah I’m good.” You say back quiet. “I don’t believe in them either. Not seriously.” You try to laugh off his incredulous look. 

“Are you really? I saw you writing about him, and you’ve been like extra daydreamy lately.”

You roll your eyes. “First of all, don’t snoop. Second of all, it’s just a crush.” You shrug.

She looks at you a little sadly. “We both know you don’t have ‘just crushes’.”

“Actually, I do, now. So please drop it, and go flirt with Lando some more. I’m going to the bathroom.” You swing your legs off her and wander around for a little bit. You didn’t really have to pee that bad to begin with.

~~~~

During your house roaming escapades, you accidentally walked in on a few people, and never actually found the bathroom you were supposed to be in. Now you’re in a hallway, looking at an elaborate family photo wall. Turns out you have no clue whose house this is, despite Carlos mentioning the guy went to your university.

There’s old photos of a couple that turn to marriage photos of a couple. The couple posed in front of a house. Then there’s baby photos, turned into school photos. Color coordinated christmas cards. You squint. You know pictures don’t really tell you much,  but they look happy. With their picturesque life. You wonder if the parents share a star. 

You jump and let out a squeak when you feel a hand grab the bend of your elbow and spin you around. 

“There you are,” Carlos sing-songs, trying to not laugh at the noise you made. “I was looking for you.”

You lean against the opposite wall of the pictures. He crowds your space. He smells good. You don’t know how you didn’t notice when you were on the couch with him. Maybe it was the smoke floating around. It’s a little easier to breathe here, in the random hallway you found. Or at least it was till he showed up. 

“You found me.” You sing back. He smiles, almost shyly. But his eyes drop to your lips and then back up.

“What were you doing?” He asks. He moves to lean against the wall next to you, trying to get a look at what you were distracted by when he found you.

“Just being nosy.” You hum. “Did you get your drink?” 

He looks down at his empty hands, and then leans his head back on the wall, laughing softly to himself. A little drop of sweat rolls down his extended neck. You swallow. It’s still early to mid fall. The weather is still hot enough. Plus all the bodies in the house. Plus he’s a star, always burning so bright. Must be tiring. Sweat inducing.

“I think I forgot it when I went looking for you.” He rolls his head to the side to look at you, and he’s got that lazy grin on his face again. 

“Wanna go get it?” You ask, already pushing yourself off the wall.

He’s quick when he stops you, hand on your shoulder gently guiding you back. He’s in front of you again, closer this time. Hotter.

“No, no. It’s okay. We’re- good here. This is good.” His eyes keep flickering to your lips. It’s making you squirm, something starts to stir in your belly. You shift under his gaze.

“Do you do this with all of your friends?” Your voice is softer now, the casual atmosphere you both were just in, long gone. The tension is tangible now and you’re too scared to speak up, afraid you might break if you do. 

He hums, angling his body even closer to you. Your back is against the wall now, and the sounds of the party around you are muffled. One of his arms comes up, bracing his forearm by your head bracketing you in on one side. His other hand comes up to toy with the bottom of your shirt. “Do what with them?” His voice is just as soft. 

You swallow. “Look at them like you’re gonna kiss them.”

His eyes twinkle as he looks at you, eyes dropping to your lips again. He licks his own, and now they’re wet. The light hits them just right to make them shine. What do stars taste like? He drags his gaze back up deliberately slow. “Yeah. I kiss all my friends.” It’s said on an exhale as he leans closer to you. His lips graze your ear. “Don’t you?”

You let out a trembling breath, shaking your head. A warning signal goes off in your brain, red-lights flashing. That’s a red flag, you’re sure of it. But for some reason, in your mind, the lights, the flag… they look pink, almost enticing instead of worrisome. The blaring warning alarms slow and blur into a melodious siren song.

He’s shifting closer again. The heat from his body is scalding. Part of you wishes you could move back, most of you wants to press into it. Get burned just a little. “You don’t?” he asks. There’s a little bit of a teasing lilt to his voice, you can hear the smile. “Why’s that?” The hand by your head plays with a small piece of your long hair, twirling it around his fingers. You get a glimpse of his tattoos. Pretty.

You struggle to find something to say. You don’t want to say you only kiss your boyfriends, you don’t want to scare him. Because you want this, you do. You just- “I- I only kiss special friends.” -want it to mean something. 

It rushes past your lips and you’re not able to stop it. Not able to really think about what you’re saying. Not able to think about what you’re implying, what you’re agreeing to. You feel his grip on your hip tighten a little, and his body pushes towards you, just grazing yours. He’s not hard yet but he’s excited. Cock a little thicker and heavier and pushing out just a little more than normal. Your eyes squeeze shut and you try not to whimper. 

He nuzzles against your temple. “That’s good, we can be special friends. I like that.” 

He’s leaning in and you’re about to ask him if he means it, the thing he said about liking it, but the tension is shattered and the fragile atmosphere is ruined. 

“Carlos! You better leave that poor girl alone!”

It’s said by Lando, it’s always him it seems. He’s drunk and hauled over Luisinha’s shoulder, just passing by the hallway you’re in on their way to presumably the bedrooms. There’s a few people laughing and following them, waiting for a show and consequently, some filter into your secret hallway and take it upon themselves to make it their space as well.

Carlos sighs, forehead resting against yours. “I gotta go make sure he wraps it.” He sounds annoyed but amused. “He’s had chlamydia one too many times. Insurance won’t cover his clinic costs anymore.”

You snort. “Please tell me you’re joking.” You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. Actions bold for the fragile feeling floating around you both. His eyes track the movement and you don’t miss how he tenses before your arm falls back to your side. 

“Yeah I am, but I should still go make sure he’s being safe.” 

You nod. “You’re a good friend, Carlos.”

He rolls his eyes, playful when he squeezes your hip. “Don’t forget you still have to take me out.” 

“I won’t.”

His smile matches your own. “I’ll see you?”

You nod again, as he turns to jog in the direction that Lando and Luisinha went. You wish he looked back. Oh well.

~~~~

Early to mid-fall bleeds into late autumn.Still warm during the day like a soft summer’s kiss, just a little chilly during nightfall like the last words of a past lover. You and Carlos haven’t talked about the party. And he hasn’t tried to kiss you since. Things are different though. Soft touches here and there, more frequent than before. Even softer, stilted flirting ensued during the following weeks. He wasn’t acting shy, never that. 

But it’s like he was waiting for you. Waiting to be pursued. You guess. It’s clear he wants more, but it’s almost like he doesn’t want to be the one to push for it. Give in to it. You don’t really know. You also don’t think too much about it. Don’t think a lot about anything other than him, and the next time you’ll see him, next moment you’ll get to spend time with him. Usually, you don’t have to wait too long. He spends most of his breaks with you at the coffee shop, now. It’s a sweet thing he does, just like how he’s been putting that extra pump of sweetener into your drink lately.

Today, however, you are not at Blushing Brews, you’re at the fair. Large rides and crooked games line the surrounding area of the boardwalk, sounds of people screaming and laughing fill the air. It smells like heart disease and the salty ocean. It’s not too crowded, it’s been open for a while, you came on one of the last days it was in town. 

“This is me taking you out by the way,” you say around a spoonful of frozen cherry limeade.

Carlos hums as he leans down, wanting a taste. You want to taste too, just not of his frozen lemonade. You scoop a heaping amount. Maybe he’ll get a brain freeze. 

“You don’t say?” He smiles before wincing, mouth forming a small ‘o’. He’s blowing out like he’s trying to warm the inside of his mouth. You smile, spoon between your teeth. 

“Tasty?” you ask, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Cold.” he responds, still trying to melt the icy slush in his mouth. He offers you a bite of his.

“Too sour,” you decline. “I only like sweet things.” 

~~~

The wind is blowing, the breeze is pleasant after running around the fair all day. Hours have gone by, playing games that you both know are rigged, bartering with the worker until you’re giving up and buying the prize you want anyway, a medium sized Hello Kitty plush with a pink bow. Riding rides that are terrifying simply because they get taken apart and put back together, time and time again. Eating way too many fried foods and drinking far more sugary drinks than is healthy. But neither you or Carlos have mentioned wanting to leave.  

You walk the boardwalk and take a seat at the ledge of the pier and Carlos’s close by following suit. Feet are dangling off the edge, and a soft mist of salty water tickles your ankles. It’s night time now. The stars are bright in their home. You lean back and brace yourself on your extended arms, palms on the wooden pier.

“You know that stuff you said at the party? About soulmates?” You’re not looking at him, eyes up towards the sky. You can feel him gazing at your profile though. It burns a little. Everything about him is hot. Not unbearably so. Kinda like when you turn the shower on as hot as it can go. Scalding, but good.

“About all of it being bullshit?” he laughs to himself. “Yeah I remember. I’ll say it again too.” He knocks your extended elbow causing it to buckle, playful and cheery like he always is. How can being around him be such a contradiction? Light-hearted yet suffocating. Doesn’t matter really. Not like you’re going to stop. Not until he tells you to. You scowl at him before righting yourself.

You’re quiet for a moment, long enough for Carlos to follow your gaze and glance at the navy blanket above you both. “I believe it,” you state.

He’s looking at you again. You look at him as well, face impassive. “You do?” he asks. He doesn’t really sound surprised. Why would he be? What writer doesn’t believe in something as far fetched as reciprocated love?

You shrug lightly. “Maybe not like soulmates. But I think we have like… a person that we could spend a really long time with. Forever even. Maybe longer if we’re lucky.” He doesn’t say anything so you continue. “I also think we are all part of the stars. And we share a star with our person.”

Carlos’s confused to say the least but he goes with it. You live in a constant daydream, and he knew you had your head in the clouds when he first met you, decided that he wanted you. “If we’re stars, how do we get to earth?”

“We fall. Falling stars,” you explain. He makes a soft sound of acknowledgement.

You both fall silent, the distant sound of laughter and the rolling waves the only thing letting you know the world hasn’t fallen mute. The reflection on the moon dances on the ripples of the ocean.

“How did you… come to this conclusion?”

Again you shrug. You lay back on the salty, sandy wood of the dock. “I don’t know really. I just like the sound of it. The idea.” You give a half suppressed laugh, feeling kinda silly. He lays down next to you, attention fully taken by the stars. 

You don’t know why. He sees himself everyday.

“So you really have no idea?”

“I mean…” you start. Think a short moment. “We really don’t have any idea about anything we can’t physically see. Right? Like we have no idea if heaven’s real or not because we can’t see it. Hell too. I don’t even know if Australia is a real place.”

Carlos chuckles. “Of course it’s real.”

“How do you know? Have you been? Have you seen the alleged opera house? A kangaroo even?” You raise your eyebrows challenging him.

He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe you. He’s smiling though. Always shining. “I’ve seen pictures. And other people have been.”

“And you just believe them? People say they have been to heaven, there’s pictures of angels.”

A staring contest ensues before he’s rolling his eyes, giving up. He waves a lazy, bony hand. Wrist limp, as he gestures for you to just get on with it. 

A smug grin graces your lips. “It’s the same with soulmates. People think they are real, claim to have met theirs on some off chance. But, that’s all subjective hearsay.” You kick your feet, still dangling, just tempting the ocean to drag you in. Maybe a shark will get you. Maybe a sea spirit. “But… the stars? They are right there. People? Literally everywhere. You? You’re right next to me. I can see all of it. I know it’s all there, and real. There’s a connection. It means something I think.”

He hums a few times like he’s processing something, trying to figure out how to word the thoughts running around in his mind. He takes a deep breath. “Stars are really big you know. Don’t you think it's… I don’t know, like suffocating for the star to confine them to being someone’s soulmate?”

“Not soulmate.”

“You know what I mean.”

Head shaking, you deny what he says. “No, I don’t think it’s confining or suffocating. Being important to someone is so special; precious. A big deal for them.” You nod towards the sky.

When he whispers, it’s said so quietly you almost miss it, “What if the star doesn’t want that?”

His words hurt for some reason. It’s stupid, and you can’t explain it, but the ache is piercing, like a sweet tooth left untreated for too long, slowly decaying, sharp stabs of pain throbbing.

“Don’t you think the stars get lonely?” You murmur back. 

He swallows audibly, and you hear him let out a breath that trembles just a hint too much to be considered normal. Carlos rolls to his side so he’s facing you, he has a dopey smile on his face, just a little bit crooked and uneven. It looks forced, but you let him have it. “Well… which star am I then? If we all are made of stardust.” He’s trying to tease. Trying to breathe.

You look at him with a light blush on your cheeks. The multicolored fair lights are glowing over his face, rapidly changing color. It’s like you’re looking at him through a kaleidoscope. It’s dizzying. That’s not why your stomach is doing flips though. You roll over to your side, body to body. Only a few inches in between you both. 

“You’d be the north star, I think.”

He hums, closes his eyes so his lashes kiss the apple of his cheek, a soft expression taking over his features. They’re still shut when he ponders, “Why would I be that one?”

You don’t have to think about it. “Because it’s the brightest star in the whole sky.” 

His brows furrow before he opens his eyes, he looks confused. “Which one are you?”

You shrug again. He keeps asking you questions you don’t know the answers to. You don’t even like space that much. Just the idea of it. You like the idea of a lot of things. 

“I don’t know if I’m star material.” You laugh rolling onto your back again, looking up once more. The stars look so close, right next to each other, but in reality they are so far apart. You think about how you and Carlos are separated by just a few inches. A foot at most. Yet in this moment, it feels like you couldn’t reach him if you tried. “I’m probably like a space rock or something. So essentially the same. Just less luxurious. People don’t make wishes on me. Space rocks are pretty pointless and useless. Just look at Charles. He’s a space rock too.” You’re laughing as you say it. Carlos’s not.

“I shouldn’t be that one,” he whispers. “And if someone like me gets to be a star, then you get to be one too.”

A small smile is still on your face when you gaze at him again. “Someone like you?”

He nods.

You giggle. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He regards you, eyes taking every inch of your face like he’s trying to memorize you. The freckle by your eye, the faintest scar near your lip. “I think you’ll find out, eventually.” He sounds off when he answers.

Still, you don’t hesitate. “I hope so.”

~~~

The room is big but you’re sitting close to him.

“No! No! You’re like not that bad… honestly! If the whole creative writing thing doesn’t work out you could be an idol.” 

You know the boy next to you is lying. You know he is because your voice keeps cracking. Going flat or sharp whenever you get a turn on the mic. Pfft. You never could have been an idol. But when you glance at him, your cheeks aren’t flushed with embarrassment. They are flushed because of how much you have been laughing, because of the pink fuzzy feeling bubbling in your chest. You’ll probably burst soon. Carlos’s eyes are gleaming, and his lips are pursed trying to hold back his smile. Maybe it’s better that way. You wouldn’t want to be blinded. His smile too bright and full of the stars. It’s been hard to look at him the last few months. 

“You are such a liar!” You’re giggling as you playfully swat at his shoulder. 

But your laughter quiets when you feel his big hand grip around your tiny wrist before you can land a hit. His long fingers overlapping where they meet at your bone. Your eyes flick between the connected skin and his face and that’s when it happens. The world starts to move slower around the sun, and your heart makes up for it by beating that much faster. You see his doe eyes dance between all your features paying special mind to your lips. The tension between you both is tangible and hot, burning. And it’s going to happen. After months, ages, of stilted flirting and wavering touches and poorly hidden desire. Carlos is going to kiss you. 

Your lashes are fluttering, your eyes are closing, and you’re leaning forward to meet him halfway when you hear: 

“Do you have any?”

Your eyes open wide to see his mirroring yours, and your breath stutters out in quiet shock. Embarrassing. 

“W-what?” You do your best to keep your voice steady, but you’re flustered. He’s so close and his eyes are so focused. There are stars in them too. 

The grip on your wrist tightens a bit bringing your attention to your attached limbs. Yours still raised mid-strike, his raised in mid-defense. His eyes flick to his decorated forearm. Your brows furrow. 

“Any tattoos?” You ask. 

Carlos’s little pink tongue darts out to wet his lips before he nods and lets out a small affirmative noise. 

You flex your hand in his hold and glance at the ink all over it. He has knuckle and hand tattoos, along with random other designs littering his skin. 

You blush. “Yeah I have a tiny black cat on my ankle… It’s supposed to be the cat from Kiki’s Delivery Service?”

You expected him to think it was silly, childish, but he smiles instead. “Jiji?”

You grin back and nod.

His lips purse together and his eyes peek at your lips again. “Did it hurt?” he muses.

You laugh a little. A breathy, incredulous thing sneaking past your lips. “I mean you know for yourself. Your whole arm is covered.” You nod your head at his arm, and your fingers twitch in his grasp, like they want to touch, trace the dark lines on his comparatively fair skin. 

The blush that falls on his cheeks is cute, but you don’t allow yourself to dwell on it, still feeling a bit childish and silly for letting your thoughts run away from you just a moment ago. Thinking he was going to finally kiss you. Tsk. Embarrassing. 

“It hurt yeah,” he says chuckling to himself, “But Jiji is black right? So it must be dark? That hurts worse. Especially on the ankle.” his boot-clad foot nudges up against the ankle where he knows the piece is, brushing against it gently. He doesn’t take his eyes off your face. 

You think about the fact that he knows which ankle you have tattooed, the way he knows what technique was used on it. How he knew it was a dark, filled in tattoo, not just an outline like it very well could have been, without even having to look away from you to peek at it and double check. You think about how he asked, just to ask, despite already knowing. You think about what that could mean. You think about how he must have been paying attention to you, taking in small details about you and filing them away without you even knowing or noticing. You think about how he maybe just wants to hear you talk sometimes. The gulp is audible when you swallow down the sweet, tingly feeling that’s crawling up your throat like bile. 

It’s only you two in the noraebang room, the distant sound from the rooms surrounding is loud, loud enough for you to speak up. And yet your voice comes out as a soft whisper when you answer. He leans closer to hear you. “It hurt at first, when he went over it, you know? But after a while… I don’t know. It felt like warm? I kind of liked it. You know… the pain.”

All the noises of the rooms next to you cease and it’s like your ears are filled with cotton candy clouds. All the sensitivity leaving them and migrating to your other senses making them heightened. You watch with clear eyes as Carlos’s pupils dilate. 

“Do you think I liked it? When it hurt, when I got all mine done?” He asks. You can’t tell if he’s being quiet on purpose or if it’s still the baby pink clouds in your ears. 

“You might have… I know a lot of people do, but I don’t know much about you Carlos.”  

And maybe it’s coincidental. The way the kiss hurts. Feels slightly painful. Bruising and desperate. Or maybe it’s intentional. Either way, the tension between you and him comes to a head. The gasp that leaves your lips is loud and sharp, you don’t even kiss back at first because you’re so dumbstruck. Lovestruck. It’s only been a few months… Embarrassing.

 Embarrassing until it’s not. Embarrassing until you get yourself together enough and start to kiss back, hands sinking into his long hair, gripping a little too hard so you have something to tether you to this earth. Embarrassing until it’s wet and sloppy but slow and dreamy all at once. Until you feel his teeth dig into your bottom lip, his tongue following to soothe the little ache that he caused, maybe by accident, maybe on purpose because you told him you liked pain. It’s embarrassing until you can’t think about how embarrassing it is. 

Until you can’t think straight at all because the only thing going on is your mind is: this is how it feels to kiss a fucking star. Not the rich kind of star that’s dressed in designer brands and weighed down by the heaviness of the world along with too many rings and watches and chains. Not the idol kind of star either, the kind that is so carefully crafted and manufactured that it’s kind of hard to see it as a star at all when it seems more like a doll. 

No. 

Kissing Carlos is like kissing one of the stars in the sky, when they are in their rawest, purest form. The kind of star that people make wishes on when they are twinkling, when they are falling; dying. You’re dizzy and your eyes are squeezed shut so tight that little white dots are coming and going in the darkness and you think that maybe those are stars bursting right before your eyes. You hold onto the star in your hands a little tighter, kiss him just a little harder. 

He winces from the force of your kiss and pulls away. Embarrassing. 

When he looks at you his eyes are dark, and his chest is already heaving. 

He licks his lips and his eyes go down to your lips, then back up almost as if asking for permission to continue. You give him the slightest nod, and that’s it. That’s all he needs.

The noraebang seating is uncomfortable. Booth-like vinyl over barely padded benches, but you go easy as Carlos urges you to lay down, resting against the arm rest. His kisses are insistent and hot as he crawls over you, and settles between your open legs. 

He’s such a good kisser. The type to cradle your face in his palms, the type to sneak his tongue inside after teasing the seam of your lips. The type to bite gently, make you whine into his mouth, and he just eats up every little noise you make and breath that you take. It feels good, even the sharp sting of his bites, even the way the armrest presses into your back when he puts his weight on you. The hand that pulls at your hair to expose your neck to him, feels good too. 

He bites and sucks, little multicolored flowers blooming on your skin. He’s suffocating in the best way. The silence swimming around you is suffocating as well, just not in a good way. The lack of words make you feel antsy, the distant music of the neighboring booths sound muted and subdued, giving the illusion that you and Carlos are the only two in the world, in your own little bubble. It’s overwhelming. 

“You’re a good kisser,” you gasp, just to break the quiet.

You feel him smile into your neck, before he braces himself over you, looking at you smugly, yet charmingly. “You too.” he says softly. The way he rolls his hips into you, however, isn’t soft at all. 

He brings a hand down, and bunches up the material of your skirt so the only thing between you both are his layers, and your panties. You can feel him better now, can feel just how hard he is, how thick and long his cock is, rutting over your cunt. 

You spread your legs as far as you can so that you are more open for him, his cock slipping just barely between your pussy lips over your panties, rubbing over your clit every time he grinds into you. He keeps his thrusts consistent and rough, his breath stuttering out labored and hot.

You’re trying to keep quiet, but you can’t help the soft whines that slip past your lips. “Feels good, baby,” you praise. 

Your hands are gripping at his biceps, feeling the way that they flex and tremble from holding himself over you. He drops to his forearms and groans deep, burying his face in your neck. You can feel his hips start to move faster, more desperate. His breaths are puffing hot on your neck, going up in pitch at the end. He’s almost whining for you and your hips start to roll to meet his, your pussy needy and wet, craving the friction and drippy at the sound of his pleasure. His lips are alternating between biting and giving soft wet kisses.

“Fuck, I’m not gonna last… I’m gonna cum-”Carlos grits out against your neck before lifting his body some to look down at your bodies where his clothed cock is grinding frantically against your panty covered pussy. 

You can hear the desperation in his voice along with a hint of shame. 

“That’s okay,” at the sound of your voice Carlos looks at you, one arm bending so he’s got his palm braced on one side of your head and his forearm on the other and you sigh out a soft pleasured sound. He looks so breathtaking. His starshine eyes are dark and wet, his fair skin is flushed and hot. There’s a bit of sweat at his hairline from how hard he’s working for his release. You wipe away a drop on his temple as you push his long hair out of his face. “You did good, you made me feel so good. Show me how good I make you feel. Please.” 

You watch as pleasure overtakes him, the hard thrust of his hips becoming even more erratic and hectic. He’s nodding along with your praise like that’s what he needed to let go, whines and groans tumbling from his lips. He’s looking at you when his eyes start to flutter and his brows turn up in pleasure. His mouth falls open and he’s coming. Hot shots of white fill his pants and you can feel the warmth of it and the throb of his cock through the thin layers of clothes separating you.

His head is hanging and his body is trembling with the after rush of his orgasm when he chuckles lightly. “That doesn’t normally happen. I swear.”

You’re kind of just laying there, on the less than comfortable noraebang booth bench, with him still in between your legs. You laugh with him softly. “Been a while?” you ask.

He shakes his head, still catching his breath and coming down, mind still a bit hazy. “No, no. You just- you’re so… different. You make me feel weird.”

The laughter that had been floating between you slowly starts to quiet as you both seem to realize what he said at the same time. He looks at you, eyes simmering with panic, and yours look back searching and confused.

It’s quick, the way he changes the subject, smothers you with his breath and distracts you with his soft kisses and even softer touches. Making your tongue too busy with his, to ask questions. Not that you would have asked. You play it off, threading your hands in his hair, kissing him deeply. The tiny little prickle of hurt you felt in your chest was completely forgotten as he kisses you back just as hard, like he wants to swallow you whole. 

He brushes some hair out of your face and whispers against your lips, “I wanna make you cum.” The hand that isn’t playing with your hair is sliding down your body, before cupping over your pussy. Your panties are wet, sticking to you. You know he can feel it because he gasps, soft and small. “Fuck, please let me.” He rests his forehead on yours, and rubs at your clit over your panties. The gentle, teasing circles are the match that ignites the little flame of arousal that has been seething within your belly.

You whisper, “What if someone comes in?”

Your hips subtly rolling into his touch at their own accord, don’t do much to show him that you’re actually worried.

He breathes a laugh against you before placing a chaste kiss to your cheek, and then biting softly at the apple of it. “You know why people come here… so do the people who work here. No one’s gonna bother us.”

He’s kissing your neck again, and his fingers are speeding up.

“Is that why you brought me here?” you whisper, breath hitching on a whine.

Carlos’s fingers stutter for a second before carrying on, and he looks at you with hazy lidded eyes. He has a sheepish smile on his face. “Not exactly. I wanted to hang out. But I may have been hoping for a little.” he says as he kisses you softly. “Been thinking about how you taste since that party.”

You can’t help but moan. You’ve been thinking about it too. How it feels to be completely devastated by a star in the best, most blissful way. You manage to keep some shred of decency, though. You’re not at yours or his, and you’re not in your head this time. You’re in a very public space, even if everyone knows what goes on behind the locked doors. “N-no sex.” you bargain.

He nods. “Can I use my mouth?” he nuzzles into your temple, and two of his fingers tap against your pussy. “Can I use it here?” he places the gentlest, teasing kisses between his words. “I’ll be quick.” he assures.

You whine and squirm against him. “Confident?” you ask, trying to tap into your usual, quit wit. To little avail. It’s no use. You were ruined at the first taste of him, the first feel of his lips on yours. You can only imagine how they will feel in other, more secret places.

He smiles, tongue in cheek before he shrugs lightly. “A little.”

You roll your eyes, but when he plays with your clit again, your hips buck into his palm and he takes that as a yes and moves down your body. His hands come up to play with your boobs briefly, squeezing and rolling them in his hands. “Gonna fuck these one day, okay?” he tells you.

Him saying that he’s gonna fuck your tits, should be vulgar. But to you it’s a promise that this is going to happen again, and it makes you high, floaty thinking about him wanting you, desiring you. Him already thinking about the next time he gets to have you when he hasn’t even finished with you this time. 

Your brain is hazy and his touch is burning through your clothes but that’s nothing compared to the way his breath feels on your clothed cunt when he finally finds his place between your legs. You’re wet, embarrassingly so and you know your panties are sticking to your core. Your ears are still cloudy, and you’re sure you’re probably imagining it, but when Carlos slips his fingers into the sides of your panties to peel them away, you think you can almost hear the wetness. He grabs them from the top and starts to pull them down and off your feet. Your hands come to your face to try and hide, your legs instinctually closing.

He’s having none of that. His hands are placed on your knees as he slides them over your thighs, chills following the path of his fingertips. He places a gentle pressure, urging you to open them. He’s a little higher than your cunt, kind of resting on your lower belly when he pulls at your hands, making you look at him. 

“Don’t hide from me,” he says quietly. One of his hands tangles with yours as he slowly lowers himself to your pussy. He kisses and licks over your smooth, pink lips. His hand that’s holding yours squeezing every now and then when he looks up at you with his dark, lust filled eyes.

His free hand comes down to slip between your folds, and just teases at your opening, almost like he’s playing with the little droplets of slick that are dripping from your core. Your legs open a bit more, shame and shyness steadily creeping away as you yearn for him to make you feel good. You feel him smile and peck your pussy lips before he rests his head on your thigh. He looks at you, doe-eyes filled with mirth.

“Want my fingers, too, pretty girl?” he muses.

You close your eyes as you nod, an exhale stutters from your chest.

“What do you say?” he taunts.

Eyebrows furrowed, and lips pouted, you grumble out a soft, “Please…”

He hums before he slowly sinks his middle finger inside. It feels good right away, his finger is much longer and thicker than your own, reaching that spot inside that you always struggle to reach. Your mouth parts and the softest sigh leaves your lips. His other arm wraps around your thigh, and fingers slide between your folds from the top to spread them so your clit is exposed and ready for his tongue. When he finally tastes you, he moans along with you, before he gets to work.

He wasn’t lying when he said it wouldn’t take long. Carlos’s tongue is skilled. It works fast, flicking quickly over your clit, up and down. It’s constant and wet, and it’s so filthy the way his tongue on your sweet spot makes your pussy just gush all over the finger he has inside of you. 

He sucks gently when his tongue and jaw need a break, little pulses and slurping suctions stimulating you, before he goes right back to lapping at your sensitive little bud, occasionally dipping down to lick at your center, wrapped tight around his finger. 

He pulls your hood back a little more, placing wet kisses to your clit, tongue licking just slightly before his lips wrap around it making you jolt from the direct sensation. 

You’re braced on your arms, looking down at him, watching him make you come apart at the seams. When he adds his ring finger, your head and eyes roll back, and your legs spread even farther, making yourself as open as you can for him. 

“Fuck, I’m already close,” you whine, high pitched and airy. You bring a hand down and brush some of his hair out of his face, and you see him smile a little, smug as he puffs out a soft laugh. His breath is hot on you, as his tongue and lips keep playing with your clit. His fingers speed up too, curling every time they are pushed in, dragging when they pull out. He knows exactly what he’s doing, exactly how to make you fall apart.

“You gonna cum for me baby?” he purrs against your cunt.

Your brows are pinched in pleasure and you nod as you watch him. “Yeah, don’t stop, please,” you whisper.

His eyes close as he drowns in you, his face pressed up against you as he licks you from an angle that is so precise and so perfect that your legs start to shake. The hand you have in his hair tightens and you pull, keeping him close as you chant quiet, lewd praises.

“Gonna cum, baby- oh my god-” Your mouth falls open and your eyes squeeze shut. 

Right when you’re on the crest of pleasure, Carlos replaces his tongue with his fingers so he can watch you as you cum. He sees the way you’re about to protest at the loss of his mouth before your body tenses and your back arches off of the bench, his fingers toying with you enough to make the rush hit you before you can even complain. 

“Fuck, look at you baby,” he murmurs in awe. 

His eyes are trained on your pussy, the way it clenches and contracts around his fingers. He spreads you as wide as he can so he can have the best view of your pink cunt pulsing, and dripping. His fingers slow on your clit as you start to come down and the fingers inside of you almost pet at your g-spot, milking every last bit of pleasure he can from you. 

Slow is still overwhelming though, when you’ve just cum. It’s not long before your hands are reaching between your legs and gripping at his wrist.

“Too much,” you cry.

He coos, as he removes his fingers. He gently pulls at your inner lips and opens up your puffy little cunt. “She’s still pulsing around nothing…” he says. He sounds dazed, lust drunk. “Did I make you cum that hard, baby?”

You’re still trying to catch your breath as you look down your nose at him. He’s got that effortlessly confident, cocky look on his beautifully, flushed face and you just want to kiss it off. You kick him instead.

“Awe, don’t be mad, I’m only teasing,” he giggles as he settles himself on top of you, resting on your chest. He squeezes your tit good-naturedly. 

“Confidence is only sexy if it’s paired with humility, which you are sorely lacking, my friend.”

“Your special friend,” he whispers, kissing your collarbone.

You grab his face and angle it towards you and kiss him before you can think too much about it. Before you can think about how it might scare him. The way he tenses in your hold is heart-stopping. Not in a lovesick way, but in the worst gut-wrenching way. You can almost feel the inner battle that he has within himself before he seems to give in.

The soft sigh he moans into your mouth is so sweet, that it’s toothache inducing. The way he lets himself melt into you and the way he becomes pliant in your hold almost feels better than his tongue. With his pliancy in mind, you gingerly sit up, mouths never parting, and he goes easily with you until you’re crowding his space and eventually straddling his lap. The kiss is still soft, saccharine sweet when his hands slip under your skirt. They knead at your cheeks, pulling and squeezing admiring how plush your body is. You’re about to start working your hips over him, but he groans and gets a hold of you before you start going.

“You already made me cum in my pants once, you are not doing it again,” he whisper scolds, while playfully nipping at your bottom lip.

“I thought it was sexy,” you whisper back. You brush your nose against his.

You’ve got your hands working through his hair, scratching at the nape of his neck. He hums while he pushes into your touch, eyes closing.

“You know what else is sexy?”

You make a soft questioning noise.

“When you walk out of here with no panties on,” his eyes are still closed as he smirks.

You’re jostled quickly and back on the bench instead of his lap. He’s crowding your space and when you look him over, you see your black panties hanging from his finger. You blush.

“Carlos, you better give those back right now,” you whisper.

He quirks an eyebrow. Then he leans in and coos into your ear, “Don’t you think it would be more fun to think about what I’m gonna do with them? How I might be planning on wrapping them around my cock the next time I touch myself? How I might be planning to cum all over them?” 

It’s audible when you swallow down the desire crawling up your throat. You raise to your feet and head for the door.

“You should tie your sweater around your waist, your boner is distracting and indecent,” you say with a quick backward glance. 

Carlos pockets your panties, and laughs before taking your advice and catching up with you. 

~~~~

winter

“When I think of you, I think of the color pink.”

 It’s cold outside, but the apartment is warm. So is the bed. So is the body laying next him. Warm.

Carlos doesn’t stay the night very often.

He is tonight though. His head is on your chest and his fingertips are lazily running over your bare skin leaving little chills trailing behind. Your hand is in his hair. It’s getting long now, and it’s still soft, easy for you to run your fingers through, despite being bleached a week or so ago. You went with him to the appointment. 

Carlos laughs a little. “That’s funny because I also think of the color pink when I think of you.”

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but he can tell you’re smiling, close to giggling when you respond, “Really? Why?”

He hums and looks up at you. You look back with that look of adoration that you always have when gazing at him. His chest constricts, it’s hard to breathe when he’s with you sometimes. 

“Because of how pretty, and pink your pu-”

You push your hand in his face with a laugh and try to roll away from him. “God, shut up! You’re so crass.”

You don’t get far before he’s got his hold on you. His big hands wrapping around your tiny bones. He manhandles you until you’re properly under him, hands pinned and bottom half weighed down by him straddling you. 

“That’s not what you were saying a couple of hours ago, was it baby?” he taunts. “What was it you said? ‘Yeah, baby… your cock feels so good, please cum inside me, fill me up.’ right?” he says, making his voice breathy and high pitched, mocking you. 

He presses into your cheek, nips at your ear as he teases, basking in the way that your cheeks blush red, incandescent. Warm, just like the apartment, like the bed. Like the whole of your body underneath him. 

You’re there often, under him. Sometimes on top of him, next to him, in front of him. He kisses you, chaste yet thorough, and you keen, hands fighting against his hold like you want to touch.

Again, he relishes in your reaction. He relishes in everything about you, everything you do, all of the time. The way that you’re witty and sarcastic when you’re out and about. The way you constantly talk about things as if you’re painting a picture with your words, carefully choosing each syllable. 

Versus the way you get when you’re just with him. Sometimes still witty, a visionary, but mostly shy, sweet, and like the most delicate flower in his destructive hands. He tries to be gentle with you, he really does. But he’s a creature of habit; and he has a habit of being rough, a habit of hurting and ruining pretty things. He hates that about himself. But it’s almost subconscious, he never realizes he’s doing it, ruining it, until it’s too late.

But he’s been transparent with you. It’s not his fault that you always seek him out, and it’s not his fault that you’re the sun, always there in a sense, in his mind. It’s not his fault that he’s grown to crave your comfort, your presence. Even at night when you’re not physically with him and the sun has set but his bed still has lingering warmth on the side that’s not his; even then, you’re still there in the recesses of his mind, just like the sun is still in the sky even if it can’t be seen, even if the moon has taken its place for the night. Or a star, as you would say. It’s not his fault.

His hands release yours, and one comes up to your cheek, thumb rubbing over the apple. Your hand comes down and holds at his inked wrist as your lashes flutter. His eyes scan the entirety of your face before a lopsided grin starts to form on his lips. He tilts his head a little. 

“And why do you think of pink?” Carlos asks.

He watches as you flush even darker, the smallest scowl falling over your features, a little wrinkle forming between your brows. He bites his lip to keep from laughing at you.

“You think I’m gonna tell you now?” you spout.

He doesn’t give in, knowing you just want to bicker. He knows you do that, pick fights, just because you want attention, just want him focused on you. You’d never admit to being the bratty type, but he knows you well. In that sense at least. Instead he hums, pecks your nose. “That’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, I just like that you’re thinking about me.”

“Do you think about me too?”

Sometimes you scare him. When you ask him questions like that. In that soft, sweet, hopeful tone. When you give him those tender looks and touch him with hands that are too gentle for someone like him, like you think he’s the one that might break between the two of you. 

“Too much,” he murmurs honestly.

You smile and you look like you’re going to say something, but Carlos’s quick to change the subject.

“You should let me tattoo you.”

“No way!” you say instantly, swatting at his chest. He shifts and rests most of his weight on you, buries his face into your skin. You smell like your body wash, along with a little bit of him. Vanilla and Chili.

“Why not? Do you doubt my craft?” he teases, mock offense lacing his tone.

“Maybe if you actually went to your apprenticeship every once in a while, instead of skipping to go to those lame parties, I wouldn’t,” you tease back.

He snorts. “Jokes on you, I skipped it tonight to hang out with your lame ass.”

You smack him gently again. “Carlos!”

You’re giggling freely, body shaking underneath him and he can’t help but grin at the sound. “Maybe if you let me work on you, I would be more motivated to practice.”

You hum thoughtfully, eyes crinkled as you try to suppress your laughter. “Fine, but only if you let me tattoo you too.”

He knows you think that will deter him, but still, he doesn’t even hesitate. “Deal, baby.”

You laugh at him again, loud and overly bright for a few moments until you realize that he’s not laughing with you. The way your face settles into a confused pout finally breaks Carlos’s straight face and makes him chuckle. Your brows are pinched and your eyes are wide.

“Y-you’re not serious…” your incredulous laugh putters out. “Are you?”

“Of course I’m serious.”

And he is. Carlos doesn’t know why he is, or why he wants it so badly now that he’s put the idea out there. It was a joke at first, just something to fill the air, to interrupt you before you could say something scary again. But he does. Maybe it’s masochistic. Maybe he just wants something that will remind him of you when whatever it is that’s between you two inevitably ends. Because he knows even the brightest of flames burn out eventually. 

Or perhaps it’s a sadistic desire. Perhaps he wants to be inked into your skin, somewhere secret, so that the next time someone sees you in the same way that he’s seeing you now, they will ask about it, and consequently remind you of him. You’ll still think about him, even when others are with you, trying to hold your attention. Even when you’re trying to forget him. 

“Matching ones?” you whisper.

He nods. “Yeah, friendship tattoos.”

Carlos doesn’t miss the way your face falls for the briefest of moments, how your lips part and the softest, tiniest, dejected sigh leaves your lips, before he quickly kisses away the disappointment. It’s bitter on his tongue.

“Special friendship tattoos,” he amends. Another light kiss. He wonders if it tastes like gasoline to you too. The shadow’s from the candle on your nightstand dance across your skin. Best to be careful with gasoline kisses next to an open flame. “We can get stars.”

You’re quiet for a moment, mouth dropping down in a pensive frown. “It has to be small. And somewhere where no one can see it on me.”

He smiles big, and his heart skips a devastating beat when he sees how you instinctively smile back. “Don’t worry, I plan on putting it somewhere very private,” he purrs.

“You are not tattooing my pussy or my ass, baby.”

“Not there!” he laughs, “I meant like by your tit or something.” 

Carlos starts to kiss down your body, he’s always kissing you when you’re together. He stops in the center of your chest on your sternum.

“We could do it here,” a wet kiss just to the side of your heart. He can feel it, how it speeds up because of his mouth, his hands, him. He travels a little lower.

At your ribs, just under the curve of your breast, he stops again. “Or here.” Another kiss where his tongue tastes you before his lips even touch. 

He makes it to your belly button, just about to move to your hip before you speak up.

“I liked it there, on my ribs,” you say, voice a little wispy, higher pitched than normal. He notes that your chest is rising and falling just a bit faster than before.

“I’m not finished yet,” he says, looking up at you through his bangs and his lashes, trying to go for stern, but the humor in his voice gives him away.  

Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth as you try and silence your laughter. 

Carlos places a kiss here, a kiss there all over your silken skin. Little kiss marks shine when the candlelight hits them just right. He bites every now and then too, unable to control himself when he gets to the softest part of your lower belly, and the inside of your thighs. He even kisses Jiji on your ankle. He’s gripping your foot and you wiggle your toes in his hold

“Is Kiki your favorite?” He asks distractedly, lips still playing on your skin, he’s starting to make his way back up now.

“Spirited Away,” you correct softly, on a giggle as Carlos hikes your legs up around his waist. You wrap your arms around his back, and he shivers when you run your nails over his shoulder blades, goosebumps making a short appearance. When he rolls his hips into your pussy, you gasp. He inhales it, breathing in your pleasure. It makes him throb, hard and hot against you. “I’m still wet inside from earlier,” you whisper.

He groans into the kiss he brandishes your lips with. He ruts harder into you, bringing a hand down between your bodies, and gripping the base of his cock so that he can rub the tip against your clit. He feels how wet you are, with your slick as well as his cum from just a little bit ago. He tsks, scolds you playfully. “I know, I can feel it. So messy.” He’s smiling when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth.

Your eyes are fluttering when you ask, “What’s your favorite?”

Carlos’s distracted, of course he is. How could he not be when you’re mewling underneath him, squirming from the tip of his cock swirling around your clit? He humors you. “Howl’s Moving Castle,” he says as he pushes the head in before hissing and pulling back out. He does it a few times, teasing himself with your cunt.

When you laugh, it catches him off guard. Enough to make him pause and look up at you with a dumb smile on his face, just grinning because he somehow made you laugh, and the sound of it is nice.

“That would be your favorite.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He spits into his hand, slicks himself up, rubs a little on your pussy.

“You’re just-” You gasp when his fingertips graze your clit. He gasps when you spread your legs wider for him, sweet and eager, just like always. “You’re just like him. Charming, confident…”

“Go on,” he grins into your neck, sucking a little bruise. You tilt your head so he can reach better.

“Vain…”

“Slow down.”

You giggle. “Stealing hearts and eating them.”

He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder. He braces some of his weight on your thigh, tests your flexibility as he hovers over you, lips brushing yours lightly, teasing. He gives in when you crane your neck to reach him. “I haven’t eaten yours, have I?” He muses.

Your hand comes up and tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “No, not yet.” 

You pause and look at him with one of those soft, terrifying looks. He knows you don’t even realize how scary it is, when you look at him like that.

“Maybe I’ll be the one to steal your heart, hmm?” your head tilts, and you smile at him faint and cute. It’s meant to be playful, but Carlos can already feel his heart clawing its way up his throat. “You who swallowed a falling star, o’ heartless man, your heart shall soon be mine,” you quote, tease, with a giggle.

Carlos goes rigid on top of you. His heart is beating fast in his chest, loud in his ears. He kisses you, hard. Bruising like the first time. Hopefully you take it as eagerness. 

“Stop talking,” he whispers, begs against your lips. 

When he slides into you, he can’t help but wonder if you remember that that was the curse the wicked witch placed on Howl to trap him.

~~~~~~~~~~

part 2 will be posted soon so dont forget to repost and like if u enjoyed pt 1 !!!!