#the original would be fine if. if i had it

[httpsserene]

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 '𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐭𝐰𝐨 | 𝐬𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 | 𝐜𝐬. 𝟓𝟓 & 𝐥𝐧. 𝟒

summary: have you worked every shift possible for a chance of running into carlos and lando? yes. are you mad that you have a month of summer left and you still haven’t stumbled upon them? yes.

content warning: 18+. mdni. explicit sexual content. plot with porn. summer fling/vacation romance. fluff. light angst. light angst with a happy ending. banter. attempt at humor. explicit language. reader has a mom and dad. original side characters. dates. golf. miscommunication (done right). reader is bad at feelings. flirting. d/s undertones. light dom!carlos. switch!lando. switch!reader. brat!lando. hair-pulling. light pain kink. light praise kink. cunnilingus. vaginal fingering. threesome m/m/f. vaginal sex. protected sex. overstimulation. carlos sainz jr’s canonically big dick. petnames. orgasm delay? envy and jealousy.

pairing: poly! carlos sainz jr x lando norris x phd-student! fem!black!reader

word count: 18k words. (new record!)

from, serene: i am extremely proud of what i created. i hope it was worth waiting for, and i can't wait for the next episode !!! my next upload might be an alex albon smau series, for those that requested it. pls pls pls, send me asks and leave comments on this if you'd like! i'd love to hear your thoughts on sip of sunshine, and how it's building so far xxx thank you so much, my loves :) (50 more followers until 3k :o)

this has also been uploaded on my AO3 for anybody who finds it easier to read a fic of this length on there (looking out for those on mobile x)

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Studying for a doctorate does not directly correlate to a person’s brilliance. If you were smart, you wouldn’t have returned to the golf club for another summer with the sole hope of reuniting with the two stunningly fine men you shared a ten-minute conversation with. However, you chose to beat intelligence in a foot race, and here you are: driving the same beverage cart while sweating off your sunscreen for the fifth year in a row; furthermore, you have not crossed paths with Carlos and Lando once in the two months you’ve been working.

It’s difficult to believe that Lando had told the truth when he mentioned that they’ve been attending Club La Moraleja consistently for the past four years. You want to believe him, but the evidence against him is overwhelming. You’ve worked every possible shift this season, at every possible time, on every possible course, without a single spotting of the duo from the beginning of June. 

It’s August. If you allow yourself to think maniacally, you would infer that they’re avoiding you on purpose.

Previously, you were under the assumption that they were obviously flirting with you. The sexual innuendos, double-entendres, calling you a “sip of sunshine,” and the eighty euro tip Carlos left you (which had to be a mistake)—from which you deduced that they were making a move on you. You would even say that their instance in convincing you to return to the green was the smoking gun you needed to seal their fate in the case of you catching their interest. 

Nonetheless, they are nowhere to be found. 

You cope by entertaining the aspect of you suffering from heat stroke or heat exhaustion, and you created Carlos and Lando as a figment of your delusions during your compromised mental state. On the other hand, there’s also a chance that they took your joking threat—of never returning if you had to put up with their subpar pick-up lines—seriously. You didn’t consider that they would misunderstand your teasing banter but, you haven’t seen them a single time this summer.  

It’s unsettling. You’ve never been this disappointed about men not taking the clear hint. 

Obviously, you’d be relieved if any of the sleazy, rude, and archaic golfers stopped bothering you after their first attempt. But, Carlos and Lando? They’re the exact opposite of the men you described. They’re young, polite, funny, charming, and attractive. It’s not outlandish for you to say that there was some budding chemistry between you three.

It’s regrettably characteristic of you to develop crushes on men you haven’t shared more than one conversation with. Too bad you’re never going to see them again. And, screw them! Who do they think they are? It’s not like they’re anybody special—they probably delighted in filling your mind with false hope. 

The next time you see them, you’re running them over with the bev cart. All gas, no breaks.

The motor whirs loudly as you drive over a hill to the last hole of Course Four—and, you’ll be damned.

“Well, look at you! You stayed!”

You can’t tell if this is the universe blessing you or sending you a curse in disguise. 

Lando’s words ring in your ears as your brain fails to compute the sight of him and Carlos smiling at you from across the green, down in a bunker. 

Lando’s…matured beautifully, over the year you haven’t seen him. He was attractive before, but as you direct the cart closer, you can tell he’s grown into himself. There’s a broadness to his shoulders, a sharpness to his eyes, and a hollowness to his cheekbones that certainly makes it impossible for anybody to deny that he’s beautiful. 

Carlos is angeringly more handsome than he was before, somehow. You blame it on the backwards cap and his stupidly wide, warm, beautiful, brown eyes. You cut the engine off, scratching fiendishly at the back of your neck to dispel your thoughts about his nose and lips, how you would pay to see his brown eyes darkened between your thighs.

“Obviously,” you state dryly, roughly tucking the curls that slipped from your ponytail behind your ear, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Their grins falter at your biting tone and they glance at each other in surprise at your irritated response. They climb out of the bunker and walk to meet you at the side of the cart. You’ve turned your back to them, hearing their footsteps approach but you continue to mindlessly organize any cups that shifted out of place as you drove.

“It was just an observation,” the Brit continues, you can hear him still smiling around his words, “A conversation starter, I guess.”

You put on an impassive expression before turning around and staring at the two with your arms crossed, “Mm. Who’s the one who’s bad enough at golf to land in the bunker? Wait—don’t tell me! You’re both probably stuck in the sand trap.” 

Lando’s mouth audibly drops open with an insulted gasp and Carlos’s brow furrows in confusion.

You wave a dismissive hand through the air before they can reply, “What do you want to drink?”

“Uh…What?” Carlos fumbles, lost at your deviation.

“What, ‘what?’” You snap, annoyed at his feigned innocence, like he’s unaware that they lead you on for the entirety of a summer that they just appeared in, “What do you want to drink? As in a refreshment? ¿Una bebida? I know you’re familiar with ordering from the cart as I served you last year—and since you both have been coming here for five years!” [A drink?]

The two stare at you in blatant terror as your voice echoes in the air. Their stunned silence at your “unfounded” anger only serves to exasperate you further.

“Make it quick,” your voice trembles infuriatingly, “What would you like to drink?”

“Did we do something wrong? If we upset you, we have no idea what we did,” Carlos rambles pleadingly. You almost buy it.

“Yeah, what’s with the attitude?” Lando gracefully ruins their chances of being acquitted, “We haven’t seen you in nearly a year; What could we have done wrong?”

“Attitude—are you serious!?” You scoff, insulted at the very idea, before continuing mockingly “Whatever—it’s a beer and a lime mocktail, right? Or, would you prefer a sip of sunshine?”

The men don’t have a chance to edit their orders as you sharply throw open the beer cooler, all three of you flinching as the lid slams into the cart and the bottles and cans clamoring together worryingly. You don’t let the fear of damaged property interrupt your fury as you brandish the beer towards Carlos, snatching your hand away as soon as his closes around the neck of the bottle. 

He murmurs his thanks in his native tongue but the curl of his accent—no matter how alluring it sounds—incenses you further, and you huffily turn your back towards them as you craft Lando’s drink.

The thought of them being truthful about their confusion about your annoyance flares in your mind as you shovel ice into the plastic cup. It’s possible that there has been some miscommunication…but, that would be embarrassing for you to admit. You’ve already acted incredibly rude and like a total brat to them—to customers, at that! Ohmygod, you’ve let your personal emotions affect your work; they could report you to your manager and have you fired. 

Your breath stutters as your overcome with a chill that feels like you’ve dumped ice down your own shirt. The drink is quickly assembled, and you find yourself wishing for a painless death as you fasten an orange slice as garnish on the rim of the cup instead of a lime. A slice of sunshine, if you will.

Meekly, this time around, you offer the cup to Lando. He looks increasingly disturbed at the sudden switch of your demeanor. You watch the Brit glance at his companion, his look clearly communicating that he’s checking if Carlos agrees that you’ve lost your mind, most likely.

The Spaniard must have agreed because Lando giggles nervously, the sound glaringly revealing his discomfort, “You didn’t poison my drink, did you?”

Your brain starts to self-destruct in embarrassment. Carlos hides his face in his free hand, but the sound of pain that escapes him at the ill-timed joke is clear. To be fair, Lando looked like he regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, but the damage was done. 

Your cheeks burn furiously, you’re simultaneously angry and disappointed in yourself. How could you allow yourself to become overrun by your emotions on the clock? It’s unprofessional and uncharacteristic of you. 

You excuse yourself shakily, “I-I am so sorry. Perdóname. I was rude to you both for no reason. I apologize sincerely for my behavior. Do not worry about paying, your drinks are on me. I hope you both enjoy yourself on the green—Buenas tardes.” [Forgive me; Good afternoon.]

Carlos and Lando are silent as you scamper into the driver’s seat, tail figuratively tucked between your legs. The ride back to the clubhouse is silent as you berate yourself for your stupidity. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to forget the way you ruined your chances with them. You already know your subconscious will play this on repeat every time you try to sleep. The cart beeps as you reverse into its assigned spot. Isabel, one of the fellow cart girls—and your best friend—waves at you with a smile as she walks over towards you. She must be the next on shift.

“You look like you’ve just been fired,” Isa’s smile has transformed into a look of concern, “¿Estás bien?” [Are you okay?]

Grabbing your belongings, you slide out of the driver's seat with a haunted look in your eyes. “You remember the two guys I told you about? From last summer? I think I just scared them away.”

“No,” Isa exhales in denial, pulling you into a hug, “There’s no way. What happened?”

“I yelled at them and insulted them for being bad at golf,” you mumble, yelping sharply as she  communicates her displeasure by slapping at your arm, “I was mad at them, okay! They were pretending to be innocent, like they had no clue they avoided me for the entire summer! They’re going to complain to the Club and get me fired because I was unprofessional and rude!”

“Ay! You don’t know that! You still served them, and apologized right?” Isa brightens further when you mention you served them for free, she ignores your pout as you rub your hand against the stinging skin of your bicep, “Then, it’s probably nothing. If they do complain, this is your first complaint ever. You won’t get fired—you will just have to wash the carts for the rest of the summer.”

You fall to your knees on the hot concrete in despair and Isa snorts at your dramatics, bending to pluck the cart keys from your pocket. 

“I’m just going to quit, inmediamente!” [Immediately!]

“If you quit, I quit,” Isa reminds you, “And, out of the two of us, I need this job. I’m broke. So, you can’t quit, unless you want me to suffer.”

“I would take care of you,” you beg, “I have my office job back in the States. You could marry me and get a green card! Let me quit!”

Isa cackles at the concept, “You hate your office job. Anyway, quitting won’t save you from your colleagues here. Don’t forget we’re all going out tomorrow night! You can’t escape this time, you promised me.”

You groan in indignation, “Is it a crime to not like clubbing every night?”

“¡Sí, lo es!,” She frowns, “It’s clubbing every night in Madrid! And, I need moral support if I have to watch Lucas flirt with Sofia. I don’t know what he sees in her.” [Yes, it is!]

Grumbling fitfully, you wish her a good shift before dragging yourself into the Clubhouse. You’re still quitting. There’s not a chance in hell that you’re coming back next summer—there is nothing worth staying for anymore. Sorry, Isa.

Out of all the shifts you’ve worked, the 8 A.M. to 3 P.M. is your least favorite. You blink blearily as you hang up your belongings in the same locker you chose four years ago, fighting the urge to rub at your eyes, with the thought of not smearing your mascara. Pinning your nametag on your pressed shirt is muscle memory, and you slide on a club-branded visor to protect your face because the UV index is concerningly high today. 

You pause to stare at the photos pinned to the inside of your locker door—they date from your very first summer till now, with familiar faces and some you haven’t seen in a while. It’s heartwarming. You haven’t posted a single one of these photos in here; your friends do it on their own (the password to your locker is apparently community knowledge—you could change it, but then you’d stop collecting them), taping Polaroids from moments on the course to shenanigans off the course to nights out in the city, with captions and notes written on the back. 

The sense of belonging and community you found here is why it was so difficult to come to a decision about leaving this place and its people behind. Your lips tilt up at a photo of you and the cart team covering your boss’s car in sticky notes two summers ago—he made you all collect the stray golf balls from the putting green that night in retaliation. And, he laughed deeply as the sprinklers drenched all of you, which is another few snapshots commemorated in your locker. 

You don’t think you’ll ever be able to leave.

“Mami,” Lilia, the receptionist on duty this morning, calls you from the locker room door, “The two really hot Formula One drivers are asking for you?”

You shoot a look of confusion her way, “huh—why me? I don’t know them?”

“Umm, yes you do?” Lilia mirrors your bafflement, “They say you’ve served them before. And that they want to apologize for something?”

“¿Qué?”

“I don’t know! I’m just repeating what they told me—” The brunette woman cuts herself short, and her eyes narrow after a moment, “Hey, if they’re bothering you, I’ll get them banned. I didn’t tell them that you were here, I just said I’d check to see if you had come in. Did they bother you? Don’t lie to me! I’ll call security and get them gone!”

“What, no! I don’t know them, or even know what Formula One is! I haven’t had a bad interaction or served any drivers—oh.” Your stomach sinks as your eyes shut woefully, “I fucked up.”

Lilia threatens to get them banned again when she sees the bronze skin of your face lose its luster. You tell her to let them know you’ll be out in a moment and to not threaten them. You step to the full-length mirror to check your appearance and adjust your uniform. Centering yourself with a few deep breaths, you turn the door handle and make your way out to the reception desk.

The squeaking of your sneakers on the tile floor only adds to your anticipation. A small part of you hopes that Carlos and Lando aren’t the Formula One drivers asking for you, and that this is all some misunderstanding. You feel your soul die inside of you as your eyes meet theirs. Their expressions look determined and apologetic, and your palms feel sweaty as you come to terms with them preparing to file a formal complaint. 

Lilia clears her throat abruptly from where she’s pretending to organize membership files. You see a blush bloom on Carlos and Lando’s cheeks as they realize that they’ve been staring at you without saying anything for longer than what’s politely appropriate, but you beat them to the chase.

“Buenos días. U-umm,” you anxiously scratch at the nape of your neck, “…Is this about yesterday? Or the tip you left last summer? It was too generous to not be an accident. It’s past our refund period, but I can reach out to the manager on duty to see if we can work something out.” [Good morning.]

“I gave you eighty euros on purpose,” Carlos states without doubt, and you feel Lilia’s stare piercing your side profile.

“Oh.”

“I wanted to speak to you about yesterday—”

You cut in, “Yesterday was my fault! I think I misunderstood you both and I overreacted. It was nothing personal—”

Lando clasps his hands together, interrupting you with an imploring tone, “It was personal, though. Which is fine, I think we deserved it. Especially if there was a misunderstanding on our part. We would’ve communicated with you clearer if we were sure that you were on the same page as us. We would appreciate it if you would allow us to make it up to you.”

Lilia kicks your ankle underneath the desk, doing enough freaking out for the both of you as you struggle to keep your face calm.

“I feel like I’m still the one at fault for the miscommunication. But—how were you planning to…smooth things over, I guess?” You ask.

“Allow us to take you to dinner tonight, and explain,” Carlos finishes, weaponizing those eyes of his, helped by Lando softening his own at you desperately for a chance.

“Oh—um, I would love to, really, but I already have plans tonight—,” You’re getting tired of being interrupted, but Lilia is quick to clear your schedule.

“No!” The raven-haired woman jumps up from her seat, slapping her hand on the counter forcefully, causing the three of you to jump. “She’s free tonight!” She smiles scaringly wide at Carlos and Lando.

Lilia turns to you and her smile and voice quiets to something genuine, “I will explain to the others about why you could not make it. Isa will understand as long as you remember to keep us both updated, yes?”

You roll your eyes, resigned , “Yes.”

You’re surprised at the tentative happiness growing in the boys’ appearances, “I guess I can do dinner tonight. What’s the plan?”

Phone numbers are exchanged and they agree to pick you up from your house at seven. They linger through their goodbyes, clearly not wanting to end the conversation. It’s flattering that they're willingly exposing their obsession with you so soon. You shoo them away with the reminder of seeing each other tonight and the fact that you are, in fact, on the clock. Lilia slaps you on the arm repeatedly as you watch them exit through the front doors with a dreamy sigh.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Lilia lets out a scream of excitement and pulls you into a hug, the two of you jumping up and down overwhelmed with joy. You’re caught by your boss Marco, who takes one glance before he turns around to head back into his office, forcing the two of you into hysterical giggles. 

You pull back from her, and you can’t quiet the large grin dancing on your lips, “I have no idea what to wear!”

Carlos texted you twenty minutes ago alerting you that they’re on the way to pick you up. Lando added that they can’t wait to see you a minute later. You were ready thirty minutes before they started heading your way. Ten minutes ago you decided to change your entire outfit. You settled on a linen cropped tank and matching maxi skirt with a pair of sandals. You fiddle with your accessories endlessly, and you do the same with a few stray curls that refuse to sit where you want them.

Grabbing your purse and phone, you rush out of your room and down the stairs to find your parents in the kitchen adding the finishing touches to their own dinner.

“¡Mija—qué bonita!” your mom gasps, wiping her hands on a towel before she pulls you closer to look at you, “Where have you been hiding this outfit?” [My daughter, how beautiful she is!]

“Má, I’ve had it for a while,” you subject yourself to her cooing and prodding as she spins you around, looking at your dad for help, who only offers you a shrug, “—I just have not had anywhere to wear it.”

“Hm? Then, what’s so special about tonight? I thought you were clubbing with your friends, no?” You avoid meeting her prying eyes, pretending to find interest in what’s simmering on the stove.

“Eh, why is there a Ferrari outside of my house?” your dad asks, drawing your attention to the front window. The sleek black convertible is parked by the curb, and your phone buzzes in your hands. Lando has informed you of their arrival, and you quickly tell them you’ll be right out to avoid them coming to the door. You don’t know if they’re “meet the parents” caliber yet, Ferrari or not.

“Don’t worry about it, Papà. I’ll text you when I’m on my way back tonight,” you press kisses to both of your parents’ cheeks, “Save some food for me to take to work tomorrow, please?”

Your mom pinches your ear, “Ay! You are going on a date? Finally! Is he handsome on top of being rich? A Ferrari is okay as long as he is as beautiful as the car, you know?”

Your dad makes a noise of complaint as he follows you both towards the door, “A Ferrari is more than okay as long as he respects you and treats you well. And, if he buys me a Ferrari too—ask him for me.” 

You fuss at them, flustered but smug as you ignore your dad’s request, and you turn to smirk at your mom, “Papà, I plan to find outfit they treat me well tonight. Mamá. They’re both gorgeous.”

Your dad blinks in confusion as your mom crows in delight, “¡Mija! I knew I raised you properly! ¡Vas, vas! Have fun and you have to tell me everything when you get back, yes?” [My girl!; Go, go!]

“Sí, Mamá. ¡Muchos besos, te quiero!” You slip out of the door, the sound of your mother explaining that you’ve garnered the interest of two men to your father fading behind you as you walk to the car. [Yes, mom. Kisses, I love you!]

Carlos and Lando are waiting for you on the curb, the engine purring lowly behind them. Your gait slows as you near, and the Spaniard reaches out to press his lips to the back of your hand fleetingly. 

They’ve dressed well; Lando in a light gray, short-sleeved, collared, v-neck that rests untucked over white chinos and a pair of gray sneakers to match. He’s sprinkled with bracelets, a few of them decorate his toned forearms on both wrists, and there’s a singular silver chain peeking from the cut of his shirt. Carlos is dressed similarly with the white chinos, yet he’s chosen a light blue button-up with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of dress shoes. His outfit is complimented by a dazzling watch. 

You murmur a greeting to both men, unable to hold eye contact with either of them for long. It’s one thing to fantasize that you have a chance with men clearly out of your league, and it’s another thing to have to muster up the confidence to speak to them outside of your uniform. 

Lando impatiently shifts on his feet as the older man keeps hold of your hand for longer than necessary. When you’re released, Lando takes it a step further and pulls you into a hug, his body heated and solid against yours. A shiver runs down your spine when his hand rests on the exposed skin of the small of your back. You hum, pleased as you inhale the velvety scent of his cologne, missing the closeness as he pulls away from you a beat later.

You step back, your heart thudding as you quip, “I didn’t know we were on hugging terms already.”

“I’m sorry,” Lando flushes easily, and Carlos chuckles, “I should’ve asked if it was okay.”

“I liked it,” you smile at him, pretending as if your heart isn’t pounding forcefully from the brief embrace, “I-I mean, it was fine, don’t worry.”

The Brit hums at your response, his eyes drifting along your form before meeting yours again with a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. His blush recedes as yours strengthens, now apparent on your darker skin. 

“Lovely house,” he withdraws, and you’re thankful he avoided commenting on the evident flush he invoked with nothing more than a hug and a pass of his eyes.

“Thank you, my parents bought it and moved here after I started university,” you explain needlessly, “They’re pretty great. They were the ones who made me apply for the position at La Moraleja. So, really, it’s them you have to credit with us meeting, I suppose.”

“We also have to thank them for having a beautiful daughter,” Carlos alleges smoothly.

You fluster, “I-I’ll pass the message along. Both of you are very handsome, but I think you guys hear that often.”.

“Don’t worry. It sounds sweeter coming from you,” Lando edits his point with an impish grin, “—and from Carlos too, sometimes.”

“Don’t be a brat, Lando,” the Spaniard’s voice is light as he entertains the younger, “Unfortunately, I think we will be late if we continue to stand here and flirt in the street,” Carlos says, and his eyes shift to look past you and at your house, “—And, I think your dad might come outside and kill us. Which would not be very pleasant, in my opinion.”

You spin around, chagrined at the sight of your dad watching the three of you with a harsh stare. 

“Yes! Let’s get going, I would hate to be late. Ignore him, please.” Lando waves at your dad anyways, endearing himself to you further, “And, you won’t have to worry about being murdered as long as you get him a Ferrari.”

The two men startle into laughter at that, and you hold your hands up candidly, “What? His words, not mine!”

You didn’t account for the oddness of one of you sitting in the backseat, but Lando assigns himself to the back, claiming that you have “passenger princess” rights. 

The wind ruffles through your curls aimlessly as Carlos drives towards your destination. The ride is filled with endless chatter and flirting. A smile is constantly on your face as the three of you speak through topics easily. There’s not a single time you feel like an outsider, even though it’s clear how familiar they are with each other. 

The restaurant you find yourself in isn’t screaming its extravagance at you, which is surprising. While it’s dimly lit, and you can hear live music thrumming through the air from somewhere deeper inside over the lively chatter—it feels like a classic restaurant, intimate and comfortable. Like somewhere you could go for a nice dinner often.

The hostess straightens upwards with recognition when she spots Carlos and she greets the three of you good naturedly before disappearing to check if your table is ready. 

The Spaniard notices the surprise on your face, “My family and I have dined here since I was young. You have never come here before? ”

You shake your head, “I’m a little jealous, if I’m being honest,” Carlos tilts his head, listening, “I’m mad I didn’t discover this place sooner. The atmosphere is amazing!”

The hostess returns, gesturing for you all to follow after her and Lando grasps your hand to catch your attention as you walk, “If you think the vibe is amazing, just wait until you try the food.”

The table is not in direct sight of anyone besides the kitchen, clearly a spot meant for privacy. Your hidden behind a half wall and a screen overgrown with plants, and the volume of the restaurant seems quieter through the barrier. You lean back in your chair as the three of you wrap up the discussion about yesterday’s conflict.

“I feel incredibly stupid now,” you chuckle, embarrassed. The brown skin of your face burns hot. You focus on the empty wine glass in front of you, avoiding their eyes plainly.

“No,” Carlos’s voice is stern, the serious tone shocking you into looking at him, “Do not be rude to yourself—you are not stupid.”

You stare, dumbfounded, reeling as you process the manner in which he shut down your negative self-talk. If his words totally dissolved your mortification over your immature reaction to seeing them again, you might have thought harder about how that was kind of hot of him to do.

“Aren’t you studying for a PhD?” Lando asks rhetorically, “I think that literally means you’re not stupid.”

You scoff lightly—feeling humored instead of humiliated—at how easily he swept away the tension with a light-hearted comment. The Brit doesn’t know how many people have enlightened you with the knowledge that common sense is, unfortunately, uncommon in post-grad. But, you’ll let his words wash away your self-deprecation lest this turns into an unsolicited therapy session instead of a date an apology dinner.

“Fine. I’m not stupid—but, you can’t deny that it wasn’t a little dumb of me to assume that you guys had lied to me about visiting the golf club every year. And, it was a little more dumb of me to make my decision about working here for another season just because there was a chance that I could see you guys—never mind.” Your teeth clack together forcefully as you slam your mouth shut.

The duo straighten up at the sudden end to your sentence, brains quickly filling in the blanks for them. Lando’s poorly attempting to hide his satisfied smile behind his hand and Carlos’s eyes are bright with understanding. You’ve learned your lesson about making hasty assumptions but you don’t think it’s foolish to deduce this means that they’re actually interested in you too, this time around.

“Ah. Well, we should not have assumed that you knew we were Formula One drivers, which maybe was obvious from how you spoke to us,” Carlos shrugs his shoulders, leveling the blame, “And, I think it’s sweet that you were hoping to run into us again.”

“Mmm,” you hum nervously, “I think it’s delusional.”

One of their shoes knocks against yours underneath the table and you jump in surprise. Carlos’s chest shakes with a silent laugh and his eyebrow raises at you pressingly.

“We should’ve asked for your number last summer,” Lando adds nonchalantly. 

You rattle at his boldness, and you’re given a moment to ponder that as the waiter stops to pour you and Carlos a glass of white wine (Lando refused). You take a brief sip, humming pleasantly at the light and easy flavor, the live music and easy conversation floating through the air providing you a reprieve from your immersion in the two men. 

Your attention is recaptured as you watch Carlos offer Lando a chance to taste from his glass. 

Earlier, the Brit had told you he dislikes the taste of most alcohols when the waiter stepped away to grab the bottle Carlos requested. Yet, Lando accepts, not without making his distaste apparent with an adorable frown. He takes the tiniest sip possible with a look of apprehension and recoils from the glass as he swallows, his nose scrunching in disgust as he shakes his head to further sell his distate. 

Carlos rolls his eyes and laughs, revealing to you how used he is to Lando’s dramatics. He raises a hand to rub at the short hair on the nape of the younger’s neck in comfort.

The look on your face must be cloyingly sweet if the light dust of pink that rises to the Brit’s cheeks when he realizes you’ve watched the entire interaction, is meaningful. Carlos’s eyes become intense when he spots how Lando curls into himself shyly under your eyes. The Spaniard whispers, his volume low enough for only Lando to hear and you wish you knew exactly what was said, because it deepens the tint of his cheeks to a furious red. 

You figure you’ll save him from his torment by bringing up the important stuff.

“So, you only have a month of summer vacation,” you start, fingers fiddling with the edge of a fan-folded napkin, “Which is in August. That’s…so short. My fall semester starts the first week of September.”

Silence falls as they digest the underlying meaning of your sentence. Is it in everyone’s best interest to start something that has to end so soon? Is it in your best interest to risk catching feelings for two athletes (celebrity-athletes, at that) during the last month of your break? 

“A month is a long time,” the younger man starts, his blue-green eyes intent, “We’ll just have to make the most out of it, right? I want to get to know you more, and I have a feeling that the three of us will have a fun time together—If you want to give it a try.”

“A ‘fun time’? Like—like a fling?” Your expression remains indifferent as you ask. You need them to clarify what they want out of this without revealing your emotions. It’s only proper for you to prevent any future miscommunication or misunderstanding about this; you learned from your earlier mistake.

Lando’s earnest gaze has lost some of its shine, and Carlos’s eyes now seem guarded.

“Calling it a fling is harsh,” the Spaniard responds, “It’s more of a summer romance, no?”

Your laugh isn’t genuine, but they don’t know you well enough to discern that, “Alright, I’ll give our ‘summer romance’ a chance. Using a synonym doesn’t change the definition, you know?” 

Lando cocks his head at you, staring deeply. It feels like he’s trying to puzzle you out, and you stare back in feigned confusion.

“It’s nothing,” He relaxes, leaning back in his chair and moving Carlos’s glass out of the way as he sees the waiter nearing the table with your appetizers, “I just find it odd that you called yourself stupid earlier.” You don’t know what to make of that, but it’s forgotten as the starters are devoured and the conversation shifts into them getting to know you and vice versa.

The older man with them at the golf course last year was Carlos’s father, who is a two-time Rally World Champion. You’re surprised to learn that they’ve only been dating for around a year. Lando says he developed a crush on Carlos when they were teammates at Mclaren, but he was afraid of ruining their relationship and potentially, his career, if he confessed–so he kept quiet. Carlos didn’t realize he was romantically interested in Lando until he signed his contract with Ferrari. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupt, “If you guys have only been together for a year, did you get together before or after you saw me at the golf course for the first time?”

“A year and three months,” the Spaniard corrects with a serene smile, “Our anniversary was in May.”

The Brit continues for him, “—Which means we started dating about three months before we saw you. Give or take a few weeks.”

You gave a low whistle of surprise—three months into their relationship and they were on the same page about chasing after you. Since then, they had several serious conversations about adding a third to their relationship but hadn’t found or looked for anybody they’d consider to try with. Besides you.

Obviously, they like playing golf; Lando is abysmal, and Carlos is not bad at it. Carlos has two sisters, Lando has a brother and two sisters. Both of them are middle children. Lando is a picky eater, and hates fish and seafood. Carlos will eat anything Lando doesn’t. Lando founded a company with his best friend. Carlos is a Real Madrid fanatic. Lando occasionally streams on Twitch. Carlos enjoys surfing and cycling.

“I’m sorry for saying that you guys sucked at golf yesterday,” you apologize sheepishly.

“It’s okay,” the Brit says, unperturbed, “I do suck at golf. I just wasn’t expecting to hear it come from you.”

“I suck less at golf,” the older man states, “But, if I was good, I would not have been in the sand pit in the first place, no?”

They visit Spain often because family is important to Carlos. Lando’s loved like another son by Carlos’s family and Carlos is loved the same by Lando’s family. Lando is needy. Carlos likes being needed. Carlos is mildly possessive. Lando is too self-critical. Carlos makes the best pancakes. Lando wants to build a beautiful vintage car collection.

They want to see you again. You enjoyed dinner more than you thought was possible. 

They defrosted your nerves and allowed your personality to shine through. It helps that they were actively listening as you complained and gushed over your studies, told anecdotes of the shenanigans you and the others got up to on the golf course, and spoke about your future outlooks. They didn’t mind your lack of knowledge about Formula One and explained the sport in detail to you. They were determined to figure out what made you mad, what made you happy, what made you laugh, what made you shy—and, what made you go pink.

It didn’t take them long to discern that staring at your lips is the trick. When they made that discovery, they weaponized it the entire night. While one of them played with the rings on your fingers or tucked a curl behind your ear, the other managed to fluster you by letting their eyes wander for a few seconds before meeting yours again with increasing intensity. You experienced heart failure several times, and had to ask them to repeat themselves more frequently thanks to their psychological warfare.

Your heart feels like it may cease to function again as they walk you to your doorstep. The lights inside the house are off, you returned later than you thought you would. Your parents left the porch light on for you and it casts an amber warmth. Carlos and Lando don’t invite themselves into your space as you dig your house keys out of your purse, ever the polite men. The sound of your keys jingling harmonizes with your triumphant hum as you pull them out. 

You face the boys, placing your hand on the doorknob behind you, waiting for them to speak. 

“Are we forgiven for unintentionally leading you to believe that we led you on and wasted your time?” Lando blurts out.

You knock your head back against the doorframe, abashed, shutting your eyes to dispel the HD playback your brain gifts you with. “If you both agree to never bring it up again, I’ll forgive you.”

“I suddenly do not know what we’re talking about,” Carlos nods seriously, and Lando echoes the sentiment.

You release the doorknob and take the few steps towards them. As you expected, their eyes simultaneously drift to stare at your mouth. You lightly place a hand on Carlos’s shoulder before leaning up and brushing your lips across his cheek in the lightest ghost of a kiss, before moving to Lando and doing the same.

You carefully backpedal to the door turning to insert your key into the lock, before you look back at them. Your heart flutters at the sight of Carlos, who’s frozen, standing all wide-eyed and pressing his fingers to his cheek like he’s unsure if he imagined the kiss. Lando however, looks hungry. His eyes are the darkest you’ve seen tonight, and they’re locked on how you teasingly flick your tongue across your bottom lip.

“While we may only have a month to spend together—it doesn’t mean I’m easy. I, at least!—need a second date before I let you do anything more than stare at my lips and hold my hand. It might take three dates before I even let you kiss my cheek,” you tease with a joking shrug of your shoulders.

“It’s a good thing that you have my phone number,” the lock clicks open, and you push the door open, “If you don’t use it to set up another date, I think I’ll have no choice but to never forgive you guys.”

“We’ll be using it,” Carlos asserts, recovered from the daze you left him in.

“Hm, good. Text me when you get home.” You step in your entryway, waving your fingers at the two of them leisurely, “Buenas noches.” [Goodnight.]

They mimic your goodbye and you shut the door, clicking the lock. You nosily peek through the peephole to spy on their reactions. Carlos tugs Lando into a bear hug, their wide smiles hidden as they press into each other and the sharpest pitch squeal you’ve heard from Lando travels through the front door. You cover your own giggle with a hand as you watch the two of them kiss and almost skip down your driveway back to the car. You press your back to the door with a deep sigh, a lovestruck smile painting your face while you lay limp to let your heartbeat slow to a normal speed.

The hallway light flicks on and you shriek as your mom stares at you with a deranged smile on her lips, “Tell me everything!”

“Mamá! What are you doing up? It’s late!” You exclaim, straightening upwards with your hands on your hips, failing at distracting her from how you were weak in the knees a couple of seconds ago. “It’s okay, mija! I’ll start a fresh pot of coffee for us and you can tell me all about your date!” She rushes forward, grabbing your hand to pull you into the kitchen.

Ironically, the second date ends up being late night mini golf. Even better, you destroy them at it. It wasn’t an easy feat, they made plenty of attempts to sabotage and distract you; whether it was yelling, spooking, poking, or prodding at you as you readied your putt, but it wasn’t enough to give them a chance of catching up. 

You figure more of your mistakes were from being unable to stop laughing as the two performed atrociously. Carlos ended up polluting every water feature with golf balls and Lando couldn’t manage to finish a single hole in under 8 strokes—the highest par was 6. You patted Lando on the back consolingly, telling him to find comfort in the fact that they’re equally terrible at putt-putt golf.

The two seemed surprised at your finesse with a club, almost like they’d forgotten you work on a golf course. You may not be a caddy, but you’ve had plenty of time to work on perfecting your technique. You did well enough to place sixth on the leaderboard, the employees said that Carlos’ score might be the worst they’ve ever seen.

With their egos severely bruised, you convinced them to soothe the loss over with ice cream at a neighboring parlor. Lando was satisfied with plain vanilla and Carlos with a scoop of dulce de leche. You elected for cookies and cream, but found yourself being fed their flavors as well. 

The sugary treats were delicious. Watching them stare at your lips pursed around a spoonful of ice cream was far more delectable. Lando broke the fourth time you managed to dot a bit of vanilla above your upper lip. He choked on a whine before leaning into your space. He hesitated a hair’s width away from your lips, his shuddering exhales mixing with yours, his eyes searching for approval. Your eyes fluttered shut and Lando closed the gap. 

His lips were soft and chilled, a result of the ice cream. Warmth blossomed in your chest as you leaned into the kiss, the taste of vanilla lingering in the embrace. His hand raised to cradle your cheek as your lips brushed together languidly, the sound of your heart racing within your chest fading out as you become absorbed by the kiss. 

Lando pulls away, falling back into his seat with his chest heaving. You stare after him with wide eyes, jolting out of it when you notice you’ve dropped your spoon into your lap, Carlos’s dulce de leche ice cream spilling onto your thigh. 

“Do I get to lick this off your thigh since Lando got to kiss it off your lips?” Carlos asks, his tone half genuine, half facetious.

You kick at his ankle underneath the booth and he throws his hands up placatingly. 

“Wait–,” you anxiously flit your eyes around the parlor, “—you shouldn’t have kissed me here Lando. Out in public? Aren’t people going to recognize—”

“We’ve been the only people in here for the past thirty minutes or so,” Lando interrupts, gathering the near-empty dishes and balled-up napkins, “They’ve also been closed for twenty minutes. When you went to the bathroom when we came in, Carlos and I signed something for the owner who was more than happy to keep things quiet for his second favorite Spanish Formula One driver.”

“Second favorite?” Carlos furrows his eyebrows at his boyfriend, his umber eyes adorably confused.

“Mate,” the Brit scoffs, “I might be in love with you ‘n all but we're not going to act like Fernando isn’t the best thing that came out of Spain, besides churros.”

The unfavored Spaniard holds his hand to his chest in betrayal before his eyes narrow and he moves to assault Lando with a pinch to his chest. While you’d love to continue watching this disguised act of foreplay, you would rather be a participant than a voyeur.

“¡Cabrónes!” The two freeze, heads snapping to look at you as your voice cuts through the catfight.

“I think the owner would be even happier if you licked the ice cream off my thigh outside of his parlor so he could finally lock up, sí?”

How Lando kisses with a desperate hunger, Carlos kisses with a ravaging heat. Like he wants to roast your nerve endings with every brush of his lips against yours.

The fiery press of his mouth stokes the arousal building in your navel. His hand tangles in your hair as he directs the tilt of your head. A stuttered whimper slips from your mouth into his as your tongues glide together, a buzzing sensation tingling down your spine as his other hand squeezes your waist tightly.

He walks you backward towards the bed, his lips devouring yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, attempting to pull your bodies even closer than they are. You stumble, gasping when his hand palms your ass and it’s the first time your lips have separated since Carlos claimed them in the hallway.  He tumbles into you as his feet stumble around yours, the darkness of the bedroom not bettering the situation. He nearly sends you both to the floor instead of the plush mattress if not for Lando catching your body and a hand firmly pressed to Carlos’s chest to hold him upright, expletives falling from your mouths until balance is restored.

You rest your forehead on the older man’s collarbone as you abruptly giggle at being so kiss drunk you forgot how to backpedal. The two drivers have no choice but to laugh at the sound of your amusement, Lando cackling and Carlos’s chest shaking with his laughter. 

“I’m not against fucking on the floor,” Lando voices, the sound of his grin loud enough for you to visualize, “But—can we at least have our first time with you on this extremely comfortable bed?”

“First time?” You raise a brow jokingly, nonchalantly pulling your shirt over your head and letting it fall to the floor, “That implies you’re thinking there’s gonna be a second.”

The Spaniard steps away to click the nightstand lamp on, the room partially bathed in warm yellow light. Your eyes adjust seamlessly to the low lighting, allowing you to revel in the sight of him appreciating your exposed skin, even when covered with a plain black bra—you’ve never been more thankful to be wearing a matching pair of panties.

The younger man unclasps the latch of the garment, dragging the straps down your arms, goosebumps rising in the wake of his fingertips, and the bra lands atop your shirt. You feel his breath cascade heatedly along your left shoulder before his lips purse delicately against the brown skin. 

He nips closer to the crook of your neck, lowly murmuring, “I know we’ll be having you for more than a third time.”

Surely feeling left out, Carlos unzips your skirt, tugging it down your hips and offering a hand for you to hold as you step free of it, “Many more times. But for tonight,” the older man pauses, toying with the band of your panties, looking at you with a smirk, “We must settle on saving the floor for round two. After we have caused you to ruin the sheets.”

Internally, you scream in elation. Two men eager to fuck you stupid, for the rest of your summer—you pray they’re not bluffing. You can’t remember the last time you’ve had sex good enough for a repeat performance. Externally, you shimmy out of your panties and tug at the hem of Carlos’ button-up once you’re bare. 

“If you want me to ruin your sheets, I’m pretty sure that requires you both to be less clothed.”

Lando’s free of everything but his briefs in a handful of seconds while Carlos struggles to unbutton his shirt. The younger pulls you into bed, guiding you to lay on your back as he holds himself over you, dipping to kiss you messily, unafraid to let his moans knit with yours. By the time the older man has lost his clothes and joined the two of you on the bed, the Brit’s focus has traveled down the length of your neck to your chest. Reddened marks bloom on your bronzed skin, mottled across your decolletage in a pattern only known as desire. 

He laves his tongue against a pebbled nipple, his teeth scraping the sensitive bud, delighting in the way your body arches upwards into his mouth. Your hand pulls tightly at brunette curls, his resulting whimper at the burn of his scalp muffled around your breast, his eyes screwing shut. You loosen your grasp, unable to determine if that was a positive reaction and you’re pleased to see his eyes fly open, his gaze demanding more. His large hand envelopes your wrist, attempting to have you further mess up his hair, but the motion is halted when Carlos cocks Lando’s head backward with an unrelenting fist. 

The younger man shudders, his eyes rolling at the rough treatment. He rises to lessen the pressure of his boyfriend’s grasp, settling into a kneel between your legs with Carlos pressed to his back. The burn of his scalp subsides when the hold weakens, the tension leaving the younger man in a breath and his head droops back on a broad shoulder.

The Spaniard captivates your attention as he presses a kiss to Lando’s jaw, moving the same hand that was in his boyfriend’s hair to splay against his abdomen, a finger dipping to poke at his bellybutton, causing Lando to jolt with a whine. Carlos coos, calming the man with a rub of hand along his torso.  

“Don’t let him fool you. He likes a bit of pain,” Carlos tweaks Lando’s nipple demonstratively, letting the sight of the younger man’s arousal jumping underneath his briefs accompanied by a strangled moan speak for itself. “He’s a brat, even if he likes to pretend otherwise. A little sting is enough to remind him how to act…most times. Right, Landito?”

The man moves to hide his face in Carlos’s neck as if it’ll hide the sight of him nodding in confirmation. It doesn’t help that the meek “yes” he breathes into the muscle isn’t muffled at all.

“And because he wants to be good,” Carlos continues, pulling at Lando’s waistband and releasing it to snap against flushed, pink skin, “He’s going to keep himself busy with you while I see if I can still taste the dulce on your thigh. Is that okay with you?”

You gulp, anticipatory. “M-more than okay.”

The younger man's eyes are all pupil, ringed with stormy-colored irises as he’s lowered by your side. You were contemplating teasing him about his brat complex—but the haze of his eyes causes you to reconsider.

The gap of his teeth remains adorable even as he bites his lips, the plush skin reddened and raw from where he’s already scraped the skin off. Prolonged eye contact from him seems impossible—his gaze flits away from yours after a handful of seconds. He struggles to decide where to look, happening upon your lips, zoning out with a yearning pout. Lando is clueless to the effect of his fixation; he reignites the redness on your cheeks and the skipping of your heartbeat.

Frightened by Carlos’s spit-slicked lips brushing along the bone of your ankle, you twitch, breaking Lando’s trance. 

The Brit’s blush deepens when he notices you’ve been watching him stare without saying a word. He muffles a mortified whimper into a pillow, smushing his face so deeply into the fabric you worry he may strangle himself. You glance at Carlos for assistance and the man only nods in the younger’s direction, continuing to drag his mouth up your legs, pausing to suckle the skin of your thighs and smirking when he feels the muscles flex underneath his lips.

“Lando, chico,” you croon, petting a hand through the curls at the crown of his head, “Look at me.”

He peeks an eye at you shyly, turning to face you fully, reassured at the enamored look you cover him with.

“Besamé,” you murmur, knowing it’s something Lando’s heard plenty of times from the man nestled between your legs. [Kiss me.] 

The younger understood, rushing to press his lips to yours filthly. The frantic energy is winsome, your chest tightening at the sounds of him whining and mewling needily into your mouth. He licks into your mouth insistently, his attention devoted to tasting the remaining sweetness of ice cream on your tongue. From below, Carlos hums as his tongue polishes off the remaining stickiness on your bronzed skin.

The sounds they rip from you are muffled by the younger man, but the grunt of annoyance Carlos makes as the lingering dulce de leche flavoring of your thigh disappears is clear. He drags his tongue against your labia in one firm stroke, your abdomen undulating at the unexpected attention to your cunt. He smacks his lips, savoring, before a moan rumbles through his chest.

“Better than the ice cream,” he announces, the brown of his iris darkened with greed. 

Lando frees your lips to look at his boyfriend pleadingly, and you take the time to breathe. He left you lightheaded as he kissed every ounce of oxygen from your lungs.

“ ‘wanna taste, ” Lando begs, and Carlos pulls up to meld their lips together, and you're briefly hypnotized by the muscles of his arms contracting through the movement.

The most reedy whine escapes the curly-haired man as Carlos shares the taste of your arousal with him. Your head is filled with the sound of blood rushing through your ears, buffering at the sight of the two men feasting on your essence—what were you thinking when you agreed to be a summer romance? You’re never going to be able to recover from this, and they haven’t even fucked you yet.

They separate, Lando’s chest heaving as he licks along his lips in search of any faint traces of your taste. Carlos resituates himself between your thighs, his voice carrying a firm edge, “Wait your turn, cariño. Keep being good for me—for us, yes?”

The younger man seems small as he nods, appearing a little empty-headed at the command, but he obeys. Turning back to peck your lips sweetly, Lando trails downward to leave a few marks of his own along the column of your neck.

You grab his jaw lightly, “No marks—,” the light in his eyes dulls slightly, “—that high up.” He brightens and lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nipping at your skin, energized by your nails scratching along his scalp.

Your mouth parts in a silent gasp as Carlos joins in. He laps between your folds sloppily, his nose knocking your clit with every bob pf his head. The hand that isn’t buried in brunette curls fists in Carlos’s locks of hair, holding him steady while he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue.

Your brain buzzes, toes curling as the older man eats you out, the sounds of him enjoying his meal reverberating through the air, harmonizing with your cries and Lando’s snuffles as he toys with your nipples.

Carlos presses a finger inside, thrusting shallowly against your fluttering walls and his mouth purses around your bud, the suckle of his lips puppeteering your spine into arching and your hips into bucking. His stubble scratches your thighs, the scrape searing but adding to your gratification.

He curls upwards, dragging roughly through the clenching of your cunt, adding a second finger that your walls swallow voraciously. The ache of the stretch is calmed quickly by the ample leaking of your arousal and the constant attention of a tongue on your clit as Carlos steadfastly hunts for your sweet spot.

Your mewls are ragged, forced from your lungs with every press of his fingers. Your eyes flutter as pleasure singes your skin, you find the strength to hold them open as you lock gazes with the man between your legs. His eyes are characteristically wide, but they scream his commitment to making you scream.

There’s no fighting. Your head falls back when his fingers graze near that pleasure point and your eyes screw shut when he perfects the angle and massages your sweet spot with his fingertips. 

A shrill shriek leaves your lips as the penetration becomes unrelenting. He constantly presses on the button that has your thighs tightening around his head, but the temptation of taking his final breath between your legs has him doubling down, suckling at your clit forcefully as he prods a third finger inside of you.

Lando chokes, crying out loudly as your hand yanks at his curls, his hips jumping to grind along your hip, his briefs damp from where he’s been leaking. Carlos’s laugh as he watches his boyfriend desperately hump in search of friction, vibrates around your swollen bud, forcing out a squeal nearly loud enough to drown out the sound of your slick squelching around his fingers.

Abruptly, he pulls away. His digits slip from your walls, your entrance left to pucker hungrily around air. Carlos’s stare is loud as he fights the urge to press inside of you again.

The lack of stimulation is maddening. You free your hold on Lando, and he collapses onto you, body pinning yours to the bed—his weight steadying as you restrain your anger at the sudden halt.

You blink deliriously at the sight of Carlos tearing a condom wrapper open with his teeth. The slowing rhythm of your heart speeds up as you revel at the image of his hand rolling the condom down his hardened length, flushed and throbbing with arousal. 

It’s daunting. It’s been a long time since you’ve last had sex. At some point, you decided to prioritize protecting your peace rather than dealing with men who aren’t going to do anything other than ruin your PH and fail to make you cum. It doesn’t help that Carlos is well-endowed; you need to come to terms that you’re going to have a limp after this.

Lando sits upwards to watch his boyfriend drag his length through your folds, moaning in unison with you as Carlos’s tip brushes along your pulsing clit. The Spaniard grunts at the heated slide before resting at the gape of your entrance, but he looks up to you for your go ahead. 

“I-it’s been a while,” you admit tensely, covering your eyes with the back of your hand as anxiety builds in your navel.

“How long is ‘a while?’” Carlos asks, without a single hint of judgment. Lando pulls your hand off your face tenderly, revealing their compassionate expressions.

“You remember how I joked about not kissing you guys until a second date?” You toy with Lando’s fingers distractedly, and they confirm their recollection, “Well—there hasn’t been anybody that’s made it past a second date in a long time.”

“Carlos is gentle,” Lando reassures you, halting your play with his fingers to hold your hand comfortingly, “I promise. And he listens very well, and pays attention, and goes at your pace. If he doesn’t, I’ll beat his ass.”

You giggle at that, your nerves fading as Carlos yelps at the threat. This exact kind of behavior is the kind you can see yourself falling in love with.

“Ay! Yes—Lando has permission to knock some sense into me if I hurt you,” Carlos jokes, pausing momentarily before his tone becomes hopeful, “And, we would really like to be the ones who make it to a third date—I’ll follow your pace, I swear.”

The knot in your stomach tightens for another reason besides arousal.

“I believe you,” you murmur, relaxing back into the bed, raising your’s and Lando’s joined hands to press a kiss to his wrist. Lando hums sweetly at you, laying at your side again, his free hand cradling your waist, thumb brushing calmingly on your rich brown skin. 

Carlos breaches you softly—gently, as Lando said he would. The three fingers he stretched you with was a safe play. If it were only two, you would be feeling a sharp pain instead of an ache. The burn is delicious, your inhale stutters as the head of his cock pops into you.

“Joder,” Carlos curses, his jaw clenched tightly, his grip tight on your thighs, as he inches deeper. His eyes trace your complexion attentively for any sign that it’s too much. “Relax, mi corázon—let me in.”

The sweet endearment encourages you to pant through a tiny whimper. Lando’s hand pets along your navel as he sweeps a kiss across your brow bone.

“‘s big isn’t he?” He murmurs, voice breathy, “Fuck—it’s gonna be worth it when he’s all the way inside you, yeah? Stretching you out just right, touching spots you didn’t know existed. It hurts a little, I know, love. But, it hurts so good, doesn’t it? I don’t know how that fits inside me every time I take it, but it’s worth it.”

You whimper fitfully—you want to watch Carlos make him take it.

The discomfort twisting your brows lightens slightly, and Carlos pulls out before he sinks another inch in. The shallow stroke sends an appealing rush of sharp pleasure skittering up your spine and it pools at the back of your head.

A real moan is forced from your chest, and your eyes open to see Lando tucking a curl behind your ear, smiling knowingly.

“Yeah, that felt good didn’t it, baby?” You can’t solely credit the burst of pleasure behind your eyes to Carlos’s barely there thrusts as he works deeper. The praise and pet names Lando seems keen to utilize should be accounted for as well. The Brit presses down on your navel with an astoundingly large palm.

His lips graze your ear as he whispers, “Don’t you wanna feel him here? All deep inside of you?” He pauses briefly, letting your imagination work before continuing. “I feel him there when he fucks me. Like he’s making room for himself, yeah? Gonna open up for him? For me? Gonna let yourself feel good, sunshine?”

Carlos’s hips meet the backs of your thighs as he bottoms out.

Choked gasps leave you and Carlos. Your skin alight, your pores flaring raw. His calloused hands rub over your hips and thighs, one settling where Lando’s was previously holding at your waist and the other amply squeezing the curve of your ass.

Behind your closed eyes, you see the white flare of heat zinging through every nerve ending, your body overstimulated at receiving pleasure in the highest, unfiltered form. Lando was right—it feels like he made room for himself. The weight of him is searing, your walls fluttering frantically as they adjust.

Your most conscious thought is realizing why orgasms are referred to as “little deaths.” Because, if him fucking into you for the first time is this good? Cumming around him has to feel akin to ascending to heaven.

The younger man turns your head towards him with a gentle nudge of your cheek. His eyes peer into you searchingly. You don’t know what he’s trying to find. You’re more concerned with coaxing him into another kiss.

You raise up with an unsteady arm, toppling forward to press your lips to his, but you miss and land near the corner of his mouth. At your disappointed grown, Lando moves to kiss you chastely, before he looks at Carlos.

The older man’s eyes are silken as they dance between you and his boyfriend. It takes Lando tugging him forward with a hand on his bicep for him to understand that you’re pining for a kiss from him as well.

The Spaniard catches the strangled mewl you make with his lips, the change in angle as he hovers over you amplifying the pressure of him within you tenfold. Delicately, he leads the dance of tongues, using the lip lock to distract you from the barely there roll of his hips.

It works, the nervous tension that had gathered in your core unraveling completely at the sensual rock. The grinds remain tender as he gradually works you up to weightier strokes and a quicker rhythm.

Your lips uncouple when your head lulls backwards, a drawn-out purr rolling underneath your chest. With your knees bending to cradle Carlos’s hips, you cast lidded eyes to the Spaniard, bathing underneath his appreciative gaze and the blissful twist to his brows as he rolls into you.

“Carlitos, fóllame,” you murmur, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “I said it’s been a long time, not that I’m going to break.” [Fuck me.]

Lando grins beside you, quieting his laughter by pressing his face into your hair. The older man flusters, a red flush spreading across his chest, and he reminds you that he’d promised to be gentle.

His dedication to his word is attractive and you’re thankful he followed through. You tell him as such, but not without another teasing jab, “Thank you for being gentle. However, I think continuing to be gentle when I ask for more might decrease your chances at a third date.”

Lando jerks upwards to gape at the two of you, frazzled, “That’s not even funny! Babe—do better!”

The brown-eyed man doesn’t entertain either of you with a verbal response.

A bitten-off shout is punched from your chest as his hips slam into you with vigor, your vision crossing as the older man settles into a hard pace. His cock threatens to slip out of you with every stroke out and your body jolts with every ruthless thrust inside, the maddening force turning your mind syrupy with arousal and lightning-hot pleasure.

Endless praise is voiced by Carlos between every rough grunting pant he releases. Your brain is filled with seductive words; bien chica, so tight, you sound so pretty, you can take it. 

You can only hope he hears your gratitude through your repeated moans. You dig your nails into his muscled back as he grazes your sweet spot every couple of thrusts. The sharp pain only has Carlos’s hips stuttering for a moment. He growls, his grip turns bruising as he fucks into you with abandon. Your lungs burn and your legs shake. You squirm beneath him fruitlessly, attempting to buck away from the overwhelming grind, but you're pinned underneath his body weight. Your escape attempt is noticed by both men.

Lando tuts, pressing you down into the mattress with an arm around your waist to prevent any future attempt of you shifting. “Don’t run from it, sunshine.”

Carlos laughs sardonically, and you squeal as shame crawls along your synapses at the noise. He changes the angle of his thrusts to bully that spongy spot inside of you relentlessly, “It’s not too much, no? I thought you said you didn’t want me to be gentle?”

Your body curls in distress, mouth-parted wide at the excruciating attention paid to your most nirvanic point . You try to squeeze your walls tighter around him, to afflict a hint of the unbearable pleasure he’s wreaked upon you. Your shocked to discover that he’s fucked you open so well that your cunt can’t do much more than take what he gives you.

Your wetness squelches with his motions, a thin layer of sweat accumulates on your skin and steams the air around you. The scent of sex and aftertaste of ice cream permeates your mind as your orgasm peaks. 

It bursts through you, the intensity slamming through you like a train. Your body falls limp as the pleasure overrides your control, the unrestrained screams of their names are piercing as the waves brutally crash over you. 

Carlos slams his lips to yours, your teeth clacking together painfully and you can only pant into his mouth as he messily kisses you through your orgasm and steamrolls into his own with his strongest pounding thrusts.

Spanish curses are hidden by your mouth as he lays into you, like he’s not quite done molding you to his shape. He fucks you both through it, the vigor of his grinds wearing as the spurts of his spend slows within the condom. 

His arms buckle, pushing an umphf from your chest as he falls onto you. The heaviness is grounding and you wrap your arms around him, shuddering through the aftershocks.

Lando shifts needily at your side, but doesn’t speak. He pulls the arm on your waist from underneath his Carlos’s torso and drags a finger along the reddened scores your nails carved into his boyfriend’s back, with a look in your eyes you can’t place. Is it envy? Quietly, you contemplate the ache you feel between your legs. 

“Get naked, cariño,” you rasp, finding a second wind at the younger man doing as you asked, “It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t get a turn, too.”

Carlos nuzzles deeper into the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, his lips and eyelashes tickling your cooling skin. He misses the sight of his boyfriend wildly flinging his briefs to an unknown corner of the bedroom.

Sitting on his haunches, the Brit’s reaches to grab his cock. It’s leaking and (concerningly) redder than the skin of his cheeks from the lack of attention paid to it. He yanks his hand back as if slapped, and digs his nails into the meat of his thighs.

Oh, you think, is it too much for him or is he not supposed to touch?

You reach to close your palm around his poor, dripping length, only managing a single, loose stroke when a pained hiss is ripped from Lando’s teeth. His hips jerk back, freeing himself from barely there hold of your hand. The toned muscles of his abdomen jump as his cock flares and a stream of precum dribbles from his swollen tip.

“Fu-uck,” he shakes, “— ‘can’t. Too sensitive, ‘ll cum.”

The green and blue pools of his eyes are wet with moisture, and his chest—dotted with moles and patches of flushed skin—trembles with every inhale. The man laying on your chest shifts to trail his eyes over Lando’s form. The corner of his lips tilts into a smirk as his boyfriend attempts to hide his arousal behind a hand.

“Sol,” Carlos says to you as his eyes remain piercing into the Brit, “You should ride him—if you are able to, of course.” [Sunshine/Sun]

“Uhh…” you stutter, your attention bouncing between the two as you refrain from answering. 

The numbness settling within your cunt can be ignored if it means you get to have the younger man underneath you. Except, it looks like he’s about to cry, and you don’t want to pressure him into agreeing with your answer if he honestly can’t handle it. The teary-eyed man whimpers thinly, splaying himself on his back next to you, looking past you to meet Carlos’s eyes meekly, his voice tiny as he responds, “—won’t last.”

The Spaniard pulls out of you slowly, murmuring apologies and kissing your cheekbone when your brow twinges in discomfort. He helps you straddle the younger man’s hips, careful to support you as your legs haven’t stopped quivering.

His hand drifts between your pelvises, dragging a nail along the underside of Lando’s cock and you can’t deny the buzz of electricity that sings in your gut at the younger man’s wounded cry. The tears spill over his waterline, though he’s squeezed his eyes shut to try to stop them from falling. Carlos tuts at the man patronizingly.

“Too much, Landito?” Carlos pouts at him, “It is fine if you cannot take it. If you don’t want to cum tonight that’s—“

Lando’s eyelids spring open, looking at Carlos desperately as he babbles, “No,no,no,no—‘wanna cum. Please, ‘los.”

The seconds Carlos spends rolling protection over Lando’s cock are filled with choked gasps as the younger man cries, overwhelmed at the lightest touch of fingertips. You lower around his cock smoothly, walls clenching around him greedily, vision tunneling on the soundless bliss of his expression when your ass meets his skin.

You hum at the fullness, your mind settling at how right it feels. The first circle of your hips has Lando’s hands clawing at your hips, adding his own marks on your skin to compliment his boyfriend’s. He wriggles, overwhelmed, but bucks to meet your rolling body regardless.

He’s flushed from head to waist, fresh tears painting tracks of salt down his face before they drip off his jawline to splash on the bed sheets. Your pace remains tantric, and you don’t move more than an inch upwards to avoid testing his limits. The suckling, hot, drag is more than enough for him, if the pulsing of his cock is any telling. Your own sensitivity begins to bite at the base of your spine, your brain exhausted at the feeling of Lando pressing into the rawness that Carlos carved out.

The Spaniard must notice the way the two of you are tiring of chasing euphoria. Lando’s grinds weaken as the precipice of ecstasy is dangled in front of him, hoarse sobs racking through him as he fails to reach it on his own. Carlos splays his hand across Lando’s throat. The Brit’s whimpers pleadingly, and his mouth parts roundly as his boyfriend applies a light pressure to the sides of his neck. 

Lando shakes apart underneath you with uneven thrusts, his helpless gasps echoing through the room as you continue the grind of your hips to coax him through the bliss of release. He bodily restricts your movements when you edge him towards too-much, pulling you off of him with a single hand underneath your thigh. 

Your knees buckle, pitching over to lie face down next to the British man, who mewls sharply as Carlos pulls the soiled condom off. The heat of the Spaniard disappears, the sheets ruffling as he leaves the bed, causing Lando to make a noise of confusion.

“Water, mi amor,” Carlos chuckles, and you’re happy your face is hidden as you can’t contain your expression of envy at the endearment. He maneuvers Lando’s arms to curl around you, “I am getting us water. I will be quick.”

The younger man, as fucked-out as he is, uses a surprising amount of force to pull you into his chest as he buries his nose in your frazzled nest of hair. He uses his other hand to pull your leg around his hip and hums happily when your bodies press together without an ounce of space to spare. He squeezes you tightly, your dejected frown disappearing as you bask in his embrace, uncaring of the layer of sweat pooling on your cooling skin and the stickiness of your thighs.

There’s three cups with straws in Carlos’s hands as he rejoins the two of you on the bed. He sets one on the nightstand and holds the other two while you and Lando untangle your limbs. Once Carlos is satisfied by the slow sips you two take, he slinks into the bathroom and returns with a warm, soaked cloth to wipe the grime from everyone’s bodies. 

He’s careful about the press of the rag, paying attention to every muscle that tenses in sensitivity and tries to do the job as painless as possible. He nods in content once finished, scooping his glass up to rehydrate himself as well.

Lando bites at the metal straw, the gap of his teeth ridiculously cute even as his eyes brighten with mischief, “So…five minutes and we go again?”

“¡Que te jodan!” You cast a look of disbelief at him, “Lando you just cried through an entire orgasm and you want to go again? Already?” [Fuck you!]

The Brit shrugs loftily, slurping through the last bit of water in his cup and toothily smiling as he blinks at you in feigned innocence. His softened length twitches to attention, and you rest your head in your hand, shutting your eyes briefly for strength.

“Oh, what the hell,” you mumble, before clearing your throat, speaking louder, “I need like 15 minutes—or, until I can feel my legs again. Whichever comes first.”

Carlos collects the empty cup from Lando and sets it on the nightstand with his own. “Would you like to watch him fall apart around me while you wait?”

You choke on the sip of water in your mouth, coughing desperately to clear your throat as your eyes water from the burn. The worried look in the Spaniard’s eyes has an amused tinge to it, even as he pats you on the back in aid—you have a feeling he timed his question with your swallow on purpose.

“That’s a stupid question,” you croak, strangled, “Of course, I want to watch.”

You snuffle against a warmed patch of skin annoyed. The heat of sunlight paints your face golden, and you shift to burrow further into the warmth of limbs around you to drowsily slip back into sleep. You find yourself nodding off, but your ears become alert to the sounds of birds calling and chirping outside. 

Your body reacts before your brain as you fly upwards into a seated position. Shit! You have to go to work!

A pained whimper is exhaled as your lower body aches, sore from last night’s activities. The tangle of tanned arms fall limply around your waist at your change in position, the snores of the two men beside you uninterrupted. You carefully pry their arms away, and slip from the bed, digging through the pile of clothes on the floor, grinding your teeth at the numbness of your legs underneath you.

You dress yourself quickly, closing your eyes in thanks for Carlos forcing you into the shower before you passed out. Hopping across the bedroom to tug your skirt up, you stumble into the bathroom to examine the state you're in, pulling your shirt over your head all the while. 

Your curls are a mess, but that can be fixed at work. Lando respected your wishes of keeping his marks below the collar, but you can spot a few of the bruises on your thighs that their fingertips left. 

You curse briefly, unsure if you have a skirt long enough that would hide the mottled skin before remembering that you have a pair of biker shorts that you can slide on underneath that will get the job done. Pressing a thumb into the shape of Carlos’s thumb, you shiver at the glance of pain that sparks up your spine, swallowing tightly as you recall how it was left there.

With a shake of your head to expel the unseemly thoughts, you turn the faucet on to splash water on  your face. You need to call an Uber to get to work. Rushing out of the en-suite, you frantically search for your phone, trying to remain silent to avoid waking up the boys tucked in that ridiculously plush mattress.

“¿Qué estas buscando?” You screech frightfully at the rough timber of Carlos’ voice, spinning around to look at him. [What are you looking for?]

He’s preciously ruffled; his hair sticks up wildly, the comforter draped around his waist as he leans upwards, the planes of his tanned skin sharp in the morning hours, his eyes squinted in your direction under the brightness of the room—the curtains are wide open. 

Did you have sex—illuminated with a single lamp—with the curtains wide open? That’s a problem to fixate over later, you need your phone.

“Have you seen my phone? I can’t find it,” you straighten your shirt, your volume quieting near the end of your sentence as Lando shifts in the bed with a displeased pout that softens when he settles.

“I plugged it in here for you,” Carlos whispers, rolling to take it off the charger, flashing the marks your nails etched into his back. 

He lifts himself out of bed with a rough groan, your mouth drying as you watch him walk to you, clad in a pair of boxers that leave little (it’s not little at all, actually) to the imagination. Carlos’s hand cushions your cheek as he brushes his lips on yours softly, the delicate rhythm washing away your concerns about being late. 

Your lips break apart with a soft pop and he laughs at the discontented sigh you exhale, offering a languid press of lips to your forehead in apology. You reluctantly take the phone from his hand, your eyes bugging out as you realize that you needed to leave five minutes ago to have plenty of time to fix your appearance before you clock in.

“¡Puta madre!” you exclaim, “I’m fucked. I’m going to be so late ‘cause I have to wait for an car.”

“ —Wait for a car?” Carlos’s eyebrows twist in confusion, scratching at his stubble, “Where are you going? You are not staying?”

You throw him a soft look, turning away to figure out where your socks disappeared to, “I’m late for work, Carlitos. I can’t stay—even though I really want to.”

Carlos ah’s in understanding, assisting you in the search for your socks, his voice still croaky with disuse as he talks, “I can drive you? We are only twenty minutes away if you follow the road laws.”

You huff a laugh at his insinuation, tugging your socks on and patting at his arm softly, before gesturing to Lando in the bed, “You don’t have to. I don’t want to inconvenience you, you should be in bed with him. It’s my fault for not having my alarm properly set.”

Carlos shakes his head, rooting through his dresser for a pair of sweatpants that he pulls on, “You are not inconveniencing me. It would be rude if I let you be late to work after last night. I’m not that kind of man. Neither of us are.”

You give in as you watch him pull a plain white tee over his head—he’s too sweet for a fleeting romance. He ambles over to Lando, brushing the unruly curls off his forehead and pressing a kiss to his temple. He tucks the blankets around his boyfriend and a lick of jealousy blooms in your subconscious before you pluck it. 

Carlos grabs his own phone off another charger and stands, speaking to you warmly, “Your shoes and purse are downstairs, yes? There’s some protein bars in the kitchen pantry, grab as many as you want. I should have treated you to a proper breakfast but you do not have the time. I’m going to use the bathroom quickly, if that’s okay?”

You nod, and Carlos quietly shuts the bathroom door behind him. You breathe deeply at the situation you’ve found yourself in, and you scramble to send a quick text to the group chat telling them to cover for you and promising to cover a shift for anybody who does in the future. 

Your phone buzzes almost instantly after with an influx of messages and you click the screen off. They’re probably freaking out at the uncharacteristic vagueness of your whereabouts, but you put off responding to press your own kiss to Lando’s temple before heading downstairs, tenderly stepping to minimize the unsteadiness of your walk.

You appreciate the decor you didn’t get to see last night, the vacation home vibes blatant as you walk through; a modern twist of Spanish style decor. There’s even a fireplace you spot on your way past a sitting room.

You lace up your sneakers, grabbing your purse from the console table in the entryway before searching for the kitchen to grab a protein bar to hold you over until your lunch break. The kitchen is artful, modern in the sense of the new appliances but the colors and details of the tiled walls, clutter, and cabinets gives it a soul. It feels lived in.

You dryly swallow an ibuprofen—you always carry a few in your purse—hoping it will relieve your soreness before work. You open the pantry door, finding an assortment of protein bars and taking your time to read the labels as you hear a door open which means Carlos is heading down. You grab two bars that fit your taste and softly shut the door, unwrapping one to take a bite of now.

“Ah, I knew I would see you again,” Carlos Sr. smiles at you from the kitchen entry, chuckling at the way you jump and nearly drop the bars in your hands, “I will not lie to you, I thought it would be at the golf club and not here.”

Your lips part and seal as you search for a polite answer, but he continues speaking.

“Let me tell you a secret,” he clasps his hands delightfully, “Did my son tell you that he’s been asking me about you every time I am on the course? Papá, did you see her? Papá, when are you going back to Madrid? Aye, they’re smitten over you, mija?”

“¿En serio?” you relax at his mellow tone, enlightened by the new information. [Really?]

“¡Sí!” The older man exclaims, passing by you to start a pot of coffee, “To be honest, I thought you were out of their league last summer,” you laugh, knowing it’s definitely the other way around, “—Honestly!” He insists, turning to face you as the coffee starts to drip.

“I mean, you are in university, getting a further degree,” he shakes his head in respect of your commitment, “Those two just drive in circles for a living! I couldn’t even convince my son to drive rally like I did, ese cabrón.” [That bastard.]

You laugh a little harder at the jab on his own son, muffling it behind a hand, and he continues, “—And, when they told me they did not get your number! Ay! I was so mad at them. I told them to drop everything and go after you, but by the time they made their way up there you were already gone.”

You feel like shit about your outburst on the green. Your expression shutters, and he pats at your shoulder in comfort, “Oh. I-I didn’t know—“

“How could you?” He hums in question, “It is not your fault, if that’s what you are—“

“Mi sol, have you seen my wallet—” Carlos Jr. steps into the kitchen, words cutting off as he balks at the sight of his father, and he shouts, “Papá! ¿Qué hace aquí?” [My sunshine; Dad! What are you doing here?]

“¿Qué estoy haciendo en la casa que compré?” His dad fires back, amused at his son’s stunned question. [What am I doing in the house I bought?]

Carlos blinks at his dad before turning to you, slipping his hand into yours and tugging you out of the kitchen softly, “Let’s go; you’re going to be late, no?”

Sr. chortles as he grabs a mug from the cabinet, “¡Mijo! Hiding a woman from me?! It is okay, Lando will tell me everything. That is why he’s my favorite son!”

Carlos throws his head back with an exasperated groan, but it doesn’t hide the redness of his ears from his father’s teasing.

You stifle your smile, squeezing his hand pacifyingly, “Your wallet is in the bowl at the front. Um, if it’s possible,” you tuck a curl behind your ear shyly, “Do you have another car besides the Ferrari? I love it, but I cannot show up stepping out of that.”

Carlos snorts, shoving his wallet into his pocket and leading you to the garage, “Is a Porsche fine?”

“It’ll work.”

He gets you there in thirteen minutes, slowing the car to a crawl as you direct him to the employee entrance. You grab your purse, awkwardly pausing as you pop the door open. 

You face him with a sheepish grin, “Thank you for the ride. Tell Lando I said good morning.”

Carlos drags his eyes over your form languidly, before he nods imperceptibly, “Do you have enough time to get ready?”

“You’ve made up a few extra minutes for me with your skilled driving on the way here,” Carlos huffs a laugh at that, “So, I should be okay.”

The two of you fall back into silence, unsure of what else to say. You take the leap of faith this time around, it’s the most you can do after learning the way they tried to catch you before you left last summer.

“It wouldn’t be overstepping if I kissed you, right?”

“Ven aquí,” Carlos exhales, unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the console to meet you halfway. [Come here.]

His lips are swollen and textured from your’s and Lando’s combined attention, but the kiss is the sweetest and most tender one you’ve ever experienced. The soft exhale of breath from his nose stokes the butterflies in your stomach, who flutter awake as adoration pumps through your veins. The two of you part, eyes fluttering open to stare softly. He settles back into his seat, looking at your lips longingly, his line of sight broken as you exit the vehicle.

You clear your throat, “Um, I’ll text you guys when I get home later, okay? Adiós, te qu—hasta luego.” [Bye, I l—see you later.]

You shut the door and speed walk into the building before he could say anything about how you nearly exposed how down bad you are already. You hope he doesn’t bring it up, for the sake of your mental stability. The moment you step into the employee locker room, you're accosted by your friends, Isa, Lucas, and Stephanie. 

“Damn,” Lucas snaps, “I was really hoping you’d be late. I need my shift on Tuesday covered.”

You shrug, sliding past the girls to walk to your locker. “Sucks to suck.”

“¡Oye, pequeña!” Isa and Stephanie box you in at your locker as you grab your spare uniform and sport shorts, Isa stresses, “You cannot, walk in here and act like nothing happened! You show up wearing the outfit I picked out for you yesterday? Your hair is a mess! You sent the vaguest text about possibly showing up late? And, you get dropped off in a Porsche!?” [Hey, girly(i guess, idrk how to explain it)!]

Stephanie’s eyes blow wide and you rest your head into the cool metal of your locker door as she bursts, “Girl—did you get laid?!”

“Thank you for that, Steph,” you bite out, turning to look at them with the politest grimace you can muster, “Now, everyone will know exactly what I got up to last night because Lucas—,” you point behind you with a thumb, speaking loudly to drive your words in, “—Is physically incapable of keeping his mouth shut.”

He raises his hands up and backs out of the locker room with a devious smile. 

Turning to Isa, you shake your head, “I do not know why you like him. He’s such a chismosa.” [Gossip.]

She rolls her eyes at you, following you as you make your way into the bathroom, “It’s not a bad thing. He tells me all of the gossip I miss out on–why are there bruises on your thigh—holy fuck! He must have big hands. Which means he has a big—”

“Okay!” You screech, running into a stall and locking the door shut behind you, “I will tell you and the girls every single detail as soon as we finish today!”

She makes a triumphant noise, her steps fading as she exits the restroom, “You better! Or, I’ll force you to listen to me wax poetic about Lucas’s eyes for hours!”

Scoffing, you tug your shirt over your head and yell back, “You already do that anyways!”

The slicked-back ponytail you gelled your hair into, has already sprung flyaways since you didn’t have enough time to set your hair with a wrap before you had to drive out onto the course. You’re almost three hours into your shift, and the sun feels like it’s at its strongest even though you have a few more hours of it burning hotter. Only twenty minutes until lunch, you remind yourself, then you can fix your hair and cool down in the restaurant's walk-in freezer.

You’ve just finished serving a bachelor party, a group of ten men who didn’t give you a hard time. You talked loosely with them, engaging in small talk because connections are everything and you never know who you might run into on the green.

Like Carlos and Lando, case in point.

The groom-to-be actually met his fiancé here. She was a bartender in the clubhouse about seven years ago, and on complete chance she ended up being the one to serve him. He was starry-eyed as he explained to you that he fell in love with her as soon as he saw her. He ordered an unbelievably expensive amount of drinks for him and his boys (the same group of men in the bachelor party), and when she slid the bill over to him, he said, “For this price, you could’ve bought me for the night.”

You called bullshit, and he looked at his friends who backed up his words; they all heard it when he said it. You watched as he took a sip from his beer bottle with a reverent shake of his head, “Now, we’re getting married next week. On August 12th, or 8/12. Which was the price of the tab that night, $812.”

You made a joke about him needing to strengthen his self-esteem if he would consider selling his body for a measly $800, and to attend an A.A. meeting because that’s a ridiculous amount of money to spend on drinks that leave your system quicker than you ingested them. 

The men crowed in laughter at your ribbing of the groom-to-be, but you did seriously congratulate him on his engagement and wished him a long, happy marriage.

And currently, you’ve parked your cart for a few minutes to get over the urge you feel to cry. You're jealous of a woman you’ve never met before because she gets to love a man who’s devoting the rest of his life to her. She gets to marry him, and you’ve agreed to be nothing more than a summer romance to the men you could see yourself falling in love with.

You thank the universe for allowing you to cross paths with the groom-to-be. It reminded you of your place with the Formula One drivers and it’s a temporary one.

Your walkie-talkie crackles with the sound of your name and you sniffle deeply, blinking your eyes quickly to rid the moisture. 

“What’s up?” You chirp cheerily into the voice box, waiting for a response.

“By chance, are you missing your earrings? Over.” It’s Ryan, he takes his radio messages seriously. You tug at your earlobes, and damn, you feel naked.

“I am. Did I leave them in the dressing room?”

“You have to say ‘over’ at the end of your messages, you know that. Over.”

“Ryan...” you hold the line open to annoy him a little bit before you give in, “Did I leave them in the dressing room? O-v-e-r, over.”

“I was going to be nice to you but you lost that chance. Over.” 

You snort, intrigued to hear how he’s going to ‘retaliate.’ The two of you started here at the same time and Ryan has become like a little brother to you, against your will. 

“I just wanted to let you know that two objectively handsome men turned in your earrings to the front desk,” you shout in surprise, firing up the golf cart and slamming the pedal down to head back to the clubhouse, “Hmm…I think they said you left them at their house last night. Overrrrr.” He draws the ‘over’ out teasingly and the walkie-talkie squeals with static and screams of surprise from the other employees on the channel.

“TWO? YOU FREAK!!!” Lucas.

Incoherent screaming. Isa.

“Nobody here can call me a slut anymore!” Rob.

“Is that why you couldn’t sit comfortably at the morning meeting?!” Sofia.

Ryan’s voice crackles through, “Oh! I forgot to mention—don’t worry about stealing food from the restaurant for lunch; they dropped off a meal for you. Over.”

The walkie-talkie explodes with noise and you turn the volume to zero. You’re reporting them all to HR.

You tune out the jeers in the break room as you devour a croquetade jamón and chase it with a spoonful of rice. You send a photo of the food with a thumbs-up in the frame, to Carlos and Lando. You type out your thanks for the jewelry return and lunch. There’s no hesitation as you press send on message inquiring about when the third date is going to happen.

The third date is private cooking lesson where you’re coached through making a few classic Spanish tapas. Lando immersed too deeply and only responded to ‘Chef Lando’ during the class. Carlos ate all of the chorizo he was supposed to use on his flatbread. You terrify the actual chef with your less than savory cutting technique. Your torn apart on their fingers that night, as they take turns coaxing you over the cliff.

You decrease the amount hours you’re able to work at the golf course. You’re only on the schedule during the middle of the week–Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday—leaving you with a four day weekend to frolic around Madrid with your boyfr—with Carlos and Lando.

The fourth date is dinner and a show. It’s your first time watching a ballet, and your lucky enough to be watching the performance at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe. It’s also the first time you get railed in a women’s bathroom stall at Teatro Real, one of the most prestigious opera houses in Europe.

Lando pants raggedly as he fucks into you from behind, “Ah—shit, sunshine, you’re so tight.”

Your moan is muffled around Carlos’s cock and he hisses at the vibration, knocking his head against the stall door loudy. 

When Lando climaxes, he whimpers out a, “te quiero.” You pretend to miss it as you concentrate on sucking Carlos to completion. Carlos licks his spend from your tongue, babbling his te quiero’s into your mouth. You don’t say it back. [Te quiero means I love you, but it’s more casual, less serious in nature.]

The fifth date is pottery and you ride Carlos’s face to the image of Lando’s hands coning down his clay on the wheel. The sixth date is driving around the outskirts of Madrd’s city limits and passing the phone around to queue a song to play as you three switch between talking and enjoying the tunes. 

The seventh date is painting the mugs you made; you made two, one for Carlos and one for Lando—they each made you one as well. You’ve painted Carlos’s as a lemon and Lando’s as an orange—and homage to the sip of sunshine line they pulled on you. Lando painted a field of sunflowers for you. Carlos painted a sun with rays spilling from it, the words ‘my sunshine’ scripted into the middle of the sun.

Somewhere between the fifth and seventh date, they became comfortable with saying te quiero  to you outside of sex. 

It’s said as you serve them drinks on the course, as they drop you of at home after dates, as they cuddle with you without wanting more, as they wake you up between them in the morning. 

You give in somewhere beewen the sixth and seventh date. But, you only allow yourself to say te quiero during or after sex.

And, you stifle your sobs of anguish into your pillow at home, dreading the day you return to school and they return to racing.

Your dad enjoys the mobile car show of priceless automobiles that appear in his driveway to pick you up. Your mom eagerly awaits your renditions of your dates every night and you’re careful to edit around the explicit parts. 

The dates progress to you spending your four days off at their  Carlos Sr. 's vacation home, packing a bag with your necessities so you don’t have to risk wasting time away from them by stopping at your house. They take the time to explain to you just how much of a goat Lewis Hamilton is. Lando helps with your wash day, soaking up your tidbits of advice for his own curls. Carlos lets you soundboard ideas for your dissertation off of him without complaining, iterjecting every once in a while with a viewpoint you hadn’t considered. 

Your craving for intimacy is satiated. They twirl you around in the kitchen to Spanish ballads they sing terribly at the top of their lungs. They terrorize you on the green, choosing increasingly difficult cocktails for you to make so you have to spend more time with them instead of doing your job. You and Carlos terrorize Lando with a football games of keep away. You and Lando terrorize Carlos by hiding his shirts from him so he has to walk around topless. They don’t terrorize you in retaliation—if you don’t count their constant te quiero’s as terrorizing acts.They pick you up at some ridiculous hours when you’ve gone clubbing with your friends; making sure you chug a glass of water, helping you rinse off in the shower and moisturizing your skin before dressing you in their clothes, doing your skincare for you before putting you to bed. 

They drag their feet through helping you repack your belongings on the morning of your last day in Spain. You let Lando get away with tugging garments out of your bag every time you turn your back to him, hiding your smile as you see Carlos assist him by stuffing it at the bottom of the pile of clothes that doesn’t seem to shrink.

Eventually, they give up. Their eyes trace your form as you do your last walkaround to make sure you haven’t left anything behind. Your check ends at the front door, grabbing your keys from the bowl on the entryway table.

You sigh heavily, “Well, don’t just stand there.”

They gravitate towards you, hugging you tightly and peppering an endless amount of bittersweet kisses along any patch of skin they can reach. Lando hunches down to hide his face in your neck, and Carlos rests his forehead against yours.

“¡Chicos, calmaté!” Your giggly exclamation sounds watery, “I am coming back next year, remember?”

“That’s too longgg,” Lando complains into your neck, his voice sounding as pitiful as yours. You step backwards to cradle his face between your hands. His cheeks are ruddy and his eyes are dejected even as he smiles shakily under your touch.

“Date us.” Carlos blurts out desperately, “Ay, perdóname—May we date you, please?” [Forgive me.]

You gape at the older man, struggling to ascertain what he’s asked of you. 

Stumbling gracelessly, your hands fall from Lando’s face, who makes a hurt noise at the loss. “Date me? I thought you both said this was just a fling?”

The Brit twists his hands together at your words, his face saddening further as he corrects you, “Summer romance—fling is too harsh.”

“Too casual?” You shout, “I thought this was supposed to be casual! I felt like shit whenever I didn’t say te quiero back! I wanted more the moment we sat down at that restaurant a month ago, but I thought I couldn’t have it because that’s not what we agreed on!”

“You want more?” Carlos clarifies, his tone optimistic. 

“¡Cabrón!”  You laugh, hurtling forward to throw your arms around his neck. Relieved tears spill over your waterline, soaking into the Spaniard’s shirt. “I’m damn near in love with you guys–yes,yes,yes, I want more.”

Lando glows, blubbering incoherently with happiness and you shush him with your lips.

“I wish you had asked me days ago,” you sniffle cutely, smiling crookedly as you continue, “—’cause I really do have to leave, or I won’t have enough time to pack my things into my suitcases at home.”

You groan as you find yourself with an armful of two Formula One drivers bemoaning the unfairness of being separated from you even though they just got you.

“Mis amores, escúchame—you had me the entire time,” you coo, “We all know how phones work. We can communicate speedily with texts, and video calls, and send voice messages, and even regular calls. If we’re doing this we have to have a serious talk about it when I land in the States, yeah? Long distance is difficult, but I’m willing to put in the effort to make it work, if you two do the same.” [My loves, listen to me.]

“Phone sex isn’t the worst thing in the world,” Lando quips, smiling as he watches you and Carlos chortle at the unexpected comment.

The laughter ringing through the air fizzles out. You bite your lip, shaking your head slightly as their stares fixate on your mouth. They haven’t managed to stop ogling at your lips over the course of the month.

“Te quiero,” you state. Lando repeats it back instantly, Carlos kisses you before doing the same.

You pick up your bag from the floor, “Promise me that you’ll do your best to make this relationship work.”

Their confirmations are swift, even taking turns crossing their pinkies with yours and with themselves. Your heart sings with love. They walk you to your car. Carlos takes the bag from your hand and places it in your backseat, Lando holds your door open, making sure you don’t hit your head as you sit in the driver’s seat. 

He shuts the door smoothly, and you roll down the window to exchange your last goodbyes. 

“See you next summer.”

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[suiana]

(yandere! second prince x gn! royalty reader) (inspired by frozen, yk the movie with elsa ya)

"y/n!"

the second prince called out, his lips quirking up into a shaky smile as the love of his life approached.

he had been cursed by his older brother, the king of the empire. it all happened so fast. he went to find his runaway sibling and when he finally found him... he didn't even know what happened. one second he was fine then the next he was on the floor, clutching his chest as his friend carried him out of his older sibling's ice castle.

apparently he needed a true love's kiss to break the curse that his older sibling placed on his heart. and he knew just who to help him break that curse.

"my darling, are you alright?"

heaven.

your voice was like salvation to him. he swears he could feel his heart thawing with just the sound of your voice.

"I'm alright now that you're here..."

the younger prince trembles as he makes himself comfortable in your grip. ah... you're so caring... so charming... he's so glad that you're his one and only.

"y/n, you have to kiss me. that's the only way to break the curse. a true love's kiss."

his hair had already begun turning white, a sign that the curse was progressing to the other parts of his body. if he didn't get that kiss, he might never get to be with you ever again.

he couldn't let that happen.

"really? shall i kiss you then?"

yes! his heart and mind were both screaming at you to just kiss him already. but he only nodded weakly, his cheeks turnung a faint shade of pink as he shut his eyes.

he could feel your warm breath on his lip, your warm and tender touches as you wrapped your arms around him. warm, you were so very warm.

but why weren't you kissing him?

"m-my love?"

he was desperately waiting for that kiss of yours. to feel your soft lips against his, for your passion to bring him back to his original condition.

but it never came.

his eyes fluttered open, his heart shaking as he takes in your expression. what? why were you smiling at him? just hurry up and kiss him already! your love will beeak the curse and you two would be happy together!

"my love can't you kiss-"

"oh darling, if only there was someone out there who loved you."

the second prince swears he feels his whole world stop at your words. even your warm hand caressing his cheek didn't help lessen the shock.

what did you say? no, he had to have misheard, right? how could you not love him?! you said it before-

"haha... funny joke my love... now c-can you kiss me? i feel so cold..."

"mn... yes, i suppose you were an idiot for not realising. you are quite naive unlike your brother."

his eye twitches at your words. out of all the things you had to say... you bring up his brother?

it's always his brother this, his brother that... can't it be him for once?!

"don't bring my brother-"

"you know, i was originally planning on going to him. he's more of my type anyway. but... he saw through me and distanced himself."

you let out a sigh, shaking your head as your hands loosen around the second prince. that's right, you were planning to get engaged to the king for the sake of your own empire, you know? but he instantly rejected you. what a shame.

then you met this...puppy like second prince. he'd do. of course he would, he's not half that bad looking and he's dumb too! he wouldn't suspect a thing!

"you know darling, you should use that brain of yours more."

you click your tongue, shaking your head before releasing your hold on the second prince. it's time to go take over this empire. the king was gone and the second in line was about to die. the whole enpire needed someone to support them and who else but you?

"no."

unfortunately, your plans were shattered as the second prince suddenly tugged you down, his hands shaky as he crawled on top of you.

what the hell?

you could only stare in silence as the younger prince forced you to remain under him. his eyes were dark with an emotion you've never seen from him before. he was... even panting? what a dog.

"you can't leave me."

was he not listening? you've never loved him-

"no, you have to love me. you said it before, why can't you say it now?"

you roll your eyes at his words, letting out an annoyed sigh as you try to push him off of you.

"don't you get it? those words were just lies. i've never loved you."

silence.

before you knew it, his lips were on yours. his cold lips against your warm ones as he pressed himself up against you.

"you nust love me. don't lie to me. how.. could you not love me?"

he mumbles between kisses, his cheeks flushing red as he geips your wrists, pinning them to the ground. he continues to sit on top of you, his breath mixing with yours.

"hah... we still have... time. I'll make you realise your feelings for me."

he looks down at you, deranged eyes staring into your own confused ones before he goes back to kissing you, his teeth nipping at your lower lip.

"you're the only one for me, y/n. you have to be mine."

he mumbles, voice shaky before he grips your jaw rather tightly.

"love me back."

damn boy! he crazy crazy 🤣

[dropsnectar]

Pollen and Potions: Bee-men x afab!reader

PART THREE

This is a longer part than the rest, but its all necessary dialogue so it should be fine. More fluffy and romance than smut, BUT!! Their will be smut in the next section! I know I said this will only be 4 parts, but it may actually be more like 5 or 6. Anyway, hope you like!

So. You were starting to learn that using large batches of magic back to back weren't ideal for a young witch's health. It seemed like you might have overdone it, as when you woke you found you had been asleep for TWO WHOLE DAYS. So. If you were going to do magic, it looked like you were going to have to pace yourself, or perhaps use LESS magic.

You put yourself to learning more about witchcraft. The thing was, your grandmother's books didn't really go into the basics, and as witches were so rare, information was hard to find. Of course, the internet was full of supposed witch spells, or frameworks, but it was like throwing dice. Some spells didn't work. Some spells took up WAY too much energy. Some were just… fine? But not what you needed. 

Next you checked out forum sites. Maybe you could find a community through that way? But all you found were psychics and tarot readers. Nice people, but not what you needed.

Whelp. Maybe you needed to look at the issue differently. The environment used to be a beautiful, thriving area. What had changed between now and then? In order to understand a magic ecosystem, you had to understand ecosystems. So, for the rest of the week you busied yourself with ecology study. It was turning out that this project you had adopted on a whim would need a lot more time and breadth of knowledge then you originally thought.

***

When you met with Rena, under Lyith’s friendly gaze, you found that the magic you had cast hadn't waned at all. The flowers had grown beautifully and continued to give magic nectar that created the best honey. Rena was beside herself. “The elders of the hive say they haven't had honey of this quality since they were children! You are really onto something here, little one.”

Rena had now gotten in the habit of calling you little one. Sure, as a Bee-man she was slightly taller than you, but not by much. Also the constant fluttering and floating didn't help. 

“You've been given permission to test your magic on our other gardens as well. As long as we are careful and continue with caution!” Rena babbled. You gave her a small smile and felt Lyiths arm on your shoulder. He laid his head on your other shoulder, leaning his fuzzy head against yours. 

“Whats wrong?”

You wiggled a little. “I'm just having a hard time brainstorming how to do this. I know I said I'd help you guys, but I might not be able to use as much magic as last time. To be honest, I don't really know much about my mana and my limits…” you explained your situation. Expecting there to be disappointment, you were surprised to find none.

“I can’t help but think… How long will this last? One spell isn’t going to cut it for that long. I want to create something that will last for you guys, but that might take a while… and doing just this took all the mana I had. I want to do better. But I don’t want to hurt myself either, especially when I don’t know how this could affect my health in the long run…” The bee-men seemed to be catching on.

“Of course, little one. We wouldn't want you to harm yourself.”

 Lyith also popped up, his voice almost in your ear.

“Us Bee-men also have something like mana. Our magic is not never ending. We would have fixed this situation ourselves if it was.”

Rena reached forward and grabbed your hand, giving it a reassuring pat. “We don't have to do anything today. We can commence whenever you'd like. Our flowers have spread out beautifully and even this is enough.”

You frowned.

“I may have to do this every spring. Or even redo it in the summer…”

“You don’t owe us anything. You are trying your best to do us a kindness. And our hive knows and sees that. We are beyond grateful to you… Its… We’ve needed…We are truly grateful.” His expression fell at the mention of his hive, his antennas drooping. Rena moved forward and held Lyith, a sad expression on her own face.

There was a pause in conversation that grew somewhat awkward.

How do I make this better? You tried to brainstorm, but only one thing came to mind. 

You went over and gave the both of them a big bear hug. It was a tense one, but you tried to adjust your emotions, instead concentrating on how fond you had grown of the two. You tried to shout it as loud as you could through your brain at them.

This seemed to break the spell, as Rena started to laugh. Lyith looked at you affectionately. 

“I know we haven't known each other long, but I just want to say, you can count on me. If you ever need to talk about anything let me know. I'll listen.”

Rena and Lyith hummed in response, returning your group hug with a long squeeze.

Long hugs. The favorite actions of a Bee-men.

After some quiet reassurances, the two of you decided to idle while the two foraged on the edge of the Wood. You walked with them and asked them as many questions you could think of. How old were they? Were they able to do other magics? You had thought Bee-men to be isolated. How come they knew so much about human culture?

Lyith was the one who answered you most of the time. It seemed that bee-man typically lived double the life of a human, with Rena and Lyith being about 45, and 51, Lyith being the oldest. They were in the same season of life as you though!

Bee-man could do some other magics(they didn't go much into what), but they specialized in making their magical honey, which fortified the health and wellbeing of a Bee-men. 

They didn’t say it outright but it seemed like the dip in magic had affected the nutrition of their food source. They kept their own bees and shared honey, but it still wasn't enough, so they had ventured out into human society to buy fruit when it was necessary. They also did trade with neighboring beast-men, the Wolfmen being happy to share their fruit for their Bee’s wax waste. I 

“What exactly do you guys do for fun though?” You asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Lyith smiled. “Late night flying is fun.”

Rena snorted. “You mean late night spying. Lyith has a habit of looking through people's windows.”

Lyith wrinkled his nose at Rena. “If they did not want to be seen they would have drawn the curtains. It's not strange, I am just curious about human life is all.”

Rena reached forward and pinched Lyiths nose. “Poor thing. So bored he must make mischief.”

You looked at Lyith with surprise. His big eyes grew in concern and he pouted at you.

“You are not going to tease me too are you? I promise, I never see anything scandalous. I'm a good little bee.” He fluttered his eyes at you.

You giggled and pushed his shoulder. 

“As long as you're not spying on me I guess it's harmless.”

Lyiths expression shifted to one of his dopey smiles. It always surprised you how innocent he could look despite his size. Was it maybe…

“So… I may have read that you guys are telepathic right?” 

Renas face changed into a smirk. 

“Yes, and?”

“ Well, have you guys ever… used your powers on me?” 

Rena snorted. Lyith gave you an unreadable expression. “We Bee-man are very particular about sharing our heads outside of our hives. But no. We haven't done anything to you if that's what you meant…”

Oh. He was pouting now.

“No! Thats not what I meant! I just… i feel so comfortable around you guys it's almost supernatural. I just. Idk. Wanted to know. Please I didn't mean anything by it!”

Lyith wrinkled his nose at you and Rena continued to seem amused. You felt helpless and got a bit upset with yourself. You did your best to calm yourself down but you were upset. You had so few friends here and you were afraid you blew it. A wave of loneliness swept through you.

Lyith was watching you the whole time, before sighing. “All will be forgiven if you give us some of those fruit tarts you made yesterday.”

You looked at him, shocked. 

“I thought you said you didn't spy on me!”

“I wasn't spying, I just happened to be foraging by the window, and smelled something amazing. It was all incidental.”

“There's sugar in the crust. Won’t your tummy get upset?”

He just smiled. Rena laughed. “He named his price. For offending us, we must get fruit tarts.”

Finally feeling better, the three of you walked(they let you walk!!!) Back to your home. You served them up your tarts, when finally the questions started coming about you. Why did you move here? Do you have any siblings? What were you like as a child?

This went on until dinner time, at which point you decided to shoo your new friends away. “ I'll be back to do the flowers tomorrow. We… we will see what I can do.” You admitted. The two of them smiled at you, hugging you tight for a good three minutes. They always lingered, nuzzling your face and hair, as if they were getting a whiff of you. You could smell their own perfume and tried not to think too much. Their goodbyes always felt so intimate. 

 Rena decided to pepper your face in kisses before they left. Lyith just rolled his eyes at her. When they drew apart you felt empty, like some piece of you was going with them.

***

As always, Lyith picked you up that morning. This time, you made sure to bring a scarf and hat, alongside emergency snacks in your bag. Where he was taking you next was a little longer of a trip, a whole ten minutes to the usual six. That was a long time when you were hurtling through the air.

You were surprised to drop into a small crowd. There were ten Bee-men present besides Rena, who seemed to be communicating silently with them. The air was full of bee noises; humming, purring, the fluttering of wings. The air smelled amazingly fresh, floral and syrupy. It was an odd smell, but it seemed to put you at ease somehow. And maybe a bit peckish.

A Beeman a whole foot and a half taller then Rena fluttered towards you. They bowed, of which you awkwardly returned before they reached forward and took your hand gently. Lyith started,

“This is Elder Bisou. He is the eldest of our hive. He is showing you respect.”

Elder Bisou smiled at you. “Little Witch, I welcome you to our territory. My human is a bit… unused. Please receive our thanks for your efforts.” He took your hand and leaned down so that it met his temple. You could feel the rush of his magic, like your mind was a fish bowl and he was putting a gentle hand on the glass. You could feel his warmth, his deep gratitude through it. 

Your back straightened and you felt water prick your eyelids. You gave him a slow nod, becoming acutely aware just how serious this whole situation actually was. Rena and Lyith had been dancing around it, but the Bee-men must be slowly starving to death. That was the only explanation for the depths of what you had felt.

“I will do my best.” Was all you could reply. 

Lyith, acting as your translator, took you to each Bee-men he could and introduced you. It seemed that some of the elders, as well as some of those who had free time had come to watch the “little witch” work. Most took your hand gently, and sent you a ghost of what their emotions were. There was a sort of film around the emotions, a barrier of sorts. Whether this was on purpose so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed, or just how their telepathy worked, you couldn't tell. 

You did your best to not let your nerves get to you as you dissected the sections of the field where you would be doing your experiments. You didn’t know how these particular flowers would take to your spell, so it was still best to be cautious. The bee-men looked on with interest.

You did your chants in a loud booming fashion, and channeled in as elegant a fashion as you could. Like always, the magic came, and the spell did its work. These flowers were different, like rainbow colored lavender. Rather than letting the magic gush through you, you let it gently trickle out, pacing yourself. When the deeds were done, you still felt sore, and you still held a headache in your temple, but there was no nausea, so growth! 

Once you were done with your work, there was a large excited buzzing throughout the forest. There was clapping, dancing, stomping of feet, pumping of many hands, whoops from Rena and Lyith. One Bee, a worker named Aidenn held a small wooden instrument in his hands and started to play. This triggered a chorus from the Bee-men. There was a harmonizing among the crowd and they started to circle each other, laughing and dancing. A circle of flying, spinning Bee-men formed.

Rena grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you onto her shoulder before joining in the circle of the dance. You giggled as you spun, feeling the giddiness in the air like it was laughing gas. That same pressure filled your mind and a part of your heart started to soar. It was intimate, but not stifling and you loved feeling so close to everyone.

You lifted your hands and, feeling in the spirit, decided to hum along. At some point Rena had taken you in her arms and held you close as they continued to fly in a circle, spinning and perrying, and switching. It was similar to square dancing, where there was a pattern to it. 

At one point, the tune changed and Lyith swooped down from above and grabbed you out of Rena’s arms. She snorted at him but let it happen, joining hands with another passing Bee-men. When Lyith gathered you in his arms, he cradled you as close as possible, surprising you. One hand was gripping firmly around your waist and the other crushing you to him. He landed on the ground, and the rest of the bee-men followed, causing something of a ballroom dance. 

“You did wonderfully today.” He breathed in your ear, causing them to redden. You pulled yourself back a bit to see his face and he was looking at you with such pride and affection it felt like a weight crushing your chest. You moved your hands from his shoulders to reach his own hands. You were shaky, but you wanted to return his feelings somehow. His palms were soft.

This caused him to laugh, a purring sort of trill coming from his throat. You couldn’t help a silly grin form on your face.

“I’m glad you came to my garden.” Was all you could think to say.

He looked at you, with those big black eyes, then reached forward and kissed you on the lips. It was only a peck, but you could feel his joy through it. 

Something complex within you, a mix of happiness, excitement, hope, all of your feelings rose up into your throat. Unable to find the words to express yourself, you took all of those big heavy emotions, wrapped them all up together and kissed him back, right there, in the middle of your makeshift dance floor.

When you pulled away Lyith looked shocked, his bottom lip hanging open. Adorable as usual. 

Rena hollered from the otherside of the gathering, sending out a big whoop. There was laughter, buzzing and an echoing whoop from some of the younger bee-men. Elder Bisou made some clicking sounds, but the sides of his mouth were slightly upturned.

It occurred to you then that you were in the middle of a group of very telepathic monster people. Your cheeks grew hot in embarrassment and you pulled away from Lyith a bit. Your shoes suddenly became very interesting. 

Lyith eventually turned your chin back up to face him. He held a small peaceful smile, before bumping his forehead to yours. He didn’t share his emotions but the affection was still there.

After you grew too tired to dance, you took a seat under a tree, munching on a granola bar. Another one of the Bee-men, a younger drone named Haven, made his way to sit next to you.

“I don’t know if it was mentioned, but honey production has picked up enormously since you agreed to help us. I haven’t felt this great in… well ever! Thank you little witch!”

“I’m not little, but thank you for saying so.” You were starting to get a bit lightheaded now, and not from the dancing. It was possible that some of the symptoms of mana sickness were surfacing a little late.

“You are strong! That is true! Even elder Bisou has said he hasn’t met a human or beastman with mana like yours!” Haven turned his voice down to a whisper, as if he was sharing a secret, “Your magic smells so much like flowers, really, its a huge blessing! In fact, I would eat you up if I could!” He laughed as if he had made a joke. He sighed and looked up dreamily at the sky. “Alas, I am saving myself for when we find our queen.” He wrapped his arms around himself, as if to fend off imaginary suitors.

You wrinkled your nose. “Queen? You don’t have a queen? Isn’t that super bad for bees, I mean bee-men?” 

Heaven tilted his head at you, reminding you of Lyith. 

“Of course. That's why we are all so small and weak.” You stared at him in shock. He put up his hands. “We are doing well though! It's been 20 years since our queen died but we are still here! Oh! There is a hive up north! Any day now, one of their queens' daughters might descend and bless us! Or.. Or we--”

“Little One! You seem like you're getting sick!” Rena Descended from above and put a hand to your forehead.

“You are far too warm! Haven, mind if I take her out of your wings?”

Heaven looked up at Rena, his face a mask of confusion. He eventually gave in though and stood up.

“I should check on Elder Bisou! He might need something!” His voice was flat, obviously fake, but he ran away- flew away with gusto.

Rena took your face into her hands, tilting your head back and forth. Your lightheadedness turned full on dizzy. Rena’s face screwed up in an annoyed expression.

“You overdid it. And after that whole speech about not knowing your limits too..” She gently put a hand on your back and picked you up princess style. You would have been embarrassed, if your brain was functioning properly. Instead your gaze fixed on Rena’s beautiful iridescent wings. The lights were so lovely and they helped ground you. Honestly, everything about Rena was lovely. Well, maybe lovely wasn’t the right word. She was rough around the edges. A tease and a know it all. But she doted on you so, it made you feel a bit overwhelmed. Your gaze shifted from her wings to her lovely nose, pretty sharp for a bee-men. 

Rena started conversing with Lyith about you, pointing her jaw and humming. Huh. Rena was actually incredibly attractive. You had known that before. Maybe it was something about how dizzy everything was. The last time you had felt this way she had been kissing you, her textured tongue pushing nectar down your thoat-

“Little One”

Your mind immediately focused. She was using a demanding tone. 

“Lyith will take you home. Next time, we will only do one spell at a time.” She leaned forward and placed her cool lips to the side of your mouth. Making you blush. Well your face was already heated so you would have blushed. “I will see you again soon. Rest.” And she was off.

You were in Lyith’s arms again. A place you were starting to get comfortable in. He stared at you for a moment, his lips pursed, then sighed loudly. He held your gaze for a moment.

“I do not like this habit you are forming. You will not get sick again, understand?” 

You nodded at him, mind hazy. Sleepy. You were sleepy. 

You didn’t register the fly home, only that the coolness felt nice. You were carried from the porch, into the living room, up the stairs, and laid on your bed. You were covered in warm, delicious blankets. 

You never saw Lyith leave before you passed out. Probably because he tucked himself in right beside you, the cool air washing over both of you from the open bedroom window.

[terukotime]

allow me to be super delulu for a second

if either Eden or Ace are the actual killer, that would mean one of them would be saying their secret quotes in the next coming episodes. but...do we really feel like the situation warrants them saying what their quotes are?

Ace's is: "I don't know what to do with myself anymore."

Eden's is: "You can't go back, no matter how hard you try."

Ace's feels a little strange to say in the trial. we're very close to unearthing the real culprit, and if Ace really is the killer, when would he say that? immediately upon being found out? the quote itself has their air of melancholy and defeatism, and even at his lowest, we know Ace isn't someone to concede or go down without a fight. and if he knows he's about to die, what's the point in saying "I don't know what to do with myself anymore" when he's not even going go be alive in the next few moments? He WON'T be doing anything with himself anymore, he'll be dead.

Eden's, while not as strange of a thing to say as Ace, is also kind of peculiar. when would she say it? while she's admitting to the murder? if Eden did it, sure, it's believable that she'd feel some regret, but the setup to her being the killer feels very odd now that we've gone through this big emotional moment between her and Teruko. honestly, after all that, if Eden really is the killer, i'd be more inclined to believe she WOULDN'T regret killing Arei. it'd seem like her crying and pleading was all just emotional manipulation. it also seems strange to me that Eden would have already had it in mind to kill Arei when she and Teruko found Ace, and took the opportunity to steal the tape to carry it out. i could definitely be wrong, and please correct me if i am, but i think the attempted murder was the same day as what happened with Eden and Arturo? honestly, even if it wasn't, it just feels weird to me that Eden would find some way to disguise her handwriting, set up a murder method even more elaborate than Nico's original version, and then do the whole trial pleading and sobbing for people to believe she didn't kill her and actually have regretted her actions. that shit is so premeditated that everything Eden has done thus far feels like immense emotional manipulation. while that could still be possible...it's not really that satisfying, i'd say. who knows, maybe i'm in severe denial, but i just think this characterization of Eden would be really weird. it would feel less like a betrayal of "man, this character i liked turned out to be awful", and more like a betrayal of "man, this character i liked has made a 180° in their personality without any foreshadowing of having a darker side to them".

and i'm just still really hung up on Hu. her secret quote, "I want to pay for what I've done. But even then, I still want to live." makes total sense in the context of this trial, especially after her secret reveal. and while it's pretty unlikely she took the tape from the gym, there's no guarantee that the person who took the tape at the time HAS to be the murderer. i'm just still hung up on the fact that it feels like there needs to be one last, big twist before the true killer is revealed. a moment where Teruko comes to her realization and the culprit is selected before she makes any actual accusation against them. we already knew Eden and Ace would be the ones Teruko was going to interrogate in the selection because of her explanation. just given how drdt has been written thus far, i feel like they wouldn't hand the potential answer to us like that so easily. like we wouldn't get to the point of selecting the culprit with the story already telling us it can only be one of two suspects.

it's entirely possible that i'm just coping and am refusing to accept that one of my favorite characters is actually the culprit. or that drdt could have a trial that isn't greatly written. it's totally fine if i'm wrong and Eden or Ace really is the killer, i definitely won't enjoy it much but it's not my story, nor would it completely make me drop drdt.

i honestly just needed to rant LMAO. this episode left me with a LOT of feelings.

[meraki-yao]

RWRB Full-Cast Audiobook Imaginations

So with the sequel on the horizon, we’re not that far from a full-cast re-recording of the audiobook, right?

I listen to the audiobook more than I read the book, mostly because I can listen to it while doing other stuff, and no offence to the original narrator, but while it’s good, it’s not the best. I kind of cringe at his British accent for Henry.

So I have a lot of thoughts.

The thing is with an audiobook, we can get both the wonderful vocal performance of the movie cast, and the iconic book lines, the ones that didn’t, and frankly, could never have made it into the movie due to format restrictions:

Sexy explicit sex scenes

Sexy explicit sex lines “For fuck’s sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night”, “I want you to fuck me”, “I’ve been thinking about your mouth on me all well”

Emails in their entirety

Email openings and endings “Huge Raging Heache Prince Henry of Who Cares”, “First Son of Shirking Responsibilities”, “Horrible Revolting Heir”, “First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege”, “Haplessly Romantic Heretic Prince Henry the Utterly Daft”

Email historical quotes “The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you”, “I meet you in every dream”

Swearing and explicit language “fucking shit” “I fucking love you, okay?”

Internal Struggle

Iconic lines that didn’t make it into the movie for adaptation and story purposes “I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you” “I love him on purpose”, “America, he is my choice”

Like, imagine hearing all of this in Taylor, in Nick, in Sarah and Uma and Ellie and Rachel and Thomas and Aneesh and Cfiton etc etc 's voice. Just imagine it!!!

Another thing to add is that to put it in simple terms, the current version of the audiobook does the dialogue lines closer to theatre acting: more enunciated, more inflection, and slower. Which is fine in its own right (I’m a theatre kid). But with the cast audiobook, hopefully, we can get them to do something closer to film acting, i.e. closer to reality, reading the lines as they would if they were to shoot those scenes.

Which is gonna make big moments like sexy times and confrontations a lot of fun :D

And something really entertaining to think about is now that we also know the cast and their dynamic is thinking about how much fun they would have while recording the book, especially when they have scenes together. And it’s not necessarily just Taynick, it’s group scenes with the whole Super Six, like the karaoke scene in chapter seven, or the Texas Holiday Scenes with Firstprince and Junora.

Like, Imagine it, the actors in the same recording studio, maybe even on the same couch:

Taylor and Nick laughing while reading off the insults from the earlier frienemies days of their relationship

Taylor and Nick squirming and playfully hitting each other when recording lines for sexy scenes like the first night, or the tack room, or Wimbledon

The cast shouting and booing (playfully) whenever someone messes up a line in their group scenes

The chaotic fun that is the LA karaoke scene, everybody’s laughing, Ellie gets to be the singular sober person while everyone else acts drunk, Nick singing Don’t Stop Me Now shittier (Nick has the voice of an angel but book Henry can’t sing for shit),

Taylor and Nick giving each other hugs after screaming at each other for the Kensington confrontation

Nick grinning smugly at every book height difference mention (:<

More of Taylor speaking Spanish!!!

Thomas gets to be a proper asshole villain who later turns into awkward older brother who's trying

Ellie gets to do the pie metaphor grief monologue  

Taylor gets to do another speech (he’s really good at delivering speeches)

 I want to quickly reiterate that I am in no way unhappy with what we got in the end for the movie; I love it to pieces. However, as Matthew and Casey said, there are two “canonical” versions of the story now, and since audiobooks are an option, it would be really nice to connect this aspect of the movie verse with the book verse in some sort of middle ground.

So yeah Audible? Amazon? Get on with it!!!

@almightaylor this was the long post I mentioned, I literally started this in July lol

[novaursa]

The Price of Fire (Final Chapter)

- Summary: In the shadows of the Red Keep, the daughter of the Mad King, Princess Y/N Targaryen, finds herself caught between duty, love, and survival. As her father’s madness deepens and political intrigue swirls, she seeks solace in a forbidden romance with her sworn protector, Ser Arthur Dayne. With King Aerys plotting to use her as a pawn and her brother Rhaegar maneuvering to shield her from their father’s grasp, Y/N must navigate a web of deceit and desire. As tensions rise, secrets ignite into fierce passion and dangerous alliances, where the wrong move could mean the end of them all.

- Paring: targ!reader/Arthur Dayne

- Note: This is the final chapter for this story. I had to cut a lot from the original one, since it's a very, very long story. And Tumblr is not built well for that. If you have a feeling something is missing, this is why. I may in the future expand the story with additional short chapters to fill the gaps. But I'll leave it as it is for now.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: 18

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @lightdragonrayne @onlyrealjoy @hajmola-vs-aamchaska

The chamber in Sunspear was filled with the low, hushed voices of healers and the flickering light of candles as you lay exhausted on the birthing bed, your body still trembling from the effort of bringing new life into the world. The air was heavy with the scents of sweat and herbs, but all of that faded away as you looked down at the tiny bundle in your arms.

Your son, with his shock of pale blonde hair and eyes of vivid violet, looked up at you with a serene, almost knowing expression. Tears welled in your eyes as you gently traced his delicate features, your heart swelling with an overwhelming, indescribable love.

Arthur knelt beside you, his gaze locked on the infant with a look of wonder and pride. His hand, strong and warm, rested on your shoulder as he leaned closer, his eyes never leaving the face of his newborn son. “He’s perfect,” Arthur murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He brushed a soft kiss against your temple, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You did so well, Y/N.”

Your lips curved into a tired smile as you looked at Arthur. “We did,” you whispered, your voice hoarse but filled with joy. The exhaustion and pain faded into the background, eclipsed by the small, precious life cradled against your chest.

Arthur’s hand moved to gently stroke the baby’s fine hair. “Aegon,” he said softly, almost reverently, as if testing the name on his tongue. “We will call him Aegon, after your ancestors. A name for a king.”

You glanced at him, a flicker of apprehension in your eyes. Aegon—a name that carried with it a weight of history and expectation, a name that would forever tie your son to the legacy of House Targaryen. But as you looked down at your child, your heart steadied. He would be more than just a name. He would be your son, the embodiment of everything you had fought for, everything you had risked.

“Aegon,” you repeated, the name rolling softly off your lips. It felt right, like a promise for the future. “Yes. Aegon.”

The door to the chamber opened quietly, and Rhaegar stepped in, his face etched with a mixture of relief and joy as he looked at you and the tiny bundle in your arms. He moved to your side, his eyes softening as he took in the sight of his nephew. “He’s beautiful,” Rhaegar murmured, his voice filled with pride. “You have given our family hope, Y/N.”

You reached out, taking Rhaegar’s hand in yours. “He is our future, brother,” you whispered. “No matter what happens, he is our hope.”

Rhaegar nodded, his expression turning solemn as he glanced at Arthur. “We’ll protect him. We’ll protect all of you,” he promised quietly, though there was a shadow in his eyes, the weight of what he knew was coming.

Oberyn entered the room a short while later, his presence a stark contrast to the tender moment that had just passed. He glanced at the infant in your arms with a faint smile, though his eyes soon shifted to Rhaegar, the look in them calculating.

“Congratulations are in order, I see,” Oberyn said lightly, though there was an edge to his tone. “A healthy boy, and a name that will certainly stir the winds of fate.”

Rhaegar’s gaze met Oberyn’s, a flicker of unease passing over his face. “What do you want, Oberyn?”

Oberyn shrugged, his smile widening. “Only to discuss what comes next, Prince Rhaegar. Your sister has just brought a new Targaryen into the world, and yet we still have much to settle, do we not?”

Rhaegar’s expression tightened, his shoulders stiffening. “This isn’t the time, Oberyn.”

But Oberyn was undeterred. “There’s no better time. You’re leaving soon, aren’t you? Varys has prepared everything for your departure to Essos. But there’s still the matter of our agreement.”

Rhaegar frowned, his jaw clenching as he looked back at you, then at the baby in your arms. “You mean the marriage alliance,” he said, his voice hard.

Oberyn nodded. “Yes, you were to marry Elia in exchange for Dorne’s support. But now you’re leaving. So, what of our arrangement?”

Rhaegar’s gaze hardened. “I won’t be able to honor that promise. You know that. Our only concern now is getting Y/N and our mother to safety.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful. “If you won’t marry Elia, then perhaps there is another way to secure our alliance. The child,” he said, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. “Young Aegon could be raised here, as a ward of Dorne. He would be safe, far from Robert’s grasp, and when he comes of age, he could marry into House Martell. It would solidify our bond.”

Rhaegar’s eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. “You know Y/N will never agree to that.”

Oberyn shrugged, a slow smile spreading across his face. “She may not have a choice. If you want Dorne’s continued support, the boy must stay. Otherwise, what reason do we have to aid you when you’re gone? Aegon would be the perfect link between our houses.”

Rhaegar’s expression darkened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’ll find another way. But I won’t take my sister’s child from her. I won’t do that to her.”

Oberyn tilted his head, his gaze thoughtful. “Do you think I want to separate a mother from her child, Rhaegar? I understand the pain of loss, more than you know. But we are talking about survival. We are talking about securing the future of your family—and mine. Y/N may not like it, but she will have to accept it. She will have to trust that this is the only way to keep him safe.”

Rhaegar glanced back at you, his heart aching as he watched you cradle your newborn son, your eyes filled with love and hope. He knew what Oberyn was saying made sense, but the thought of taking Aegon away from you was unbearable.

But as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that the time for choices was quickly running out. Robert’s rebellion was growing stronger by the day, and the safety of his family was hanging by a thread. He had to do what was necessary, no matter how much it hurt.

“You underestimate my sister’s resolve,” Rhaegar said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “But I’ll speak to her.”

Oberyn nodded, his expression turning serious. “Do that. The boy’s life may depend on it.”

And as Rhaegar turned back to you, watching you hold your newborn son, he knew that the days ahead would be filled with difficult decisions—choices that would shape the future of their family, and perhaps, the very fate of Westeros itself.

You sat beside Arthur, your son Aegon cradled in your arms, his tiny breaths steady and peaceful as he slept. The past day had been a whirlwind of emotions—joy at your son’s birth, anxiety over what lay ahead, and now, uncertainty hanging like a storm cloud over your family.

Rhaegar stood before you, his expression troubled, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and determination. He had been pacing the room, his frustration palpable, but now he stopped, facing you and Arthur with a heavy sigh.

“Oberyn has made his position clear,” Rhaegar began, his voice steady but lined with tension. “He wants Aegon to stay in Dorne as a ward, to secure our alliance. He believes it’s the only way to ensure Dorne’s support, especially after we leave for Essos.”

Your heart clenched, the thought of being separated from your newborn son filling you with an overwhelming sense of dread. You held Aegon a little closer, his soft weight a comforting presence against your chest. “No,” you said firmly, your voice shaking with both fear and resolve. “I won’t leave him. He’s just a baby, Rhaegar. I can’t—I won’t—be separated from him.”

Rhaegar’s gaze softened, but his expression remained resolute. “Y/N, I understand how you feel, truly, but Oberyn’s right. Aegon will be safer here than anywhere else. Robert’s forces are closing in, and once we’re gone, the Dornish won’t have any reason to stand against him unless there’s something—someone—binding them to our cause.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes as you looked down at your son, so small and vulnerable. “Then I’m staying too. If he’s going to be here, so am I.”

Rhaegar’s face tightened, his frustration breaking through his calm demeanor. “You can’t, Y/N. You’re not safe here. None of us are, not truly. But with Varys’s help, we can get you and Mother to Essos. Once we’re there, we can find a way to bring Aegon to us later. But right now, we have to think about what’s best for him.”

“What’s best for him is being with his mother,” you replied fiercely, your voice trembling with the force of your conviction. “I won’t abandon my child. I can’t.”

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of your words hanging between the three of you. Rhaegar’s gaze flickered to Arthur, who had remained silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, Arthur stepped forward, his voice steady, though you could hear the strain beneath it.

“If Y/N can’t stay, then I will,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto Rhaegar’s. “Aegon needs one of us with him. If I stay, I can protect him, ensure he’s safe until we can all be together again.”

You turned to Arthur, your eyes wide with shock. “Arthur, no. You can’t. You’re the only reason we’ve been safe this long. If you stay—”

Arthur’s hand covered yours, his touch gentle but firm. “I will not let our son grow up without one of us, Y/N,” he said softly. “This is the only way. I’ll stay with him, keep him safe. You need to go, get to safety. For both of you.”

Rhaegar nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he looked at Arthur with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “It’s not ideal,” he admitted. “But it’s the best option we have. With Arthur here, Oberyn will have no reason to doubt our commitment, and you, Y/N, will be out of reach.”

You shook your head again, struggling to find words. The thought of leaving Aegon—and Arthur—behind filled you with a deep, aching despair. “I can’t... I can’t just leave you both.”

Arthur squeezed your hand, his voice gentle but insistent. “You have to. You have to trust me, trust Rhaegar. This is the only way to ensure Aegon’s safety. We’ll reunite, I promise. But right now, we need to think of the future.”

Rhaegar glanced between the two of you, then stepped back, his expression pained. “I’ll leave you to discuss it,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But know that whatever you decide, it’s for the good of our family. We’re doing this to survive.”

He turned and left the room, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that followed was almost suffocating, the reality of what you were facing settling in like a lead weight in your chest. You looked at Arthur, your heart breaking at the thought of leaving him, leaving Aegon.

Arthur reached up, brushing a tear from your cheek. “I know it’s hard,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “But we’re doing this for Aegon, for his future. I’ll be here with him, and you’ll be safe. We’ll find a way back to each other. I promise.”

You nodded, your tears falling freely now as you looked down at your sleeping son, your heart aching with a fierce, protective love. “I’ll hold you to that promise, Arthur Dayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

“I wouldn’t dream of breaking it,” he replied softly, his hand resting gently over yours, his gaze steady and filled with unwavering love. “We’ll be together again. No matter what.”

You held his gaze, the depth of your feelings for him, for your son, nearly overwhelming. But you knew he was right. You had to be strong—for Aegon, for the family you hoped to have, one day, when this nightmare was over.

The air in King’s Landing was filled with the stench of fear and smoke as the city braced itself for the final siege. Outside the walls, the banners of Robert Baratheon’s army flew high, his men battering at the gates with a relentless determination. The sounds of war echoed across the streets—clashing steel, the shouts of soldiers, the desperate cries of the people trapped within.

In the Great Hall of the Red Keep, Aerys Targaryen sat hunched on the Iron Throne, his fingers drumming erratically against the cold steel of the swords that forged his seat of power. His once-bright eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his face twisted into a mask of brooding anger. The rejection he had faced from his daughter still gnawed at him, a festering wound that refused to heal. She had chosen his son over him, defied him in front of his own armies. Even now, the thought of it sent waves of rage coursing through his veins.

The doors to the hall swung open, and Varys, his silken robes whispering against the stone floor, approached with a careful, measured step. His face was inscrutable, his gaze watchful as he took in the sight of the king slouched on his throne, brooding like a caged beast.

“Your Grace,” Varys began, his voice soft but urgent. “Lord Tywin’s army has arrived outside the city walls.”

Aerys’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “And why should that concern me, Spider?” he hissed, his voice cracking with the strain of sleepless nights. “Tywin is the Warden of the West. He’s come to defend the city.”

Varys hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to the empty space around them, as if he feared invisible ears might be listening. “There are… troubling reports, Your Grace. It appears that Lord Tywin has betrayed you. He is not here to aid you, but to join forces with Robert Baratheon.”

The words hung in the air, a cold, brutal truth that seemed to freeze the very breath in the room. Aerys’s face contorted with disbelief, and then with fury. He surged to his feet, his robes billowing around him like the wings of a maddened bird. “Lies!” he screamed, his voice echoing through the hall. “Tywin would not dare! My servant! He would not betray his king!”

But even as he raged, the doors to the hall opened again, and Grand Maester Pycelle hurried in, his face pale and drawn with fear. “Your Grace, the reports are true,” he stammered, his voice trembling. “Lord Tywin’s forces have joined with the rebels. The city gates are under attack. They are trying to force their way in.”

Aerys’s eyes went wide, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as the reality of the betrayal crashed over him. The walls of his world were crumbling, and there was no escape. But then, slowly, a manic grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with a feverish light.

“Burn them,” he whispered, the words barely audible. He turned, his gaze fixed on the shadows lurking near the hall’s edge, where Wisdom Rossart, his chief pyromancer, hovered like a dark specter. “Burn them all!”

Rossart stepped forward, his expression grim but obedient. “Your Grace?”

Aerys’s voice rose, his madness filling every corner of the hall. “Burn them! Set the wildfire ablaze! Let the flames consume them all! Every man, woman, and child in this city—let them burn!”

Varys’s eyes widened, his calm facade slipping for the first time as he realized the full extent of the king’s madness. “Your Grace, please,” he urged, stepping forward. “There are still loyal subjects in the city. Innocent lives—”

“Silence!” Aerys shrieked, his face twisting in rage. “They are all traitors! Traitors and thieves, every one of them! Set the wildfire! Burn them!”

Rossart bowed, his face a mask of resigned obedience. “It will be done, Your Grace.” He turned, making his way toward the door, but before he could leave the hall, a deafening roar shook the very walls of the Keep.

Terrax.

The sound of the dragon’s bellow echoed through the castle, rattling the windows and sending shivers through every soul within. Aerys froze, his eyes wide with shock and something like twisted delight. “Terrax,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “He’s come back to me. My dragon—he knows!”

The great doors of the hall shuddered as the roars continued, closer now, the sound a terrible, piercing wail that seemed to carry with it the fury of the gods themselves. The courtiers and guards scattered in fear, their eyes wide with terror as they looked to the sky, to the terrible shape of the dragon circling above the Red Keep.

“Burn them!” Aerys screamed again, his voice raw and desperate. “Burn them all! Set the fires now!”

But before Rossart could obey, before the orders could be carried out, there was a flash of steel—a quick, terrible blur of motion—and the blade of Jaime Lannister’s sword drove deep into Aerys’s back.

The king’s eyes went wide with shock, his mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He stumbled forward, his fingers clawing at the air as if trying to grasp something unseen, his gaze fixed on Jaime, who stood behind him, his face grim and resolute.

“You—” Aerys choked, blood bubbling on his lips. “You can’t… I am… I am the king…”

The words died on his lips as Jaime twisted the blade, the king’s body convulsing before he collapsed to the floor, his blood pooling around him, dark and spreading across the cold stone.

The hall fell silent, the echoes of the king’s final screams lingering in the air like the dying notes of a dirge. Jaime stood over the body, his sword still dripping with the blood of the man he had sworn to protect.

And then, another roar, a mournful, soul-wrenching cry that shook the very foundations of the Red Keep. Terrax, high above, screamed a sound that seemed to tear the sky apart, his anguish and fury echoing through the city below. The dragon’s cries reverberated across King’s Landing, and then, as if heeding some unspoken command, Terrax turned, his massive wings beating against the air as he flew away from the Keep, away from the madness and death below.

The last anyone saw of the dragon, he was a dark silhouette against the sky, flying east, toward the distant lands of Essos, his roars fading into the distance, leaving behind only silence and the smoldering remnants of a shattered city.

The waves rocked the ship gently as it sailed through the dark waters of the Narrow Sea, the distant coastline of Westeros fading into the horizon. The vessel bore no sigils, no banners to mark its allegiance—only a silent promise of escape, of safety beyond the chaos and bloodshed. But even as the ship cut through the waves, an unseen storm raged within you.

You stood at the bow, staring out at the endless expanse of water, your hand resting on the wooden rail. The breeze, cool and salty, brushed against your face, but it did little to soothe the ache that gnawed at your heart. You had left so much behind—your child, your love, and now, it seemed, something else had been ripped from you.

A sudden, sharp pain lanced through your chest, so intense it took your breath away. You doubled over, clutching at your side as the agony radiated through you, each pulse a reminder of something irrevocably lost. Images flashed behind your eyes—fragments of flame and shadow, glimpses of your father’s twisted smile, and then darkness, swallowing everything whole.

You knew, in that awful, gut-wrenching moment, that Aerys was gone. Your father, the man who had once been your protector before madness took hold, was dead. His life snuffed out like a candle in the wind, leaving behind only the bitter ashes of memory.

Despite all the horror he had wrought, the cruelty, and the madness, he was still the man who had held you as a child, who had once whispered stories of dragons and glory in your ear. And now, he was gone—forever. A sob tore from your throat, raw and painful, as you sank to your knees, the weight of loss crushing down on you.

Rhaegar and Rhaella rushed to your side, their faces etched with worry. Rhaegar knelt beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, his voice urgent but gentle. “Y/N, what is it? What’s wrong?”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to express the hollow, aching void that had opened up inside you. Tears blurred your vision as you looked up at him, the pain in your eyes telling him everything you couldn’t say.

Rhaella knelt beside you, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch your cheek, her own eyes filled with anguish. “What is it, my sweet girl?” she whispered, her voice breaking. “What’s happened?”

“Father…” you managed to choke out, your voice barely more than a whisper. “He’s gone. I felt it—something broke inside me.” Another sob escaped you, your body trembling with the force of your grief.

Rhaegar’s face tightened, his jaw clenching as he exchanged a troubled glance with Rhaella. He knew, even before you had spoken, what had happened. The bond between you and your father, twisted and painful as it was, had been severed in the most brutal of ways.

“He’s dead,” you whispered, the words falling from your lips like stones into a deep, dark well. “My father is dead.”

Rhaella’s hands covered her mouth, her eyes widening with shock and sorrow. Despite everything Aerys had done, despite the terror and madness, he had still been her husband, the father of her children. Now he was gone, and even the deepest wounds couldn’t erase the grief of losing him.

Rhaegar’s grip on you tightened, his voice low and filled with regret. “I’m here, Y/N.” He held you as you wept, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. 

Above, the sound of wings cut through the air, the familiar rush of wind as Terrax’s shadow swept over the ship. The dragon circled overhead, his great wings beating steadily as he hovered, his golden eyes watching you from above. You looked up, your breath catching as you felt the familiar, disjointed thoughts of the dragon brush against your mind.

"Father is silent like the Stranger."

The words echoed in your thoughts, strange and fragmented, but the meaning was clear. Terrax, too, sensed the loss, the absence of the man who had once bound you both through dark, unnatural magic. Aerys’s death had sent a ripple through the connection, a final severing of the twisted bond that had tied you all together.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you clung to Rhaegar, your body trembling with the force of your grief. It wasn’t just your father you mourned—though that pain was sharp and unyielding. You wept for the family you had left behind in Westeros, for the child you had been forced to leave in Dorne, for Arthur, who had stayed behind to protect him. The ache of their absence was a constant, throbbing wound, and you didn’t know if it would ever truly heal.

“I left them,” you whispered brokenly, your voice barely audible over the sound of the waves. “I left Arthur and Aegon. How can I live with that?”

Rhaegar pulled you closer, his own grief mingling with yours. “You did what you had to do, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “To protect Aegon, to protect yourself. You did what was right.”

“But it doesn’t feel right,” you cried, burying your face against his shoulder. “It feels like my heart is breaking.”

Rhaella stroked your hair, her touch gentle, soothing, though her own voice trembled as she spoke. “We’ll get them back, my sweet. We’ll be together again. I promise.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they felt hollow in the face of your grief. The distance between you and your family, the uncertain future that stretched out before you, seemed insurmountable. All you could do was hold on to the hope that, somehow, you would find your way back to them.

Terrax let out a low, mournful cry, the sound carrying over the sea, a haunting echo of your own sorrow. You looked up, watching as the dragon wheeled through the sky, his massive form silhouetted against the pale light of dawn. He, too, had lost something, and in his cries, you heard the echo of your own loss, the shattering of everything you had once known.

As the ship sailed onward, bound for the distant shores of Essos, you held onto Rhaegar and Rhaella, clinging to the fragile, flickering hope that one day, the shattered pieces of your life might be mended. But for now, all you could do was mourn—for your father, for your family, and for the life you had left behind.

From the History of the Targaryen Exile and the Return of Dragons

Written by Archmaester Aenys, Conclave of Maesters, Oldtown, in the Year 305 AC

In the years following the fall of King’s Landing and the tragic death of King Aerys II, the remnants of House Targaryen were scattered to the winds, hunted relentlessly by the Usurper King, Robert Baratheon. His hatred for the Targaryen name was unquenchable, fueled by the bloodshed and betrayal that had marked his ascension to the Iron Throne. Yet, even as Robert Baratheon sat in his stolen seat, his nightmares were haunted by the specter of Targaryen vengeance.

Unknown to the new King, one crucial secret had eluded him—a child of royal blood, a dragon who yet remained hidden in the shadow of the world. Aegon, the son of Ser Arthur Dayne and the exiled Targaryen princess, Y/N, had been spirited away to safety even as the fires of King’s Landing consumed the last vestiges of his family's power. Born in Sunspear under the watchful eye of Prince Doran Martell, Aegon was raised in secrecy, his true parentage known only to a trusted few. Under the guise of Young Griff, he would later emerge, seeking to reclaim the throne stolen from his ancestors.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Targaryen line struggled to survive in the uncertain lands of Essos. Rhaegar Targaryen, his sister Y/N, and their mother, Queen Rhaella, lived in a state of perpetual vigilance. Ever wary of assassins sent by Robert’s hand, they found temporary refuge in the Free Cities, moving constantly to avoid the reach of the Usurper. Despite their best efforts, they could never truly escape the shadow of the Iron Throne. Robert Baratheon’s spies were ever-watchful, and the gold of Westeros was sufficient to turn even the most loyal against them.

In these years of hardship and flight, the bond between Rhaegar and his sister grew ever stronger, forged in the fires of shared loss and unending danger. Both were plagued by the haunting visions known as dragondreams, prophetic in nature and disturbing in their vivid clarity. These dreams spoke of a darkness gathering in the far North—a night that would never end, a Long Night that threatened to consume all life. It was this shared dread, this knowledge of an imminent doom, that drove them to a fateful decision.

For the sake of the prophecy and the survival of their bloodline, Rhaegar and Y/N chose to have children together, ensuring that the Targaryen line would endure. From this union were born two children, Viserys and Daenerys, both blessed—and cursed—with the burden of prophecy and the legacy of their house. Rhaegar, ever the scholar of ancient lore, believed that in them lay the key to fulfilling the prophecy of the Prince That Was Promised, a savior who would stand against the coming darkness.

Their exile was not without its defenders. Terrax, the great black dragon with eyes like molten gold, remained a fearsome presence in Essos. Bound to Y/N through the dark ritual that had marked his birth, Terrax was more than just a beast of war. His mind, fragmented and strange, was linked to Y/N’s in a way that no other dragon had ever been to its rider. Through him, Y/N could see glimpses of distant places, feel the stirrings of the world beyond her reach. He was her guardian, her shadow, and in many ways, a part of her very soul.

When assassins came—and they came often, in the dead of night, in the open streets of Braavos and Pentos and Lys—Terrax’s wrath was swift and terrible. Fire would rain down from the skies, and those who sought the blood of Targaryens would find only death. The presence of the dragon became both a warning and a promise: the blood of the dragon was not so easily extinguished.

The years passed, and in the Free Cities, whispers began to spread of the exiled dragonlords. The sight of Terrax circling over distant Valyria sent ripples of fear through the hearts of even the most hardened sellswords. Rhaegar and Y/N moved carefully, gathering allies where they could, seeking those who still believed in the Targaryen cause. Yet, the dreams never ceased—the vision of the Long Night loomed ever closer, and Y/N, haunted by the knowledge that her son Aegon was far across the Narrow Sea, struggled with the weight of her destiny.

Queen Rhaella Targaryen, the last true queen of Westeros, endured much in her final years. Driven into exile alongside her children, the specter of madness and sorrow ever lingered over her. Haunted by the memories of a husband turned monster and a kingdom lost, she spent her days in Essos with the hope that her family would one day be restored to the Iron Throne.

But her strength, worn thin by years of suffering and grief, could not last forever. In the year 284 AC, mere months after the birth of her granddaughter Daenerys, Rhaella passed away in the city of Lys. It is said that she died quietly in her sleep, her last breath a soft whisper of relief, finally free from the torment of her memories.

Her death was a devastating blow to her children, Rhaegar and Y/N, who buried her in a modest grave overlooking the narrow, restless sea. Though her body rests in foreign soil, far from the land she once ruled, her spirit remains tied to the fate of her house. For even in death, she was a Targaryen—bound by fire and blood.

In the courts of Westeros, Robert Baratheon grew more paranoid with each passing year. Despite his victory, his rule was not as secure as he would have liked. The North remained distant and cold under Eddard Stark’s rule, and the Reach, ever ambitious, whispered of rebellions to come. When Robert finally learned of Rhaegar’s survival in Essos, and of his sister’s continued presence, the fury of the Usurper was rekindled. Assassins were dispatched with greater frequency, golden promises of wealth sent to any willing to bring back the heads of the dragonspawn.

Yet, for all his efforts, Robert remained ignorant of the most dangerous threat to his reign—the hidden prince, Aegon, growing strong and wise under the guidance of the careful tutors chosen by his father, Arthur Dayne, and the Martells. As Young Griff, he was trained not only in the arts of war but in the delicate balance of diplomacy, learning the ways of the courts and the intricacies of ruling. His identity, once revealed, would send shockwaves through the Seven Kingdoms.

It was in the year 298 AC, with the winds of winter blowing from the North, that Aegon Targaryen, under the guise of Young Griff, made his first move toward reclaiming his birthright. Landing in the Stormlands, he began to gather support from those disillusioned with Robert’s rule, those who remembered the true king. The storm of his coming was swift, his campaign precise. With the backing of Dorne and the secret alliance of the Golden Company, he captured key fortresses, proclaiming himself the rightful king, Aegon VI.

Meanwhile, across the Narrow Sea, the children of Rhaegar grew under the shadow of prophecy. Viserys, ever bitter and ambitious, struggled with the burden of being a prince with no kingdom. Daenerys, however, found strength in the stories of her forebears and the teachings of her mother. Terrax remained their constant guardian, his presence a reminder of the power that had once been and could be again.

As the drums of war beat once more in Westeros, Rhaegar and Y/N knew that their time in exile was drawing to a close. The Long Night was approaching, and with it, the need for the return of dragons. The Three Heads of the Dragon—the true Targaryen legacy—would be needed to face the darkness that threatened to engulf the world.

And so, with Terrax at their side, they prepared to return to the land of their birth, not as exiles but as conquerors, to take back what was theirs and to stand against the night. The story of House Targaryen was far from over, for fire and blood could not be so easily extinguished. The dragon’s roar would be heard again, its flame lighting the way through the coming darkness.

[warnadudenexttime]

Ok here’s my personal rewrite on “the sides have a nice day” video

DISCLAIMER: if you infact like that video, that’s so real, so valid, good for you, I’m just here to change it a lil into something I think makes more sense/fits the characters better-

I think the premise is fine, but the execution is ehhhh- like look, I’ll keep the original spirit of the video and keep the big 3 inside it cause I know thomas likes them. So I’ll keep logicality then prinxiety then demus. Thumbs up? HWJAJSJ

I think the part of the video that probably needs the smallest tweaking is the first portion with Logan and Patton. It’s fine enough, Patton wanting to do something nice for Logan? Makes perfect sense, dude loves Logan. But the explanation as to why Patton is accidentally ruining Logan’s like- fun day experience? Is like, bro you’re SHJSJSS really running with innocent stupid doe eye’d Patton characterization rn huh?

Consider this instead, so instead of Patton was stupid “oh I didn’t realize the videos were just edited together! That’s why they went super fast!” Just say he was really excited to see Logan enjoying things, he got caught up in his excitement/feelings. Like to just say, oh he’s dumb and didn’t notice at all lol hurts- cause we know Patton is really emotionally intelligent and he would be able to notice at least after a while. So have Logan stop him, and Patton apologize and realize he just let his emotions cloud his goal of giving Logan a nice day. Ok good.

Next one. So, Virgil is giving Roman a good day, I get why- you know. You wanna push that new Roman and Virgil hating Janus friendship. But this whole section makes Virgil look like the biggest a**hole HEJAJSJ- like he’s making Roman uncomfortable or scared throughout it all and he doesn’t notice until the end where Roman basically self projects and is really sad HEJAJSJ I understand you wanted this to be an opportunity for Roman to feel better- or the comedy that is Roman reacting to Virgil sucking at being… a good friend- but consider this!

Roman sees that Patton gave Logan a good day and Roman’s like, he needs something to cheer him up, get his mind off being a downer of a prince. So he’s gonna one up Patton and give virgil a good day! Virgil! The dude who’s like doom and gloom! But if you still wanna have that comedy of something going wrong. Instead of it to where virgil is giving Roman choices he thinks he may likes but then turns out it’s just stuff virgil enjoys- have it be Roman giving stuff he enjoys and thinking “well if I like it, it’s great, so virgil will like it too!” But instead it twists into something virgil likes!

Follow me here, for example. Roman gives Virgil the option of sharing adventure stories, something he enjoys. But Virgil ends up telling Roman a spooky story which freaks Roman out and Roman’s like well that failed! It didn’t go according to my plan! And he keeps offering choices he would like, but virgil twists it into something he would enjoy or it just ends up like that.

And by the end Roman feels awful, he thinks it must have sucked and wants to apologize to Virgil. But Virgil’s like no dude I had an absolutely great day you’re a really good friend, you knew exactly what I like! So that way you get the sweet moment at the end but also the comedy of Roman reacting to things going poorly inbetween. I think it as well just makes more sense for Roman to do that initiative and go for something like this.

Ok so, this last one… it still hurts me so badly to hear Janus say “I’ve convinced Thomas to lean into his intrusive thoughts today” GOD IT HURTS SO BADLYYYY like not only is that such a misrepresentation of what intrusive thoughts are supposed to be, they’re not silly tik tok impulsive thoughts I’m gonna- ok I’m getting off topic.

I’m gonna be real this section is going to be very biased because I don’t like Janus and Remus being close besties, I’m admitting that here so you already know what we are getting into. I just don’t think self preservation, someone trying to keep Thomas at the top and in good health would be like HELL YEAH THOMAS DANGLE YOUR PHONE OFF A BRIDGE GO BANG UP A CAR GO TO JAIL FOR ALL I CARE! But anyways.

The whole joke at the end is, wow Patton and Virgil kinda suck at doing this but I Janus can give that little freak a good day so easily!

Here’s my pitch, have Remus at the end pop up to say, this video has gotten too mushy and feelingy and all that sh-t I’m gonna give Janus a bad day because why not! Seeing him in misery is fun!

And then just have short sections of Janus outsmarting Remus everytime he tries to give him a bad choice, Janus ends up flipping it somehow to something he would enjoy. Kinda like WTIT where Remus is like OH NO YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO OPEN THE DOOR! Then he gets stabbed because he’s stupid. I think this just personally makes more sense to me, then like- yes Janus would probably wanna show up the others but I can’t see him leaning into intrusive thoughts. But as I said, I’m biased.

So yeah there’s my rewrite of that video this was long but yeah :3 if you didn’t like this rewrite and/or prefer the original you’re so valid! Anything here is just my opinion and obviously isn’t the actual best approach.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Birthday Event: Francis Drake

Translations may not always capture the exact nuances or tone of the original text. Expect grammatical errors and inaccuracies.

Not proofread. Rush translation.

Still holding her in my arms, I started untying her corset.

With each layer I removed, Mitsuki's bare skin became more exposed.

Drake: "Haha! I never thought taking off the clothes I put on you would be this fun."

Mitsuki: "Don't make it sound like a game. Ah, mnn!"

Tempted by the sight of her exposed breasts, I rolled my tongue over them.

Taking off my shirt, I laid her down, and Mitsuki, feeling shy, wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

Drake: "Alright, let's move those hands."

Mitsuki: "Ah, geez."

I grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the sheets, and her eyes looked up at me with a hint of confusion.

Drake: "There's no point in hiding now."

Mitsuki: "That's true. But still, being completely naked in front of you feels a bit…"

Drake: "Haha, that's so like you."

I glanced down and saw the petal-like marks from last night were vividly scattered across her skin.

(I'm definitely being greedy here.)

(But seeing Mitsuki, who looked like a princess, in this state after removing her dress is exhilarating.)

Drake: "Mitsuki, don't hide anything from me now."

Drake: "I love seeing your face even when you're trying to hold back your pleasure, so show me everything."

Mitsuki: "Francis. Ah! Wait. Nmm."

I moved my fingers against her sensitive spot, and a relentless stream of wet, lewd sounds filled the air.

Her efforts to hold back her moans and the way she tightened around my fingers were so adorable.

(I'm so into her that it's making my head spin.)

Mitsuki: "Ahh, Francis."

She sweetly called my name, and my last bit of reason snapped.

Drake: "Haa. Mitsuki, I love you."

Mitsuki: "Ah! I'm so happy."

She clung to me like she was seeking support and pressed her body against mine, her sweet fragrance almost overwhelming me.

Mitsuki: "I'm happy to be with you. Both yesterday and now. Stay by my side forever, Francis."

Drake: "I'm here. See? We're connected."

I thrust inside her to make my presence felt and gently stroked her head.

When she lifted her chin, I kissed her, and her expression of pleasure turned into a tender smile.

Mitsuki: "I love you."

(Ah, damn it.)

(That's yet another perfect smile.)

That night, I kept exchanging warmth with the woman I loved.

I heard the quiet sound of the door closing.

(Hmm. Mitsuki?)

The warmth that was supposed to be in my arms was gone.

As I dozed off, the door opened again, and I felt a person's presence return.

The person who approached the bed gently stroked my head.

Drake: "Caught you."

Mitsuki: "!"

When I grabbed her hand, she looked wide-eyed as if her prank had been discovered.

Drake: "Where did you go, little fawn?"

Drake: "Wait. Did you change?"

In the dim light, I noticed she was wearing her familiar white blouse.

Mitsuki: "I put the dress in the closet so it wouldn't get wrinkled."

Mitsuki: "I also changed clothes while I was at it. Sorry for waking you."

Drake: "No, it’s fine."

(After spending such a satisfying birthday with her by my side, I really don't feel like going back to my normal life.)

I found myself reluctant to let go of this moment that was almost over.

Mitsuki: "It's almost dawn. Someone might be coming back soon."

Mitsuki tried to move away from the bed, but I took her hand.

Drake: "Nope."

Drake: "I still want to stay like this for a little longer."

(The truth is, I don't want to let her go, even for a day.)

I muttered my honest thoughts to myself.

Mitsuki: "Hehe, what should I do? I think my happiness just got rewritten again."

Drake: "Huh? From that?"

Mitsuki: "Yeah. Because you’re acting all cute and sweet, Drake."

(You're the cute one.)

(That's what I want to say, but she seems to be having fun.)

Drake: "Well then, how about I rewrite your happiness even more?"

I held her hand, gazing deeply into her eyes.

(If only my feelings alone could keep her smiling and happy.)

Drake: "Mitsuki, I love you."

Mitsuki: "----!"

Drake: "You're my one and only. The princess I want to steal away more than anything in the world."

Mitsuki: "Hehe, you're being so generous with your words of love."

(But none of them are lies.)

Drake: "You're so cute that it's making my brain short-circuit."

Mitsuki: "Haha! What kind of confession is that?"

Mitsuki: "If you keep confessing like this, I won't be able to stop feeling happy."

Like a bud blossoming, her smile bloomed into a radiant flower.

And again, that smile was the most beautiful thing.

Drake: "Mitsuki, I love you."

What spilled from my heart was pure, unfiltered love.

I kissed the back of her hand, pouring all my heart and soul into it.

Part 1 ╎ Part 2 ╎ Premium ╎ Epilogue

[gremlinmodetweeker]

okay okay, it's a lil silly but hear me out konig + phantom of the opera au

man's got it all; need to cover his face, obsessive tendencies, and the need to be a secretive lil (big) weirdo *chef's kiss*

NO NO NO HOLD ON YOU'RE COOKIN. NOT SILLY AT ALL.

Now look here, I dunno if you know this, but I am a sucker for classic literature. One of my top three favourite books of all time is Frankenstein by Mary Shelly. That woman ate when she wrote that book and I will listen to nothing else. I also really want to write an essay about how Frankenstein is Mary Shelly discussing the inherent horror of motherhood in those times and how the lack of a mother figure shapes an individual. I think it's an extremely layered book, but I like to see the parenthood lens of the book.

Now now now, this is about Phantom of the Opera. I do know a bit about the original phantom, and I don't like to think König or reader dies in the end (just personally, I can't write a tragic ending. I really need a happy ending, not for the reader, but because I need a happy ending). So, let me introduce the idea that this is a version where the phantom wins.

This is one where the phantom was fucking right and actually, freak of nature as he is, maybe he had a point!!! Maybe, reader shouldn't be dating someone twice their age. Maybe, though König is a bit older for sure, he's actually not that old and a more appropriate age. Albeit, though now recovered, König still suffered a case of leprosy after being exposed during a war. He considers himself hideous, but maybe reader would be able to look past his sickness?

Now, is König appropriate as a lover? Probably not. He's obsessive, jealous, and a borderline stalker. He's determined to kill off the man who's trying to seduce her ('How dare you try and take my little songbird away from me!!!') and will do anything to keep reader to himself. However, he's also saving reader from a far worse fate with someone worse than him.

Reader is enchanted by Makarov of course, but König knows better and is determined to show her the light. He desperately wants to just talk to her and explain everything to her, but at this point he's committed to what he's doing and social anxiety makes him unable to just knock on her door and talk to her like a regular person.

Once again, like every incredible story in the English language, if you guys just talked everything would be fine but nobody knows how to be an adult.

Anyways, König loves reader dearly. Watching her perform makes his heart ache. His one saving grace is a beautiful voice he uses to enchant her. If his face is nothing but sickness, let him sing to his little songbird and help her connection to music. He'll do what he can to cling to any connections he has to her. He's desperate to hold her, and he'll do whatever he needs to to get to her.

IMPORTANT EDIT:

König with the phantom mask but he has two long red ribbons coming out the bottom of the eyes and the rest of his face is hidden under a dark hood. Consider it.

[adobe-outdesign]

I know you've done Hisuian Qwilfish, but have you done regular Qwilfish? I saw it mentioned some in the entry for the former, but not an entry for itself, though I guess such a thing might be redundant at this point

(I thought I had, but apparently I only did the regional and never the regular version. Not a whole lot to say that wasn't already mentioned in that review, but I'll cover it really quick anyway.)

Qwilfish is very much one of those Pokemon that Exist. It's a puffer/porcupine fish, but there's not really any concept beyond that, and while it's got a mildly interesting design lack of an evolution combined with lack of concept doesn't leave a whole lot here to remember it by.

Visually, I do like that it's round by default and only becomes bigger when puffed up (unlike actual pufferfish, which are reasonably fish-shaped by default). The half teal and half light green body is high-contrast enough, and it's got a distinct pair of pink "lips" that help draw attention to its face.

The tail has two markings that are probably supposed to be the first character of its Japanese name, ハ (ハリーセン), though this is completely lost on an English audience. I do kind of wish the tail followed the split coloration of the body more, like if it was horizontal and teal on top, light green on bottom, but then again that would make it hard to see the markings at any given angle.

While Overqwil was a much-needed addition to Hisuian Qwilfish, it's one of those evos where the regional feels somewhat unneeded; Overqwil is just Qwilfish but More(TM), so there wasn't much need to give it a regional first (even if I do like H. Qwilfish's design more). At the very least, it would be nice if Johtonian Qwilfish got an evo one day to balance things out; there are some fun things that could be done with this design still. As is, the original is fine but there's no real reason to use it.

Side note: In the Spaceworld beta, Qwilfish was going to evolve into this guy. I don't hate the design, but ultimately I think it feels way too much like Whiscash (or maybe it became Whiscash later on), and it still doesn't seem to have a ton of concept behind it.

Overall, an alright but somewhat bland Pokemon that's overshadowed by its regional.

[fanartsofdoritoilluminati]

And now another art drawn BEFORE I've read the book of Bill. This is my old headcanon AU of 2021. + catified for convenience. Btw I did guess a few things about him right, tho my less original AU from 2017 was more correct. (And then i say GF spoilers overall + book + lore drop).

I have notes what did I guess in some txt. I can tell from memory - in my AU he also looked at the stars aka other worlds. He used his fire magic to see them through barrier and it fascinated him. And then he wanted to make everyone see it bc he was sick of all restrictions this world had, he never liked them ever since he was born. Also I always headcanoned one of his parents being red (father usually, tho now I think the name Euclid goes better with blue). Also what isn't canon but existed in my AU - he had 2 younger siblings. They weren't lore important, but existed. Also I guessed the fact he carried a piece of his universe with him. In my AU he collected shreds of each single world and creature he destroyed that held importance to him. Once his magic inventory wasn't enough - he created or took a separate world where he made huge pyramids of these shreds and got depression episodes each time he stayed to look at them. And id anyone dared to notice him being depressed - he Thanos snapped them too, bc no one must know that he wasn't as happy as he appeared to be. And I wrote this AU only knowing 2 facts - in one of the worlds similar to Bill's triangles were the lowest class, and this one Axolotl verse.:"Says he's happy - he's a lier, blame the arson fro the fire", "misses home and can't return", etc.

Now about the artwork: Here you can see Bill chatting with his first bestie after he escaped his world. Also he didn't lose one of his eyes yet.

How did they meet: Bill was alone in the outer space and was found by the group of universe travelers. They welcomed Bill in their ranks and he was happy to join bc he loved to discover new things. They traveled together and at first Bill was fine. And used his magic to better the lives of others. Until he grew sick of it bc he had no family and no home himself, so instead he would start to destroy everything and would lose his first bestie(s). And would become the canon Bill, as I thought.And wouldrun around and destroy everything that's still whole, pretending to enjoy the scenery.

[marinettesaltprompts]

I care very deeply about Juleka and her brother(s). I just think they're neat (:

And I'm turning my Protective Sister Juleka (yeah that can be the official title, why not?) prompt into a series. Have fun y'all, here are some more prompts:

• It's hard for Juleka to see her ex-friend the same way. Not just because they're stuck in the same class and hungout with the other girls, but because she feels her relationship with Rose is being strained. Juleka has been going to less and less hangouts with the rest of the girl's and had been asked about it the next time she did join. She said her part, how Marinette swooning over Adrien was hurting Luka, how she couldn't be friends with someone like that, and Marinette defends herself by saying she wasn't in love with Adrien anymore. She was just busy. She had things to do. Luka would tell her if he had a problem. Juleka snaps back that even if he did all she thinks about is Adrien. Adrien this. Adrien that. "Just accept that he doesn't like you, Marinette!! He's never been interested in you and never will be!! Adrien is happy with Kagami!! You want to know who'd behappy with you?! Who IS happy with you despite the way you treat him?! MY BROTHER!!!" This ultimately leads to a divide between the girls. Those siding with Marinette and those siding with Juleka. The only one who hasn't chosen a side, is Rose.

• Purple Tigress does her best to look out for Chat Noir whenever she patrols. Now that her rose tinted glasses have fallen, she's able to see the broken dynamic of the original miraculous duo. It's unpleasant. Where the two used to be so in touch with one another, it felt like every time Chat tried Ladybug would lose her patience. At one point before they split up to patrol a few days ago, she heard Ladybug tell Chat she wasn't interested in him. He...he never said anything about their relationship, about asking her out on a date. He just wanted to know when they would patrol together again...

• Luka knows he's in denial. He knows he's making up excuses for his... girlfriend?? Can he even consider Marinette as his girlfriend? They, they were happy at first. She chose him in the end, not Adrien. But...she still loved him. He'd always be second to him. He's not sure if it's worse that his...that Marinette is still so obviously in love with Adrien while his heart was taken by Kagami. Maybe, maybe Juleka had a point. Marinette didn't want him. Maybe she did love him, but not how he loved her. Maybe, maybe it was time to just, end their relationship.

• If there was one person Juleka had to tell everything to, it was Adrien. He had to know that Marinette liked him. He had to know she had planned to find a way to get him and Kagami separated. He had to know about the schedule and the multiple gifts and the numerous plans she created so they could be together. Marinette still can't see what she's doing wrong? Fine. She'll just have to go to the one person she wouldn't want all that information to go to. And if his girlfriend (his sword weilding, should be in the Olympics, girlfriend) is around when she tells him the truth, all the better.

• Kagami had wanted to be friends with Marinette. Had tried to be friends with her. She thought that whatever differences they had were in the past. That Marinette was happy for her and Adrien. But here was Marinette's boyfriend's sister. Telling her and Adrien about the things she's done not only in attempts to date Adrien, but to ruin their relationship, before they were even dating. How she has a schedule tracking everywhere he goes and when. How she's made gift after gift after gift for decades of Adrien's birthdays. How she's planned on how many kids they would have when they got married, when they'd get married (currently it was a spring wedding, apparently it changes, last time was an autumnal wedding), what they'd do for work, literally an entire life between her and Adrien.

She thought Marinette would move on. That she found someone who loved her and she loved back. She thought...she thought Marinette was her friend... She shouldn't be surprised the girl wasn't her friend in the end, so...why did it...hurt??

• Rose wants to say she and Juleka were a perfect couple. That they've never had problems. But this? This was a problem. Because she knows Juleka is protective of her family. She knows how much Luka means to her. How she can tell when he's happy or not, even when others can't. She, she knows what Marinette is wrong. She knows. But she believed that she and Adrien would find happily ever after just like she and Juleka did. That they'd get together, get married, and have a happy life together. But then Adrien got with Kagami and Marinette got with Luka.

And she'll admit it, it was a surprise but she'd been happy for both couples. She can see she was wrong about Adrien falling for Marinette and finding happily ever after with her, because he found it with Kagami and Kagami with him. And she could see Luka found happily ever after with Marinette, and she assumed Marinette did as well. But Marinette still kept looking at Adrien with a longing look. She still kept his schedule. She still kept making gifts. She stalked his socials to see how his relationship was doing...almost as if to see if he had ended his relationship...

She didn't want to make a choice, to lose a friend, but when that fog clears and you can see things clearly?? She knows that Juleka is the one who's right. Luka deserves better than to be put on the side by a girl who can't love him properly.

• The next time Purple Tigress patrols with Chat she can't help but notice he's being extra quiet. She hadn't see or heard Ladybug do anything recently... So, she asked him about it, expecting him to wave it off as he'd always did (why did her brothers insist on being okay when they clearly weren't???), but was surprised when he began to open up about how he basically lost a friend. How he learned things about her he never thought possible. He thought highly of her once. Said that she was the one person he was unsure whether or not was his friend or not. He felt like she was sending him mixed signals. And now that he knows she liked him? As in, apparently she was in love with him liked him? He couldn't see her the same anymore. And knowing that Adrien is Chat Noir made Purple Tigress all the more upset (and the day she learns Viperion is Luka, and that Marinette is Ladybug, her heart will break) at the two girls she had once respected.

• Marinette can't see why Juleka is so upset with her. So what if she's had to bail on Luka a few times. She apologizes and he forgives her. She's only missed a few dates. And Luka would tell her if he had a problem. She doesn't need Juleka to go all protective over him. And now she got the girls choosing between them. It wasn't fair. She was busy. She's doing her best to be a good girlfriend and a hero at the same time. Juleka only went out as Purple Tigress once in a while, usually just to patrol. Marinette's job as Ladybug is full-time.

She fully believes that things will continue as they had. But then it seems as if she'd been cursed.

First, she learns about Adrien moving classes and how she's meant to stay away from him.

Then she finds out that he and Kagami had blocked her everywhere.

Then she finds out Juleka had told them everything. Which the two insisted she tell Gabriel. Which is why Adrien is in a different class and why she has to keep her distance. Why she was blocked by them.

She's kept behind when everyone leaves to ensure she wouldn't go find Adrien to try and "fix things."

And just as she thinks her day can't get any worse... Luka breaks up with her.

Well that last bit is an akuma waiting to happen : ' ) (Though I am unsure how Juleka would be purple tigress considering that this prompt is apparently pre-Crocoduel/Purple-Tigress episode)

On a personal note, I believe that this subplot would have been an excellent addition to canon season 4. Between the "Truth" episode and Marinette asking Juleka to keep Luka away from the Crocoduel party—rather than simply saying she can’t come—it would have made sense for Marinette and Juleka to have a falling out. This conflict would align with the season’s theme of Marinette’s lack of trust and secret-keeping while also adding some romantic drama that doesn't go back to lovesquare shenanigans, especially since Luka and Kagami both break up with their partners at the start of the season and is never really brought up again.

This subplot could also tie into other episodes like "Gang of Secrets." With Juleka no longer friends with Marinette, the group wouldn’t quickly reconcile after their akumatisation, fostering distrust toward Marinette amid the Guardian issues and Juleka’s feelings about how she treats Luka. This dynamic would create a self-fulfilling prophecy, as Marinette inadvertently pushes others away in school while hypocritically relying on them as auxiliary heroes as Ladybug (while at the same time pushing Chat Noir away in the process).

It would all fit into the season 4 finale as well: Ladybug ultimately refuses to trust anyone with a miraculous following the fight against Strikeback, which in turns leads to Felix taking them all from the Miracle Box once the latter takes her yoyo.

Sorry if this was a bit of a tangent, but outside of making Marinette salt prompts, I do kind of like the idea of taking excellent ideas and trying to incorporate them into canon :) .

Love these prompts you shared! Keep it up!

[eloquentlytired]

I really loved your Thor fanfic!!! Could we get more Thor fics? (maybe some smut, if you’re okay with that!!)

18+ mdni

— control

pairing: thor odinson x fem reader

word count: 2k

tags: dom/sub relationship — choking — anal sex — fingering — power play — slight build up before the smut — unprotected sex

summary: the weight of thor’s own home and the home he has on earth pull him down. right when he feels he's lost all control, you help him regain it.

author’s note: I was so immersed while writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. this takes place in the avenger’s hqs and also the reader is a part of them but I will not focus on her precise job ( avenger/hero or a person who simply works in the building ) so I'll leave that up to u :) 💕

ৎৎৎ

there was so much more to thor than what people would usually see. it had absolutely bothered you that you were able to read into people’s personalities so easily except his own. most of the time he was all smiles and loud laughs, chatting with the other avengers, but you'd catch him in much more private and strange situations. just when you thought he was something similar to a jester who'd assist with missing humour, you'd spot him alone. he looked distant during those moments — his eyes long emptied of that spark and his mouth as straight as a line. no smiles, no humour, no comprehension of his surroundings. thor would just stare at the sky, zone out and then completely disappear. his body was there but his mind was evidently elsewhere.

“I want to take control back. but I don't know how.” he had told you one day when you were watching him; you thought your presence had gone unnoticed but no. not to thor. “you already command the sky. what more do you need?” you'd asked him dumbly and thor just laughed. he gave you no further answer and you left quietly.

the next time you spotted him sitting in one of the couches, the same zoned-out expression occupying his face. you were about to leave like you always did but for the first time he turned his head to look at you, his eyes grazing your own. “sit.” something in his gaze warned you — you had no choice, you could only obey. you sat by his side and crossed your legs on the couch as you looked at him. thor returned to his original position; face staring forward, eyes only looking at the sky. you sat silently for what was about an hour. then thor tilted his head to look at the clock on the wall; it was 10:55pm. “count five minutes outloud and then you can leave.” his demeanor confused you but that gaze of his warned you again to not disobey. “one...two..” you began counting and when you were done, thor hummed. he looked satisfied, more satisfied than when he succeeded in missions. “can I leave now?” your voice was quiet as you asked him and thor looked at you — the faint fear in your eyes was evident to him. he did not feel sorry but was rather pleased with it. “you can.” and so you left.

that's how the following days rolled for you. thor would be ‘normal’ during the day when discussing with the other avengers, but when nightfall came he would sink into the sea of his disturbing thoughts and worries. until you came. until you helped him regain control. “I thought we could try something different today.” his voice was raspy and when he looked at you, there was that warning in his gaze again. you nodded, swallowing anxiously, before thor nodded for you to look at him properly. you turned your entire body to face the front of his and your eyes remained locked. you were extremely intimidated by how he was in the late hours but you're also starting to get used to this. “gonna need you to pick a safe word, firefly.” it was thor’s pet name for you because you are the light within the darkness of his mind, or something along those lines, he had said. “thunder.” was your instinctive response and thor chuckled in approval. “thunder. a fine choice.” he murmured before that gaze of his darkened and the intent behind it was far from pure. “I’ll begin now.” he warned you and you trusted him blindly, nodding your head. you didn't expect what followed.

thor stretched his arm towards you and those long fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing it gently at first. his eyes examined you to see if there was any distaste or disapproval within yours — but you didn't give it. his hold around your throat tightened and you were gradually losing oxygen as your eyes felt heavy. thor observed your expression; your half lidded eyes, your agape mouth and those shaky fingers of yours that came to grip his hand. you weren't pushing him away but you were simply holding him. “you think you can fight me? you think you can take control back?” he asked and there was something twisted within his eyes, something that made your stomach churn with both excitement and fear.

your reply was instant as you shook your head with difficulty, feeling yourself grow lightheaded because of the lack of oxygen. thor’s cock strained in his pants as you admitted what he needed most — that you were weaker than him. that there was no way for you to rip his control out of his hands.

when he finally released your throat, you gasped and whimpered for air while thor wiped away the tears staining your cheeks. you hadn't even realized that the lack of oxygen had made you tear up. “thank me for this.” thor whispered against your temple and you obeyed him whilst shuddering. “thank you.” you said despite the ache around your throat and the burning within your eyes. whatever you were feeling between your thighs you tried to suppress it by squeezing them shut together. as always, thor made you count five minutes before allowing you to leave.

when things escalated, you didn't stop it. “one more.” thor ordered while looking into your eyes. you leaned your body forward obediently and pressed another kiss on his lips, short but sweet. “stay. again.” he growled under his breath and you remained in your current position, pecking his lips once more. it was even more embarrassing that you had to do this while staring into his eyes but you couldn't disobey — the control wasn't yours to take. you raised your hand. thor hummed, allowing you to speak. “I want to take a shower.” you said and it made sense considering you had just returned from a mission. but you still showed up, not wanting to miss whatever this was. “go ahead.” thor approved but was surprised to see you stay there, still not moving.

“didn’t you hear me?” his tone was a little more cruel, his eyes slightly narrowing. you swallowed, anxiety bubbling in your throat, as you spoke without permission. “i don’t want to go alone—”, “your fucking hand.” your hand immediately shot up, rising again for permission. thor’s gaze softened but his cruel tone remained. “I forgive you. because I'm kind.” he said and you knew exactly how to reply. “thank you,sir.” you immediately responded and thor hummed, clearly pleased with you. after you showered and changed into your nightdress, you returned to where thor was sitting and took a seat by his side. “on the ground. by my feet.” he whispered and you weren't surprised to hear him angrier than before. he would always be like this after you left him too long with his dark thoughts. thor slipped his leg between your thighs and forced them open. “you know what to do.” his eyes were on you, watching your every move, as you wrapped your arms around his leg and carefully situated your clothed cunt over his shoe. a faint whimper escaped your lips as thor moved his foot upwards, the tip of his shoe brushing against your sensitive pussy. your arms tightened around his leg, hugging it, while one of thor’s large palms guided your head to rest on his knee. you stayed there, desperately grinding yourself all over his shoe, embarrassingly humping his leg, and tearing up everytime he'd deny your orgasm.

“not yet.” he’d say in a voice that made you cower but that large palm petting your hair instantly made everything better. you were about to reach your high again and thor knew by watching the way your chest rose up and down. he pulled you off his leg, gripping you by your throat and you expected him to dismiss you, like he always did after denying you your last orgasm, but thor didn't. “come here.” he said through gritted teeth as his large hand cradled your jaw, squishing your cheeks in an unflattering manner.

your body jolted in surprise once he sat you directly on top of his tented trousers, your aching cunt meeting his throbbing girth. the pleasure washed over you in a single moment, a white hotness taking over your body and when your poor clit felt that strained cock twitch against it beneath his trousers, you couldn't take it.

thor watched you come undone, shaking as you orgasmed on his clothed cock and the sight was too much for him too handle. “did you just come?” he rasped and you stared at him with wide,fearful eyes. good. you should be scared. he spun you around and helped you lie your back on top of his chest before spreading your legs wide, each of your bare soles stepping on his knees. you tried to make it better with apologies and those sweet tears but even you knew it was inevitable. you had dared disobey, you had dared take away his control. all you could do for now was watch as your panties hit the ground and your nightdress was pushed over your navel.

two lubed fingers moved inside your hole, stretching your ass for thor’s cruel plans which you were probably aware of. you shook your head as he thrusted his digits inside you, spreading them apart and curling them. when the third one slipped past the tight ring of muscles, you let your head roll to the side as you drooled on his chest. thor didn't care about that. “I warned you. you're so good every time and now—” you moved your head to stare between your legs in terror as the enormous head of his cock poked your anal hole, barely grazing it. thor’s hands spread your buttocks apart as he struggled to ease his tip past your tight entrance, groaning as soon as he managed it. “—now you’ll make me be the bad guy, firefly.”

you didn't understand what he was saying, mainly focused on the sensation of his twitching tip stretching you out. but your entire expression transformed as thor kept pushing and pushing deeper. your back arched off his chest and the grip on your buttocks tightened. “hu..urts..” the previous stretch hadn't helped nor had the added lube; it was painful, it burned but that wasn't all. when your weeping eyes opened and met thor’s eyes, your lips twitched. he knew what you needed. his mouth met yours as his hips stilled and one of his hands moved to latch onto your clit.

you sighed between the passionate kisses while thor caressed and toyed with your pussy until you were needy for him again — your walls were squeezing him so tight. it was long, too long, before he started to actually fuck you. you felt some pressure as thor’s cock filled you up, stretching your ass out. his hand danced upon your cunt, flicking your clit and teasing it between warm fingers. “tell me where you want my load, firefly.” he whispered against your lips and you moaned as that thick cock slammed inside your anal hole again, his heavy balls slamming against you hard as he thrusted up. “wher— wherever you want.” your reply was so satisfactory that after that, you were just a ball of pleasure on his lap.

thor sped up his thrusts while rolling his fingers atop your clit, watching as your wetness dripped down to where he was filling you. a few more thrusts later and he was pulling out, using his own hand to stroke himself and spill whatever he could on your pussy. his other hand didn't stop rubbing your cunt until you came for him, coating his fingers with your wetness.

it took a while to bring you back to your senses, or maybe you just enjoyed thor’s lips on your forehead so much that moving wasn't an option. he eventually helped you up and carried you to your room — your arms wrapped around his neck and your legs wrapped around his waist. the long walk towards your room helped him think. maybe he couldn't control what was going on in his own hometown, maybe he couldn't control what was going on in earth either. but there was always a place he could return to where he had absolute control — and that was straight to you.

[spaceorphan18]

I just have some thoughts and, I just... they're just thoughts with zero intention of being inflammatory or derogatory. (I do respect all the other ships on the show, enjoy Kanthany and am looking forward to Benedict/Sophie, and am slightly annoyed I even have to have a disclaimer, my god fandom, sometimes...)

I think that in one way that Bridgerton, as a show, struggles a little (and I suppose I mean struggle loosely) is that it's chaffing between wanting to be (what is essentially) an anthology show vs a regular TV show where the characters are developed long term.

I think Simon and Daphne's story works within season 1. But like the book(s), it's a self-contained story that isn't intended to go beyond the happily ever after other than a cameo here and there. (I do hope Daphne comes back eventually to cameo, it's a shame she wasn't in season 3.) But their story isn't meant to go anywhere else.

Anthony and Kate is the most awkward story at the moment. Anthony is one of the few well rounded characters in the book, as he's the head of the household and in most of the books. And Anthony and Kate having to run the household feels a little like a missed opportunity to be developed on the show. Now -- I know it's because Jonathan Bailey is becoming hugely successful actor -- and the original premise of the show is supposed to be self-contained stories. But it's a shame, because I think Anthony and Kate have so much potential for good stories to tell, and I have a feeling they won't be.

The thing about Pen and Colin, though, is that they haven't been treated like the anthology format the two previous couples got. Their story has been treated in a more traditional, long-form tv style, in which the characters have grown and developed, and so Season 3 was their spotlight, but we've past that and... I still think they'll be getting a considerable amount of screen time in Season 4. (Obviously, not as much as Season 3 - and I hope people don't get their expectations up too much). But look at how much they both got to do in Season 1 and 2. It's A LOT. And Season 4 will probably be on par with that.

I'm super curious as to where we go from here. Season 4 kind of has its expected trajectory, and I can pretty much guess what we're in for (and am looking forward to it!)

But what happens after? Do Benedict and Sophie now fade into the background completely? What are we doing with Anthony now - which is still rich in possibility? Pen and Colin's story probably will wrap up (in a way) in Season 4 -- where do their individual arcs go, or will the by pushed back?

[And, as an aside that I don't really want to make -- if Nicola wanted to get off the ride, after Season 4 would be a good place to do it. I guess that depends on whether or not she becomes the next Jonathan Bailey -- and as much as I would love that for her as an actress, the Pen fan in me's heart would hurt]

And if you don't have these subplots in future seasons, what do we have? Neither Eloise's book or Francesca's book really have any sideplots (Francesca's especially) -- and yet you have all of these characters. I know they want to develop Gregory and Hyacinth more, but idk idk.

But I guess, back to my original point -- the further we go on, the less the anthology style works because we've started spending A LOT of time with these characters. I think the central romances will, for the most part, be fine, but the subplots and the previous couples and the long standing characters -- what does the show do?

I don't have answers, I'm mostly thinking out loud....

That all said - I really, really hope they get to Gregory and Hyacinth's books -- because I think there's potential for a lot of fun to be had in them. (I personally like them way more than Eloise and Francesca's books, so at least Netflix has one long term fan...)

[goldensunset]

you could probably wait till february for the next pokemon presents to see if they announce bw remakes just going off the fact bdsp released two years after swsh... but if they do announce them then i am going to be So upset, its too soon. i wouldn't get my hopes up about a remake tbh the original is fine

yeah that checks out. tbh i’d be very upset if any new game was announced anytime soon for the obvious reason that they should have learned their lesson with sv about rushing games out (and also bc i’m unwilling to acknowledge that sv is over lol). i think they did say they were considering slowing down releases after hearing fan feedback about *gestures broadly* all that. i mean announcing a new game is in the works rn is fine but announcing something that will be released within the year is insane sooo i hope it’s not that

the thing is they also should have learned their lesson with bdsp but the thing is what exactly were they supposed to learn from that? the consensus was just that people hated it. for being too close to the original, or for being ugly, or for changing stuff from the original… like nobody was happy somehow. thing is how else are you supposed to remake a ds game that looks like that exactly?

like if they did remake bw what exactly would they do differently. if they went more for fidelity (like bdsp) it would be very ugly and ultimately too close to the original to be worth a remake aside from putting it on a new system. and if they went for something very different (like fully animated open-ish 3D) it would make longtime fans angry. like i don’t see how they’re supposed to win this one

so like i totally get where you’re coming from with ‘we don’t need remakes’ bc they’d be kind of doomed to disappoint fans no matter what unless they really do have some creative new idea. but also as someone who does not already own the original game and isn’t about to pay ten million dollars for it online somewhere i would as a matter of fact quite like the opportunity to play it legitimately. like i’ll emulate if i have to but i would rather not

[magistralucis]

pronouncing the necron 'sz': personal rating list*

broke: /s/ only ('seras')

woke: /z/ only ('zeras')

provoke: /s/ and /z/ pronounced separately ('s-ze-ras')

bespoke: /ʂ/ or /ʃ/ ('scheras')

invoke: tensed fricative /s͈/ ('sseras')

misspoke: /s/ but evil ('ßeras')

(* Further notes in tags.)