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thelikesoffinn · 8 months

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„Astarion ending as the Vampire Ascendant is the correct ending for him, because it is what he wants.”

That is a claim I’ve been seeing pop up more and more often these days. And I think it’s both a very bold and a very odd claim to make.

But first things first: Hello, I’m a licensed social worker! So far, I’ve worked with children, refugees and youths with behavioural issues stemming from bullying and or abuse.

Please be aware that I will be mentioning different kinds of abuse, coping mechanisms, and victim/abuser relationships. If any of this is difficult for you, don’t force yourself through it. My jabbering about a traumatised vampire is not worth your wellbeing, not ever.

I will, however try to stick to Astarion and not use other examples. If, in any case, I do use a non-Astarion example, I’ll add a warning beforehand so that you can skip the part. And I’ll make it clear what will be discussed in the next bit, so that you have a chance to skip it entirely.

This is an effort to make this as accessible as possible for everyone that wants to indulge on a mad woman’s rambling – and I know there’s a few people that like this sort of stuff!

And, uh, there's obviously spoilers for all three acts. Serious spoilers, even.

Before I can get into the whole ‘why Astarion didn’t really want to ascend,’ we need to understand him a little more. And to understand this pretty boy’s brain, we first need to understand the gist of what we’re talking about when we throw around the word ‘abuse.’

“Abuse” is when someone is treated with cruelty, violence, or neglect – often to bad effect – on a regular basis. Repetitively. Check’s out for Astarion, I’d say, but we all knew that already. I mean, if one thing was obvious, it was this.

1. Astarions Abuse

Next we need to look at what kind of abuse Astarion faced over his long years of torment, seeing as different types of abuse will have different effects on the victim.

Not that that is anything we have to worry about with him – Astarion won the abuse lottery, to put it bluntly. In a horrible game of fate, he got everything. He himself indirectly mentions all the types of abuse he faced, albeit never using the correct terms.

The first we properly notice – fitting, seeing as it is often the most obvious form of abuse – is the physical abuse. Astarions scars are probably the biggest tell Larian could shove down our throats, only underlined by Astarion’s tale about the night itself. About how Cazador ‘misspelled something’ every time he flinched or screamed and had to do ‘many corrections. On top of this, Cazador locked Astarion up for months on end and tortured him – or had him tortured – on a regular basis both as a rite and as a punishment.

Next up, we have the fact that Astarion was forced to basically prostitute himself repeatedly. This is what we call sexual exploitation.

“I spent two hundred years using my body to lure pretty things back for my Master.” – Act 2

Two hundred years is a long time, filled with great many people. Now, we don’t know how many of those people actually tapped into the sexual exploitation and how many he could just lure back with other means, but the fact that it happened a lot is undeniable.

Next we have a form of abuse that we often disregard in adults: Neglect. It sounds odd, I know, saying that a fully grown adult was neglected. They can care for themselves, can they not?

Well. Yes and no.

Adult neglect is proceeded by the condition that one adult has to lean on another adult to fulfil their needs for whatever reason. This could be anything, from disability to income-based issues.

Seeing as Astarion had absolutely nothing, while Cazador had everything, we can assume this was the case. Cazador had the house, the money, the power. Astarion owns but one pair of clothes, assumedly, that he has fixes over and over again. Fair to say, that’s pretty neglectful. (And it’s one more reason to shower the guy in pretty armour and camp clothes. Go ham, people.)

Last we have the form of abuse we actually get to witness later in the game – emotional abuse.

Once again, it’s undeniable that this happened. Especially since we’re all seeing it in the flesh upon meeting Cazador in his crypt.

“Have you no respect for yourself?”

“I strove for perfection in all things. Even those as imperfect as you.”

“A pity you amounted to so little, despite my efforts.”

“A pathetic little boy who never amounted to anything.”

All Act 3, Crypt

Here we have just a few examples of things Cazador throws in his face. It’s like reading a textbook on emotional abuse, this one (and it’s definitely a reason to throw hands).

Blaming the victim, keeping their sense of self and their self-worth as tiny as possible to make them cower and flee. A true classic.

This pretty much shows that Astarion suffered all forms of abuse we commonly see and it is implied – once again by Astarion himself – that at least a few of those instances were ritualistic.

Now, what does that mean exactly? Well, I fear I need to use a real example here, so please skip the next paragraph.

Ritualistic doesn’t refer to a proper ritual – it can, but that’s mostly a thing for those in a cult. So, we’re not necessarily talking about a ‘Vampire Ascendent Ritual’. A husband, beating his wife every evening after his third bottle of beer is also called ritual abuse. It happens regularly. It is part of a routine. Both parties know what will happen.

I can’t find the exact quote, so I’m working of my memory here, but at one point he said that when Cazador invited him to eat and he said yes, he would be served a putrid rat. If he said no, he’d be beaten.

The way it was phrased made it clear that it happened more than once and that Astarion clearly knew what would happen. So, this can be classified as ritualistic abuse.

2. A Note on Conditioning and Compliance

By default, abuse victims are conditioned to behave a certain way or in a certain fashion. This is a natural response to avoid further abuse.

In Astarion, the thing we see most often is his inherent need to please. Not literally, he doesn’t mind being an arsehole. But he initially feels the need to follow Tav’s orders, even if they go against his own wishes.

This can be clearly seen in the conversation with Araj Oblodra. Astarion very clearly doesn’t want to bite her. He doesn’t. But he will do so, if Tav tells him to. This behaviour is not conscious – he doesn’t know why he does it, he just does – and it is to be expected. This is how he kept himself save for two centuries, so of course he will fall back into his usual pattern when the pressure is high.

This goes hand in hand with the fact that most abuse victims don’t fight. Maybe initially, but not after long term abuse. Especially not after two fucking centuries.

This is true in Astarion – offered by his ‘siblings’ during act 3 and unhappily acquiesced by the man himself. Astarion stopped fighting and, once again implied, cowered, and did as he was told in order to survive.

3. The Astarion we know and love

Obviously, all that abuse does have an impact on our vampire boyfriend. He shows various common signs of abuse and just like with the forms of abuse, Astarion raked every coping mechanism he could find. (Not really, but it feels like it.) It’s also important to note that nearly all of the following things happen inwardly. Astarion is not one of the victims, that tries to rationalise and minimise the actions of his abuser. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ll note from the beginning, that rationalisation will not be covered in this bit, as most examples will be important later on. But he definitely does it.

One of his biggest skills is to hide every ounce of fear or hurt behind sarcasm and snarky theatrics. He doesn’t seem to hide his anger much, though, so that’s something! Our boy is cool with anger, not so much with being afraid.

“Ahahaha, now that you mention it….I might have done…that.” – Act 3, regarding the Gur children

“The thing that will decide my fate forever more? Yeees, it’s been on my miiiind. Why?” – Act 2, regarding the Ritual

And there’s many more instances that prove this. Honestly, half his dialogue is sarcasm, so it would really be too long to get into and we all know what I mean, right? We have alltalked to the guy before. It’s obvious that he’s sarcastic to a fault.

This goes hand in hand with his penchant for defensiveness. I would personally state that he’s simply not really good with guilt. When talking about fear, he usually just opts for sarcasm or avoids the topic completely, but guilt especially has his defences going up. This is also when he’s most likely to shove all the blame off to Cazador.

“Don’t look at me like that. Cazadors orders.” – Act 3, Crypt

“I just did what I had to!” – Act 3, Crypt

And don’t get me wrong, he does that anyway. And with good reason. Astarion didn’t have a choice for the most part, but he’s still easy to shove things off.

This kind of connects to his penchant for denial.

Astarion doesn’t really like to talk about most things. He firmly believes he is an ‘action’ sort of person that just does instead of plans, which invertedly just means he’s great at pushing the thinking stuff away. He also likes to get rid of stuff, so that he doesn’t need to face it ever again.

“I never want to see these little scraps of misery again. The world doesn’t need to know my shame.” – Act 3, about the children

And yes, this partly rings true. He’s probably ashamed and doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s done. But it’s also very clear that he himself simply doesn’t want to face his own actions, something that is just underlined by his extreme willingness to red rid of the other spawn.

As mentioned by Astarion himself, he’s big on manipulation. I mean, I don’t think there is much explaining necessary. The guy is willing to do a whole lot in order to get what he desires – which mostly revolves around safety and survival, to be honest – and he’s not really shy about it either. And that’s despite the fact that he doesn’t really like intimacy – especially in form of sex.

It’s not a secret that Astarion is not big on sex and anything surrounding it. This goes far enough for people to consider him either ace or ace coded.

A claim that, personally, I’m not super in line with.

Now, it’s not entirely wrong and if this is your head cannon I’m surely not going to stand in your way – but on a larger spectrum, I think he’s more traumatised than ace. And while those go hand in hand sometimes, it’s a bit difficult for the ace community if you attach traumatised characters to them because it can fuel a whole lot of stigma that is honestly neither needed nor wanted. But I digress!

If it comes to his own behaviour, he’s great at minimising his mistakes. Honestly, he’s a master of minimisation. A very obvious and famous example would be:

“’Killed’ feels like a…strong word. Not many corpses have your vigour.” – Act 1, after killing Tav

Astarion. You literally sucked poor Tav dry and left them flopping around, cold, and dead. Killed is exactly the right word and we all know it.

“Quite the deviation from my usual routine. Capture, not lure. I didn’t bring them in with sweet rolls or anything.” – Act 3, Gur Children

This is another attempt at minimising what he did, if a bit less obvious because at this point there isn’t much he can say. But at least he didn’t sexualise the gur children, right? They’re still spawn but whoo, at least that didn’t happen.

The next point would be dissociation, which is extremely common in abuse victims – of all forms of abuse.

Astarion himself mentioned certain moments that could be classified as dissociation over course of the story, which is probably the coping mechanism I personally expected the most.

The pale elf has a penchant for violence, but he’s not entirely shameless or abhorrently vile, which gets clearer the more the story progresses. So, two hundred years of forced prostitution, torture and doing whatever other horrible things? Yeah, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t dissociate.

Examples of that would be:

“A moment of disgust to push myself through and then I could’ve carried on, just like before.” – Act 2, after Araj

“I felt nothing the moment I handed them over.” – Act 3, Gur Children

“Did you enjoy it? It felt like you weren’t fully there.” – Act 1, Tav after Sex

The latter is generally more of an assumption than actual prove, but with context it does make sense.

The last common sign of abuse we find in our boyfriend would be his low self-worth. It’s a consistent trait that stays over the course of all three acts, noticeable in many different conversations.

We can see it in his reaction to wanting to break up before finishing his story. We can see it in his genuine surprise when Tav picks him over any of the other characters. We see it in his insecurity whenever Tav asks to sleep with another character. He’s fine with it, but he still worries their decision to sleep with someone else is based on something he did.

It eases up ever so slightly after Cazador is dead, but even then he’s still struggling which is once again perfectly illustrated if you try to break up with him.

“Oh shit. I- Did I do something wrong?”

That is the first thing he asks and I think it speaks for itself. He genuinely doesn’t believe he has much to offer and for Astarion, it’s likely that Astarion will always be the problem.

4. "Oh, I tried them all none of them answered.”

Another big thing that’s important to note, is that Astarion was never saved. No one came to save him from Cazador. There was no darling boy on a white steed riding into that castle to rescue him and princess carry him away. Not even the gods answered his desperate calls.

So, he never received any kindness or luck. To him, the world seems as cruel and horrid as before because he didn’t have the chance to experience goodness in two centuries.

But worse than that, he didn’t even get to save himself. Astarion didn’t stand up to Cazador, he didn’t run out of his own might.

He was beaten to near death and ‘saved’ by Cazador, who would become his abuser.

He tried to save someone and, in turn, was locked up and starved for an entire year.

He was abducted by mind flayers, i.e., saved from Cazador, only to end up tadpoled and on the cusp of getting a fancy, squiddy beard.

Anything that’s good, any kindness, any selfless action…it all came with a ginormous price tag.

5. Over the Course of the Story

Astarions behaviour changes a whole lot over the course of three acts – which is important once we talk about his quests climax – so let’s review what we’re working with!

Act 1 Astarion is guarded as fuck. The man has walls around him that are so high, even the gods can touch them.

A lot of his behaviour in act 1 revolves around staying save and staying liked. He lies, manipulates, and flutters his lashes in order to get what he wants and needs. Instead of asking, like Wyll, Karlach and Gale do, Astarion uses all he has to offer to get by. He is still very much in survival mode and tries to weasel his way through an unfamiliar situation with familiar methods.

On top of that, and most notably, he’s absolutely not fond of kindness or selflessness.

#I saved a child and now my boyfriend is mad

Here, we are most likely to gain disapproval for doing the decent thing – unless you sent him outside for a minute whenever you’re being a good person.

And I’d assume that this is because of two things.

First: The very traditional ‘Why not me?’

As I mentioned before, Astarion wasn’t saved. He hasn’t experienced kindness in a very long time so seeing that the world is literally filled with kind people is hurtful. Why didn’t anyone save him? Why was he left to his own devices for so long? Why should he care about others when it’s so clear that no one ever cared about him? No, dead to all of them. If he didn’t get it, neither will they.

“And what am I owed? What about the injustices I suffered? Am I not entitled to anything?” – Act 3, Crypt

“I was in the prime of my life when I was turned. Everything was taken from me too.” – Act 3, Crypt

And secondly is the fact that, as I mentioned, goodness always has a price. And it’s one most people won’t be willing to pay. That’s how his life has been, so why would theirs be different?

This is precisely why Astarion may disapprove of kind actions, but he mostly neither approves nor disapproves if Tav asks for payment. That’s just how the world works.

Once you venture out into act 2, after getting to know him a whole lot more, he starts to mellow a bit – if only towards Tav.

“He’s afraid, so afraid, of everyone but you, who she should fear the most.” – Sceleritas about Astarion

His approval is a lot easier to gain – or at least keep! – and he tends to approve of some more proper actions. He doesn’t throw a fit if you promise to find Mol, he approves of Tav being kind to His Majesty, of saving Aylin and he even approves of Durge apologising to Isobel after threatening to rip her to pieces.

He's slowly starting to open up, allowing Tav to see some parts of him he previously kept hidden. He accepts their offer to help, if hesitantly and, by god, the man starts experimenting with boundaries.

The social worker in me is shedding tears at this. It’s my favourite thing to see in my clients and it’s no different here. Yay to saying no!

Of course, it’s still a bit hit or miss. If Tav urges him to bite Araj, for example, he will only to later notice that he didn’t fucking have to. He recognises this on his own and he calls Tav out on it. Just like he calls them out on not helping him with his Orthon quest.

Good job, chap. Good fucking job.

And the growth-train won’t stop going even as we reach act 3.

In act 3, there’s not many things he disapproves as of right now – those he does, mostly have to do with how Tav treats him and not with anyone else. In fact, he’s more likely to approve good behaviour now, like giving Yenna food or money.

And yes, we need to consider that this could simply be because he gets used to Tav’s behaviour and just learns to roll with it. But it’s also highly likely that he notices that there’s truly good people around. At least one person. And that person is not only good, no, they’re in the process of helping him break free once and for all.

They’re helping him save himself.

By act 3, he has learned that he can absolutely say his piece where Tav is concerned and he’s more likely to disagree with them on certain things. It’s seen during a lot of small dialogue that he’s no longer terribly afraid to be honest with them, willing to listen and talk and he’ll ask for help if he needs it.

“I can do this. But I need your help.” – Act 3, Crypt

Something that can be viewed both positively and negatively is that he’s definitely loyal to a fault. He will stick by Tav’s side, no matter what.

“I really hoped we could avoid being pawns for a dark god, but here we are, I suppose. I’m with you, my dear, wherever this might lead.” – Act 3, After Jaheira confronts durge

As I said, this can be both positive and negative. On one count, it’s a recipe for disaster, seeing as he could be waltzing into a really bad situation for Tav alone.

But on the other side…this is a man who only cared about himself because that is the only person he could afford to care about. He needed to survive. He now has enough room to breathe and the capacity to care for someone else and I’d be inclined to count that as a good thing.

6. The Crypt

All the progress he made in act 2 and 3 is nearly tossed into the wind as soon as the crew enters Cazadors castle.

It’s not an immediate thing, of course.

At first, Astarion tries to stay light and simple and he hides behind flippant tones and relaxed faces. The way he recounts this is almost comically disinterested and the façade is actually quite good.

It’s start’s cracking after we meet Godie, one of the people who tortured him on more than one account, but he mostly manages to remain as upbeat as one can honestly expect for the first half of the journey.

All that, however, is done for the very moment we meet Sebastian. His mask not only slips, no, it full on shatters and there’s none of his apparent lightness left.

Which, of course it does.

The man is suddenly faced with years and years and years of victims. Innocent, unlucky people he lured back to his master over two centuries. People he liked, people he pitied.

“It’s sickening, seeing them again.”

It’s basically a room filled with guilt, exclusively for Astarion. And, as we mentioned before…Astarion is not great with guilt.

The guilt, however, is not where it ends.

No, he’s also faced with reflections of his own past. The spawn pose as reminders of what he did, sure, but also as reminders of what he was.

Weak, desperate, hungry.

There’s an abundance of images of his worst moments, reflected back at him in the thousands. It’s probably like staring into a funhouse mirror, but instead of seeing yourself in a funky way he just sees everything he so desperately doesn’t want to be.

“It should be [who I am]! I don’t want to be like them. They’re pathetic, horrible…”

He’s forcefully made aware of how darn weak he can be, which claws at all the wounds he’s barely had time to close. Something, he of course won’t admit if asked.

“THEY DO NOT [remind me of myself]. That weakness in me is dead, IT’S DEAD. I have a higher purpose.”

The high pressure of the moment brings out all of his act 1 traits in but a few moments. You can pretty much watch how he starts to shut down mid conversation, one of his old walls snapping back into place to remove himself from the situation.

Thing is though, walls usually become a bit brittle after disuse. Especially when talking to a person you don’t usually want to wall out.

Or, in his case, when talking to Tav.

After meeting Sebastian, Astarion shows extreme reactions to Tav nudging any of his weak spots. His reaction varies on whatever choice you make, but it ranges from aggression to defensiveness, to denial and even to downright begging Tav.

“Don’t hate me. I just did what I had to. I swear I did what I had to.”

This probably the most shocking out of all of them, since that is not something we got to witness before. The begging is likely a mixture of intense fear of losing Tav, his low self-esteem and pre-Tav behaviour, since we can assume that Cazador made him beg more than once.

Another old coat he puts back on would also be the least surprising of them all.

Manipulation.

He falls right back into it, using Tav’s affection to get what he want if we trigger the right action.

“If they die and I ascend, I won't have to rely on the parasite to walk in the sun. I'll be free. Truly completely free. Isn't that what you want?”

This, to me, was probably the biggest tell that Astarion was back in survival mode. He’s panicking, for fucks sake, and who can blame the guy? He’s back. He’s about to face down his abuser.

Of course he’s fucking panicking.

Panic leads to an increased craving for safety and, in his case, power. This is why he clings to Tav, why he begs them to love him still. And this is why he jumps head first into the rationalisation pool.

“I will need to sacrifice them all if I want to perform the ritual. - [You can save them.] – What’s the point? They're as good as dead! I thought they were dead. If they are unleashed, they will cause incredible carnage. […] They must die. Better they serve a purpose.”

Another textbook example.

They must die anyway. They’re basically dead. No need to save them now. They’re dangerous, I’m doing the right thing by sacrificing them. I already thought they were dead, so it’s not changing anything for me. They’re a lost cause and I deserve all this power. I deserve it, because I suffered and nothing will change if they die.

So, seeing as we already spoke about his usual behaviour in act 3 – behaviour he showed after we allowed him to breathe and be himself for a while – I think we can fairly easily conclude he’s not thinking straight.

Astarion is right back in survival mode, where all that matters is he himself. If it weren’t for the seven thousand spawns, he might have moved through this more gracefully, but seeing those tipped the scales and Astarion is absolutely losing it.

Remember that for the last section, per favore.

7. The Ascension

“Astarion wants to ascend and Tav manipulates him into doing what they want.”

That is basically the essence of what people often claim and I can’t help but shake my head at such a blatant disregard of everything he has become. This is completely ignoring the change and growth he has gone through over the course of their journey.

Astarion wants to be free. He wants to be safe. That does not mean he wants to ascend.

And the claim that Tav manipulates him into doing anything is even more baffling. We are all aware that Tav is not manipulative by nature, yes? That is entirely on you. You decide who your Tav is.

And then let’s remember: Astarion is panicked. He’s afraid and he’s not thinking straight. His abuser is on his knees before him and he still feels so weak. And there’s seven thousand spawns that need handling.

Astarion is very much not okay right now.

In fact, reading his thoughts just proves this theory.

“You can see the fear in his eyes but also the hunger. The thick smell of blood in the air and the promise of power being so close is intoxicating to him. All he can see is the power of the ritual and the freedom that power brings. The freedom to do anything. To be anything.”

Tav, however, has none of those problems. They can actually see beyond the current situation and they are fully aware what the consequences are. Astarion is not. As we previously established, Astarion is a doer. Not a thinker. He didn’t think this through, not at all.

The only thing Tav is doing – the persuasion roll – is reminding him of the very real consequences he is facing. The consequences he hasn’t thought about before.

"I know you think this will set you free, but it won't. This power will trap you, just like it trapped Cazador."

And that is the kindest thing Tav could do in this situation. They’re not bodily dragging him away from Cazador. They’re not even telling him to not do it. They’re just offering him the truth. He can do with that information whatever he desires.

“Astarion cries when he doesn’t ascend, that just shows that it was the wrong choice.”

A hare-brained point that I thankfully have only seen once so far.

That crying? That is healthy crying.

That is him, crumbling under the stress that suddenly dissipates. That is him mourning two hundred years of torment. That’s him letting out feelings he hasn’t been able to for centuries.

And, for the love of god, try to put yourself in his shoes.

Two hundred years of torment, ended in but a moment.

Astarion was abused and tortured for so long, afraid for so long only to see his tormentor die just like that.

Cazador died within a moment and all Astarion needed was a darn blade. Of course he fucking cries.

Seeing how pathetic a being the very core of your life’s misery actually is hurts. It hurts like hell because not only are you finally free – free! – no, you’re faced with the fact that this pile of nothing, the thing that’s bleeding out right in front of you…this was what tortured for so long.

This thing hurt you so much. That guy took everything from you, everything you once were, and broke it again and again and again over years.

You were so scared of this thing.

And yet he has the gall and the gumption to die just like that.

It was so easy.

And yet you suffered for so long.

8. Evil Playthrough?

An evil playthrough is really a different setting altogether.

All of this, as you can probably tell, is really only applicable on a good playthrough. Realistically speaking. I’m not sure how the game mechanics handle it.

On an evil path, Astarion never really gets to experience kindness and goodness. Evil Tav will just prove him right in his believe that the world is a vile and cold place, meaning that he realistically would be more inclined to actually want to ascend.

9. Final Conclusion

I think all of this should be enough to make it clear that no, ascended Astarion is not the best ending for the guy. In fact, it is probably the worst. Because it’s just him, running away. He’s running into a lonely and cold state of being, where cruelty and power lord over everything else and he’s running because he’s terrified of being hurt again. He’s running despite desperately wanting to stop running.

“I'll spend the rest of my life running watching the shadows, never feeling safe…no, this has to happen. Here and now.”

And, the worst part is: Nothing about Astarion is left after he ascends. Even his tone of speaking gradually changes, his theatrics fading. He’s slowly losing himself, until there’s nothing but an evil caricature left.

So, in the end, ascension will have proven him right.

That version of him is dead.

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate #bg3 #astarion #the dark urge #tav #astarion romance #astarion ancunin #astarion and tav #bg3 act 1 #bg3 act 2 #bg3 act 3 #act 3 #act 2 #act 1 #araj oblodra

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saltofmercury · 1 year

Text

Pairing: König x reader

Plot: Someone breaks into the house at night while you and König are sleeping.

A/N: Had a random idea about what would happen in this scenario.

“The Break in.”

Over three break-ins had happened over the weekend. All unfortunately 4 blocks away from your apartment. Break-ins didn’t scare you. You felt like your apartment complex was in better condition than most of the apartments surrounding the neighborhood. In addition to that, you weren’t too concerned because you were tucked away for the weekend with König.

You didn’t think a person who saw him would even attempt to do something, especially at his own house.

König, on the other hand, was worried sick.

“Maybe you could stay here for a couple more days. It wouldn’t be a bother, honest.”

You didn’t like the sound of it. Breaking into his routine which he then would be uncomfortable with. You knew how he liked his space. He needed a couple days to recharge, be with himself, and then come back to you.

You remember how antsy he got when you overstayed your welcome one weekend. He kept finding excuses to be alone.

“I’m going to read in my office. I’ll be back in about an hour.”

“I’m going to the gym for a workout. I'll be back soon.”

“I know you want to finish your show, I’ll be watching the game in my bedroom.”

It wasn’t until you were getting the shower that he had crept up and asked shyly if you needed company.

You laughed.

“Oh now you want my company?”

He traced his finger along the bathroom counter looking down.

“I never said I didn’t want your company, we just always shower together.”

So you knew keeping yourself here would only have him finding excuses in his own house to find privacy.

König would deny this. He loved your company, he loved waking up next to you with your legs on top of his. Seeing your toothbrush next to his on the counter. He loved seeing your products lined up on the bathroom shelf next to his. Your clothes piled on his dresser, your bras hanging on the doorknobs in his bathroom, or scattered around the floor after hastily getting to devour each other in bed. Small little pieces of you throughout the house reminding him you were home.

Sure he liked his space, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t distance himself from another room for him to recharge and come back to you.

He was adjusting rapidly to you being around him all the time. He wanted you around all the time.

Which is why he wanted you to stay here, in a house, where someone could protect you.

König never told you the missions he was on. You sort of preferred that way. He would just tell you the gist of the mission. He was very careful about not scaring you away with what his real job was. He was good at what he did, but he preferred to keep what he was out on the field away from you.

Calmly, while watching you, he gave you just enough to not try and scare you.

“It was a room of about 15 people. I was first one in.”

You stared at him. You knew he was hiding the real him. “Mercenary” was the word he used, however he never described the things a mercenary did.

There was nothing scarier knowing König was a shark at sea but there could be a bigger fish that would one day end it.

Part of you was glad he could protect you and himself from anyone and anything given his training and ruthless alter ego out on the field, but another part of you was worried someone out there would be quicker or one step ahead of him.

You packed your overnight bag with your dirty clothes.

“Where are you going?” He stepped out of the bathroom watching you collect your clothes.

“Home, I have a lot of work to catch up on and do laundry.”

“Okay we bring your laptop back here and we can start a load of colors here.” He replied so casually.

You laughed.

“Although that is tempting, it’s fine. I’ll be back this weekend.”

He didn’t like hearing that.

“Baby please, you know how dangerous it is around where you live right now. Just stay one more night. I’ll go pick up your laptop and —“

You cut him off:

“It was 4 blocks away, König. It wasn’t even my apartment. I know I’ll be safe.”

“Well I don’t care if it was in another town, I don’t like the idea of you staying alone when someone is out there like that.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

“You don’t like the idea of someone robbing houses when your job is ten times scarier?”

He leaned against the bathroom doorway, raising his eyebrow at you.

“Exactly. What if this guy is like me and he’s out there attacking houses because he knows how to do it so well that he’s not getting caught?”

You rolled your eyes

“I'm sure a trained military man is out there robbing houses for fun.”

“y/n!” He stopped you. “This is serious, would you want to run into me?”

You smirked, stood up, and went over to him.

“Yes I would actually, because I know your weaknesses.”

You gently ran your fingers down his stomach.

“I would know how to take someone like you down so easily.” You whispered.

You stood on your tip toes and kissed his chin.

He didn’t like the idea of you flirting when speaking about your life. With that, he took your bag and shoved it into the top shelf of the closet.

“You’re staying here and that's final. I’m not going to risk anything.”

He ended up taking you to your apartment, telling you to get extra clothes, your laptop, and anything else you needed. You settled back into his house again.

“Are you sure you don’t mind?” You asked one last time.

“Of course not. I can never have enough of you.”

You both had dinner, showered, and got in bed.

He pulled you against his chest and held you close.

“Thank you for staying here. It gives me peace of mind. I enjoy your company.”

You blushed, leaned in for a kiss, and mumbled “if it’s not bother then okay…”

You settled into the night routine you both had. He watched a show on his iPad, while you read through a book before both falling asleep.

It was around 3AM when you heard the speakers in the living room turn on. Your eyelids still closed, you searched for König with one arm. An empty space in bed. You sat up, fear crawling up your throat.

König was already up and placed himself by the doorframe, a bat in hand, mask covering his face, and shoes on.

Had someone come inside the house? Another crash, scratches on the floor, and some scrambling.

König looked back at you, told you to stay put.

“Do. Not. Leave. This. Room.” He said it low, his accent had come out. He looked at you, but you didn’t recognize this König. He stood different, sounded different. You felt your stomach turn, the hair on your neck rise.

Where did he get the bat from?

Now you were scared. You weren’t ready to see this kind of person he was.

You heard his calculated footsteps as he checked the hallway bathroom and guest room, slamming open the doors so hard and loud they bounced against the walls. He continued to stomp all the way down towards where the sound was.

You suddenly felt safe, how thorough he was checking all the rooms and how bravely he went into each room announcing himself with just his body. You were now glad you stayed with him.

… then out of nowhere, you heard him laughing. A loud, boisterous, breathless laugh.

You shouted from the room “Who is it?!”

You hear him drop the bat, the bat clinking on the floor. Footsteps followed closer to the door.

“Not who schatz, but what.” His voice had come closer. Standing there, he was holding a small baby raccoon. The raccoon was being held up by his neck with one hand, and his other hand placed underneath him.

You screamed —“Becareful! We don’t know where it’s been!”

König tilted his head at you and then mumbled “it’s only Monty’s baby.”

Monty?

König went to the backyard and placed the small raccoon outside. He came back into the house, washed his hands, and walked into the room.

What just happened?

“What was that?!” You were confused, at a loss for words.

He settled himself back into bed and pulled you close.

“Monty is the raccoon that lives in the backyard. She had babies.”

You looked up at him still confused.

“All this time you’ve been staying here and you haven’t seen Monty and her family?” He asked innocently.

“I’ll tell you all about them.” He turned the light off.

What was happening? Was this a dream?

Part of you was still confused but you settled in and relaxed anyway. The other part of you was secretly relieved that because of him, you felt safe enough to go back to sleep.

#könig #konig x reader #konig x y/n #konig x you #konig #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig cod #konig modern warfare #könig cod #könig imagine #könig mw2 #könig x reader

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leclsrc · 1 year

Text

do you want it? ✴︎ cs55

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

word count: 10.5k

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

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

nsfw warnings under the cut!

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

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

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

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

“Portugal is not boring.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lando whistles. “Rich.”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can’t you knock?!” You ask, catty.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry. Wh—sorry, what?” You blink.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

“Good?” Carlos asks, smiling a little.

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

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

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

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

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

Something tells him he’s wrong, though.

—

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

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

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

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

“Try fourteen,” you argue.

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

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

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

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

“I am not a big reader. You?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For what?”

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

He squints. “Beer?”

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

“What’s the problem with beer, hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

The implication sends Carlos into a spiral of thought.

“—here’s your spot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Brat,” he responds.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

He really shouldn’t. “Sí.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Feel good?

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m cumming—!

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

“I said fuck me.”

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

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

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

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

“Carlos,” you whimper, voice aching.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if your dad walked in?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look pretty.”

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

#f1 #carlos sainz #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz one shot #f1 x reader

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augustinewrites · 1 year

Text

“just leave me alone!”

megumi storms off towards his room as gojo’s easygoing expression falls away instantly, leaving you conflicted as to who you should check on first. (which is difficult to do when you remember that thirteen year old boys hate talking about their emotions almost as much as twenty-five year old ones do.)

you decide that megumi needs a few minutes to cool down, so you step into the kitchen first, where your fiancé is tearing open a new bag of candy a little more harshly than necessary. you lean your hip against the counter as he murmurs a greeting.

“what was that about?” you ask.

“he hates me,” he shrugs.

“he’s a thirteen year old boy. he hates everybody,” you point out, but it fails to make him laugh like you’d intended. instead, his frown only deepens and he mutters,

“he doesn’t hate you.”

you tilt your head slightly. “is that what this is about? me being his favourite?”

“i don’t know,” he sighs. “i…i just can’t seem to connect with him the way you’ve always been able to.”

“that’s not true,” you say quickly, unsure of what exactly you can say to make him feel better. it’s not like him to be so insecure. “you guys have had your moments.”

“not lately. i just keep pissing him off,” he huffs, unwrapping and popping a piece of candy into his mouth. “did i do something?”

you open up the fridge to pull some ingredients for lunch, sighing. “i don’t think so, but nanami, shoko, and i were texting about it the other day—”

“wait, you’re in a group chat with nanami and shoko?”

“oh yeah,” you nod, setting your vegetables on the counter. “it’s mostly memes, but sometimes we talk about how messed up you are.”

he blinks at you a few times before muttering that you’d get back to that later. “what’d they say?”

“they quoted a lot of freud, but the gist of it was that it’s normal for fathers and sons to butt heads.”

he frowns deeply at that. “so what should i do?”

“be patient. he’ll come around eventually.”

“easy for you to say,” he huffs. “you’re the only mother figure he’s ever known. he’s already had a dad.”

“satoru, he’s thirteen. he’s officially been with us longer than he was with toji.”

you study his conflicted expression as he turns that information over in his mind. “okay, how about this? i was going to take him to the mall to buy new clothes after lunch, but why don’t you go with him instead?”

“that’s a great idea!” he exclaims, pressing his hands together excitedly. “i’ll take him to the bookstore too! can you find out what’s on his reading list?”

“he’s not a little kid anymore,” you remind him. “you can’t just buy his affection with a new book.”

“i’ll buy him two, then.”

“i love where your heart is at,” you start slowly. “but you just…have to give him space to let him come to you.”

he groans loudly, coming up behind you to press his forehead into the crook of your neck. you smile, tilting your head to the side and reaching up to pat his hair.

“i guess this is good practice for when we have our own kid,” he mutters, stiffening when he feels your hand still in his hair.

“our own kid, huh? so does that mean you’re done bringing home strays?”

“you three are all i need,” he tells you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “whatever happens next…is just a bonus.”

BONUS:

[you] [1 attachment]

[nanami] Why is he dressed like Gojo?

[shoko]: like father like son huh

[you] satoru had a quarter-life crisis yesterday. just a small one.

[shoko] i’m not surprised. his life is like a shakespearean tragedy.

[nanami] That is accurate.

[you] he’s trying to bond with megumi.

[shoko] by dressing him like he’s emotionally unavailable?

[you] what does that even mean?

[shoko] the sunglasses

[you] ?

[nanami] Elaborate further, please.

[shoko] eyes are the windows to the soul.

[nanami] (the more you know gif)

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #keeping up with the fushigojos

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lowkeyremi · 4 months

Text

jjk men and aftercare pt 2 ft. Yuji, Megumi, Sukuna, Yuta, and Toge.

a/n: part 2 babyyy hope u guys enjoy, everyone (except sukuna + megumi) are more on the softer side in this i think (here's part 1)

cw: slightly suggestive, how they are after sex basically :) (all characters are aged up!!)

Yuji Itadori

He's kind of clueless at first. No doubt he's heard about it because he was nervous about his first time and called up his long time best friend Megumi to ask about.

Of course he told him to look it up himself, which he did but he wasn't patient enough to read through it thoroughly, so he scanned through the article to get the basic idea.

"Ummm, do you want snacks? Water... uhhhhh... um.." he struggles to remember what he'd read.

"Some water would be nice to start out." To start out? What does he have to do next?

Instead of stressing though, he hops up off the bed (naked), "Okay! I'll go get you some water!!" He's quick to leave the room and retrieve a nice, cold bottle of water.

As he's about to hand it to you he snatches it back and cracks it open, "Don't want you to strain anything."

"Yuji, baby, I can open a water bottle." You giggle at how cute and careful he is.

"Oh, right! Here you go." Your fingers touch his as he hands you the bottled beverage. A small smile rises on your face and his smile widens when he sees you smiling.

You gulp down the water quickly which was a terrible idea. Small sips is always the way to go, but sex has left you parched for some odd reason.

"Do you wanna hop in the bath?" His head perks at your questions.

"Oh yeah! You probably wanna get clean, right? I'll give you a massage too if you'd like!" Who are you to tell this beautiful man, "no"?

"Of course, Yuji. Thank you for taking care of me." Pride swells inside of him at the thought of taking care of you.

Megumi Fushiguro

Sigh. Like father, like son. He's not as bad as Toji, but when you guys first slept together he rolled over and fell asleep once you came.

When you told him why you were upset his response was "at least you came, right?"

Which he admits now that that was NOT the best thing to say. He's changed since then, though.

"Here," he throws pain killers and your favorite snack at you. You'd just finished showering about twenty minutes ago. Yes, you invited your boyfriend to join you but he had to resist your offer. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep his hands off of you and you already expressed your tiredness.

Anyone else would probably be offended if their partner threw stuff at them, but this is Megumi's way of expressing his love.

"You good?" He asks when you don't move to pick up your snack.

"Mhm, but you know it's best for me to take pain killers before sex. They're useless now." He dodges the pill bottle when you throw it at him.

"They won't reduce the after sex pain? Thought they did. Well anyway, you wanna watch something? I actually started getting into that one show you like."

The way your heart fluttered at his question left you all sappy and excited.

"Yeah get over here."

He's not perfect at aftercare but he's yours and he makes sure to tend to your needs in his own way.

Sukuna Ryomen

Honestly I don't even think I need to write anything for him but ima try my best!

He was confused about the way you stared at him when you joined him in the bathroom. He was brushing his teeth.

"What brat?" He asks staring at you through the mirror.

"You literally split me in half and didn't even bother to take care of me afterward.." You state awkwardly as you sit on the covered toilet seat.

"Eh? What happened to all that independent woman shit? Can't ya do it yourself?" He asks, the toothpaste and toothbrush in his mouth made his words a little bit hard to understand, but you get the gist.

"I mean I can do it myself, but it's more intimate when you do it with your partner!" Honestly it was useless trying to explain yourself because Sukuna is stubborn as hell.

"We had plenty'a intimacy when I was eatin' your pussy like less than ten minutes ago." There's sass in his voice and he rolls his eyes.

It was best to give up, because he wasn't going to listen. The walk of shame was super embarrassing and you made yourself a little spot on the couch to sleep on for the night.

Fifteen minutes later Sukuna's stomping into the living room.

"What're ya doing out here on the couch when we have a whole bed?" It's obviously a rhetorical question, he has a good idea of what you're mad about.

"You know why I'm pissed. You're an asshole, Ryomen. I don't even want to talk to you right now, so go away." The malice in your tone was evident and he switched up upon hearing you call him his full first name rather than that dumb nickname he will never admit that he likes.

"Ugh... so whiny. If I take care of ya, all the domestic shit. Will ya bring your ass back to bed?" He asks, a hand on his slutty waist.

"Yes." You quip quickly.

"Fine. Come on."

That was the start of the aftercare you deserved, and surprisingly he was good at it. When you asked him where he got all this experience from he said, "I was a human with feeling at some point. I know how to care for people, when I want."

Yuta Okkotsu

He didn't want to fuck up so he researched any and everything. From hydration to what foods are good to eat afterwards and so on.

"Thank you Yuta, this is delicious." It really is good, his cooking is phenomenal. It always warms your heart. You'd started on dinner but Yuta distracted you which led to having your legs spread on the counter for him.

"It's the least I can do for you for treating me so well." He says with a suggestive smirk and you know exactly what what he's implying.

"Also food is important to build your stamina back up after sex. Did bathing with those bath salts help any?" He's read that they're supposed to relax and calm the body. He made you soak for twenty minutes.

"It did, I don't feel as sore as I did earlier." And it's true, Yuta knew more about how to care for yourself better than you did which surprised you to some extent. Sometimes it felt more like a nagging parent than helpful advice but he usually doesn't get to that point.

"Make sure you're taking care of yourself too, babe. It's not all about me." You remind him.

He nods while chewing. "I always take care of myself after you. I'll wash up after we tackle the dishes."

Toge Inumaki

Toge is a worrier when it comes to aftercare. He wants you to be satisfied with his efforts.

Never again did you fall asleep without cleaning yourself up or letting Toge help you do it. Last time you did he commanded you to get in the tub so he could scrub you clean.

He wrote an apology on a piece of paper afterward. He just wanted you to get clean.

He cares a lot about you and your emotions, and obviously it's hard for him to do that in words, so he tries his best to do it through his actions.

Tonight is no different, he's washing your hair in the shower. The water is the perfect temperature and you can feel Toge pressed up against you. The way his finger tips graze your scalp are just right/ You about fall asleep.

"Mustard Leaf." He says in worry. He doesn't want a repeat of last week, when you fell asleep in the shower and you slipped almost causing a concussion if he hadn't caught you last second.

"I.. I'm awake. I won't fall asleep again, promise." You yawn and the worry dissipates for the most part. He trusts your words.

"Salmon." He responds and you smile lazily.

Your most earnest moments are when the two of you are in the shower. You feel the need to rid yourself of anything from the day so you tell him everything. He nods along and gives you comforting touches to assure you.

"I love you so much, Toge. Thank you for cleaning me up."

Your white haired boyfriend nods his head at you with a smile. Your eyes follow his hand as he writes " I ♡ YOU" with his finger, on the glass door of the shower.

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maraudersmyloves · 4 months

Text

Dating Theodore Nott . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

this turned into some kind of story instad of headcannons also suggestive content 18+

Realistic

The first time he saw you he immediatly came up to you and flirted with you

so obviously you thought he atleast thought you were pretty

turns out he does that with every girl he hasn't flirted or hooked up with before

he keeps on flirting making you feel special until he gets you in bed

goes several rounds

best sex you ever had

makes sure to please you too which only strengthens the mental image that he actually likes you

the next morning you wake up and he's gone

you look around his room and see a little note on the bedside table

"make sure to pick up all of your clothes and not leave any of them behind. Btw don't take one of my shirts"

But let's say Theo actually manages to remember you two fucked (he probably doesn't)

he keeps flirting with you making you forget the whole note incident

because he'll fuck a girl until she's had enough of his shit

so it keeps happening

after a while he stops leaving the same generic note because he figure you got the gist by now

And you're not stupid

you know he hooks up with other girls but you ignore it

You keep fucking him

he keeps fucking other girls

until at one point you've had enough

you're at a slytherin party

you know you can't hang out with theo because he doesn't want to scare away possible fucks

So you drink a bit and dance with your friends

And so what if a cute guy flirts with you and you flirt back

So what if you make out with someone other than theo

You two aren't together

If he gets to fuck other girls you get to make out and maybe fuck other guys

You're having fun

You leave the guy to get some more drinks

In the little drinks corner you're met with theo who immediatly crashes his lips on you

startled you kiss back

why is he randomly kissing you?

in public??

He presses you onto the wall and lifts your Legs to cross behind your back

You let your hands wander into his hair and tuck just the right amount to make him moan into you

"upstairs now"

you're about to comply when you stop to think

why should he get to decide when you're talking and when you're ignoring each other

"No no no"

"What? What are you doing come kiss me, Splendida"

You set your feet down on the ground and step back

"No, Theo. Not now. Someones waiting for you"

You look around and meet the guys eyes with an apologetic look in your eyes

"That joey guy?? No, Stop it! Look at me! Lok at me"

he grabs your face to make you look at him but you refuse to meet his gaze

His voice gets soft and pleading "please?"

"No. Stop it"

"Okay, Fuck you then."

The following week he hooks up with more girls than ever

Should i do a part 2 as an actual story?

#fluff #headcanon #writing #fanfic #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin #slytherin boys react #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott

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ririblogsss · 2 months

Text

Danny in central City pt2

part 1

Danny is chilling in the dorms rooftop again, when he feels a very powerful gust off wind. Looking to the side he finds impulse the local teen hero of Central City. Danny only nods his way and mutters that the stars look very pretty tonight. Impulse manages to hear him and looks up, but the night sky isn't visible because of all the light pollution. Super-eyesight he notes it down In his brain. Impulse asks for his name while he sits down besides him Danny responds meekly.

The silence is so loud even though there's cars and overall noise of the city. Their science is tense. Danny thinks that one wrong move and he'll get handed to the GIW for experimentation and extermination. Impulse is thinking of the best way to approach Danny without spooking him away.

In the end Danny decides to break the silence, as he's always hated awkward silences and feels the need to constantly talk in order to make it feel less tense."Did you know hot ice exists? yeah like about 33 light-years away is an exoplanet called Gliese 436 b. The planet is composed of different water elements, which form burning ice, so in essence there is a thing that is hot ice" Danny just continues to ramble all the facts he learn past midnight during high school. Hoping that impulse would just get tiered of him or get called back by whoever is behind the coms. But it doesn't happen Impulse lays next to him looking up at the sky listening to him ramble making humming noises and nods to show he is listening.

Danny doesn't know what to do he's running out of topics and facts fast and its not like he can just leave. So Danny does what anyone that's in the same type of situation does, he starts trauma dumping on accident. Well Dannys not sure its trauma dumping it has nothing to do with his half death or ghost or really anything after his 13 th birthday.

"You know my parents have a lab in our basement" Impulse chokes on air but Danny continues on "yeah its pretty cool when I was 4 I was allowed to go in and experiment with all the substances along as my older sister was there" Impulse face, or what Danny can see of it looks contorted in a grimace/sad look, so Danny immediately tries to back track."Wait wait that sounds like I was in danger, I wasn't I only made mustard gas twice before I learned all the components that made It and made sure to never mix them, and I only burned my hand 6 times with the surface mix lamp, and I got pretty good at using it. look see this" Danny holds out his wrist with an intricate bracelet made out of glass, it has green, blue and black accents on it swirling. "WAIT you made that, brUHHH that's amazing likeomgyoucouldsellthisiwouldbuythisitssocool......." Danny had to strain his ears in order to fully understand what impulse was saying as he went on a tangent about how cool the bracelet was.

"Here" Danny says holding out the bracelet, Impulse blanches and tries to refuse saying that he doesn't need it or whatever but Danny is stubborn he keeps holding out the bracelet unrelenting until impulse takes it and puts it on. "Consider it a gist from a fan and a thank you for sitting with me and listening to me ramble about space" Then Danny stands up stretching himself and starts heading towards the stair case. Leaving a dumbfounded impulse behind.

Danny hears a whisper of 'What the fuck' before he hears the distinct break of air that only comes from speedsters running off.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover

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woso-dreamzzz · 2 months

Text

Breakfast V

Ellie Carpenter x Daniëlle van de Donk x Child!Reader

Summary: You get hurt

Ellie didn't know what could constitute picking you up from Lindsey's in the middle of date night but all she knew was one minute she was going to the bathroom and the next Daan was running in saying that they had to leave.

You're in tears when she and Daan get there, sitting on Lindsey's sofa as you sob.

You've got one hell of a black eye. It was practically swelled shut and you were cradling your right wrist, keeping it close to your body as you cry.

"Mamma," You cry, reaching out your good hand for Daan," Het doet pijn (it hurts)."

Ellie has no idea what you're saying but she gets the general gist of it as Daan inspects you.

"What the hell happened?!" She demands.

"She slipped!" Lindsey replies, throwing her arms up as if to defend herself," Down the stairs! It was an accident!"

Ellie wants to scream at Lindsey for not watching you properly but settles on bringing the first aid kit over to Daan so she could wrap your wrist.

It doesn't look too bad, just a little sensitive but Ellie still knows you'll be going straight to the doctor tomorrow morning to get it checked out properly.

She knows you're okay (at least, she knows that it's not worth a hospital visit) but it doesn't stop Ellie from shoulder checking Lindsey on the way out.

Daan sits in the back with you on the way home and you curl into her so easily that Ellie imagines that's what you used to do when you were younger and still living in London.

You're exclusively speaking Dutch as well which is something Ellie barely has a grasp on besides the basics.

Frankly, this is all freaking her out. Not your injuries, Ellie can deal with that but just how distraught and emotional you are. She's never seen you like this before, curled up on Daan's lap like the little kid you actually are.

You wipe your nose on Daan's shirt and she doesn't even blink, gently stroking your back and whispering to you in equally soft Dutch.

"Mijn oog doet pijn en mijn pols (my eye hurts and my wrist)," You say as Daan inspects you again.

Your eye is looking better now that you've gotten home and kept an ice pack pressed against it. The swelling has mostly gone down so you can open and close it again but it's still turning a purplish colour.

Your wrist didn't seem sprained or broken either, just sensitive so hopefully sleeping in the bandage tonight will stave off the worst of it and the trip to the doctors will confirm that.

"Sorry dat ik date night onderbrak (sorry for interrupting date night)."

Mamma just shakes her head, pulling you even closer to her. "Nee, verontschuldig je niet. Het was een ongeluk. Je hoeft je nergens voor te verontschuldigen (no, don't apologise. It was an accident. You have nothing to apologise for)."

You don't quite believe her but Mamma doesn't lie to you so you have to take her word for it.

Her arms around you are warm and safe and you're tucked securely under her chin where nothing bad can happen to you.

"Mamma," You say," Ik denk niet dat ik morgen naar turnen kan gaan (I don't think I can go to gymnastics tomorrow)."

Whatever you say has a little bubble of laughter exit Daan's mouth and Ellie relaxes considerably. She's been completely lost for most of the conversation but Daan doesn't seem too worried with what you're saying so she relaxes.

She stays on the edges though, hovering. She isn't quite sure what she's meant to do.

Sure, she and Daan are getting married and, sure, she's got adoption papers that are being filed after the wedding but she's never been in a situation like this.

Ellie isn't sure if she's overstepping by coming into the little bubble of comfort that you've created with Daan. She's not exactly sure of the procedure for this kind of thing.

You seem to know though.

You catch Ellie standing there from the corner of your eyes and you put a hand over Daan's shoulder to reach for her.

"Mum," You whine," Mum."

Ellie's body moves on auto-pilot, her hand capturing your own as she sits next to Daan, squished up against you both as close as she can get. Her brain doesn't even realise what you've called her.

It all seems so natural, to you and to her.

There's no reason to make a big thing about it. It was always going to happen eventually.

You move from Daan to Ellie, wiggling in her lap for a moment before going almost completely limp, like you were sleeping but Ellie knew you weren't.

You curled into Ellie like how you curled into Daan, completely relaxed and boneless.

"Mag ik bij jou en Mum in bed slapen (can I sleep in bed with you and Mum)?" You ask Mamma.

"I think that can be arranged."

#woso x reader #danielle van de donk x reader #danielle van de donk #ellie carpenter x reader #ellie carpenter #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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stevesbipanic · 1 year

Text

Steve's only 25 when it all catches up to him.

It starts off small, things people wouldn't even be able to tell is an early sign of something wrong. Misplacing keys, forgetting which day he has his shifts, what time he's supposed to get Robin. Robin notices though.

Robin knows Steve always keeps his keys on the hook next to Eddie's by the front door, that's where he always finds them, he's not misplacing the keys, he's forgetting the hook exists.

Robin knows Steve has the same shifts every week, they never change because they line up with Eddie's at the record store nearby. Robin knows Steve isn't forgetting what time he's supposed to pick Robin up, he's forgetting Robin moved away a few months ago after she graduated college.

Robin keeps noticing when the kids start calling her because the little things are becoming big things.

Robin notices when Dustin calls and tells her Steve thought he and Suzie were back together, "Like how crazy is that we broke up two years ago, I don't think I've even mentioned her lately."

Robin notices when Lucas calls and tells her Steve asked when his next game was, "The season ended months ago, he came to the finals."

Robin notices when Max calls and whispers softly, "He asked to take me to the skatepark, Robin, I told him I had to help mum. He's forgotten I'm blind Robin."

Robin wished she'd noticed sooner, maybe years ago when Steve was getting knocked around a lot. She wished she'd screamed in the face of those Russians to take her instead. She wished a lot of things when Eddie called her.

"He's in hospital, Birdie, he collapsed at work."

Robin is back in Chicago for the first time since she graduated. She wished she'd visited sooner.

"Do you think the feds are gonna let me go soon, Robbie? I mean it usually doesn't take this long for them to bring me the NDAs."

Robin hopes Steve doesn't notice her eyes going glossy as she runs her fingers through his hair, "Don't worry Stevie, I'm sure they'll be in soon, Dusty is probs just arguing over something in his."

"At least he isn't having to explain he raised a demodog. Did I ever tell you about that Robbie?"

Robin smiles softly, "Yeah but tell me again, don't want to forget any of it."

Eddie gives Robin the gist of what the doctors said, Eddie didn't understand much, a lot of technical words and shit. Too many concussions, more than they knew about most likely. They say it'll probably get worse with no timeframe of how quickly it'll happen, there might be good days, there will be a lot of bad days.

The first bad day comes a week later. Steve barely remembers Eddie, trapped in a time when Eddie was just the kids DM. Eddie sobs in the corridor in Robin's arms. The next day it's like nothing happened and Steve gets discharged. They tell Steve, this time Eddie is the one to comfort him.

"I don't want to forget you Eds."

"It's okay if you do, sweetheart, I'll still be here."

It's Robins idea to start writing everything down. Eddie, Nancy and the kids all help. Filling journals upon journals of stories and pictures of Steve's life to help on the bad days. Steve has to quit his job, Robin moves back to Chicago, they make it work.

On bad days depending on how far back Steve is Dustin or Robin or Eddie will read through the books with him, filling in the gaps of what he needs. On the worst days, Eddie leaves the pile of journals on the bed with a note and waits downstairs to see if Steve will join him later.

They make it work for a few years. Steve celebrates his 30th birthday with perfect clarity. He writes himself an entry in the journal next to a big group picture with Steve and Eddie's matching rings showing.

That July, over a decade since Starcourt, Steve is in hospital again. He'd collapsed at breakfast. Eddie had thought it was going to be one of their good days, Steve had woken up fine, all his memories in tact if a little fuzzy. He'd made them coffee and giggled at Eddie's singing while he made them eggs and just like that it all came crashing down.

Steve's brain is shutting down. They don't know if he'll make it past Christmas. There's more bad days after that. More days with books left on the bed. Most days Steve doesn't even come downstairs. On the good days, Eddie always calls off work. He'd rather be fired than miss a single second of Steve smiling at him like he does, so full of love.

They have Christmas, the whole family comes, they have to bring every chair from around the house and squish in around the table just to fit but it's perfect. Steve sits between Robin and Eddie, face bright and full of love and life. Everyone gives him the tightest hug as the night closes, all lingering, afraid of letting go.

"I love you, dingus."

"I love you too, Robbie."

Later, upstairs in their room, Steve and Eddie go through all the journals, laughing softly at each little note the kids have left. Steve writes his little journal entry, a tradition of good days, and curls into Eddie's arm whispering soft loving words to each other before falling asleep.

Steve never wakes up.

The funeral happens shortly after, all of the family is still in town. Robin holds Eddie afterwards as they go through the journals together. When they get to the last page, they struggle not to smudge the ink with their tears.

Dear Eds and Robbie,

I don't know how many more good days I'm going to get so I'm leaving this here for you now. I love you both so much, you're equally my soulmates and I want you two to look after each other while I'm gone.

Robs, go travelling with Nancy, ok? Thank you for looking after me all these years but it's time for you to go look after yourself. Go see the world for me, tell me all about it wherever I am when you get back.

Eddie, I'm sorry we didn't get as much time as we hoped, I hope you know that even just a day with you has been worth a lifetime with anyone else. Go follow your dreams, write music, perform, show the world how amazing I know you are. I give you full permission to fall in love with whoever you meet along the way, I don't want either of you guys to be alone.

Thank you for giving me a life worth remembering.

Your Dingus,

Stevie

#omfg i sobbed writing this im sorry #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stobin #robin buckely #angst #poor steve #concussions #memory loss #fuck i actually cried so much omfg #ficlet #major character death #tw major character death #tw death

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ghcstao3 · 5 months

Text

marine biologist/diver!ghost x selkie!soap au Thoughts

marine biologist ghost who, whenever he has spare time, will go diving with some colleagues to collect trash from the ocean—because maybe it doesn’t make a huge, immediate impact, but it still means something is being done.

then one day while diving, ghost is accompanied by a seal. at first it only observes, and ghost is plenty happy to admire from afar, but then the seal is cozying up to him. it latches onto his leg, nudges him with its snout—even directs ghost and his group to trash that’s otherwise pretty well hidden, wedged beneath coral and rocks and sand.

it saddens ghost, just a little, when the sky starts getting dark and they have to head back. he doesn’t want to abandon his new friend—it’s rare they have wildlife hang around for this long—but unfortunately it’s not safe to wait any longer before going home.

but then the next time they’re able to go diving, the seal is there again. it plays at the same routine, helping out and goofing around, sticking dutifully by ghost’s side even when there’s others along with him. and time after time, it’s the same thing. no matter where the group is, the seal somehow always finds him. they end up lending it the nickname soap, after the odd amount of empty bottles of cleaning products the seal seems to locate for them.

it’s maybe a few months later that soap doesn’t show up, and it’s an instant cause for concern; there’s no reason soap should be missing. they’re in a similar area that the seal likely frequents, there’s no reason for soap to have moved or be huddled away with other seals to have pups.

the group worries, but there’s nothing they can do but theorize and assume as they carry out their regular chore. it’s only a once-off, by this point. maybe soap just didn’t feel like coming out to play just this one time.

but it happens again and again. soap doesn’t appear once, and it has the group of scientists worried sick. but without a tracker, or even a real idea of where soap might frequent when he’s not helping the group, there’s nothing they can do.

they return to shore later than usual one night. it’s completely dark by the time they dock, and ghost waves everyone ahead to go home because they’re all tired, he can manage clean-up by himself.

ghost is just about finished packing up when he sees the figure at the end of the dock. the marina is like a ghost town otherwise, nothing but the sound of turning waves and boats gentle bumping up against the port. ghost approaches slowly, not knowing what other business one could possibly have at the water this late.

“you lost, mate?” ghost wonders cautiously.

the figure steps closer, silver moonlight revealing some of his features. the man looks about ghost’s age, maybe younger—only it’s hard to tell with the haggard look on his face, as he nervously wrings his fingers and avoids ghost’s gaze.

“i’m… sorry i haven’t been around,” he apologizes, and ghost frowns. “someone… someone took my coat.”

ghost’s brow furrows. “i don’t… your coat? i’m not sure i underst—“

“my coat,” the man affirms. “i need it to swim. which is why i haven’t been able to help lately.”

not certain how it’s possible, ghost grows even more confused. he doesn’t get it—a coat to swim? being able to help? nothing makes sense.

“you’ve lost me,” ghost says, shaking his head. “wish i could help, but—“

as ghost tries to push past, the man seizes his arm. he peers up at ghost pleadingly, and while ghost had wanted to conclude the man was drunk or high or something—he hesitates, seeing that look.

“have you ever heard of selkies?” the man asks, an edge of desperation in his voice.

ghost shrugs. “sure i have.” he’s hardly well-versed in mythical creatures, but he knows the gist.

the man doesn’t say anything—just continues to look at ghost with those sad eyes, a plea for understanding like an explanation couldn’t be spoken aloud. so ghost thinks on it a moment.

the coat, the inability to swim without it. not helping out and not being there starting to sound like a reference to soap. to the seal.

ghost’s eyebrows nearly raise to his hairline in disbelief.

“you’re not really saying you’re soap, are you?”

maybe-soap frowns. “who’s that?”

right. “i mean the seal that’s been following our diving trips,” ghost clarifies. “and you’re saying… because your coat is gone—“

“taken,” soap corrects, “i couldn’t go. i wanted to find you, but i didn’t know how, and… and…”

soap looks frazzled, like his brain has disconnected from his mouth and hands in empty gestures in words trying to convey what he’s thinking.

ghost tentatively sets his crate of gear on the wooden planks of the dock before placing his hands on either one of soap’s shoulders. maybe the story isn’t all there, and maybe there’s still doubt in ghost’s head about any of it being the truth—but ultimately, ghost believes the man. believes it’s soap.

slowly, ghost says, “calm down, and tell me how i can help. we’ll get your coat back, yeah?”

soap offers him a shy, watery smile—but a smile nonetheless. he nods and begins to tell ghost everything.

it doesn’t take long before they’re hatching a plan to win back soap’s freedom.

#i can’t find the tiktoks rn but that’s what this was inspired by #ignore typos #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghost x soap #ghoap #alternate universe #writing

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sixosix · 11 days

Text

THERE IS AN INDENTATION IN THE SHAPE OF YOU | LYNEY

notes 1.5k words, happy mothers day to my mama and to my maman rosalie, IM SORRY FOR THE DELAYWHADJFD

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

The moment the messenger bird departs from his fingertips, Freminet launches off in swift motion.

Hours slipped by with him remaining inactive, with ‘Father’ unusually subdued since her return. Freminet should have immediately harbored his suspicions of it—’Father’ will always be one step ahead. Whatever secrets the children attempt to keep are already accounted for by her; it is her response that remains unpredictable and dangerous. Freminet admires that about ‘Father’, but it is perhaps a little unwelcome in the present situation.

The rain died down moments ago. The Hydro Dragon calmed, but Freminet knows that you haven’t.

He finds you kneeling on the ground, breathing heavily. Petrichor is wafting through the air, but there was that distinct smell of frost that Freminet could recognize anywhere. He belatedly notices that your hands have been frozen to the ground and your shoulders are trembling, but you’re making no effort to pull off.

Freminet approaches warily. Lyney’s message had been vague, but he got the gist of it. It was only Help Y/N. Freminet isn’t going to question it; if you were in danger, he wouldn’t think twice about it.

“Hey,” you whisper, seemingly unsurprised by his appearance, only sheepish at your current predicament.

“Y/N,” he says slowly. “Are—how did you—do you know how to get out…?”

“…No,” you cough, embarrassed. “Usually, Rosalie would help me.”

Freminet kneels beside you. “How did this even happen?”

“I—I don’t know. Honest. I just flicked my hand and got stuck. I should’ve calmed down before I left in the rain—I don’t—I was just—”

“You’re shaking,” Freminet interrupts, frowning. “You’re too weak at the moment to budge out yourself.”

“Well, yeah.” You breathed in deep, resigned. “I figured that out twenty minutes ago. I calmed down now, but I kinda gave up.”

“You’ve been stuck here for twenty minutes?”

People with Cryo Visions are more resistant, but no human should be stuck in ice for that long. Freminet supposes he could never fathom how strong you are, even after all these years.

Freminet really missed you. He wants to say it, but now is probably not the time.

“You can learn to thaw it. I had to learn it, too.” Freminet watches in confusion as you stare at the ice—the same ones you’ve created—with contempt. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say fear. “You haven’t been using your Vision?”

“Not on purpose,” you murmur. “It’s always an accident. How do I melt this?”

“You have to relax,” Freminet says, resting a hand on your shoulder. “Think about the ground melting the ice away, like it was never a part of you.”

“I wish it wasn’t a part of me. This is a weakness.”

“It can be a strength if you learn how to use it,” Freminet says. That’s what ‘Father’ used to tell him. “So you shouldn’t neglect your Vision.”

You stare up at Freminet with your mouth a little open. Freminet blushes under the attention, diverting his gaze.

“You’ve really gotten cooler, huh, Freminet?” You grin, the same flame you’ve given him before, back when things were simpler. “I missed you.”

Freminet allows himself to bask in it. “I missed you, too.”

The ice had shrunk, but it was still present. Freminet is mystified—he has never known any other Vision users who were so wholly in tune with their emotions to their Visions. You were like some sort of miracle.

“I wish Lyney was here to help you,” Freminet says and keeps an eye on the glow of your Vision.

Your expression shifts quickly into disdain. “I’d rather he wouldn’t. I don’t want to see him right now, that idiot.”

Freminet tilts his head. “Why? Did he already confess?”

Your eyes widen as the ice doubles over and is enveloped by a new layer. “That—that wasn’t a confession!”

That’s not the reaction of someone not-confessing. “We all knew it, you know. Lyney really likes you.”

“Freminet,” you hiss, your skin burning. And as fast as the frost has crept up your skin, it melts. Even for just the thought of Lyney. How magical it was. Even you seemed surprised, your hand launching to your face to feel how hot it had gotten. Anger, embarrassment, or something else that you couldn't name—it didn't matter, Lyney had a different kind of effect on you.

Freminet smiles. He missed this. “Tell me about it on the way there.”

You tell Freminet you had an inkling of where ‘Father’ took Rosalie. It’s just a guess, you want to say, but it was really more like you don’t know anywhere else where she would take Rosalie. It made the most sense—and, in some up way, it made it poetic.

And so you two stand face to face with your old home, the House of the Hearth. It still had the same grand doors you remember, the same living room, and the same fireplace, but the emptiness was unfamiliar. It was unsettling, like a bad dream.

“Where is everyone?”

“’Father’ told us to evacuate for the entire day,” Freminet says. “But I didn’t know it was going to be because of you.”

You laugh. “There aren’t even any guards here?”

“‘Father’ doesn’t need any.”

Well, he has a point.

You took in the things you can still remember: the room in the far corner that you occupied the most, spent every day training until your limbs couldn’t even move; the table, where you bickered with Lyney all the damn time; the couch, with Cecilia and the start of the terrifying thought that you weren’t going to be anyone special anymore.

You have memories here. Good and bad in equal parts, but still memories. Coming back to the House as it’s empty solidified your leave. This used to be your home.

“Are you okay?” Freminet asks quietly, but it startles you in the silence of the building.

“I’m okay, sorry. Do you have any idea about where ‘Father’ could be?”

Freminet’s eyes brighten. “I do. Follow me.”

The click of Freminet’s steps eases your nerves a little bit. At least, you think, you aren’t surrounded by suffocating whispers anymore in this House.

Freminet leads you down the corridor, and it comes to you belatedly that this path was intimately familiar to you. As he stops before a door, you knew. Your name is still engraved onto it, but with the dust and rust that has collected and grown over time, it wasn’t taken care of anymore.

“Here?” you ask in disbelief.

“I hope so.”

Freminet twists the knob, and the whispers that resound from the room fall silent. You find it strange that it hasn’t been locked, and it feels like walking into a trap, but you realize that all of this had been part of The Knave’s plan—of course it would be a trap that you’ve walked straight into. But all those thoughts are wiped away when your gaze dawns on the woman on the chair, who was glaring at her hand.

“Maman!” you cry out, missing the cup of tea she was holding.

She flicks the tea behind you and flings her arms out when you launch onto her. “Ma chérie!” she exclaims brightly.

The glass shatters and startles you back into clarity. You blink dumbly at the mess, then back at Rosalie. “Were you going to drink that?”

Her expression turns fierce. “No. Never. Not ever, okay, mon amour?”

“Oh, er, yes.” You never realized that Rosalie harbored an intense hatred for tea.

And finally, you direct your attention to the woman who has been silently watching the entire time.

“‘Father’,” you address her.

You haven’t called her that since you left. In your head, she’s always been The Knave; from the moment you left, in each flower you froze, in painful memories with Lyney, she is The Knave. But looking at her now, you feel like nothing else fits more. The ease of the admission almost terrified you. You could never deny it—she is your ‘Father’.

“I see that Freminet was the one who brought you here.” Arlecchino hums thoughtfully. “I was expecting Lyney.”

“I’m sorry, ‘Father’,” Freminet says weakly, head bowed. “But I stand against whatever punishment you will give her. I am here to protect her.”

“You’re openly going against the rules of the House?” she asks, tone stern.

Freminet sucks in a breath, afraid. “I-If I have to. I will not let you hurt Y/N.”

Arlecchino simply places her hand on Freminet’s head. “And you know that I wouldn’t. Do not worry. I know and understand your loyalty doesn’t stop at people who’ve chosen to leave our family.”

Freminet’s head snaps up, his eyes wide.

As heartwarming as it was, the teacup shards and its liquid's strange pungent smell have alarmed you. What was she giving to Rosalie? “Why did you bring her here?”

“Do you remember the most important rule of the House?”

“Betrayal to the House is punished with our lives,” you recite almost instinctively. Rosalie reaches for your hand and grips it tight but keeps her gaze forward, as if only to assure you that you aren’t alone. “But it’s only me. Rosalie doesn’t know anything. If you want to kill anyone, it should be me. Please, ‘Father’.”

Arlecchino almost smiles. “You want to know the truth?”

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted from you.”

“I thought you were like me. I recognized my youth in yours. But I was wrong. You love more freely than I do; you just don’t see it.” Arlecchino stalks closer until she’s close enough to mirror your position—you kneel across each other as if she is willingly lowering herself to make you understand. “I don’t want to chain you to the throne.”

…Huh?

“So, I will give you a choice.”

notes my arle is definitely softer than canon Father but to me she would just.Do this. SORRY AGAIN FOR THE DELAY BAHHAHA this is so embarrassing if there are any mistakes IM SORRY ill fix it tmrw :) also akagi if ure seeing this i did see your askLMFAOOOO my answer is in the drafts for tmorrow love u guys

taglist still in the comments cus tumblr is being mean

#606: THAWED #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 4 months

Note

AITA for venting to my friend about my fiancée?

I (24M) have been with my fiancée (26NB) for about 3 years now. I try to avoid venting to my friends about it when I’m having little relationship annoyances because I used to do that for a while and it ended up with them just getting a horrible image of her because when good things happen that make me happy I would be responding IRL with my fiancée or gushing about it publicly e.g. on Twitter which most of my friends don’t use, vs when bad things happened I’d go to them to vent directly so they were only seeing the shitty moments. They would just always tell me she sucked or to break up with her which just wore on me because I don’t want to do that, they know I don’t want to do that, they know I don’t think I need to. Our relationship is super affectionate, has helped me massively in improving mentally and socially and in my confidence, makes me genuinely happy, and is for the most part, with certain problems we’ve been working on aside, healthy.

It’s not a communication issue or anything, I’ll address any issues with my fiancée directly as well and we’ll resolve it between us, just sometimes I’d feel the need to vent out my upset first while calming down or talking through what to say to her before I brought it up etc.

However this changed recently. my fiancée has always been a very physical person, she’s cuddly and loves kisses and just general touching, and that also translates into her playfully hitting me a lot, which I’ll do as well. Smacking each other on the ass when we pass each other, jokingly hitting each other’s arms (gently) when we’re making fun of each other, stuff like that. Very occasionally this will bother me (the other day she pinched my face hard enough that it hurt for like 20mins afterwards) but for the most part I genuinely could not care less and I take it as all in good fun.

She has never hit me in anger before, until today. She was playing a video game and died, and I laughed while sitting next to her when I saw it, and she just turned around and hit me full force. Like, harder than she’s ever hit before, and causing genuine pain. Usually I would just brush it off because like I said she hits me in a joking way a lot, but when I kind of gave a startled “ow” she just looked at me and hissed “Don’t laugh” through her teeth and she looked genuinely pissed off, and the force behind the hit just caught me completely off guard. It was also very very sudden because we’d been talking normally and light-heartedly, had even been cuddling a few minutes before, and although she was pretty clearly exasperated at the game (sighing, saying “oh my god” when the fight was going downhill) I didn’t think it was serious anger, so her abruptly whipping around and hitting me like that was so sudden and whiplashy I didn’t even have time to register it.

I have PTSD (C-PTSD? don’t remember what the specific diagnosis was) from my last relationship which was abusive in pretty much every way you can think of, and one of my biggest triggers that has been relevant in this relationship as a result of it is raised voices/anger around me (not necessarily At me, just like when my fiancée is getting frustrated or stressed and she’ll start hitting her keyboard or shouting and it’ll make me start panicking), but this is the first time I’ve had to confront being triggered by a physical violence thing. I started dissociating like hell so I left the room when she was distracted by the game and ended up slipping out of the house to call one of my best friends via Discord and lowkey cry about it

I genuinely don’t really remember what I said, the gist was just that I’d been triggered by my fiancée hitting me in anger and that I needed to calm down before I went back. This may have been a dick move because this friend is a mutual friend of me and my fiancée - I knew her first and am closer to her, but she recently met my fiancée in person for the first time and they seemed to get along well, and we’re in several servers and stuff together.

After I was done I went back in and my fiancée apologised for hitting me so hard. I said thank you and we moved on

But afterwards she confronted me because my friend had sent me a message after that basically just checking in on me and my fiancée had seen the message on my laptop that she was using to game. I usually have my Discord on Do Not Disturb when she’s using my computer just so she’s not bothered by notifications beeping at her constantly so I’m not sure if it wasn’t on for some reason and it popped up on-screen or if she minimised the game and saw it somehow, but she was incredibly upset with me because she said I’d made her out to sound physically abusive. I did explain that I’d made clear to the friend she’d never seriously hit before this, but she said that didn’t matter because it was still giving off that impression and that it was unfair because her hitting me was done in a moment of frustration/anger and I shouldn’t have laughed at the game.

I apologised and we dropped it but I do notice that since then she’s been on my computer/phone more often and she’s slid into a few of my friends’ (and I mean My friends, not ones she talks to or knows and not ones I’d said anything about this to) asking if I’ve ever spoken about her and if she can give her side of the story. My friends came straight to me about it because they felt uncomfortable with what they saw as being prompted to talk about me behind my back.

Reasons I don’t think I’m TA: She hit me, and I know she vents about me to her friends too, and although it does bother me that her friends don’t like me because of it (for I assume much the same reason some of mine don’t like her for, AKA only hearing about negative stuff) I’ve always maintained she has the right to do it. I think everyone should be able to vent to friends about partners or family and vice versa in private because venting is normal and as long as it’s not dishonest or just pure shit-talking them I think it can be helpful and even healthy.

Reasons I think I might be TA: I went to a mutual friend so she also has something to lose if this friend forms a negative opinion of her, I laughed at her dying in the game even though I know she gets incredibly frustrated and competitive in games, and I’ve never had an issue with her hitting me more playfully before so she may have just misjudged how hard it was.

So AITA for telling my friend my fiancée hit me / getting so upset about it or is it just PTSD acting up and making me overdramatise something that is basically on the same level as the joke hitting?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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eyrina-avatar · 1 year

Text

Flashing Neteyam

Neteyam x avatar!reader

aged up Neteyam and fem reader

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, nsfw, smut , boobs, kissing, swearing, making out, tongue play? p in v, creampie, impreganation, mating

no use of y/n (at least I think. sorry I tried to post this in a rush as this was already super delayed. )

word count: 5,016 words

summary: You and Neteyam both have crushes on each other and so Lo'ak and your friend come up with a plan to get you and Neteyam to finally act on your feelings. You end up flashing him, but what'll happen next?

┆彡

You were sitting around the campfire at Hell’s Gate. The sky dark from eclipse, the stars already out and the air full of laughter as you and some of your avatar friends from earth continued on with the game.

You had invited Neteyam and Lo’ak to get a gist of how the humans hang out, which was a lot more fun than just watching norm and max do some experiments, although you often partook in that as well.

In addition to that, you decided to bring them along since they’d often invite you to hangout with them and the other Omaticaya clan members. Just a return of the favor, that’s what good friends do, no?

You didn't mind being friends with Lo'ak but with Neteyam... You wanted to be more than just friends with Neteyam. Your ever growing crush on him was becoming unbearable.

All your you thought about was Neteyam, all day long, when you woke up, when you ate, when you went out and about your day, and when you slept. He was all you thought about, and your friend Britt knew that. She knew about your huge crush on Neteyam and had told Lo’ak.

Lo’ak wasn’t surprised at all, he saw the looks you often gave his older brother and the way Neteyam made you blush and how the two of you could spend hours hanging out and talking about nothing and everything. But lucky for you, Lo’ak also knew of Neteyam’s crush on you and also saw all the looks Neteyam gave you whenever you weren’t paying attention and how he would sometimes get distracted during hunts. And whenever you weren’t around, Neteyam would often just talk about you and “blabber” on and on, as Lo’ak called it.

Your friend Britt had planned with Lo’ak to get you and Neteyam together. Just get him to somehow confess to you or make you do something to clearly grab his attention and force you or him to do something, anything.

Make you lose a bet and flash someone.

That was the stupid plan Lo’ak and your friend had planned. Britt knew that you were only interested in Neteyam, so it wasn’t like you were gonna flash any of the other boys in the group. Lo’ak though, doubted if you were gonna go through and actually do it. But you weren’t a pussy to back out of a dare. You always faced the consequences of a lost bet, and your friend knew that and reassured Lo’ak.

Lo’ak still had second doubts but wanted to see how much of a mighty warrior his older brother was gonna be when the girl he likes stands in front of him with her tits in his face. He wanted to see his highly respected brother become a wuss and not so “mighty” anymore.

So that’s how you ended up in the stupid game you were in now. “Shit” you huffed out as you realized you lost the bet.

“Alright, what the hell do I have to do?” you rolled your eyes, knowing your friends were planning something sneaky with all of their whispers and giggles.

“Flash one of the boys” responded Britt

“I’m sorry what?” You asked and your face scrunched, not knowing if you actually heard what just came out of her mouth.

“You heard me. You lost the bet and you have to flash one of the boys” she snickered.

Neteyam looked around and saw the other boys eyeing you up and down. They were all hoping to be the lucky one who would get an eyeful of tits in their face. It was quite noticeable, it's not like you had small boobs. Your human genes combined with your avatar made you very pretty and your boobs round and perky. Neteyam had noticed it, and so did the other guys. Hell, even the omaticaya men noticed it whenever you went to the clan.

But your tits in one of their faces. No, he didn’t even want to think about it, just the mere thought of it made him jealous.

He started mentally cursing himself for being so slow to ask you out and was was dreading the thought of one of the other guys being a lucky winner.

Neteyam was ripped out of his thoughts with the sounds of shouting and yelling coming from the group.

“C’mon y/n, pick someone and flash your tits. It’s not that hard. It’s not like we’re gonna take pictures and hang them on all the trees of pandora." sighed Britt

"Jesus, just do it woman” someone shouted

“Oh c’mon, pick me, I swear I won’t ask you for anything else” said one guy

“Nahh, just pick me. He’s a perv, he’ll just start asking you for other favors if you flash him.” said another

Neteyam sat quietly and watched intently looking to see who you were gonna choose, secretly hoping you would pick him. Just the thought of you flashing him made him shift uncomfortably in his spot.

“What the hell?!??” you shrieked

Someone had tried to undo your top and it almost fell but you caught it and held your hands up to your breasts just in time to cover before any potential slip could occur.

"Guys, what in the actual fuck. I don't know who did that but I swear to god you're not gonna see any tits tonight" you fumed as you quickly tied your top up in whatever knots you could make

The guys were starting to harass you and you weren’t sure about what the hell you were gonna do.

Lo'ak gave your friend a worried look, he thought you were gonna storm away any minute and the plans would be thrown out the window. Just like that.

"Bruh, don't be a pussy. You joined the game and you lost the bet. You knew what you were getting yourself into. If you quit now, then that'll just be wack as hell!" exclaimed one of the guys.

"I didn't say I was gonna quit! You guys are acting like a bunch of wild dogs who can't control themselves. You can't act shocked if I think you're all just a bunch of pervs" you stormed off from your spot but stopped mid track realizing that there was only one person who wasn't trying to rip your top off that night. Neteyam.

Yea, that sounded good, you smirked to yourself. You had a crush on Neteyam, and found him hot. What a perfect idea you thought to yourself and turned around quickly making your way over to him.

"Get up" you stared at Neteyam and he got up.

"We're leaving?" He gave you a questioning look and was ready to reach to Lo'ak and tell him to get up and go as well.

"No" you stopped his hand.

"Just you. Move back a bit" you pressed your hand onto Neteyam to push him back, making sure your chest was out of view from the rest of the group, your back now facing them.

"Oh shit" whispered Lo'ak as he gave your friend a knowing look and she gave him one back.

"You owe me" she mouthed

Now or never , you thought to yourself as you fiddled with the back part of your top that was tied together with some leaves and branches. You looked at him nervously as the knot was almost completely loose.

Wait, what thought Neteyam. You were gonna undo your top in front of him?

"Wait, wait wait. Are you gonna-"

"Shh" you put your hands to his lips and cut him off as you undid the last knot.

Drop

Your breasts were in clear view of Neteyam's eyes.

His eyes widened as he saw your form uncovered in front of him. He quickly looked away, averting his gaze from your chest and looking everywhere else but there and it made you a bit worried.

"Do you not like it. Do you not like me..." you trailed off, getting nervous and worried about wether he liked you or not. You bent down, getting ready to pick up your top and put it back on.

"wait no, I like it" shit that sounded bad he thought.

You squinted your eyes at him, one hand covering your breasts and the other holding your top. You put your arm down and your boobs were in clear view again.

"I mean not that I like it" crap, that was even worse, he sighed. You quickly covered your chest and put your top on as fast as you could.

"Oh... I um gotta get going then, this is kinda embarrassing" you whispered in a low voice, feeling humiliated as you turned around and got ready to leave but Neteyam's hand grabbed your arm before you could walk away.

"Shit I'm sorry. I meant I didn't mind the you know, the view. I just didn't know what to say without sounding like a creep. Of course I like it." Neteyam turned you around and you were now facing him.

"I'm just sorta speechless" he continued on "I...I like you and this isn't the way I expected to uhh... confess to you. Especially in the state you were just in. I thought we could take things slow before even thinking about going down that sorta hill" his voice now a whisper

"Neteyam" you caressed his cheek with your hand as the other held your top in place.

"I like you too, and I'm grateful as hell that you're here and I didn't have to show anything drastic to anyone else." you let out a chuckle as he smiled into your hand, still averting his gaze from your chest.

"Well, punishment completed" you turned around and let out a relieved sigh.

"See, not so hard" said Britt as she rolled her eyes and nudged Lo'ak in the process.

"Oh shut it" you spit out.

"Anyways, I think it's getting late guys, I'm heading to bed" you yawned

"time to go?" asked Lo'ak

"yup, let's go" you smiled at Neteyam as he made his way to you.

You waved to the rest of the group and headed back to home tree with the Sully brothers.

-----

"Wow, mighty warrior was nervous as hell, wasn't he?" questioned Lo'ak as he gave Neteyam a playful punch

"Shut the fuck up" Neteyam rolled his eyes and you gave out a small giggle, still holding on to your top.

"Come, let me tie this up for you" offered Neteyam as he turned you around and held the top’s strings in his hands.

"Oh boy... what next? Oops, I dropped my top again, teehee. Did you see that Nete?" mocked Lo'ak in a high pitch voice as he batted his eyelashes at you and Neteyam.

"I sound nothing like that" you sent a glare towards Lo'ak

"Is that all you do, talk crap?" Neteyam hissed at his younger brother

"Damn, chill guys. Take a joke" Lo'ak continued on walking until you guys made it to the clan.

——-

You were just about to say your goodbyes and head to your hammock when Lo'ak interrupted "Hey, you two, don't be so loud. Maybe go to the river or something"

"WHAT" your jaw dropped in shock

"Alright, that's it" Neteyam ran after Lo'ak, hoping to knock his lights out for the night and give him some good rest. Maybe then Lo'ak would keep his mouth shut.

Lo'ak ran inside his family's tent and Neteyam stopped at the entrance, knowing that his parents would ask him what was going on and he didn't want to share the details on everything that just happened.

Neteyam walked back to you with his head hung low in defeat and you let out a giggle at the sore sight.

"I'm sorry about everything Lo'ak said. That must have been embarrassing. We, I mean us...you and I, don't have to go all the way. I just thought maybe I could take you out on a date first. If you're in any way interested in me" he asked

"Of course I'd love a date" you smiled and held his hand.

"Where at?" you asked

"Anywhere really, I haven't actually planned anything out yet. This was sorta a surprise" he let out with a small chuckle

"Well, I guess I better go off to my hammock" you let go of his hands.

"I could walk you there, if you don't mind. Where exactly is it, again?" Neteyam asked

"Oh, it's passed the other side of Home Tree" you pointed

"Let's go then"

-----

You walked through the forest, admiring the bioluminescence of all the flora around you. Bright glowing hues of green, blue, and purple surrounding you. Some atokirinas floating around as you held Neteyam's hand and led him to the direction of your hammock.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" Neteyam questioned.

"Yea, it's right by the narrow river. You know, the one with all the small yellow fish. The river being so close makes it easy to get water in the morning" you replied

"You're lost"

“No”

“You so are”

"No I'm not" you huffed and let go of his hand.

"That small river is on the other side of the forest, we're at the wrong river, look." Neteyam pointed.

The river was close but there were no hammocks in sight "Shit, you're right" you admitted "It'll take me all night to find the way back to my hammock." you groaned

"Well, what do you want to do?" he asked.

"Honestly, I'm kinda tired and I feel like we've been walking for almost an hour already. I just want to lay down and get some rest." you scanned the forest floor around you, looking for some soft moss to lay on.

"So I guess we'll just sleep here for the night?" Neteyam asked

"Well, you know the way to your tent. You don't have to stay here with me. It's not your fault I got lost following the wrong river" you chuckled. You secretly hoped that Neteyam would stay with you. You didn't want to stay alone in a forest you weren't a hundred percent familiar with yet.

"Nonsense" he replied. "And leave you hopeless to some hungry palulukan? That wouldn't be very nice of me." he squatted down and patted your head and looked around for some moss.

"Hey, i'm not a baby. I did my rite of passage already and Neytiri is impressed with my hunting skills" you spoke, trying to sound confident but you internally sighed in relief at his words and hurried to fix your makeshift bed.

“Ha, alright mighty huntress” he put his fingers up to quote huntress.

“It’s true!” You insisted as you walked passed him.

“Where are you going?” Neteyam asked.

“To bathe.” You made your way to the river.

“At this hour?” he raised his brow.

“What’s wrong with that?” You asked.

“Err nothing, it’s just kinda late”

“It’s never too late for a bath. Bathing is bathing.” You shrugged. “Are you just gonna stay there and do nothing?” You questioned.

“Alright, wait up” Neteyam huffed out as he ran to catch up with you.

_____

You laid stomach down on the soft ground in front of the river while passed your hand through the surface of the water and gave it a whirl. The water felt nice, not too hot and not too cold. Just right. You looked around and saw all the pretty plants and began admiring the bioluminescence of the forest. It was all around you and in the water. The Lilly pads were floating with the stems glowing green and the flowers on top having a faint hue of pink.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” you asked, smiling to yourself

“What is” asked Neteyam. He was too busy staring at you the whole time and admiring your beauty. Your hair was loose with only a few small braids on each side of your head and the rest flowing freely.

“The water, the forest, everything” you smiled.

“And you” he let out

“Oh, err thanks” you looked up at him nervously as you tucked your hair behind your ears and looked away. “Hmm, don’t be so shy” He caressed your face and turned it to face him. “Don’t tell me a little compliment like that made you nervous after what you did today.” he flipped you over, your back now on the forest floor and him now hovering above you with his hands by your head on the ground.

“And who says I’m nervous?” you trailed your hand up and down his chest and bit your lip as you tried to contain you emotions, although your flustered state was given away by the faint pigment of purple now staining your cheeks.

“Oh, you’re not?” He whispered close to your ear, his mouth only centimeters away from it and his hot breath making you feel warm in the pit of your stomach.

“No, not one bit.” you pushed him back and got up. You walked a few inches closer to the river and dipped your foot in the water as you continued in. “Come on!” you motioned with your hand for him to join you.

Neteyam followed your lead and walked in little by little. “Won’t our clothes get wet and become uncomfortable to wear? The suns not out right now and it’ll take forever to dry” he stopped before the water could reach his knees and he contemplated going back.

“Hmm you’re right” you turned around and walked back before your clothes got the chance to get wet. You stopped right in front of Neteyam and began untying your top.

“I guess I won’t be needing this right now” you tossed it to the ground and approached him closer. Neteyam was now eyeing your bare breasts. His chest heaved up and down as he tried to control his breathing.

“I, I didn’t mean that...” he stuttered out, once again averting his gaze from the sight of your breasts.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your chest against his. “Hmm? Well I don’t mind, do you?” you tilted your head as you looked up at him.

“N-no, not at all.” He gulped as his heart starting racing. It was beating so hard he thought you would notice.

“Don’t be shy, mighty warrior” you smirked as you inched your face closer to his. “I know you want this.” You held his face and made eye contact with him. Neteyam looked you up and down “Are you sure?” he asked, eyeing your lips as he spoke. He moved his hands to your waist and held on with a firm grip as he waited for a response.

“Yes.”

That’s all he needed to hear as he crashed his lips onto yours. You let out a small shriek at the unexpected kiss but welcomed it as you moved your mouth in sync with his.

“Mmm,” you moaned

“You taste so sweet, syulang” he groaned as you tugged on his hair a bit. You rubbed your hands all over his chest and shoulders as he touched all over your back, waist and arms while trying to savor your cute little mouth. The kiss grew desperate as the both of you were getting more and more rough with each other. Neteyam continued on with the kiss, not stopping for a breath of air.

You tried to pull away but he held you by the back of your neck and pushed his tongue passed your lips. You let him in and your tongues danced with each other’s while your hands searched for his. He whirled his tongue against yours, causing you to moan aloud. The kiss was growing intense but you were running out of air.

You moved back and parted your lips with a ‘pop’ sound.

“Neteyam” you breathed out while bringing his hands up to your chest as your skin craved more of his touch.

"What is it, love?" he hummed out as you now had his hands on your breasts.

"Babe, do something"

"But we are?" he gave you a confused look

"You know what I mean…” you gave his hands a small tug “Go ahead.”

Neteyam lowered his head onto your neck and slowly kissed it, leaving a small trail of purple spots until his lips reached your chest. He looked up for permission before you gave him a reassuring nod. He pressed a firm kiss on your breast before giving your nipple a quick lick. He held your other breast with his hand and gave it a firm squeeze and massaged it as he continued on with your other one.

“Oh Nete…” you sighed as your loincloth grew wet and your rubbed your legs together for more friction. You held onto Neteyam as the your insides started to tingle and the heat between your legs started to grow.

“Mmm” he moved on to your other breast and put your nipple in his mouth. He began to suck as if he were a starved man who waited eagerly for his meal.

“I always wanted to have one of these in my mouth” he let out in between the love he was making to your breasts.

“And now I get to have them right here.” He stopped his actions. “Just for me to see, and always only for me” He gave them a small pinch and went back to trailing his tongue all over them.

“Of course only for you baby” you hummed and played with his hair as he looked you in the eye while he toyed your breasts and did whatever service he could do to them.

He licked and sucked until your nipples grew sensitive to touch and you slightly pushed him away.

“Babe, you’re not gonna get milk out of them” You let out a small giggle.

“I will after I pump you full of my seed.” He stood up to his full height and lifted you up.

You let out a yelp as he swung you on his shoulders and walked out to the dry ground. He carried you along the edge until you both trailed the sides of a deeper end of the river.

He sat you down on the moss and began trailing his hand up and down your thigh as he kissed his way up your legs. The higher up your leg he got, the slower and wetter the kisses were.

He continued on until he reached the spot between your legs. He tugged on your loincloth and looked up at you. “May I?” He asked

You simply nodded.

“Use your words, sevin.” he held your chin up.

“Yesss” you managed out.

"That's better" Neteyam slightly lifted up your hips, just enough to get your loincloth past down past your waist.

You were quick to help him untie the knot holding it together but he pushed your hands away. "Let me take care of you" he gave you a quick peck on your lips before moving back down to work on you.

He undid the knot and continued sliding your loincloth down. Neteyam pushed it to the side and crawled in between your legs and faced your lips again. He gave you a strong kiss as his hand slid down your stomach and down to your womanhood. He rubbed a finger on your nub and you let out a moan.

"Oh god!" you squirmed under him and attempted to close your legs.

"No you don't" he pushed your legs open. "You wanted this, now deal with it." He quickened the pace of his fingers on your clit as his lips attacked your neck.

You held onto him as the friction was making the knot inside of you grow. Neteyam continued rubbing your clit as hard and as fast as he could, making sure to press on your nub to give you more stimulation.

"ah, ha, ha..." you lifted your leg up and arched your back as your orgasm was approaching.

"Neteyam please!" you let out breathlessly.

"what, love? Feels good" he let out in between kisses as his fingers continued their attack on you.

"Mhm!" you moaned into his mouth. "But, more! I wan't more!"

"What is it that you want?" Neteyam teased as his fingers continued on. He knew you were getting close to your high and was enjoying having you melt under his touch, literally.

"Nghh, I *gasp* want *gasp* YOU!" You bucked your hips up and your legs shook as your orgasm washed over you. You fell back to the ground , chest heaving up and down trying to catch your breath.

"How was that, good?" Neteyam gave you a smirk.

You simply nodded.

"Good. I hope you're not tired out already. I'm gonna fuck you so good, I'll have you coming like there's no tomorrow." Neteyam started untying his loincloth and threw it to the side.

"Ready babe?" he aligned himself with your entrance and rubbed against you up and down.

"Yess" you moaned out as your tail swished back and forth and he let out a chuckle.

"Oh, excited aren't we" he gave your sensitive clit a quick slap before sliding inside of you.

"Oh FUCK" you let out.

"My god, you're so tight" he let out a groan as his ears flicked at the sensation. He stood still for a few seconds before deciding to move again.

"You ready?" he tilted his head, waiting for approval.

"Mhm" You quickly replied, starting to get impatient.

He started thrusting in and out, stretching your tight pussy as your hands traced his chest.

"Mmm. This tight pussy of yours feels so good ma syulang" He moaned out as he quickened his pace. You grabbed his face and kissed him hard. He slid his tongue into your mouth and french kissed you.

He took his tongue and stuck it out. "Suck" he commanded. You obeyed and sucked his tongue and moaned around him. You tilted your head as you sucked him as much as you could.

Neteyam quickened up his pace and your jaw dropped in pleasure. "Oh, fuck baby! You feel so good!" you moaned out.

"Shit!" he moaned out. "How much are you enjoying this?" he smirked.

You only moaned in response. "Fucking answer me!" he grabbed your face and you looked at him. Your face scrunched in pleasure with each thrust inside of you. "I feel...You, you make make me feel so goood. I want moreeee" you whined out. You closed your eyes and he kissed you again as his dick hit the inside of your walls even harder.

He lifted your legs up and bent them all the way to your chest. Neteyam hit all of your right spots in this new angle and you couldn't help but clench around him at the feeling.

"Fuck, you're gonna me cum, love." He breathed out as beads of sweat fell from his forehead and his eyebrows scrunched tightly.

He continued thrusting inside of you as fast as he could, his balls now slapping against your pussy. He inched his face closer to yours and stuck his tongue out again.

You stuck yours out and swiped it against his. You played with his tongue and continue passing yours against his as you both gave each other's quick licks.

"You love this cock, don't you?" Neteyam continued his thrusting.

"yes" you breathed out.

"How much?"

"A lot!" you managed out between thrusts.

"How much? Sorry, couldn't hear the first time" he teased. Neteyam stopped thrusting. "How much?" he tilted his head

"So much! I love your cock so fucking much! PLEASE, you fuck me so well!" you whined out

THRUST

"So *THRUST* fucking *THRUST* well?" He groaned out

"YES! I'm gonna cum." You cried out

"Then cum" Neteyam pounded into you as he chased his high. The both of your thrusted your hips against each other's as your orgasms approached you.

"FUCK" He groaned.

"I'm close!" You yelled out as Neteyam's cock repeatedly hit your cervix in a pace that was making the knot inside of you about to explode.

"ah, ha, ha. on the count of three okay? one, two, three UNGHHH" Neteyam groaned out as you both released at the same time.

"Oh shi- shit!" You moaned out as your head fell back, your jaw dropped open, and your legs shook violently. Your juices surrounded his cock as he filled your insides with his seed. Neteyam stood still as his cock continued to flood you with his cum until it eventually leaked out of your sorry little hole.

"Ha, what a view" He looked down at you and slid himself out, causing you to whimper. He held his fingers to your pussy and trapped his cum in. "All of it inside of you, and not a drop to be wasted."

He kissed your cheek and held his cum stained fingers to your lips. You opened up and gave his fingers a quick lick. You grabbed his hand and stuck his fingers in your mouth and sucked on them. "Mmm" you moaned out and took his fingers out with a 'pop' sound.

Neteyam chuckled and gave you a peck on your cheek. "Such a good girl." he laid down besides you and placed his arm under your neck as you laid on it. "All mine" He caressed your arms in a gently manner, as opposed to the rough actions you two just did.

"All yours" you reassured as you kissed him softly and caressed his face.

"Especially with this in you now" he pointed to your stomach and gave it a rub.

"Mini us?" you whispered as you looked him in the eye.

"Yup" He patted your head and sat up. He stood still for a bit thinking before he reached behind him and held his kuru bringing it up to your view.

"Do you...?" He gave you a questioning look.

You brought yours up next to his and caressed his face. "Yes, a thousand times yes. I thought you'd never ask."

Neteyam inched his hand closer to yours and you both made tsaheylu with each other, tendrils intertwined with each other and a wave of emotions and feelings washed over the both of you.

"We are now mated..." Neteyam let out

"For life" you followed

_____

You woke to the warm sun kissing your skin and the sound of the river running next to you. You got up from Neteyam's grip on your waist and massaged your sore legs.

"Babe, get up" you shook Neteyam awake.

"Huh, I'm up, I'm awake." he groggily answered.

"It's time to go back to the village!" you huffed out

"Alright, alright!" He got up and made his way with you back to the clan.

You were quiet and tried not to make a scene as your legs were wobbly from all the exercise of the night before. You and Neteyam got closer to his tent and he motioned for you to quickly go in.

You were about to enter in until you were interrupted by a familiar voice.

“So, you guys DID decide to head to the river and have your little fun there” Lo’ak snickered.

"Shit" you and Neteyam let out at the same time.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

this was my first fic, sorry if it came out bad. bare with me guys

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Reblogs are especially helpful since I’m a new writer🫣

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#neteyam #neteyam x reader #avatar #neteyam smut #avatar smut #avatar the way of water #neteyam x you #neteyam sully #avatar 2 #avatar way of water #awow #neteyam fic #neteyam x y/n #neteyam x avatar!reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam x female reader #avatar neteyam #neteyam x reader smut

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runningfrom2am · 1 month

Text

cold nights // part thirty

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.4k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: guys i've been listening to this playlist again and it actually still tears me apart every time i think ab them. anyway lol enjoy!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

Coryo hadn't seen you in a while, he thought you would be back after going to get water but you never returned. He could only bear Livia and Festus for so long before he couldn't take it anymore, leaving to go look for you.

He's scanning the room for your white dress and your angel wings, the telltale tones of your hair, or any other sign of you when Sejanus walks up, standing next to him. "Looking for your girlfriend?" He asks, leaning close to him to make sure he could be heard in the loud room.

"Do you know where she is?" Coryo asks, not giving him another look.

"Yep." Sejanus nods, lips pressed together in a thin line. "She's in my bedroom bawling her eyes out."

Coryo's head swivels to look at him, eyes wide. "What? What happened?" He frowns, not waiting for Sejanus to answer before he begins striding toward the stairs. "Did someone say something to her?"

"Yeah, you did, actually." Sejanus replies as he follows after him, the bitterness in his tone suddenly obvious to his friend as he stops in his tracks.

"What? No, I-" Coryo stammers, looking down at your friend as he steps in front of him to block his path. "What... what did I do? Did she tell you?"

"Lyssie came and found me, and I went to talk to her. The gist of it is that she's suddenly realizing how you're embarrassed of her."

"What?" Coryo asks again, his anger and confusion shifting into sadness as his eyes soften.

Sejanus shrugs a bit. "That's just what I was told."

"No," Coryo insists. "That's not... That's not what it is, not at all."

"Isn't it?" Your friend asks, raising an eyebrow at him. "That you won't tell anyone, that you're keeping her a secret? That you told people she's nothing more than your tribute? After all this time? I can't think of another reason you would treat her like this."

"Of course you can't!" Coryo spits, anger suddenly returning. "You're so caught up in your rebellious bullshit that you can't think ahead, can you? Sejanus- if anyone finds out they'll crucify her! They'll do the same to me! Our lives will be ruined if that gets out at the wrong time!"

Sejanus rolls his eyes. "Her life, or yours?" He asks. "She'll be sent home. Everyone loves her too much to kill her. The worst case scenario for her is that she gets sent home to live her life as normal- with her family and friends. Happy, back in Twelve. The worst for you is that you'd have to decide whether or not you love her enough to go with her."

Coryo opens his mouth to speak, but quickly closes it when he finds he doesn't have an adequate response.

"You're taking every extra effort to turn her into everything you are. Forcing her to become me- a District kid who had to leave their life behind for nothing more than the money just so you can have her without people looking at you funny, but have you ever asked her what she actually wants? I didn't have a choice, but Y/N does. You just won't give it to her."

He has never seen Sejanus this angry before.

"You know she had to leave. She didn't have a choice." Coryo says through gritted teeth.

Sejanus shakes his head, laughing dryly. "It's not about that, Coriolanus. That didn't mean she had to pack up her life and never return- she never needed to change who she was, but look at her! She's doing everything she can to fit in with you and your life!"

"I did what we had to do because you never can! You only ever think of yourself! The world doesn't work the way you want it to, and you can't stand it. I get that, but we want the same thing. I just know how to get it. She needs people to listen to her- so we can actually stop the games, do you think they'll listen to her if she doesn't play pretend for a while?"

Sejanus huffs in frustration. "If you're not going to listen to me, fine, but don't do this to her." He shakes his head. "At the very least you could have explained why you were lying to her."

"I've never lied to her!" Her answers impulsively- he's sure he has, but not with the intention to hurt you. Never to hurt you. "Look at what happened when she found out, huh?" Coryo gestures vaguely up the hall. "I'm just trying to protect her. That's all I care about! That's it!"

"If you had just told her that from the beginning she wouldn't be hurting like this. You know that, Coryo."

"Okay, and I'm going to explain right now. So leave me alone." He grumbles, moving to push past Sejanus, who quickly stops him, giving him a knowing look.

"Sejanus, get out of my way."

"No," Sejanus states. "Because you're not the only one who cares about her, and right now, I'm the one protecting her."

Coryo grits his teeth together, breathing heavily as he looks at your friend in the quiet hall, music echoing from seemingly everywhere else in the house. He hates considering that Sejanus could be right.

There's a warm breeze that's serving to keep you cool while you walk through the market, dripping wet from head to toe. Your hair is clinging to the skin of your neck and back, allowing you some freedom from the heat as you hold onto Coryo's hand.

With your clothes soaked and stuck to your skin, you could at least convince yourself that was why people were staring.

"So, how often do you do this?" Coryo asks, unable to help but to laugh as he looks down at you.

"Only during a heat wave." You shrug, already scanning the street for the shops you needed to stop at. You had offered to pick up groceries for your Ma, considering the heat and the walk would have made it difficult. At least you could make it fun, and you would have some company.

"Makes sense." He chuckles. He had to admit, the dampness of his clothes was helpful in keeping him cool. It almost made up for the lack of air conditioning in the District.

"The goal is to get home before we dry off." You explain. "Lennox and I play this game sometimes."

Before he can reply, you're dropping his hand and walking over to one of the stalls.

"Y/N, it's been a while." The woman working states, smiling at you somewhat nervously.

"Yes, well, I'm back to business as usual now." You smile, pulling the empty glass bottle from the bag at your side and holding it out to her. "Or at least tryin' my very best."

"I can see that." She chuckles, shaking her head as she takes the bottle. "No Lennox today?" She asks, preparing to fill it up with milk.

"No ma'am." You smile, shaking your head and digging in your pocket for the change you brought and placing it in front of her on the table. "He's off getting into some kind of trouble, I'm sure."

"Take good care of him, will ya? He's a good kid." She hands the now full bottle back to you with a sealed cap.

"Yes, ma'am." You nod, tucking it back into your bag. "Thank you."

She nods at you and you're on your way down again, Coryo allowing you to pull him along as you grab his hand.

You go stall to stall, picking up everything your mother asked for as your shoulder bag steadily fills and Coryo takes it from you to carry instead. He was much stronger now than he was when you first met him- the Plinth Prize had fed him well in every sense of the word.

You look up as you near the end of the street, surrounded by locals who are talking and shouting all the same. The market on a Saturday always was busy, and today was no exception.

"What is it?" Coryo asks, looking at you as you freeze in the street and a smile steadily grows on your face.

"Listen." You tell him, tuning in on the steady clapping coming from the end of the street. When he puts in a little bit of focus, he can just make out the music.

By the time he does, you're grabbing his hand again and pulling him toward the source of the familiar sounds.

The crowd parts around you when you get close enough, and by now Coryo recognizes the band playing as the Covey. There are people dancing in the street despite the heat, sweating and laughing and having fun. It takes a moment for him to notice you being pulled away by little Maude Ivory, who had set down her hip drum to come dance with you.

The smile on your face was simply unmatched, lighting up the shadows cast by the buildings where the sun couldn't quite reach. You hardly even seem to notice when the people dancing around you cleared away, and it was now just you and the little girl who Coryo speculates didn't even know where you had disappeared to for most of July.

You come to a slow stop as you look around, your smile fading as the music continues.

"Thinkin' you're so fine, thinkin' you could have mine..."

Coryo couldn't just watch this. He was far from a dancer himself, but he'd be damned if he let a bunch of idiots dampen your mood because of something you couldn't control.

"Thinkin' you're in control, thinkin' you'll change me, maybe rearrange me,"

You hardly hear your favourite part of the song you loved as you're focussed on Coryo taking the spot of Maude Ivory who's carrying your bag of shopping and placing it down next to their instrument cases and picking her drum back up.

"Think again if that's your goal!"

The extent of Coryo's dance experience was limited to ballroom, and that showed as he quickly raised your hand to spin you. The sunshine smile that finds its way back onto your face while you twirl around under his hand makes his fears of being a bad dancer disappear in an instant, and others must be feeling the same way as the crowd begins to clap and cheer for the two of you.

It was only another beat before others were dancing again, and someone had taken the liberty of breaking a nearby fire hydrant to spray everyone on the street. Now, your clothes were freshly wet and you didn't stand out so much anymore as Coriolanus took a hold of your waist and dipped you just as the music came to a halt.

He smiled as he looked down at you, frozen in the moment with your wet hair hanging down toward the street and your chest rising and falling quickly. Your eyes were closed, cheeks rosy and flushed, and Coriolanus Snow felt like he was on top of the world.

You wake up in Sejanus's bed in the morning, the satin dress that was part of your costume clinging uncomfortably to your skin under his blankets to accompany the horrible plague of sadness that didn't even give you a moment to breathe. Staring at the ceiling and processing your consciousness, you were disappointed with the memory that presented itself as a dream.

Disappointed in yourself for thinking you could have him, really have him, and foolish for thinking he was actually looking past where you were from. But you had made him a promise that was haunting you.

"Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love; and I'll no longer be a Capulet."

He would not give up who he was, but he claimed to love you. His stance was clear, and now it was your turn. Give up the District, or give up him.

When the buzzer rings signifying there is someone at the door in the afternoon, Coryo is flying to the receiver and praying it's you. "Hello?"

He's extremely disappointed when it's Sejanus Plinth's voice that he hears instead. "I'm here for the cat."

Coryo sighs, knocking the side of his fist against the wall as a quiet way to vent his frustration. "No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Sejanus spits, voice crackling through the speaker. "He's Y/N's cat-"

"I mean, no. I'm not giving you her cat. He lives here. She lives here. She'll come back." Coriolanus interrupts him, and he's met by deafening silence.

"Coryo-" He sighs, and the pity traveling with his tone up through the walls onto the twelfth floor is what sets him off.

"If she wants her damn cat she can come get him herself." The cat in question is purring and brushing up against his leg as he practically shouts into the wall, letting go of the button before scooping Tybalt up and walking back to his room.

He wasn't angry at you, he knew that much. He was angry at the world for forcing him to make the decisions he did- he was angry at Sejanus for not letting him speak to you last night, and more than anything, he was angry at himself.

Coriolanus Snow was never one to admit when he was feeling afraid. He had never been very good with feelings outside of the basics. He knew he loved Tigris, and now you, and he knew anger and frustration like the back of his hand, but fear- fear was a whole new beast. When it came to recognizing and acknowledging it, anyway.

When it came to you, you were everything to him. Since the moment Coryo first laid his eyes on you, you occupied every ounce of his thoughts. You and your astonishing mind, your body, your everything was like a chronic illness that he never wanted to be cured of, an illness that shamelessly followed him around- gnawing at any other area of his brain that wasn't you until you fully dominated his thoughts altogether. He had never craved anything more, no amount of power could ever make him as satisfied as he is when looking at you.

And that is what terrified him. That losing you meant so much more than losing his path to the presidency. As he places Tybalt on his bed and crawls back under the covers with your cat to rot in his own regrets, he realizes he doesn't give the slightest fuck about his future. Not if it doesn't include you.

So why had he done this at all?

You couldn't call home. You wanted to, you were supposed to, but you couldn't talk to your parents. Put on a smile and tell them everything is fine even when you were calling from the Plinth mansion and you hadn't been back at the Snow's in a day. God forbid this is the day Lennox decides to speak to you again- you couldn't lie to him, and he wouldn't be pleased.

When Sejanus comes back to the large homey mansion empty-handed, you couldn't say you were surprised.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. He's holding Tybs hostage." He tells you, attempting a lighthearted joke while he watches you clean up cups and decorations.

"That's alright." You reply quietly. "He's happy there, they're good friends."

"No, he's being childish. He can't leverage your cat against you."

"Well, it doesn't matter much. I will go back tonight." Sej's eyes go wide at your statement.

"You're kidding." Is all he can offer in response as you casually continue to take down decorations, piling them on the coffee table to dispose of all at once.

You shake your head, turning to look at him fully with a reassuring smile. "Yes, it is totally fine. I'll just help clean up before I go."

"No!" Your friend protests. "Are you not angry? He's been lying to you- he's embarrassed of us, is what it seems like to me. That's not fair to you. Not one bit, Y/N."

He had seen your pain last night. Felt it, even, and he knows that even a good night's sleep could not have solved that- but he also knew that you were a preacher of forgiveness and clung to it like a vice. You would forgive Coriolanus whether you really should or not.

"Never anger made good guard for itself."

"Y/N... Please." Sejanus replies, shaking his head at your saddened smile. "Stay here. Just for a couple of days. I am begging you to think about yourself and what you need for once."

You sigh, giving him a slight nod. If you were being totally honest, you did not want to go back yet. You just needed time.

It was such a relief to be able to finally relax, even if it was just for a few days. You lounged around in Sej's spare pyjamas, curled up in his Ma's library while she and her husband were back in District Two on some alleged business that your friend did not care to know much about. It was very much not your concern anyway.

The point of your couple days off was to not care about others, not care about the problems of the world and the mistakes you have made but instead to just enjoy the company of the books stacked high on shelves in the Plinth's mansion.

So far, a dusty book in surprisingly incredible condition had been keeping you company for the better part of the morning. Little Women. It was captivating- far from the love stories that typically drew your attention, but you couldn't tear your nose from between the pages.

You had to, eventually, when you heard your name being shouted by your best friend from downstairs. You tuck an envelope from the table next to you in between the pages and make your way down the long hall, already excited to tell him about what may very well be your new favourite book.

"Sej?" You call out, having lost track of where the voice had come from as you head for the front hall. You were aware he was leaving only to go pick up something for breakfast at a bakery he said was his favourite, one you had never been to, but that had been quite some time ago. As you walk toward the foyer assuming that's where you would find him, you guess there must have been a long lineup. "Sej, I have to tell you about the book I found!"

You couldn't keep your raving in as you round the corner, already flipping once more through the pages in preparation for citing to him some of your favourite parts while you ate breakfast.

You look up when you sense the shadow of more than one person at the door, expecting to see his parents, having returned early from their trip. Instead, your heart stops in your chest. It's Lennox. Rigid, nothing but a backpack slung over his shoulder as he stares at you. You hadn't heard from him in months, despite all your best efforts.

The book in your hand clatters to the floor and before you know it your arms are around your brother's neck, holding onto him for dear life. You hear his bag drop to the ground beside you before his arms are around your waist, firm as he pulls you as close as he possibly can.

"When I am from thee every place is distant..." You say into his shirt, gripping the back of it in your hands.

"I missed you too." Lennox mumbles.

"I'm sorry... I am so sorry." You tell him quietly and you feel him shake his head before he pulls back just to look at you.

"Don't you apologize to me." He says strictly. "Don't you dare." The tears pooling on his lash line make yours spill over again. "I'm sorry. I should be sorry."

You hug him again, and now it is your turn to shake your head. "Let's just agree to forgive each other so we can just be happy we're together..."

"Deal." He sniffs, patting your back before letting you go again to pick his bag up off the floor.

"What... what are you doing here?" You ask with a slight laugh, wiping your eyes quickly. "Howdid you get here?"

Your brother nods toward Sejanus, who you now realize was just forced to watch the whole exchange. "Sejanus called the house the other night." He explains. "Said you were havin' a real rough time, so I hopped on the freight car of the peacekeeper's train first thing in the morning."

Which means he would be here for the month- and immediately you couldn't be more relieved or excited.

"Thank you." You nod at him, turning now to give your best friend a hug. "Thank you for doing that..." You whisper and he nods, gently rubbing your back.

"Of course, Y/N/N."

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