#it was a Forbidden Topic for like a year and a half
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lolita ☆ cs55
genre: age gap (10 years), porn with plot, affairs, forbidden romance, angst, mentions of suicide, mentions of drugs, tragedy, erotic literature
word count: 14.9k
You were young, alluring, floating through a disastrous life with the touch of a thousand angels. Carlos was successful, irresistible and someone who often kept a distance from catastrophe. Never in a million years did he think he would have a complete moment of weakness. Especially the week of his wedding.
nsfw warning under the cut!
18+... sexual tension, penetrative sex, dry humping, riding, size kink, oral sex (f and m receiving), semi - public sex, deepthroating, praise, fingering, handjobs, lots of dirty foreplay, slapping (like once AH), a bit of edging, overstimulation, a bit of crying, sucking on fingers, squirting - i should stop now, oh god.
inspired by this and this !
STOP AND READ:
This by no means - in any shape or form - is something that should be admired or looked up to. It does deal with serious topics such as: grooming, suicide, and drugs. While the reader is of age (19), this is not my way of impulsing my own readers - especially younger ones, if by any chance they come across this - to follow this mindset. Dark themes will take place and if that is not something you are comfortable with, then that is okay, I definitely have more light hearted fics in my masterlist. “Love stories” aren’t always filled with flowers and rainbows, they can also be hurtful and confusing, often misunderstood. This is fictional. Given, this is inspired by Lolita and Blue Velvet by Lana Del Rey (*everyone cheers*) – what that means is that this story will not have a happy ending. Verses of Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov are also mentioned (extremely controversial book - as it should be).
cherry here!…hi, guys! i hope you all enjoy and i’m gonna do it now: I’M SORRY.
She was as dangerous as poison could ever be - with no good intentions. She was malicious, sweet laughter that would make anyone fall in love. An Angel walking on Earth, curiously making it her playground.
He was intelligent. A man of few words, but also simply so, the seven deadly sins all wrapped up in one. Keeping a distance from things he knew would bring him no good.
But in order to understand, we would have to take you back to where it all began.
Where Paradise met Hell.
-
Growing up in Italy for some odd reason made you out to be the girl you were. Men there would throw themselves at any opportunity if they saw a single daisy looking girl in eyesight. At first it felt as if you were walking a tightrope; you knew it wouldn’t be the wisest idea to fall straight into their traps. Except, slowly, it made sense.
They knew how to sweet talk someone so young and naive - you’ll give them that. It only took one taste and that was the moment you knew.
You liked them older.
Men fucked in a way boys never would. Every single one would always put your needs first - but there was this one man that had you realizing how fucked up you could be in order to get what you want. That’s one prize you’d cheat to win.
And that’s a story for later.
-
Moving away for college was the best decision you felt you would ever make in your entire life. Given, Italy was home, but the people in it weren’t. Often, you find yourself missing your rendezvous but studying abroad in Spain wasn’t much different.
Note; you didn’t grow up with a tight knit family. Your mother was a drug addict with half of her days knocked out on the couch, your father was someone who was occasionally in the picture. He tried his best.
And your older sister, Ollie?
Well, you’d honestly forgotten you even had one.
Some may say that you’re a whore, a slut, a homewrecker, or any other Spanish slur that spits Madrid, but you never cared. You were having fun and why were you the one always being blamed? Perhaps, men, too, should think with their heads rather than their dicks.
Which is how you find yourself still repeating the familiar pattern you had started a long time ago. Riding your professor shouldn’t feel this good. Mierda, he would groan as you bounce up and down like a bunny. Mewling, you shake the feeling of remorse. Not when he felt this good.
Your phone ringing is what makes you stop, him still inside of you, twitching. Ciao? His calloused fingers would slide up to pinch your nipples as you lightly gasped.
“Tesoro! Haven’t heard your voice in so long.”
Your father’s tone makes you wince at the reminder. Occasionally, he would check up on you in a way you would assume other fathers did for their daughters. You could never hate him, though. In his own way, deep down, he still cared.
“Papi, how are you?”
Sliding off of his lap, you zip your dress back on as you pace the lecture room. Bored, he takes out his secret whiskey from under his desk. Your sister is getting married in a few weeks! I was thinking you could fly back home so you could join us. The thought alone made your stomach churn as you bit down onto your thumb. Signaling at the older man, you click your fingers, hinting for a glass of your own. He obliges, handing it to you.
“I’m busy with summer courses. Maybe I can send a gift?”
You try everything in the book in order to get out of what seems like a crappy, dull, Italian wedding. It had been ages since you last stepped foot there. In no right mind would Ollie’s wedding be the one to change that. But he says things that get to you. I haven’t seen you in years. Neither has your sister. She misses you, you know?
You bite down on a snarky remark as you down the rest of the gold liquid. Last time you spoke, she promised that you were dead to her. That she never wanted to hear from you again. In the moment, it hurt, but you grew used to the idea. And what younger sister doesn’t pick up on what older sister says? Now, you despised her as much as she did you.
“Ovviamente. I’ll be there.”
-
It’s hot as soon as you land. That you didn’t miss. Ale, your fathers chauffeur, picks you up with a bright smile. Saddened, it dawns on you that you hadn’t seen one of those in ages. He’s nice. Let's you sit in the passenger's seat as he introduces himself. He mentions he has 5 granddaughters and has been married for almost 50 years. It’s sweet. Makes you feel human.
Pulling into the driveway, you almost want to correct him. This isn’t my fathers house. You must be mistaken. Only, he says he isn’t. That he had recently moved into his Italian mansion a year ago. You’re skeptical for a minute, but realize you can’t be one to tell. Years have passed; things change.
Still, that didn’t stop you from gawking at the ginormous house that sits on a hill; overlooking all of Tuscany. It even had a beautiful view of the ocean. Why couldn’t you grow up with this?
“I’ll inform your father that you have arrived safely.”
Taking it all in, you slowly pace the entrance, analyzing everything in sight. The crystals hanging from the chandelier, large - expensive - portraits, shiny mirrors. Quirking your head to the side, you glide over to the golden trophy sitting in the middle of the spacious entry.
Carlos Sainz Sr. : Rally Driver of-
“That belonged to my father. He passed away a year ago.”
Startled, you grip onto the trophy tighter as you slightly jump in panic. You curse yourself for being caught as you delicately place it back down before turning your attention to the booming voice.
Instantly, you’re hit with lust. Standing in front of you is a tall man - around his 20’s, perhaps - dark brown eyes narrowed down on you like knives. Messy, untamed, brown hair. Large nose, plump lips, dark brows. His figure is something you can’t wrap your head around that even exists. Richard Mille's watch clung onto his wrist. Giorgio Armani pressed up against his chest, it almost looked as if it didn’t fit due to his rippling muscles. Woody, rich, scent filling up the room.
He was the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes on.
“I am so, so, sorry.”
Your voice is so soft, it has him intrigued. You wore a short pastel yellow dress that didn’t leave much to his imagination; paired with converse and tube socks. Rosy tint on your cheekbones from the humidity. Berry lips. Wide, innocent eyes. He’d be lying if he said you didn’t take his own breath away. Even though you stood far enough away, he could still smell your vanilla perfume.
Inching closer, he waves you off. “I was kidding. My father is well and alive.” You tippy toe nervously before planting your feet back down.
“That’s not a nice thing to say.”
And he’s surprised with your response. Yet, he finds himself extending his tan hand out to you. “I’m Carlos.”
Carlos. His name sounds as attractive as his appearance. Strong and sure. But also…dark. You shake his hand, legs quivering at his warm touch. Deep down, he knew how much he affected you - it’s something he’s grown quite accustomed to, having people admire his looks, but it took a lot to not show that you had the same effect on him.
“Nice to meet you, Carlos. Do you work for my father?”
Amused, he lets out a deep chuckle. Even a simple sound like that had you pressing your legs together, arousal dripping in between.
“You don’t know who I am?” You shake your head, confused. Should you? He smiles. “That’s okay. We haven’t met before…Though you should get to know me since you’re already here…”
Wait.
“You know,” he leans his head a bit, floppy hair following, “Ollie.”
No, no, no.
“It’s so nice to finally meet my fiancée’s sister.”
Foolishly, you try your best to hide your surprise. How does a man like him end up with a bratty, narcissist, like your sister?
What was so fucking special about her?
Envy fills your veins as you try to show that this hasn’t phased you. Excited cheers echo down the hallway as your father runs over, embracing you into a warm hug. You’re here! Wincing, you lean into his touch, eyes still trained on the magnetic man.
Only then, did Ollie fly down the stairs, immediately running into Carlos’ arms. Making a big deal out of it, she kisses him as she runs her hands against his chest.
“Come here, tesoro. I’ll show you where you’ll be staying.”
The entire time; Carlos kept his eyes trained on you.
-
It didn’t make sense. Part of you knows it never will. You’ve only just met him, but you can tell he must’ve been fucked in the head to willingly choose someone like Ollie. Sure, she seemed sweet and kind, but she was anything but that.
Dinner that night is carbonara. Carlos is extremely talented. He cooked this just for you. Tight lipped, you thank him, looking down at your plate to avoid his burning gaze.
“How’s school?”
Turning to your father, you remind yourself that you were here for him; because he wanted you there. That’s all that should matter. “Very good. Thank you for asking, papi.”
The sound of glass hitting the table erupts as Carlos hurriedly goes to pick it up, quickly murmuring a strong apology. His dark gaze shortly flickers past you. It leaves you squirming.
Clearing his throat, he takes a sip of his wine. “Where do you study?” Spain, you tell him as he beams. “No way. I was born and raised in Madrid. Moved to Italy a few years ago for work.” Letting out a laugh, you find the coincidence funny. He moved from Spain to Italy and you moved from Italy to Spain.
“What do you do for work?”
“He’s a Formula 1 driver. Drives for Scuderia Ferrari,” Ollie weasels in as she smirks down on you. Anger bubbles inside of her when your attention remains on the Spaniard. Drumming your fingers against the table, you lick your lips. Formula 1? He’s about to explain it all up until Ollie butts in once again. She rubs his hand, a glistening ring shining right in front of you. You physically have to force yourself to look away. “Oh, amor, she doesn’t know what that is. She’s too…young.”
You know she’s trying to make a weak point: you’re only a baby, therefore, you don’t compare to her. And yes, you are young, 19, but it was stupid of her to think that it bothered you. You tsk before leaning back against your chair.
“Of course, my mistake. I forgot I was still a pure flower instead of a wilting one.”
Ollie’s face switches to bright red as she grips onto his hand. An entertained smile slips onto his lips before flattening back out. He rubs her hand, trying to calm her down. You can’t stop the jealousy burning from within.
“I didn’t mean you, Mr. Sainz.”
The 29 year old brushed you as if nothing, a smile displayed. Eyeing you both, Ollie suddenly stands up, chair screeching. Why don’t you help me bring out the cookies I baked? Ever so gracefully, you nod. Following after her, you stop suddenly as she spins, hair slapping her face. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? Are you here to ruin my life with your existence?”
“I might.”
Her left eye twitches as she growls angrily. If she didn’t make it this easy to tick her off, then you’d be bored, but luckily for you, it was unchallenging to get under her skin. “This is my wedding; my future husband - so don’t fuck that up like everything else you’ve ever done.”
You try to pretend as if her words didn’t affect you as you stare back blankly. Marching over to the counter, she opens up a box of cookies before sliding them onto a polished dish, leaving you standing there alone.
-
You thank the higher Gods for not letting you cross roads with Ollie for the next few days. Though, you’re a bit bummed out that you haven’t seen Carlos much either. Peeking out the window, you could see the way a group of workers hurried to set up for the joint bachelorette taking place later that night, right on the beach. The waves look magnificent, so without a second thought, you slip on a bikini before rushing out the door with your necessities.
Lathering a goop of coconut sunscreen, you hum softly to yourself. Weren’t you going out with your sister? Looking up, you see Carlos standing in front of you with his face slightly scrunched up from the bright sun. His cheeks looked as if they’d just been pinched. “Where to?”
He takes a seat next to you. “She said she was going out to go buy a few flowers for later. Said she would invite you.” You shake your head, already bored with the idea.
“You know her,” you tap your head, “Forgetful.”
He cocks his head to the side as he shuts his right eye for a moment. “You two don’t get along, do you?” You try making up a silly excuse. Of course we do. We’re sisters. But he’s looking right into your orbs as if he sees right past your weak attempts. “You’re right. I could be wrong.”
It stays quiet for a while - only the soft breeze being heard. You can see him from your peripheral vision; eyes shut as he takes in the moment of peace he hasn’t had since dawn. Long lashes fan his face, freckles scattered all over.
“Aren’t you too busy to be talking to me?”
“No. Plus, I should take time to get to know my future sister-in-law. Especially since I don't know anything about her even after dating her sister for 7 years.”
7 years.
Squinting at the waves, you slide your sunglasses on. “There’s not much to know, but I can try. I’m 19 years old, studying abroad in Spain, and grew up in Italy. I love the ocean, love a nice cup of hot chocolate - even though I’m allergic - so I only allow myself small sips during the winter. I like to pretend I know how to dance and I kill it in karaoke.” He laughs. You can’t dance? “Unfortunately, I can’t. Once, during my friend's wedding reception, I twirled right into her cake. I spent the entire day on supervision.”
“Dios mío…Remind me to watch out for you on our wedding day.”
Our wedding day. His words slightly sting as you pinch your nose swiftly. Standing up, you brush beads of sand off your legs. Your eyes roam the area before you find your father waving you over. “I should go,” you say as you look down at him. His brown eyes scan you before nodding and standing up. He, too, looks over to where your father waits to introduce you to a group of businessmen. He frowns and that's when you realize just how revealing your bikini might have been, only it's too late now.
“Papi always taught us to greet our elders.”
He clenches his jaw, eyes closing for a second. When his gaze meets yours, you almost choke with how dark and twisted it’s become. “Aren’t you too old to be calling him that?” Confused, you tilt your head.
“Calling him wh- Papi?”
He grinds his teeth together - and then just like that - he’s smiling again.
“Forget it. How would I know?”
-
Standing next to an empty table, you watch as Carlos and your sister dance along with everyone else. This party has allowed you to pick up on the fact that they seemed to be a much more important couple than you had anticipated. Everyone looked at the Spaniard as if he were a God himself - and being quite truthful - you would agree. There was nothing about him that wasn’t flawless.
Then, Ollie, just looked like any other person. Her eyes were bright, but any time anyone would walk up to him, her stare would become threatening. As if she was his owner and no one else could get close enough to breathe the same air.
Everyone here was older; that much you could tell. Attendees were accompanied by girlfriends or fiancée’s of their own. It made you feel a bit childish, since you clearly were the youngest one there. Reaching out for your margarita, you twirl the straw.
“Not having fun?”
Your attention directs itself to a dirty, blondish, brunette. He looks a bit tipsy, face flushed as he smiles sweetly. He’s tall, handsome. But not as much as Carlos.
“Max,” he introduces himself. Politely, you shake his hand. He points to the large group that dances on the sand. He lets out a croaky laugh. “They could get a bit much sometimes.” You laugh, nodding along with him. He continues talking to you. Brings up how he knows Carlos from driving with him; except he’s signed to Red Bull.
“Everyone here is invited only if they're a driver, huh?” It’s a lame joke, but he laughs and throws his head back as if it were the most fascinating thing he’s heard all night.
“It’s a small circle, but I promise, they're all nice lads.” Discreetly, he takes in your appearance. The way your black dress dances with the wind. Painted red nails glistening under the golden lights.
You were beautiful. Tragically, beautiful.
“You know the groom or the bride?”
“Bride.”
He nods, taking a sip of the beer bottle he had been nursing. You both continue your conversation for a while longer. He’s Dutch. Recently 26. You mention your headache before he brushes his fingers against your hand. Looking down, he pulls away before clearing his throat. He apologizes and asks if you would like to dance. A soft melody now plays and you find yourself taking his hand. It's big as yours disappears into it.
Almost as if he’s shy, he carefully slides his hands down to your waist. You giggle as you throw yours over his shoulders. “I hope slowing down helps get rid of your migraine. Sucks. I get lots of those during race weekends.”
“It is. Thank you for caring.”
He’s sweet. You can tell with the way he blushes when you mention the way you like his dimples. Slowly, you find yourself enjoying his company. You’re in the middle of laughing at some stupid joke he just told, when someone rudely clears their throat. Carlos’ smile appears bitter as he shakes his head.
“I’m sorry - I’ve probably killed the mood.”
“No problem, mate. We were just talking.”
He clicks his tongue before turning to you. Under his scrutiny, you feel as if you’ve just been caught smoking weed for the first time. Dazed, you hum, waiting for him to say something. You know it’s not your place to feel as if he owes you an apology, but you can’t help it.
“Ollie said it’s best if you went to bed.” You let out a sarcastic laugh. Since when does she care if I get a good night's rest? He huffs before running a hand through his hair. “She - she…Just do as you’re told, please.”
Now you’re bothered. Up until that point, you were actually having a good time. Dumbfounded, you turn to Max as he smiles understandingly. Pursing your lips, you apologize. Tippy toeing, you lean up to press a kiss against his stubble. He smiles.
“See you around?”
“See you around, Maxie.”
Walking into the lonely house, you let out a sigh as you pour yourself a cup of water. The summer heat had completely dehydrated you. You could still hear the soft beat playing from outside as you sway in the kitchen. You were upset - angry - that your sister had cut your night short. And any other time you would have put up a good fight, but thought it’d be best to not make a fool out of yourself. Especially in front of people you barely knew.
The door sliding open has you alert as you look up. Carlos silently makes his way in as he groans with exhaustion. Loopy eyes match yours as he clears his throat awkwardly. “So��What were you talking about with Max?”
“Nothing that should concern you.”
His jaw clenches, a large hand running along it. Stepping closer, he takes your cup of water before chugging it down. It leaves you hot and bothered just how close he is. It’s a mixture of salt and musk, his scent. It makes your head spin. Lazily, he takes a step back before nodding.
“Right. Have a good night.”
-
Carlos knew he had messed up. He had no right lying and saying Ollie had ordered for you to go to bed. That was completely him. It’s just that - seeing you with Max, laughing, smiling, made him seethe - when he knows damn well that he shouldn’t. It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend, after all.
So, he was embarrassed. He kept his distance. In his head it made sense. If you weren’t near then he wouldn’t feel the need to keep his eyes on you all the time. The house felt lonelier, colder without you sliding down the hallways. Rightfully so, you had spent your days locked up in your room. The only person that made happy was Ollie.
Either way, maybe it was for the best. He had a ton of shit to do. Starting with changing their honeymoon destination for what seemed like the millionth time that month. First, it was the Maldives, then Cancún - God - he knew that in a few hours his fiancée would come up with a new place.
“I know, I know we said that, but it’s changed.” He paces the office, stressed. “Can you please just make it fucking happen?”
“Ouch.”
Turning his attention, he sees you peeking at the entrance, phone still pressed up against his ear. Pouting, you enter, sweet aroma filling the room. Excusing himself, he ends the call. “Need anything?” He honestly cared for your response. It had been days without seeing you and he was afraid he blew it before he even had a chance to marry your sister. He told himself it was only because he cared for your relationship with Ollie. But fuck that - he knew not even you both cared that much about each other.
Shaking your head, you walk closer. “You sounded mean. Not a nice look on you, Mr. Sainz.” You’re teasing. You had to be.
“That wasn’t mean. It's called being straight forward.”
Ignoring him, you curiously eye the dark office. Books, trophies, helmets. Letting out a snort, you pick up the nearest picture frame. In it, it’s Carlos and Ollie, smiling wide. Tears brim her eyes as he looks down at her. The sight makes you want to puke.
“When was this taken?”
“The day of our engagement.”
You hum, already setting it back down. You can’t help but picture the impossible. That in the picture it was you instead of her, that you wore that diamond ring, that he looked at you.
Fuck her, honestly.
“Why’d you propose?”
He’s thrown off by your question. He’s expecting you to bring up the fact that it was a joke, but when you looked back for a response, he found himself with a dry mouth. Because I love her?
“Jesus,” you shudder, taking a seat on top of his desk. His eyes wander down your tan legs as you rest them on top of his chair. You're playing mind games - he’s well aware - and still he found himself following them. You were the worst temptation out there. It’s as if you knew the power you held. “I bet fucking her is a chore.”
Shocked at your words, he finds himself dumbstruck. He knew you two didn’t get along, but what the fuck happened for you to aim such insults?
He knows Ollie. Sure, she was a bit much at times, but she was nice. She was pretty. There was no need for your vile words.
You can tell he’s about to get defensive about her and that makes you shrink. Willing, you had handed him a reason to choose her over you.
Looking back at the picture, you purse your lips. “Sorry. That wasn't the right thing to say.”
“You should leave.”
You’re embarrassed over him kicking you out, but you knew you had crossed the line. So much for a peaceful afternoon. You comply, jumping off the desk. Not before making your way over, pressing your soft lips against his neck, which was the only place you could reach, even after tippy toeing. You felt him get stiff.
“Excuse my manners, Carlos.”
Skipping out the door, he’s left with a single thought.
He’s fucked.
-
The next morning, you’re forced to spend the day with your sister. Whether it was for running errands, fighting; it didn’t matter. As long as you made your father happy. All he wanted was for his girls to get along.
“Go,” Ollie growls as she hands you your bridesmaid dress. Snatching it from her, you slowly climb up the stairs to your room.
It’s a beautiful dress. Strong, dark, cherry red. Just like blood. It hugs your curves the way you’ve always thought all dresses should. For that reason, too, it made you look…older. Trying your best to get rid of the wrinkles, you smooth it down before making your way back.
Papi loves it as he starts throwing out compliments. You look beautiful, tesoro! You are a true gem. His eyes are bright and proud as you stand there with a shy smile. And though you thanked him, nothing else mattered but the man right in front of you.
The Spaniard had just gotten back from a meeting. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to eat and sleep the rest of the day, but as soon as he saw a balsé Ollie and an eager father-in-law, he was interested. She had told him to go relax; practically pushing him away. But as soon as you walked down those stairs, he swore his heart had never melted with such a sight.
His eyes became fixated to the point of no return. You stand there like a divine temptress. A siren who was mixed with innocence. Enough to drool over, but also, to adore from afar. Someone he could worship. If God decided this were his last day on Earth, then he would happily follow, since he finally felt as if his life were complete.
His big brown eyes are glued onto you as your father spins you. Ollie’s attention flickers between her younger sister and her fiancé. Tears fill up her eyes as she springs off the couch. You’re not bothered by it; don’t even bat an eye. That is until Carlos quickly runs off after her. That was a slap to the face as you show off a wounded smile to your father who stands there lost at the sudden commotion.
Later on that day, you find yourself trying to forget it all with watered down tequila. That’s really all you could find in such short notice. Leaning against the balcony, you study the soft waves, cold wind causing your skin to flash small goosebumps.
“Disgusting,” you mumble as you finish the rest of the alcoholic drink. Who knew a simple encounter would set you off?
“Woah there. Are you okay?”
Max cautiously steps closer as you shrug with a sigh. What was there to say? I’m a horrible person. I’m a horrible sister. And yes, we might not get along, but never in a million years did I think I would be falling in love with my future brother-in-law.
“What are you doing up so late?”
Sheepishly, he raises his cigarette. Letting out a low hum, you raise a brow. “Can I have one?” He knows he shouldn't be the one to give a teenager a form of drug, but you looked so upset, so drained, that he felt as if you needed it. Lighting it up, you bring it up to your lips as you squint at him. He laughs.
“First time?”
“No. It’s just been a while.”
You’re still not looking at him, but he notices the way you let out shaky breaths. The way you softly pinch your forearm. He frowns.
“I know we only just met, but do you want to talk about it?”
And maybe it was the gist of the moment. Or that he was being sweet - showing that he cared, but it worked because next thing you knew, you were kissing. He lets out an erotic moan with the taste of your lips. All a mix of cigarettes and tequila. This is wrong. He was friends with Carlos and you were only doing this in a moment of weakness, but you just couldn’t stop. Neither could he. Not when you tasted like a thousand crimes.
His large hands grab your ass as you gasp, brushing against his cock. He hissed as he pressed his lips much harder. Surely, you will have bruises tomorrow. Adrenaline rushes through your veins as you grind against him. Clumsily, you both make your way to the couch that’s nearby. Straddling him, you continue to dry humping. Slowly, but surely, the warm sensation between your legs starts to form. Panting, you pull away as he tries to angle his face closer to yours. You smile tauntingly.
“You know what you remind me of?”
You hum, leisurely picking up your filthy actions. He bites back a smile as he grips harder onto your hips.
“A Lolita.”
A menacing smile looks down at him before you kiss down his thick neck, soft bites being left behind. You can’t recall the moment you start bouncing on his cock, or when he sprawls you open like a map, kneeling down in front of you. It’s all a haze; a delicious one, too. You’re falling like a feather from your climax when you hear a thud. Did you hear that? No, he would mumble as he peppers kisses onto your soft skin.
The tides are crashing harder now, signaling that the night was growing older. Timidly, you share a goodbye as you start to skip your way back into your room, but one last thing caught your attention.
A broken flower pot on its side and dirt trailing into the Italian home.
-
More days had passed since your last encounter with the devilish Spaniard. If you were ever in the same room, he wouldn’t even glance at you. He would simply just walk past by. He was mad. Upset about something. You tried to think of what it might’ve been, but when he walked into his office with an infuriated expression, you decided it was time to call a truce.
Knocking, you flinch at his sharp tone when he commands you away. Ignoring it, you still step in. Head thrown against his chair, man spreading, he has his eyes screwed shut.
“Are you okay?”
Your tone is sticky like honey. It annoys him the way it strings him in. Drumming his finger against the large chair, he angles his head to look at you. You’re almost scared to ask again, so you decide to stand still until he speaks up.
“Why’d you do it?”
Puzzled, you purse your lips, waiting for further explanation. What was he talking about? Did you do something to make him upset? The thought alone made you feel queasy. When he notices you still don’t understand, he clicks his tongue.
“Why would you fuck a friend of mine?”
Oh. Was it possible that this was something he was jealous of? Bewildered, you know you can’t deny it so you start to word-vomit. I am so sorry, Carlos. He came onto me that night - he kissed me first. I was confused. I was lured in by his words. I didn’t know what I was doing-
His eyes soften up as you try your best to break it down. But you were a liar; a good one. You knew damn well it was all you. You had kissed him first. You threw him under the bus and you knew that. Did he deserve it? No. Of course not. But you couldn't handle the Spaniard being mad at you.
He signals for you to get closer. Securely, he grasps your hand and hauls you onto his lap. It’s embarrassing how wet you’ve suddenly become; how your mind replicates a plate of jello.
“I’m sorry he made you feel like that.”
His rough fingers slide up and down your arms and even that leaves you buzzing. Suddenly, you feel feeble. You assure him that you were fine - that it was no big deal. The way he looks at you is what gives you the confidence to lean in closer. A trace of panic slashes his face for a second. He should probably stop this before anything else happens. There was nothing okay about your ass pressed up against him. Or him craving to taste your plump lips.
“He didn’t make me feel anything I haven't before.”
Your implication irks him far too much, he starts to consider this all an unhealthy encounter. He can’t stop the images of you being with other men. Someone else kissing you, pleasuring you. Whilst your words were suggestive, your features were anything but that. Wide eyes stare back at him, slightly crinkled. Moving your body, you scoot closer as if you weren't already. He growls as he pinches your hip. Then, you're kissing his neck, and he should be pushing you off, but he’s too far gone to pick up on how wrong this all was. I’m sorry I’ve upset you, Mr. Sainz. I didn’t think you would care who fucked me or not.
“I-I don’t. It’s just that you shouldn't be doing stuff like that. You’re too young for all that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” You narrow your eyes. “I’m wiser than one might think. I’m mature enough to know who can and can’t fuck me the way I like.” Your gaze focuses extra hard with your confession. As if it were meant for him.
Pressing your ass one last time against his tight pants, you leap off, giggling.
“Take care, Carlos.”
-
It's a business dinner, your father fills you in as you sit nearby, enjoying a bowl of ice cream, hairollers dangling around your head. Pouting, you reach up to clip one back into place. He smiles.
“You know, lots of young, talented guys are going to be here. It could be a great opportunity to meet someone.”
You make a face at his idea. “Yeah. No, thank you.” Marching over to him, you gently pat his cheek. “I’m not here to meet anyone.”
Signhing, he grabs your hands. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Are you and Carlos…” Choking on your own saliva, you push away. What? No. Of course not! Why would you even think that? He lets out a breath of relief. “It’s nothing. Ollie just brought it up, but I told her you would never actually do something like that. I know my precious girl.”
The door creaks open as Satan herself walks in, followed by an Angel. First thing you noticed are their intertwined hands. Ollie tries to be coy as she flashes the action right in front of you. She mainly greets your father as she sticks by Carlos like a piece of gum. Hello, he would say to you as you bite back a smile.
“What are we talking about?”
“Your sister might have a boyfriend by the end of the night, that's what,” your father jokes as you slap his shoulder. Boyfriend? The Spaniard’s eyes burn you, subtle threat evident. Ollie fakes a smile as she tugs him back a bit.
“Wow. You know what? That might actually be a good idea. Could help with how uptight you are. But I’m confused, boyfriend as in Max?”
Fury fills you as you shoot daggers right at her. Ollie’s eyes twinkle with satisfaction. You’re dating Max? “Of course not, papi! Ollie is just being a bitch.”
“No, no, no - I don’t think telling the truth is being a bitch. You should be happy, baby sister! You sure sounded like it when you let him fuck you out in the balcony.”
Shocked at her words, you can’t bring yourself to look at your father who stands disappointed. Ollie, that's enough, Carlos warns as he squeezes her hand. She yanks it away, jewelry clinging against each other.
“My bad. Shit, I forgot. I forgot no one knew what a slut you are. Opening your legs for any man around you. We’re lucky you’re not attracted to your own father.” She lets out a sour laugh. “Now, that would be fucked up.”
“That’s low, Ollie,” you spit, skin feeling as if it's on fire. You know where all this pent up anger is coming from, but she had no right to make up shit for fun. What kind of sister does that? Embarrassed, your eyes flicker to where Carlos stands with a hopeless expression. Licking your lips, you force yourself to walk away.
Slamming the door shut, you let out a loud scream. Why? Why was she always like this to you? A hard knock is what makes you wipe your tears away. Ollie slithers her way in. It hurt you how proud she looked. As if she had achieved something spectacular.
“The fuck - Are you crying?”
“What do you want?”
She takes a seat on your desk as she dusts off imaginary lint. “I just want to talk. The way sisters do.”
Ricocheting off the bed, you march over to her as you glare. “Sisters? No. You’re nothing of mine.” Ollie yawns as she rubs her eyes. Then, she clears her throat.
“Do you want to know why I hate you? You’re so stupid you probably don’t even know, but don’t worry - that’s what older sisters are for. I’ll explain it to you. Do you remember, Romeo?”
You do. It hits you all at once; the memories of the first man you ever slept with. He was nice - kind enough to teach you what a man likes. He had jet black hair, a smirk always lingering on his lips. He was tall and a local from where you grew up. He was the perfect experience.
But that still didn’t make any sense. What did he have to do with Ollie?
She lets out a wet laugh. Already, you can see her own tears as she tries to quickly wipe them away.
“I loved you; I did. You were my sister before my enemy. But I also loved him. He was my first love. Promised me a home high up in the hills. But do you know what it feels like to see someone you love fuck your little sister against a wall?”
We probably shouldn’t-
Don’t worry. I’ve got you. No ones going to see us. Men love a good thrill.
“You and him…”
She licks her chapped lips. “We had barely started dating.”
“I didn’t know - I swear to God, I didn’t know!”
If you had, you never would’ve looked his way. Ollie was everything to you growing up. You admired her. Loved her. That’s why it broke you when she started pushing you away as if you were some disease. Later, when your parents got a divorce, she didn’t second guess it when she made the decision to stay behind; causing you to leave with your mother. She never cared for you after that and you never knew why.
But now you did.
“I was young…Younger than I am now, how was I supposed to know?”
“Well, I’m glad we agree on something. You truly don’t know anything.” Strolling over to you, she smiles at your desperate state. “Which is why I’m not making the same mistake twice. Stay away from my husband.”
-
Ollie’s words felt as if they had opened up past scars. You meant what you said. Romeo would have been someone you would have disregarded if you had known the truth. But like always, you were the one with the entire blame and that you didn’t like.
Despite wearing a pretty dress - one that everyone gawked at you for - you felt ugly. Has it always been this way? Maybe it did make sense as to why she despised you. Playing with your bracelets, you try to pretend you’re interested in meeting your fathers investors. You feel completely exposed when they all stare straight at your chest area.
“How are we all doing?”
They all look up at the Spanirad as they start spitting out their congratulations for his upcoming wedding. He thanks them before checking up on you. His eyes connect with yours. Butterflies swirl inside your stomach as you smile weakly. He’s the first one to truly talk to you that night. To show he cares about your wellbeing rather than the way your dress fits you. Though, you looked stunning as always. Excusing yourself, you make your way into the kitchen, looking for something stronger.
Serving yourself a shot of vodka, you throw your head back, burning sensation sliding down your throat. Coughing, you grip onto the counter. Soft moans whisper in between the walls. You stop breathing for a minute as you try your best to identify where it might be coming from. Striding closer, you press your ear against the closet door. Fuck, a mans voice groans. This is not something you should intervene with, it's not your right, but that all changes when you hear a name that makes you burn all over again. So fucking tight, Ollie.
Pushing the door open, you see your sister banging one of your fathers investors. Ben, you think his name is. Honestly, you could care less. Briskly, she pushes her gown back down as he zips his pants. You let out a cold laugh as you clap in amusement.
“Oh, God. This is great. Amazing. You really outdid yourself, Ol.”
Stepping forwards, she grabs your arm harshly as she tugs you out. “How much did you see?”
You purse your lips as you theatrically scrunch your face up in pleasure. “Oh, Ben! Fuck me! Oh, oh, yes, baby, right there!” You bow. “That much.”
“How old are you, sweetheart?” The brunette says as he scans your body. Ollie glares at him as he steps back.
“Not a word of this to Carlos.”
“Why would I keep this a secret? He deserves to know. What do you think, Benny?”
Panicked, the older man shakes his head as his eyes plead for mercy. That’s enough. Raising your hands up in defense, you grin back at Ollie. “You’re not mentioning anything if you know what's good for you.”
“Oh, yeah?” You tilt your head back. “And what’s good for me?”
“If you tell him anything of what you just heard - saw - then I’ll just tell him how you’ve been bending over for every man in this house. Charles, Lando, Lewis, Pierre…you name it.”
“He won’t believe you…”
She laughs sinisterly. “No, I think he will. I mean…You’ve already done it before.”
“Hey,” his soft voice enters the room as you turn to look at him. The Spaniard’s eyes dance between you and your sister and Ben. “Is something wrong?”
Ollie shakes her head with a bright smile as she walks up and kisses him. You flinch. “Nothing, amor. We were just talking.” She runs her hands through his hair as his eyes remain on you.
“Are you okay?”
Nodding, you grind your teeth together. “Yes. Ollie was just introducing me to Ben.” Awkwardly, the man waves from behind you. Slowly, Carlos nods.
“Papi asked me to introduce them. You know - with the whole ‘boyfriend’ thing!”
“He was serious about tha- Oh. Okay.” He reaches down to take your sister's hand as he eyes you and Ben. “We should probably leave you two alone then.”
Hastily, you nod. “Sure.”
-
If you were willing to try and fix your relationship with Ollie before, then that was long gone. This is what you knew her for. A pretender. She wistfully makes everyone believe she’s some sort of saint, when really, she’s a wolf in sheep's clothing. She’s a hypocrite. She has a man that everyone desires and she does this?
You hated her.
You hated seeing the way she beams when Carlos’ mother gives her a necklace that belonged to her own mother. She didn’t deserve it. Or the way his sisters helped her slip in and out of her dress, making sure it's perfect for the big day.
Still, you try your best to be a supportive sister. Especially around the woman who raised a man like Carlos. Biting down on your lip, you take a sip of your champagne as Ollie disappears behind the curtains with the lady who is taking some last minute measurements. Reyes smiles warmly.
“We didn’t know Ollie had a younger sister.”
You smile. “Best well kept secret, right?” The older lady laughs. Your heart warms up as you notice it's the same way Carlos does. Ana and Blanca grin.
“Well, we’re glad to finally get to know you. Might I add, you’re beautiful. Those eyes!”
“Thank you,” you blush.
Ana takes a sip of her drink before clicking her fingers. “That’s what you remind me of! You - Carlos - almost have the same puppy eyes!” She turns to her mother. “Mamá! What’s that saying? Soulmates look alike…Something like that, no?”
“Be quiet, Ani,” Blanca hisses before smiling apologetically. “Excuse her - she can be a bit invasive.”
“No problem,” you reassure as you bite back a smile. Ana frowns.
“Lo siento, I don’t mean to come off as overbearing. It’s just that you do…”
Reyes clears her throat as she winks over at her daughter. “Don’t misunderstand us, please. We love Ollie, we do! It’s just…you’re different.” She examines you. “I like you.”
Their words stick with you like a post it. Do soulmates look alike? Playing with the sand, you circle your finger agonizingly slow. Why did their words matter so much to you?
“I always find you alone.”
You stick your tongue out at Carlos as he chuckles at your childish behavior. You pat the sand, inviting him to join you. What are you doing out here? You point at the ocean. “I told you it was my favorite place.”
“Ah. I see.”
You sneak in a quick look before looking straight ahead. “Nervous?”
“About?”
“Marrying a monster.”
He gives you a deadpan look, bumping his shoulder to yours. “She’s not that bad, you know.” He glances at you. “Ollie has been there for me through so much. Through my failures. Through my accomplishments. She’s the one who convinced me not to quit racing.”
“You were thinking of quitting?”
He nods. “It’s not as easy as it looks. It fucks you up mentally. But she…” He smiles. “She helped me overcome that. I thank her everyday for it.”
It’s a bittersweet feeling hearing him talk about her like that. On one hand, you’re thankful that she had made him realize that he should carry on doing what he loved. On the other, you knew her true reasons. She loved having a famous fiancé; someone she can brag out to the rest of the world.
Somewhere, far away, you hear a melody. It’s low enough that if you didn’t pay close attention, you wouldn’t catch on to it, but you did. You grab his hand, leading him to stand up. He quirks a full brow.
“Want to dance?”
“I thought you said you didn’t know how to.”
“Nice memory, old man.” You gently kick some sand towards him. “But I feel like dancing. Plus, you should be practicing.”
Tugging you closer, he hums. “Alright. Only because that's true.”
His hands feel warm against you - so much so - it feels as if he’s on fire. An ease comes to it, too, as you both sway under the moonlight. You giggle when he spins you, dress flying around you like petals. The way you grin makes his heart speed up in a way he’s never felt before. It’s alarming. He pinches your hip as you yelp.
“Mentirosa.”
“Wha- No, I’m not! Can’t dance to save my life.” Clumsily, you dig your toes into the sand. He winces playfully.
The air grows heavy the moment he brushes your hair behind your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean against his warm hand. One look, and he’s hooked. It’s meant to be something lighthearted, but the way he wishes to feel your soft lips against his indicates that it’s not. He’s tried his best to see you for what you are; his fiancée’s little sister. Someone he shouldn’t find himself caring if they slept well, ate their three meals a day, or that they didn’t talk to any other man that wasn’t him or your father. This was sick and twisted and yet…
His lips meet yours as your eyes spring open for a nanosecond before letting yourself go under. It feels as if you’re exploding like firecrackers on a Fourth of July. Something about the way he cradles your face endearingly has your head spinning. Knees become weak, but his grip is secure. It’s better than you could have ever imagined. His tongue fights for dominance and when you don’t give it to him, he squeezes your ass. Moaning, you open your mouth and that's all it took. He kisses you the way you’ve seen in movies - only better. He’s hungry - desperate - for you as you smile against him. Biting down on his bottom lip, he groans as he kisses you harder than before. You were beginning to think your lips were about to snap.
Letting go, he stands there, staggered. He’s ashamed when he realizes that he regrets nothing. You both stay quiet; only waves crashing and heavy pants being heard. At first you think he’s going to apologize, and maybe that might have been the case, but no words would come out. Pressing a peck against his swollen lips, you smile.
“Goodnight, Carlos.”
-
Carlos rues the day that he kissed you because that only made things more complicated. He couldn’t find a way to not look for you when he walks into the garden, full of family and friends. Or the way he would want to punch Max when he made you laugh. But there is also something sweet. Like the way you would gossip with his sisters and share stories with his parents. He had never seen them laugh and smile so much, not even with Ollie.
He flinches at the cold hand that wraps around his own. Faking a smile, he presses a soft kiss on top of his fiancée’s head. Continuing the clicking against her glass, she smiles widely.
“Grazie a tutti per esservi uniti a noi!”
Everyone claps and a few of the drivers whistle. Rolling your eyes, you lean your head against your father’s shoulder. His heart skips a beat. Ollie continued her speech filled with thank you’s, thank you’s and more thank you’s. Your father kissed your cheek before making his way up to his eldest. Taking the microphone from Ollie, he starts to share warm felt memories about her. You have to admit, you’re jealous about their bond. Somewhere in the past, that had been viciously stolen from you. He notices the way you shrink with sadness and he finds himself about to walk over to you when Ollie laughs awkwardly. Amor. It’s your turn.
“Right.” Fixing his rolled up sleeves, he smiles at the crowd of guests. “Uh…Well like my fiancée said, we’re extremely happy to have you all here. It takes a lot to get this many people out here all at once.” A few laughs echo as he continues. “This means a lot to me, too, to have my friends and family. To have met new faces.” His gaze flickers past you as your breath hitches. “Many ask me what about Ollie made me fall in love with her…And I’m here to be as brutally honest as I could get. I love the way she makes me feel as crazy as the ocean. I could spend calm days with her and not worry about getting bored. Or I could find myself getting into trouble. Ollie has made me a better man. Because of her I know what true love is…” His loopy eyes meet yours. “True love are the waves that meet the shore.”
He lets out a sheepish smile. I want love like that, Lando yells out as he downs his glass of milk. Everyone claps and cheers and that’s where your nightmare begins.
Let’s give it up for the happy couple! Kiss, kiss, kiss!
The chants continue as Carlos let out a nervous laugh. That’s something private between me and her, he tries but finds himself being booed. Leaning down, he pulls Ollie in for a peck before pulling away with a tight lipped smile. He hates himself for his sudden realization.
Kissing her suddenly did feel like a chore.
With all the whoops and whistles being thrown out by friends, he finds himself trying to find you. It doesn’t take long as he notices you had picked up on your conversation with the Dutchman. His jaw clenches.
“Maybe Ollie’s younger sister would like to share a few words.”
Why would he say that? Frozen, you choke mid sip. Me? Your father beams as he nods excitedly. Oh! That’s such a great idea! Unfamiliar faces turn to look at you as they wait. Taking in a deep breath, you nod as you make your way over.
As he hands you the microphone, he can’t stop himself from grazing his fingers against your hand. Coughing, you yank it fast.
“Ciao a tutti.” Everyone greets you back as you lick your lips. You take a moment to figure out what to say, but there’s not much. Cringing, you try to come up with anything. “As some may know, I’m Ollie’s sister…And I could go on forever about how great she is-” You suppress a sarcastic laugh as Carlos knowingly winks. Your nerves ease up. “But I think I should talk about the man who makes my sister the happiest. Carlos Sainz…When I first met you, you seemed uptight - more than the Grinch - but slowly I got to know the man that even my papi swoons over.”
True, your father laughs. “You’re kind, respectful, and charming…Ollie is one very lucky girl. But there’s something also sensitive inside of you…Despite the permanent frown on your face, you still seem to like days by the ocean. Maybe it's a reminder that peace still exists or maybe it's the way…” Looking up, you see everyone staring deeply. Suddenly, you feel like this might be oversharing as you twirl your dress. “...Or maybe it's the way your face lights up when you take my sister dancing on the sand. Uh…Thank you for making her happy.” Handing the mic back to Carlos, you smile weakly at the strong claps.
“That was quite sentimental,” Max points out as you bite down on your finger. Was it too much? He shakes his head. “Don’t worry. It looks like you and Carlos get along well enough. I, for sure, thought he hated you with the way he looks at you.”
“Oh. Yeah.” You pause. “I thought so, too.”
-
Aside from the fact that the wedding was approaching quickly, the mansion was quiet. The silence can almost be heard; it's scary. Carefully, you fix your dress as you skip down the stairs barefoot, lollipop painting your lips red.
Peeking around the corner, giddiness fills your body as you snatch a handful of pre-washed cherries. Earlier that day, your father had scolded you for finishing the new batch. Popping them into your mouth, you hum a song as you kick your legs against the kitchen counter. It creeps you out the moment a chill runs down your spine. As if someone were watching.
“Boo!”
“Santa mierda,” you yelp as you clutch your heart. Laughing loudly, the Spaniard bends over as he gasps for air. You pout and kick his knee. “Cabrón, you scared me! Warn a girl!”
“Fuck - I’m sorry.” His lips form a thin line as he stands firm. Slowly, the corners lift up, wobbly at his poor attempt to not burst out laughing. You frown.
“You’re fucked up.”
Again, his laughs echo the dimly lit kitchen. “Can I have some?”
“No. They’re mine. Grab your own.”
He narrows his eyes. “Aren’t you on cherry prohibition or something like that?” You gasp as you look around before flipping him off.
“Keep your voice low or papi will disown me!”
He zips his lips as he whispers. “I won’t tell a soul. But I want one of those in exchange.”
Tapping your finger against your lip, you pretend to think about it before nodding. You extend your hand out, a single red cherry for him. You’re waiting for him to take it and leave to where he came from, but what he does instead has you swallowing a lump down your throat.
Crouching down, he opens his mouth as he picks up the cherry, lips slightly wrapping around your fingers. This was triggering you as you tried your best to keep sane. But there was no way of going about that when he looked up at you with deep, brown eyes. Licking the red juice sliding down your hands, he steps back. He licks his lips before swallowing. It amazes you the way his Adam’s Apple jumps up and down; thick neck begging to be sucked on.
“Fucking delicious.”
Blinking, you look down at the rest of the cherries in hand. All of a sudden they seemed like a sultry fruit rather than a drupe.
“Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Of cours-s-e.”
Stupefied, you throw the leftovers straight into the trash bin. You had no clue what made you do that. A small chuckle escapes past his lips as you shut your eyes in embarrassment. Maybe they weren’t as sweet as you made them seem. Too mortified to speak, you keep your eyes focused on the way your feet hit the wood as a distraction. It takes all of you to not run away as he steps closer once again.
“Is there something in that dirty little mind of yours?”
The room feels hot all of a sudden as you shake your head. There’s no words in your vocabulary when he stands this close. You can smell his cologne mixed with shampoo. If richness were a scent then this would definitely be it. His hands cage you in like a butterfly behind glass. Clicking his tongue, he steps aside as you let out a shaky breath. Taking the opportunity, you jump off the edge, bare feet slapping against the cold tiles. Cuidado, he mutters when you almost slip from the sudden action.
“If you need anything I’ll be upstairs.”
Not sure why you said that, but it seemed like a rationalized excuse. Por supuesto. And that would have been the end of your night. That would have been another successful day of not falling for the forbidden apple. You had held out for so long; the kiss didn’t count. But it only takes a few steps for him to clear his throat. Almost as if this were your secret language, you spin and you find him staring after you; dazzling eyes following your every movement as if he’s trying his best to decipher anything you do.
Smiling wide enough for your eyes to look as if they had a smile of their own, you think - fuck the consequences - as you clumsily run up to him; jumping like a kid onto a tree. Legs wrap around his torso and his hands hold you close to him.
“Do you-”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Since the first day you walked through those doors: yes.”
If you had thought you were obsessed with his kisses before, you were wrong. So very wrong. Because now you were addicted. He kisses you with urgency as you run your hands through his locks, so soft against your fingers. He grunts when you tug on it.
His kisses were stimulating enough for you to plead for something. Anything. Smirking, he pecks your nose before leading you both upstairs. It amazed you how he could continue kissing you as he hurried to get to the bedroom. Noticing him making his way into his and Ollie’s, you pull away. There’s no way you would let him do that. You spin your finger lazily through his hair.
“How about mine?”
He doesn't care if he fucked you against the floor, he needed you. Kicking the door shut, he throws you onto your bed as you squeal. He smiles fondly as you brush your hair out of your face. He’s had his fair share of girls. Models, nepo-babies, Ollie, but none of them compare to you.
He was almost scared of touching you again, even though that’s exactly what he wanted. Doe eyes stare back at him as his cock gets harder at the sight. Ollie had always tried her best to look at him that way, but you didn’t even have to try. It naturally happened. Nothing about this felt forced.
You look untouchable. Like a complete goddess waiting to be ruined. Carlos, you would say as you squeeze your tits, eyes struggling to stay open. Carlos, please. Don’t be mean. Towering over you, he shakes his head.
“Linda, I could never be mean to you.”
Slipping your dress off, he groans when he sees you weren’t wearing anything underneath. He shuts his eyes as he tries to not finish inside his pants, which by the way, were starting to hurt. He pinches your nipple before slapping your tits. You hiss.
“Please tell me you did this for me and no one else…”
“You know it’s always been for you.”
With that, he stands up as he yanks his shirt off; jeans and boxers following right after. A bit worried, you find yourself staring at his rock hard dick. You had never been with some as big as him; it kind of looked as if it would split you right open. That didn’t stop you from wanting it, though.
“Don’t worry. I’ll prepare you nice and good, cariño.”
His lustful tone snaps you out of it as you nod. His fingers rub your wet folds as you cling onto his bicep. C-Carlos. “I know, baby, I know,” he coos as he focuses on the way your face pinches. He slowly starts slipping his finger in as you gasp at the thickness. So big and long. He chuckles. “Oh, come on now. It’s not even fully inside of you yet.”
Stunned, you look down and sure enough, it isn’t. You almost cry out when you notice it’s barely even the tip. “I don’t think it’s going to fit.” He kisses your temple as he slips his finger back out.
“Let’s start off with something else then.”
You almost pass out when he angles himself in front of your pussy. Glistening clit stares back at him as he moans. So pretty, he thinks as he touches you slowly. He stops himself, though, as he goes in for kitten licks instead. You squirm. His large hands pushed you down against the bed, to keep you in place.
“Do you want me to make the ache in between your legs go away?”
“Yes.”
His pink tongue teases you as he hums. You bite down sharply. “You’re going to have to stay still. Relax, bonita.” Following instructions, you close your eyes, trying your best to not think of the handsome Spaniard. As if that were possible. Impressed, he leans in again as he licks you, picking up your pre-cum. Oh, fuck.
Then it’s almost as if Carlos is taken over by something as he dives in like some animal. His stubble burns your legs, but you’re too fucked out to even care. You’re sure you're being loud, but how can you not be when he licks and sticks his tongue inside of you, exploring places you never knew existed. You choke back a moan when he rubs his nose against your clit, only adding to the euphoria.
“Yes. Oh. Fuck, yes.” Looking down at the brunette, you find him taking in your appearance as he rubs himself against the sheets; a way to try and pleasure himself. And that’s enough for you to cum all over his face. He smiles as he greedily tries to drink up everything you give him. He knows he lost control, but he loves the way you were able to keep up. To take everything he gave you.
And that was only going to multiply.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” he groans in between your legs, picking up the white nectar. Crying out, you push his face away as you gasp for air. He sucks your tits as you take a break. His tongue swirls around your bud as you wiggle against him like a fish that jumped out onto land. He laughs. “Can you handle my fingers, now?”
No, you whisper as you push him away. But he knows you’re giving up too soon. He knows there’s an animal inside of you and he’s just waiting for it to decide to join him. He ignores you as he slides his fingers down to your center. You mewl against him. “Hey, hey, I got you, cariño. I’m right here.”
His voice makes you clench harder against his fingers as he grins like a kid at a candy store. Slowly, you start dripping more than before, making it easier for his fingers to slide in and out of your hole. Can you handle a third? “Yes,” you respond, eyes still screwed shut. Hot air hits your ear.
“There she is…Good girl. Justo asi.”
Picking up speed, his fingers reach the gummy part inside of you as you scratch his arms in an attempt to remind yourself to not black out. His long fingers cross, doing figure 8’s as he touches your g-spot as if he knows your entire body better than any map. Leaning up, he bites down onto your nipple before sucking hard. You should be embarrassed with the way you squeal and shake against his actions, but he just made it so hard not to. Much to your surprise, if you dare believe it, he does the thing you last expected.
He adds a fourth digit.
“No, no, no,” you pathetically chant as your eyes fly open. He cocks his head to he side as he clicks in tongue as if seeing you struggle filled him with pride.
“Ah, ah, ah. Just trust me; do you trust me?”
He didn’t need to ask because he knew you did. I do, you whimper out as you start grinding against his fingers. Amazement fills his dark eyes as he looks down to where you clench around him, juices sliding down his arm. It only takes a couple of more swirls before your shriek, velvety walls clenching around him as you reach your climax.
Bringing his fingers up to his mouth, he licks your cum as if it were a meal he’s dreamed of having his entire life. Your mouth hangs open as you watch him lick them clean. You’re sure he’s going to fuck you now, but that flies out the window as he lays down as he drags you onto his face.
This man had stamina. Lots of it. You're trying to beg for a break of some sort. I can suck your dick. Give you a handjob. Just please let me rest. But he wasn’t even listening.
Maybe somewhere deep down, he knew this would be the only night he would have you to himself and if that meant no pauses, then he would push all your buttons.
Like a starved man, he starts licking you all over as you grind against his face. The way he sucks on your clit and adds his fingers make you squeal as you push down harder. His nose rubs against you in such a way, it has you seeing stars. He seems to be enjoying that though, as his moans vibrate against you. Biting hard onto your lip, you try to distract yourself as you reach behind you for his rock hard cock. The moment your small hand wraps around him, he growls like a lion.
Smug over his reaction, your hand slowly starts jerking him off as he eats you out with more urgency. It takes all of you to control your actions as he shakes his face in between your legs. S-slow down, Carlos. He grunts as his actions speed up, but so does your hand. Gripping onto his erection much harder, you furrow your brows as you twist your wrist. Choking on your juices, he opens his eyes wide, whimpers flying past his lips.
Smiling down like the devil, you nod as your hand picks up its pace. Now it's his turn to be groaning with pleasure. He seems to have forgotten what he was doing as he takes in strong whiffs of your aroma. You shudder when his warm breaths escape to warm up your dripping pussy.
His cock twitches and he seems to snap right back into it; already diving back into your hole. Lurching forward, you grip onto his hair as the other remains wrapped around him. It’s a game to see who can make the other cum first, and you were not about to be the loser.
Lively, you circle your thumb around his pink tip as he groans and finishes all around your hand. Sucking hard, he bites gently onto your clit as you screech and trap his head between your thighs. Shaking, you twitch against him as you reach your third orgasm that night. Huffing, you roll off him as he laps his tongue.
The way he looks at you makes you want to ride his face all over again, but you know you needed a break if you didn’t want the night to end so soon. Kneeling in front of him, you raise your ass up high as you lean down to wrap your lips around his cock. He flinches, slightly sensitive, but doesn’t dare push you away. Instead, he rubs your face with his calloused thumb; encouraging you. There's something so hot about the way your lips stretch around his fat cock. The way drool exits your mouth, messy blots of mascaras on the corners of your eyes.
Light of my life. Fire of my loins.
Gagging around him, you squeeze your eyes shut, feet curling up along the way. For sure, your throat would be bruised tomorrow, but you didn’t mind. In fact, you wanted that. Deepthroating him as best as you can, your small hands wrap around the rest of his length. He was huge. Dirty slurps bounce off the walls. You try your best to not pull away when you feel his sticky pre-cum connect inside your throat. Not when he looked so good with his head thrown back. His thick neck is a clear display. With his large hands wrapped around your hair as he fucks your face like theres no tomorrow. Spanish curses flowing past his lips.
“Que linda. Arrodillada como una santa.”
When you giggle around his erection, he groans, head thudding against the headboard. His mind quickly slips over to Ollie - but not in the way one might expect. It hits him like a truck when he compares her to you. With Ollie, she would last at least 20 minutes before calling it a night. He pretended not to mind - he would never force her to do something she doesn’t want to, of course - but once she would knock out, his large hand would slide down past his boxers, looking for a new release.
Then there’s you, ever so pretty. It seems like with everything you do, you want more. You sucking him off as if you’ve done this for him a lifetime ago. Sure, you’re struggling, but that only makes him harder. You’re trying to keep up with him and it’s working. Now, it’s like he’s the one trying to keep up. Swallowing, your throat closes around him as he flies forward, voice cracking as he presses for more.
Glossy eyes look back up at him as you repeat your action. With one last blow, he pulls out as he cums all over your face. His dick immediately gets hard again when you smile wide, fingers going to pick up his mess. Greedily, you pout as you wrap your lips around your finger like the lollipop you had been sucking on a few hours ago.
“Fuck,” he mumbles, abs contracting together as he tries his best to even out his breaths.
“Will you fuck me now?”
You’re moving at a snail's pace as you lick his sweaty neck. A chill runs down his spine with the feeling of your warm tongue. Grinding slowly against his thigh, you throw your head back with pleasure, wet lips rubbing against him. He smiles.
“You’re a dirty girl, you know that?”
“I thought that’s what you liked about me, papi.”
In a flash, he flips you onto your back as he hovers over you like a giant. A beautiful, beautiful, giant. His large muscles he works so hard for stare back at you as you admire with an open mouth. It looks as if he could carry mountains on his shoulders. Dilated pupils admire you as you let out a pathetic whimper. Long gone were his brown eyes as they now appear completely black. Sensual.
“Then you should be fucked as such.”
With that, he swings your tan legs over his broad shoulders, practically bending you like a pretzel. You pat yourself on the back for all those pilate classes. Jerking himself off a bit, he looks straight at you, making sure this was something you wanted. The way you bat your cartoon eyes is all he needs to slip inside of you.
First thing he notices is how tight you are despite him already stretching you out to perfection. Raw moans leave both your lips as you try your best to adjust to his size. You had been with men before - that’s all you really knew - but no one’s cock had ever made you burn with such satisfaction. More than satisfaction. He’s reassuring you with his words in order for you to relax.
I’ve got you, preciosa. Just let go for me. I’m right here.
Still, you can’t help but squirm underneath him. His fingers make their way to your mouth as you stare back confused. Suck, he commands before forcing them in. Caught off guard, you gag around them for a bit before your tongue begins to twirl around them. Your cheeks burn up as you hear your low mewls. Ah- ah- ah, you cry out against his digits as he grins down at you. Retracting them, he slides them down to your clit as he starts rubbing small circles.
“Oh God.”
Instantly, you open up against his tired cock as he hums. There you go, he praises as you make it easier for him to thrust into you. You should both be ashamed of the way gushy sounds bloom from your mixed cum. Or the way he pounds into you so hard and fast that it has you sliding further back against the bed, hair tangling along the way. His fingers dig into your calves as he holds them in place.
“Mierda,” he wheezes as he throws his head back, ripping his eyes away from the way your puffy clit envelopes around him. Pants and whimpers escape you as you arch your back from the fulfillment.
Carlos is a man - you know that - but in this moment; right now: he’s proving it the way a scientist would their hypothesis. His cock brushes against your g-spot as you gasp at the sensation. He’s looking at you as if you held the key to all secrets.
The keys for the gate to Heaven.
Though he knows that this all feels like Heaven, he deserves nothing but Hell for cheating on Ollie. But that’s the least of his worries.
“Does that feel good, bonita?”
Wide eyes look up at him desperately as you nod to the point where your neck starts to ache. Yes - Oh God, yes. So good, Carlitos. Yeah, baby - right there. Snapping his hips harder against you, your mind goes foggy with the way his hair flops around him. Sweat causing long strands to stick to his face. Beads of sweat drip down your legs as he presses sloppy kisses. His cheeks look as if he’s been out in the sun for hours.
In this moment; he looked immortal.
“Carlos, I’m gonna-”
“Hold it.”
Like a doll, you flop back against the bed as you start to leak acid. No - please. Don’t ask me to do that. Feeling a sharp sting, you gasp. His hands dives back in to massage your cheek after slapping you. He cocks his head with fake sympathy. “I know you can do it,” - thrust - “Wait for me, yeah?”
You have no word as you wail - tits bouncing with every assault from his hip. Your stomach burns with the way his abs glisten, with the way his bottom lip juts out, or the way his muscles shine with a layer of sweat as they hug your legs like a teddy bear.
He was yours. In this moment, he was yours.
“Alright, linda-” He brushes your hair out of your face as he wipes your sweat with his hand. “Cum for me?”
It’s an out of body experience the moment you squirt around his dick - the way your tummy feels like it's on fire. Sore groans leave his lips as he finishes inside of you, brown eyes trained on the way you gush around him. He freezes in place at the feeling. You squirm for a few seconds below falling limp against the bed. The room smells like nothing but filthy sex.
Pulling out of you, he carefully places your legs back down before kissing your ribs. Then your bruised tits. Then your cheeks, forehead, and lastly, your lips that taste like home. Sighing against him, you try your best to remember the way he kisses you as if you're the only form of oxygen that exists. As if this were a dystopian world and you were the only source of survival.
He pecks your lips once more before brushing his fingers against your temple. “Get some sleep.” Yawning, you nod as your eyes flutter like a butterfly's wings. Will you stay? And he doesn’t know what takes over him when he says-
“I will.”
-
When you wake up you notice it’s still dark out. The moon shines, eyes flickering around, looking for the Spaniard. You let out a low breath of relief when you see him sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Ollie,” he whispers into the phone as he runs a hand against his jaw. “...I made a mistake.”
Your heart stops with his words. He makes sure to speak low, thinking you're sound asleep. She - I - it was a mistake. She’s just a kid…Fuck. She’s just a child. Your heart shatters with the evident blame in his voice. You weren’t a kid. Sniffling, you stop breathing when you realize you’re crying. He pauses for a moment before standing up and making sure you’re okay. Bringing the phone up against his ear, he shakes, already walking out the door.
“Where are you? Let me just see you, amor. I’ll explain it all.”
-
There’s a saying that goes: You know, a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating, just the same.
You would personally like to punch that person in the face. It’s not true. It doesn’t beat the same - because then why does it hurt everytime it pounds against your chest? Why is it hard to breath when the priest says-
“You may now kiss the bride!”
Everyone’s faces are blurry; cheers sound far away. You can’t be too sure you're standing upright as your father beams at the sight of Ollie pressing her lips up against Carlos. The way his hands slide down to her waist as shows her off proudly like some champion ring is what hurts the most. You feel flames all over your skin, letting out a flinch when your fathers signals for you to clap, too.
You don’t know what happened after that night. Whether Ollie forgave him or not - though clearly she had. Maybe she didn’t know about you the same way he didn’t know about Ben. This was all starting to feel like some nightmare. But it’s very much real life with the way the newlyweds hold hands, smiling brightly as guests throw a mixture of confetti and baby breath.
“Nice ceremony.”
“What? Oh.” You shrug towards Max as he points over at the couple. “Y-yeah. It was…”
He goes over his next words for a moment because Lord knows that if he has it all wrong then he would appear to be the biggest jerk to ever exist. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”
“I-I-I’m not sure I understand,” you trample over your words as your cheeks burn the same color of your red dress. He shares a small smile.
“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
Walking away, you’re left alone, second guessing everything. The violin seemed too happy. The guests seemed too bright. All of this was fake, couldn’t they see? Pursing your lips, you try your best to hide your broken heart as you catch up with old friends. How is college? How does it feel like having a brother-in-law who drives for Formula 1? Must feel pretty great, right?
The night is boring. Half of it you spend faking smiles and the other you spend trying to avoid the Spaniard. Life was better back in Spain, where ironically, he was never around despite it being his home country. You’re in the middle of conversing with the Dutchman - who quite frankly is an honest listener - when Ollie walks up looking like a ball of whipped cream. Can I talk to my sister alone, please? Max’s concerned eyes ask if you’re okay with that as you nod. Slumping away, he squeezes your knee one last time.
Blue Velvet plays as she fixes herself onto the stool right next to you. “Have you tried the cocktails? They have cherry flavored; your favorite.” Something about her sweet voice makes you unsteady as you raise a brow. She shows off her veneers. “This is weird. Sorry. I’m just so…happy.”
“Good to know.”
“But enough about me!” She places her left hand over yours, shiny rock sitting perfectly. You wince. “I want to talk about you! How’s school?”
“Like you care.”
She pouts. “I do now…” You furrow your brows. What do you mean now? She gasps. “Oh, you poor thing! You don’t know I know!” Your stomach drops. “Well, you know, as your older sister, I’m also your guardian since our mother is too fucked up to look after you…And a little birdie filled me in on your reputation back in Spain.” She giggles as she takes a sip of your drink. “Doesn’t surprise me, though. It only makes sense that you keep messing around with men old enough to be your father. You always had a thing for those.”
“What does this have to do with anything?”
Ollie grins ear to ear when she notices how annoyed you’ve become. “Carlos told you he was born in Madrid, right? Okay, well, he also has a whole bloodline there. And let’s just say, a cousin of his - my goodness, his daughters are beautiful - is a professor at your Uni.”
No.
“And well this birdie also told me how you’ve been sneaking in and out of his lecture room, late at night. And I wonder…What have you and him been doing behind closed doors?”
It can’t be.
Professor Vázquez de Castro, he says as he extends his hand out, eyes roaming every inch of your body.
Suddenly, the name sounds familiar. The surname is Carlos’ extended one. Ollie’s eyes shine. “I see it’s clicking.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I want you to leave me and my husband alone. I want you to grab your things and leave. Don’t look back; just leave. Don’t contact papi ever again. I don’t want to hear a single thing from you. It’s bad enough you’ve already fucked my spouse.”
She knows. He told her. And they still got married.
“Ollie, don’t…”
Tugging your hand harshly, she slaps her phone on it. And you don’t know how, but in it, it’s a video of you riding your Professor - Carlos’ cousin.
“Leave or I’ll show this to him. Your choice.”
Wet sobs leave your mouth as you shake your head in disbelief. How did this happen? Who took this video?
“Ollie, please…I love him.”
Her gaze sharpens as she takes the phone back and stands up. “You know what to do.”
Bringing your shaky hand up to your lips, you stare in shock. Wobbly legs walk past Max as he asks if you’re okay. One last smile looks back at him before you brush past by.
Carlos is craning his neck, looking for you. He had confessed that night, but so had Ollie. He was breaking off the engagement. Spilling apologies as she cried against his chest. Despite it all, he still cared for your sister. But he knew it wasn’t going to work out. He was ready to leave when she brought up the tape of you and a cousin he didn’t even know he had. I’ll get her expelled. Don’t do this, Carlos. And so he stayed. He knew how much you loved school, regardless of what others might think. I just want to help others, you swooned one day by the pool. It’s what I wish someone had done for me.
You get to him before he spots you as you tap on his shoulder. He fills up with worry when he sees your red brimmed eyes. Sheepishly, you take his handkerchief as you wipe your rosy nose. What happened? Who made you cry? You shrug.
“Carlos…I love you.” He blinks. You let out a wet laugh as you lean up to kiss him. You didn’t care who saw anymore. This was it. He doesn’t seem to care either as his hands wrap around your waist. Holding you close, as if you might vanish into thin air. He was the waves, you were the shore. Pulling away, you wink. “Save me a dance, yeah?”
Then, you’re walking away. Becoming smaller as you stroll over to the Italian house. Clutching his chest, he chokes: I-I…I.
“Carlos!”
Turning to face Ollie, he sees her waving him over to the giant cake.
“Coming.”
-
Running into the quiet house, he calls your name. He looks behind every door, hoping to find the girl in red. Stumbling up the stairs, he swings your door open. He breathes heavily when he doesn’t find you, even here. Panicked, he grips his hair in despair. Only then, does it occur to him to open the restroom door, hoping to not scare you.
“¿Bonita?”
Silence. He still pushes it open as he carefully walks in, finding no harm in checking. And why? Why couldn’t he be as truthful like you were? Risk it the way you would have willingly done. Why did he let you walk into the house alone?
Falling to his knees, he desperately crawls over to your lifeless body, dark blood flowing from your wrists.
As red as your dress.
He must be dreaming. This can’t be real. Surely, it can’t.
“No, no, no.” He drags your limp body into his arms. He can’t even pinpoint the moment his tears flow down his face. “Bonita, no. No. No. No.” The Spaniard cradles your colorless face into his hands. He gently taps your face a few times, but almost stops breathing himself when it only rolls back. Blood stains his white shirt. “Hey, hey. C’mon, please. You want me to say it?” Hurriedly, he picks up your head as he kisses your lips over and over. He winces when he feels how chapped they’ve become.
“It doesn’t feel forced. I’m not saying it because I think it’s what you want to hear - I love you. I do. I love you as infinite as the ocean. I love the way you laugh, the way you trip over anything in your way, the way you say my name…I love you.”
But he knew you weren’t listening. Not anymore.
A piece of him died that day along with you. After that, life was a sickening blur. He’s out of it the moment he hears your father yelling out in agony or when Ollie screams at the gruesome scene.
None of it mattered anymore.
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QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 4
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pairing chan x reader
genre ninth member au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,
summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.
Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.
status ongoing
taglist OPEN
previous | masterlist | next
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By sheer coincidence, or maybe just rampant bad luck, you do see I.N on the way to your second dance practise of the day, lurking around by the vocal rooms at the same time as you finish a lesson.
You almost walk away, truth be told, when his back remains turned to you, busy talking to someone you don't recognise. You've barely met, apart from scattered exchanges of words (which is still more than you've exchanged with Han, who only ever seems focused on the dance or on doing something silly in another corner of the room), and it seems...awkward, to go over and grab him and not let go, as Lee Know had so eloquently put it. Rude, too, when he is still a sunbaenim, in public and in the group that you're now a part of, two years your senior even though he is younger-
It's a weird situation to be in. That reality hadn't left your mind since Taerin had pointed it out on the day you'd first received the offer; and it's only the safety of that knowledge bolstered by the...unease of turning up to dance practise and admitting that you saw him and didn't bring him that propels you down the hall, trying to catch his attention without interrupting his conversation.
He glances over the moment that you pass by his peripheral vision, pausing midsentence to give you a small wave in greeting and then resuming what he was saying, half-turned as if you are part of the conversation. You hang back anyway, trying not to listen in as he finishes up and his friend departs, leaving you alone in the hallway.
"What's up?" he asks when the other boy is out of earshot.
A sheepish smile sets itself upon your face. "This might sound weird, but I was instructed to...drag you to dance practise, basically."
He stares at you for a second, uncomprehending, and then blanches, pulling several faces in a row. "I nearly forgot about that," he says, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, and then frowns. "Wait, is that what Lee Know hyung said?"
"Basically," you answer, and pull out your phone to show him. One eyebrow raises, a look of disdain crossing his face even as he struggles not to laugh.
"He makes it sound like I'm always late or something," he complains as you start down the hall together, shifting his bag on his shoulder for better comfort. "For the record, I've never been late."
Unbidden, a smile plays on your lips. "Never?" you dare to ask, testing the waters just a bit.
You're pleased when he cracks a smile and a breathy laugh, unable to hide it under a straight face. "Maybe sometimes. Not as much as he wants you to think, though."
You're inclined to believe I.N, despite not knowing much of either side. While you've missed some of the boys in the first week of practise, never ending up close to each other by pure circumstance, you've spent the great majority of that time trying to follow along with Lee Know as he picks at details and mistakes and runs choreography back past the other boys - and toys with them as he pleases, straightfaced enough to make anything that comes out of his mouth sound believeable.
And anything could come out of his mouth, any bald-faced lie he feels like telling in the moment. In practise times, he is a serious and trustworthy teacher, but as soon as the music turns off, anyone is fair game and any topic that will cause havoc amongst the people gathered in the room is preferable.
It's kind of funny, when you're standing nearby and innocently listening in. You have a feeling it's funny when it happens to you as well, but his particular kind of wit hasn't turned towards you yet.
Lee Know is already waiting when you make it to the dance room, the music playing while he lazily marks choreography to the mirror. God's Menu, the track that's beginning to play in your dreams and your nightmares, when you find the time to have them. The bane of your existance, almost, except that the tune is horrifically catchy and the choreo is starting to make its way into your bones and at that point, it is hard to resent any of the track.
He turns as you enter, watching the door swing open in the reflection of the mirror, and then strides across the room to pause the music. "You brought him," he says to you, pleased, as Jeongin trails in behind you, closing the door with the bump of his shoulder.
"Hyung," he says before you can say anything. "Why am I being escorted to practice now?"
"No reason," Lee Know replies, deadpan; but there's an impish look in his eyes that says otherwise, the ghost of the smile that he's hiding curving in the lines of his face. You have a feeling you've both just been the butt of some joke he's only told himself, especially when the look that Jeongin gives you behind his back is long-suffering. Perhaps you hadn't been so right about him not toying with you yet.
Dance practise runs smoothly, as it always does, although there is far less goofing around at the beginning than there is when all eight boys are here together. This is a sombre duo, you notice; Minho is sharp-eyed and precise in what he wants, but gentle in his teaching - I.N is studious in response, trying to press every little detail into his limbs in the short time given.
You are serious about practise too, determined to get it right and trying to emulate the attitude that I.N puts forward as best you can, but...it is hard. Not the choreography so much, although it isn't easy, but the detail, the finer points that they have spent years honing while you were still scrapping for survival in the trainee rooms. They work with a practised ease, falling into a rhythm that molds to the other members that they've beaten into their bodies in the two long years they've danced with each other, but your body won't follow along so easily no matter how hard you try - always a little stiff, or a fraction slow, or too reserved when the rest are opening up. Always sticking out like a sore thumb, no matter the placement or the move.
Dancing was already a sticking point for you, an achilles heel you've worked and worked and worked to overcome, but this is...this is another thing. It's daunting, to come into this room every day and play yourself back on a video and notice the fractions of a second that pass by, the way everyone else moves around each other and you stand like a rock in the centre of their ocean, unable to follow an underwater current you weren't even made to feel.
"Bigger movements," Minho says as Chan's voice plays over the speakers, the nod of his head marking the choreography as he turns his back to the mirror and watches intently. Your kick is good, sky-high and bursting with energy, but the movement after it is quick, and then the throw-
"Bigger," Minho says again, arms reaching and pulling in example even as the music moves on. "Keep going."
You pick it back up at the prechorus, stretching for that extra movement he wants to see, trying to embed the feeling of it right down into your bones. It's hard, and it's tiring - your mind slips to something else, or your breath hitches funny in your throat, and your body wants to slip back into its old way of dancing, rather than stretching to its limits. You've always found details hard, to spot and to correct, your confidence in your own judgement lacking; unlike singing, where you were sure you knew what you were capable of and when you strayed from your goals.
The music ends with a final bow to the mirror, your mouth open and your chest heaving, the dance burning like liquid fire in your veins. You have to remind yourself to hold the pose and hide the weakness of your limbs for several seconds, a small moment you hadn't really thought to practise in the past - your eyes stray to Jeongin, taking up the spot just in front and to your right, waiting for him to break first before you relax too, shaking out your arms.
"It was good," Minho says, his voice lifting upwards in what you think is a hopeful tone. "Better than the other day."
"Still not good enough though," you reply, though you store the compliment away in the corner of your mind, pleased that he isn't saying you haven't learnt anything. Debut or not, you've always taken pride in being an excellent student, and you need that one thing to hold on to right now, when everything else is so up in the air.
"Not yet," Minho agrees readily, leaning back against the counter at the back of the room. His eyes meet yours in the mirror, the expression unreadable. "Not that it's an easy dance. Keep working on the details, and it will keep getting better."
You feel like there's an or else attached to that sentence that he isn't saying, a black cloud that hangs over you as his voice peters out and his gaze watches you thoughtfully, though what he's searching for, you don't know. All you can do is nod in response and push down the cold fear, letting his eyes drop away as he turns to say something to Jeongin that sounds much more positive than your review.
"Can we run through Top today too?" Jeongin questions when he is done, one sleeve wiping the sweat from his brow. "We're going back to that this week, aren't we?"
"Yeah," Minho confirms. "One week before we go."
"Top?" you question with a frown; the name sounds familiar, maybe from the extensive list of tracks sitting in a folder on your phone waiting to be listened to, but you can't summon any memory of the track itself off the top of your head.
"Our Japan promotion next week," Jeongin says. "You haven't heard it yet?"
"I think I have it somewhere, but I've been focusing on the album," you reply. "You're going to Japan next week?"
"You don't have the new schedule?" Minho questions.
"No?" you reply tentatively. "Not one with Japan on it, anyway. The only thing on my schedule is dance and vocal. No one's told me anything else." Not even Chan, though he'd been...busier this week. More distant, only around for group practise and then gone again. You've seen most of the boys around by themselves, practising one thing or another, but not Chan, who seems quite happy to leave you with Minho and focus on whatever duties he had that were drawing him away. Not that you could blame him, when you were just an additional problem thrown on him right before a comeback. If you were him, you'd probably find someone else to deal with it too.
Jeongin reaches out, patting you on the shoulder sympathetically. "No one tells me anything either," he says, so serious that somehow, he circles right back around to funny. It surprises you, so much that a smile cracks across your face unbidden; which in turn makes him laugh, a short breath that swallows itself back down before it can become a proper giggle.
Minho is immune to the humor, arms crossed over his chest. He looks like he has something to say, his brow furrowed in a particular way, but all he says is, "Lets do Top," and turns to the computer again, scrolling through the tracklist.
Jeongin turns towards the mirror, flashing you a smile as he picks a spot on the floor to begin. You shuffle out of the way before the music starts, dropping onto the couch in time with the first note and reaching for water. Minho wanders across the room in no real hurry, watching Jeongin pick up the first beats of the choreography on his own, the spaces where the other members are supposed to be around him gaping wide.
"Are you at the front for the chorus?" Minho asks over the sound of Hyunjin's voice playing through the speakers, Jeongin joining him at the side of the room as the verse plays out.
"Yes," Jeongin replies.
"Oh, I.N-ah!" Minho crows, and then picks up the dance as Hyunjin's part ends and Seungmin begins, his voice clear and crisp as the beat behind it drops out. "Main dancer I.N-ah!"
Laughing, Jeongin follows, joining in time with the music. You watch, mesmerised as they work their way through the chorus and then back into another verse; this is obviously choreography made for a whole group, not to be done on its own, but even with the obvious gaps in the timing, it looks...cool. Fun, you're surprised to think, even though the fast, sharp movements never seem to stop and I.N obviously tires the longer it goes on, his action softening and his body starting to forget the movement that comes next, limbs hesitating a fraction too long.
Minho oscillates between dancing and watching, eagle-eyes following every small shift in the other boy's body from start to finish. It's impressive, how much he can see at once, how there are so many timings missing with the other members and yet he knows where and when everything is supposed to hit, his brow furrowing or his head cocking to the side when something isn't quite right.
"You know what to work on for that," he says when the music ends, shrugging when Jeongin's eyes find him in the mirror. You move for him, leaning over to the computer to pause the music before the next song can start playing.
"Everything?" Jeongin guesses wryly, pushing his hair back out of his eyes.
"We haven't done it for a while," Minho says. "Wait until we all do it. You're going to be the only one in time."
"Because I'm at the front," Jeongin says, but he manages to smile anyway, turning away from the mirror in search of his water bottle.
Minho is unsympathetic, following him across the room. "Well if we put you at the back, how will anyone see how cute you are?"
Jeongin twists sharply. "That's true," he says, masking the laugh that threatens to spread across his face. "You're smart, hyung."
"I know," Minho replies, and then he turns away, picking up his jacket. "Are you going home now?"
"No, I have a lesson."
"I.N-ah, are you practising everything today?" Minho's voice rises with each word, the grin on his face growing wider and wider. You lean back against the counter as you watch, amused at the way they bounce off each other as Minho pokes at his ribs and I.N laughs, skittering away out of reach. "You're so cool. You're going to be a rockstar."
"Get out of here," Jeongin says, shoving him away.
Minho laughs, stepping towards the door, and then turning to you. "You were good today," he says; his voice light, but not uncaring. "You're going to sing next time."
"Thankyou," you say, your head dropping, unable to accept the compliment face-to-face. Someone outside catches Minho's attention in the next moment, drawing him towards the door.
"Hey," Jeongin says before you can follow, drawing up beside you. "Give me your number, and I'll tell you when I'm in here practising."
You blink at him, your hand automatically reaching for your phone before stalling again. So far, only Minho has asked for your number, to organise times for these practises. "Are you sure?" you question. "You don't have to do that."
I.N nods, his phone already in his hand. "As your sunbae, I have to make sure Minho's teaching doesn't kill you," he says, a smile tucking itself away behind his cheek as he pretends to be completely serious. "As my elder, you should be here to make sure he doesn't kill me."
You're the first to laugh again, the sound bursting out of you unbidden at the face he makes, the specific way he intones each word. He looks pleased at your reaction, a smile lighting up his face. "Deal," you say, and you pull out your phone, tapping his number into a new contact.
TAGLIST
@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids @hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts @puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night @d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk @minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder
#stray kids#stray kids smau#skz smau#bang chan#bang chan x reader#chan x reader#lee minho#lee know#han jisung#skz han#seo changbin#changbin#hwang hyunjin#hyunjin#kim seungmin#seungmin#I.N#yang jeongin#felix#yongbok#lee felix#roo writes#queenmaker
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I come to you on my hands and knees (relevant to the topic right lol) begging for any and all info on Bane, Banites and how it all ties in with Gortash. I love you in advance. <3
Bane and His Cult
Alright, so after twelve and a half hours of research I still don’t fully feel like I have enough, but at a certain point I just need to get this out there, and if there is anything you – or anyone else – would like to see explored in more detail, please feel free to ask!
Note: I love getting asks like this! There is such a vast quantity of Realmslore that having some sort of specific focus for my deep-dives is a huge help, and knowing the topic is of interest to others is a huge motivator. I also greatly enjoy getting to put my training as a historian to work, as there is so much to interpret and archive alike.
As ever, these writeups will align with current 5e lore, and draw from 3.5e for additional supporting information. On rarer occasions – and always noted – I will reference 1e and 2e, but with the caveats that there is much more in those editions that is tonally dissonant with the modern conception of the Forgotten Realms, and thus generally less applicable.
We’ll begin with one of the most recent conclusive descriptions of Bane, from the 5e Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide, an overview of the current world-state of, well, the Sword Coast:
Bane has a simple ethos: the strong have not just the right but the duty to to rule over the weak. A tyrant who is able to seize power must do so, for not only does the tyrant benefit, but so do those under the tyrant’s rule. When a ruler succumbs to decadence, corruption, or decrepitude, a stronger and more suitable ruler will rise.
Bane is vilified in many legends. Throughout history, those who favor him have committed dark deeds in his name, but most people don’t worship Bane out of malice. Bane represents ambition and control, and those who have the former but lack the latter pray to him to give them strength. It is said that Bane favors those who exhibit drive and courage, and that he aids those who seek to become conquerors, carving kingdoms from the wilderness, and bringing order to the lawless.¹
This gives us the briefest summation of what draws people to the Cult of Bane: the desire for power and control, often deriving from a sense that they lack exactly those two things. Bane is the quintessential deity of lawful evil, which – if you’ve read any of my previous posts on the sociology of the Nine Hells – bears a striking similarity to Baator itself, the realm of lawful evil, and the place where Enver Gortash spent at least a portion of his formative years.
The majority of the following excerpts derive from 3e, which went into far more detail on the specificities of the Faerûnian gods, including their dogmas, holy days, et cetera. One important point to note, however: any discussions of Bane’s scope of power are no longer accurate, as the time period in reference is about one hundred and twenty years before Baldur’s Gate 3 is set, at a time when Bane had just returned to life – and godhood – as nothing less than a greater god. By comparison, during Baldur’s Gate 3, he is a quasi-deity, having abandoned most of his previous godly power in exchange for the ability to directly meddle with Faerûn – forbidden to the gods by the overgod Ao – and gambling that he would be able to regain his lost power and prestige in so doing.²
The dogma of Bane – that is, the core tenets and philosophies that his followers seek to emulate – is as follows:
Serve no one but Bane. Fear him always and make others fear him even more than you do. The Black Hand always strikes down those that stand against it in the end. Defy Bane and die — or in death find loyalty to him, for he shall compel it. Submit to the word of Bane as uttered by his ranking clergy, since true power can only be gained through service to him. Spread the dark fear of Bane. It is the doom of those who do not follow him to let power slip through their hands. Those who cross the Black Hand meet their dooms earlier and more harshly than those who worship other deities.³
Even were there nothing else to go off of, this would tell us a great deal about the group dynamics of any followers of Bane, whether established church or fragmented cult. Just as in the Hells, hierarchy is everything to proponents of lawful evil. Any cult of Bane would have a strict order to its power structure, and there would be limited – practically nonexistent – tolerance for any questioning or insubordination of that order. To the minds of Banites, such is simply the natural and superior ordering of the world. These interactions are detailed below:
Within the church, the church hierarchy resolves internal disputes through cold and decisive thoughts, not rash and uncontrolled behavior. Bane’s clerics and worshipers try to assume positions of power in every realm so that they can turn the world over to Bane. They work subtly and patiently to divide the forces of their enemies and elevate themselves and the church’s allies over all others, although they do not fear swift and decisive violent action to help achieve their aims.³
The manner of tyranny that Bane holds to is similarly calculated – he is not interested in mere shows of force, but rather in insidious plots that twist and make use of existing rule of law to legitimize tyranny wherever possible. A social tide operated ostensibly within the laws of the land is far more troublesome to fight back against than a simple army.⁴
As far as specific ritual and day-to-day workings of the cult, some can be evidenced here, in broad strokes:
Bane’s clerics pray for spells at midnight. They have no calendar-based holidays, and rituals are held whenever a senior cleric declares it time. Rites of Bane consist of drumming, chanting, doomful singing, and the sacrifice of intelligent beings, who are humiliated, tortured, and made to show fear before their death by flogging, slashing, or crushing.³
In this sense, rituals seem most likely to be used as a display of power and a test of subservience, leaving lower-ranked members of the cult at the whims of their superiors, expected – as noted previously – to attend to their commands with the same alacrity they would use were Bane himself to speak. The rites themselves are designed to reinforce and glorify the primary aspects of their god’s domain: the tyranny of forcing submission and pain from the weak.
Faiths & Pantheons, published a year after the Campaign Setting supplement, provides a similar description of the rituals of the cult of Bane, along with some intriguing and flavorful additions (noted in bold for ease of comparison):
Their religion recognizes no official holidays, though servants give thanks to the Black Hand before and after major battles or before a particularly important act of subterfuge. Senior clerics often declare holy days at a moment's notice, usually claiming to act upon divine inspiration granted to them in dreams. Rites include drumming, chanting, and the sacrifice of intelligent beings, usually upon an altar of black basalt or obsidian.”⁴
As, in the “present day” of Baldur’s Gate 3, Bane has lost much of his foothold on power and his Faith’s old domains, the specifics of architecture of Banite keeps are no longer quite so relevant. However, in times past, when his Faith worked far more openly and held much greater power, the philosophy of Bane was expressed through the architecture of his churches and strongholds:
Tall, sharp-cornered stone structures featuring towers adorned with large spikes and thin windows, most Banite churches suggest the architecture of fortified keeps or small castles. Thin interior passageways lead from an austere foyer to barrackslike common chambers for the lay clergy, each sparsely decorated with tapestries depicting the symbols of Bane or inscribed with embroidered passages from important religious texts.⁴
The social capital of a Faith – a broad term used to encapsulate all followers of a single deity – is often heavily intertwined with the power of its god, a mutualistic relationship that runs in both directions. More social weight behind the Faith means its god’s name and will is conveyed to more people, some or many of whom might apportion some worship or act in alignment with that god and empower them by so doing. More power for the god means more divine actions that can bolster their own image and the reach of their clergy. At its height in the late 1300s, the Faith of Bane was one of the most prominent and powerful, with comparable might to that of a small kingdom.⁵
Something that is important to bear in mind in a setting such as the Forgotten Realms, not only polytheistic, but an environment where the gods being worshiped are demonstrably existent, is that the followers of evil gods are not likely to be obtrusive with the less savory aspects of their dogma. Not only would that, in the majority of cases, do more harm than good to their deity’s long term goals, in the words of Elminster:
A dead foe is just that: dead, and soon to be replaced by another. An influenced foe, on the other hand, is well on the way to becoming an ally, increasing the sway of the deity.⁶
All of this aligns with what we see of the Cult of Bane and its operation in Baldur’s Gate 3. While it does not have the same sway and might behind it as it did a hundred years before, through manipulation of law and carefully applied pressure – of whatever form most likely to yield the desired results, be it threats, bribery, blackmail, or use of hostages – Gortash has enacted a steel web of delicate, ensnaring tyranny across the entire city.
We can even find present-day expressions of the interactions of the cult members, and find that they hold true to what their forebears experienced, further proof of the consistency of lawful evil. A personal note found on the body of a dead Banite guard at the Steel Watch Foundry calls the Black Gauntlet in charge of the Foundry Lab, Hahns Rives, a “disgrace to the Tyrant Lord”, and notes the writer’s intent to “compile a list of Rives’ shortcomings for the Overseers.”⁷ These shortcomings include:
1. Rives failed to reprimand Polandulus for making jokes about Lord Gortash!
2. Rives missed the morning mass to Bane - twice!
3. Rives didn't punish Gondian Ofran when she missed her gyronetics quota merely because she'd lost a finger that day in the punch press.⁷
We can see evidenced here the constant scheming for position and recognition consistent with this manner of lawful evil hierarchy. Both devils and Banites orient their day-to-day lives around how to prove themselves to their superiors, while also undercutting them at any chance they have to prove their own superiority, with hopes of being raised above them.
This is only reinforced further by another text found within the Steel Watch Foundry, Bane’s Book of Admonitions. Its text is not written out for us, but described as such:
A book of adages and precepts for Banites, providing the basic tenets of worship of the Lord of Tyranny, with suggested prayers for common situations. The heart of the book is Bane's Twelve Admonitions, a dozen rules for proper Banite conduct, with punishments specified for failure to comply. The book opens easily to a page with two of Bane's most popular admonitions, number six, the Reprimand for Leniency, and number seven, the Rebuke for False Compassion.⁸
The most likely scenario is that this book was used by the “Overseers” referenced by the anonymous Banite writing of Rives above. The exact position of the Overseers is not made clear, but from context and knowledge of Banite hierarchy, we can infer that they inhabit a place in the hierarchy above both the guard and Rives himself, and that their role is to ensure all those below them uphold the tenets of Bane at all times, never losing sight of his will.
In that context, it makes sense that they would both have a book of specific punishments for specific infractions – rule of law, after all – and that, given the attempted report on Rives, punishments (“admonitions”) for the crimes of leniency and false compassion – and all compassion is false when your conception of the world does not allow for its existence – would be those most referenced. It would be incredibly important to the unity of the cult, as well as to Gortash’s plans, to harshly punish any observed leniency or break from Bane’s law among members of the cult.
Not only would failure to control the situation at the Foundry potentially spell failure for the schemes of Bane’s Chosen, any unpunished step out of line by members of the cult would be seen as tempting others to do the same, a trickle of dissent quickly becoming a flood. Better to ensure that all adherents live in merited fear of the consequence of failure.
After all, it is said of Bane himself: “He has no tolerance of failure and seldom thinks twice about submitting even a loyal servant to rigorous tortures to ensure complete obedience to his demanding, regimented doctrine.”⁴
And, in an appropriately lawful hierarchy, the same rule must apply from the bottom, to the top.
¹ Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. 2014. p. 26.
² Descent into Avernus. 2019. p. 231
³ Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3E. 2001. pp. 237-8
⁴ Faiths & Pantheons. 2002. pp. 15-16.
⁵ Forgotten Realms Campaign Setting 3E. 2001. p. 93
⁶ Ed Greenwood Presents: Elminster’s Guide to the Forgotten Realms. 2012. pp. 135-6.
⁷ Rives’ Failures as a Banite. Baldur’s Gate 3. In-Game Text.
⁸ Bane’s Book of Admonitions. Baldur’s Gate 3. In-Game Text.
#voidling speaks#asked and answered#realmslore#meta#my meta#bg3 meta#bg3#bg3 gortash#bg3 bane#enver gortash#bane#baldur's gate 3#forgotten realms#cult of bane#d&d 5e#d&d 3.5
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What the fuck is bro going on about??? Especially the Kya and Izumi like huh??
I won’t comment on the two hour dissertation because I haven’t watched it yet. from what I’ve heard on those that have, half of it is proving why the canon ships are poorly written, while the other half of it is proving why zuko and katara would be the better endgame option.
i will comment on the fact that it would be very easy to create an even longer dissertation on why people ship kataang and why it makes complete sense as the canon ship of avatar, without so much as even bringing zutara in the mix. if i ever get the time to do so, i could look into creating it. because i think there should be more discussion in fandom on the depths of katara and aang’s arcs and relationship. if anyone is interested in helping, please let me know :)
“aesthetic coordination and color synergy is the most important part of any relationship.” i do hope this person is speaking solely in terms of fiction. because how aesthetic two people look beside each other should not be the basis for any healthy, long-lasting relationship, at least not in real life. reality continues to show that two people can look incredibly good beside each other, but can be extremely incompatible.
example: celebrities coordinate their red carpet looks to present as a power couple each year. but in actuality, their relationship deteriorates by the second. in a couple of years, that relationship will no longer cease to exist.
i searched up aesthetic coordination and i couldn’t find a single resource on it. but on the topic of colour synergy, here are the colours that are established as complementaries to one another:
so you mean to tell me that red and blue aren’t complementary colours, but instead red is complementary with green, and blue is complementary with orange/yellow?
interesting. now which couple do we know of that wears orange/yellow and purple/blue in avatar?
oh. that explains why katara and aang’s colour palettes go so well together, and why their scenes (in both the show and the comics) and accompanying fanart are always so visually pleasant.
in regards to oma and shu, they are colour-coded as zuko and katara, just like they are also colour-coded as katara and aang. if we are meant to take the colours seriously, that would imply that oma (the girl) is zuko, and shu (the boy) is katara. if the writers truly wanted zuko and katara to represent omashu, i see absolutely no reason as to why oma couldn’t be depicted in blue and shu couldn’t be depicted in red.
we have confirmation by the writer of the cave of two lovers that the legend of omashu is based off of romeo and juliet. we also have confirmation from the same writer (who also advocated for zutara as the endgame ship, by the way) that the legend of omashu was written to push katara and aang’s love story after direction from mike dimartino and aaron ehasz. the first draft of the story proposed by the writer joshua hamilton was just going to be sokka and a bunch of the nomads. we also have confirmation that avatar’s love (katara and aang’s theme) played while katara was recounting the story of oma and shu.
i truly believe that if oma and shu were meant to be about zuko and katara, joshua hamilton would have no problem stating that it was. instead, he confirms that it was meant to be written with katara and aang in mind, as a part of katara and aang’s love story.
also, zuko and katara aren’t forbidden lovers. they started off as enemies, with the fire nation committing ethnic and cultural genocide against the southern water tribe. the fire nation and the southern water tribe aren’t two fighting sides of an equal battle - it’s one larger nation with all the militaristic power in the world committing colonialism and imperialism on another nation.
katara and aang could not canonically be together because of the war. that is what katara states herself. as soon as the war is over, they are free to pursue a relationship with one another. that aligns itself more with omashu’s story than zuko and katara’s arc from enemies to friends does.
katara being a phenomenal firelady is not canon, just this person’s headcanon. firelady holds no political power in canon. it’s just wife to the firelord. kya and izumi are clearly not twins, but i suspect this is part of the “katara secretly cheated on aang with zuko” set of headcanons.
lastly, zuko is the father that stepped up? yeah, okay. let’s assume that aang is this horrible, awful dad that people make him out to be. that would mean that zuko was complicit in allowing his best friend to traumatize his children for life. kya and bumi hold no relationship with zuko whatsoever. but sure, he’s definitely the father that stepped up.
finally, father and secret lover of the year zuko did next to nothing in ensuring katara canonically received her worth and recognition among the world, even after her actual husband’s passing. isn’t zuko also co-founder of republic city? so where is katara’s statue?
what you have sent me is someone speaking an entire different language, about an entire different character that they created. but headcanons are not canon, no matter how much this person wants them to be.
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I'm sorry someone bombarded you with bitchy comments 😭. While my To Read list is lengthy and continually lengthier (actually I think something of yours with her is on it), I'd like to hear more about Ianneth-Fingon-Maedhros if you want to talk about them.
@polutrope
It wasn't really upsetting, just annoying and honestly a little bit funny. This guy left comments on all six chapters of By Love or at Least Free Will, every time I updated the story, just objecting to the entire premise of the story and ranting about how Elves have incorruptible pure souls and are immune to lust. I was sorely tempted to respond with this quote from "Laws & Customs Among the Eldar":
Even when in after days, as the histories reveal, many of the Eldar in Middle-earth became corrupted, and their hearts darkened by the shadow that lies upon Arda, seldom is any tale told of deeds of lust among them.
'Seldom' is not the same thing as 'never', and furthermore, I don't think lust is even a major theme of my story. It's more about conflicting obligations and unruly hearts.
In the end I deleted the comments without responding, because I have a personal policy of not engaging with people who are acting in bad faith. But I have to assume that this guy has no actual hobbies if he spends his time hate-reading entire stories instead of just...closing the window and moving on with his life. Maybe take up crochet, bro? Or volunteer at a soup kitchen? Watch a TV show that you like? Grow some tomatoes? Do something that will be more fulfilling than typing long screeds on AO3. I promise it will make you a happier person.
Anyway. On to the actual topic of your ask! As you've probably noticed, I am very fond of Russingon. However, I am also very fond of Fingon as Gil-galad's father. At first I balanced these two ideas by keeping my Russingon ideas and my Fingon-father-of-Gil-galad ideas in two separate universes, but then I started really fleshing out Gil-galad's mother, and it made me think some thoughts. To repeat something I said to @cuarthol in a comment on AO3:
...half the genesis of Ianneth was seeing so many stories (in multiple fandoms, not just Tolkien) where the woman is written out of a canon or semi-canon couple to make room for a popular M/M ship instead, without the female character being treated with any respect. I decided that the female perspective on that situation would be a nice change of pace and interesting to write.
I'm not trying to point fingers -- I'll readily admit that I have my male faves just like the next gal and that it's fun to make them kiss -- but the wives and girlfriends don't get a lot of love in fandom, do they? And it doesn't help that the legendarium in general tends to be a bit of a sausage fest. So I decided that Fingon would have a wife and be in love with Maedhros. But instead of focusing just on the forbidden love, I was going to focus on the wife's feelings, too.
Ianneth ("bridge-woman") is one of the Northern Sindar, from the community that lives around Lake Mithrim. She's the daughter of Annael (yes, that Annael), whom I've imagined to be one of the more influential leaders among the Northern Sindar, and particularly among the Elves of Mithrim.
Her betrothal to Fingon starts as a political arrangement. Fingolfin loves Fingon dearly, of course, but he's also been hinting for a while now that Fingon really needs to settle down and start having kids so that there will be a strong line of heirs should Fingolfin die. After all, Argon's dead, and Turgon and Aredhel abruptly fucked off to god-knows-where some three hundred years ago and haven't been seen nor heard from since. Your dad needs some grandsons, Fingon, and this also seems like a ripe opportunity to strengthen the Noldor's alliance with the Northern Sindar.
I don't think political marriage is unknown among the Elves of Beleriand. (For one example in the text, see Celegorm trying to marry Luthien to force Doriath into an alliance.) And the quote I drew the title of the aforementioned Fingon/Ianneth story from, also found in "Laws and Customs Among the Eldar," is:
The Eldar wedded only once in life, and for love or at the least by free will upon either part.
Free will could easily mean, "Are we in love? No. But I'll still marry you, for the good of our peoples, and I'll bring some of Dad's soldiers along with me." That sort of thing happened all the time among real-world nobility, so I see no reason why it can't happen among Elven nobility in Beleriand, too.
At any rate, Fingolfin arranges for Fingon to meet the daughters of some of the more powerful leaders of the Northern Sindar, and he's hint-hint-hinting that Fingon really needs to pick one of them to be his wife. Fingon, having been in love with Maedhros since they were young in Valinor, is not exactly keen on this plan. But he goes along with it anyway because he is a dutiful son, he knows that his father is right about needing to strengthen the line of succession, and he also knows that revealing his (quite taboo!) relationship with Maedhros to his father would probably break Fingolfin's heart.
It takes Fingon a while to decide who to court, but he picks Ianneth because he likes her sense of humor; she has the guts to gently tease him at their first meeting, which he finds quite charming. He doesn't think he can love anyone besides Maedhros, but he does look at Ianneth and think, "This is a woman I could grow to care for and whose companionship I think could enjoy."
The trouble begins when, over the course of their courtship, Fingon starts falling in love with Ianneth without falling out of love with Maedhros. And he doesn't know what to do about this. He can't call off the marriage, and he doesn't want to break things off with Maedhros, so he decides to just...keep the whole thing with Maedhros a secret and marry Ianneth anyway. It's not a good decision, but really, are there any options here that won't end with someone getting hurt? I don't think so.
So we have Ianneth, blissfully ignorant of her husband's infidelity (for now); Fingon, in love with two people at once and feeling horribly guilty about it, but unwilling to pick one partner over the other; and Maedhros, resigned to the situation but still hurting because Fingon is no longer his alone.
Maedhros' feelings are complicated by the fact that, once he meets her, he finds that likes Ianneth. It would be easier, he thinks, if he could write her off as just a political necessity for Fingon, but it turns out that she's charming and intelligent and kind, and he can understand why Fingon loves her. His feelings soften further once Ereiniel is born, because Fingon is so happy being a father, and he loves Fingon, so how can he begrudge him that? There's a line from "Famous Blue Raincoat" by Leonard Cohen that I always think of when I'm getting into Maedhros' head at this point:
And thanks for the trouble you took from [his] eyes. I thought it was there for good, so I never tried.
Things tick along about as smoothly as they can for thirteen years, until, in the aftermath of Fingolfin's death during the Dagor Bragollach, as Fingon prepares to send Ianneth and Ereiniel to the Falas for their safety, Ianneth learns his secret. This is understandably devastating for her, and leaves her wondering if Fingon ever really loved her as she loved him, or if his marriage to her was simply a politically expedient sham.
Add to that the fact that she leaves for the Falas less than ten hours after this revelation and spends most of that ten hours either crying or asleep, as she's too upset to really talk to Fingon about what she's discovered, and it leaves her with this horrible knowledge and all the worst thoughts that come from it gnawing at her nearly a full year until Fingon next comes to Eglarest -- time that she spends as the sole caregiver for her young daughter, among strangers in a foreign city, without her mother or her sister or any of her friends who might have theoretically been able to offer her some emotional support.
Theoretically is a key word there, though, because even if, say, her sister had come to Eglarest, Ianneth isn't sure she'd even be able to tell her. For one thing, she can't help feeling ashamed, because infidelity is very rare among Elves, and she can't help thinking that maybe she failed as a wife somehow, and if she'd done something different, Fingon wouldn't have strayed. Then there's the fact that he's the High King of the Noldor, and if this gets out it could cause a crisis in the Noldorin government and possibly tank the alliance between the House of Fingolfin and the Northern Sindar. Ianneth is a practical woman, and she's of the Northern Sindar -- the people who have been living practically on Morgoth's doorstep for centuries, with no Maia queen's magic girdle to protect them. Their alliance with the Noldor is vital, and she would never want to jeopardize it.
So Ianneth is just...completely alone with this pain. She has no one to turn to, no one who can comfort her. And that pain is central to her story, and a not insignificant part of Ereiniel's story, too.
#polutrope#turns out when you ask me about my ocs i turn into treebeard#ianneth#fingon's wife#fingon#maedhros#gil galad#woman king au#my ocs
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Do you know this (noncanon) ADHD character?
Evidence below the cut!
First submitter said:
Wei Wuxian is an absolute genius who chatters like mad about anything on his mind, flits from topic to topic, gets kicked out of class for being disruptive and talking about (forbidden) ideas that just occurred to him, doodles and gossips and slumps in his seat in class because he's bored, and invents best under pressure.
A second submitter linked to this post and this other post and said:
While it isn’t outright stated, the novel he’s from is set in a historical Chinese setting, so it wouldn’t make sense to anyway. As for why I think he is, we see him consistently butt heads with his teachers due to his inability to be still and quiet in class and the fact that he often answers questions in unorthodox ways. He’s pretty much always moving in someway, something which is carried over into the novels live action and donghua adaptations. wei wuxian is described as a genius who could do pretty much anything if he applied himself and did what he was supposed to (and haven’t we all seen that on report cards, or in parent teacher interviews?) when he focuses on a project (or like. 10 at once) he tends to lock himself away and forget to eat or sleep properly. His workspace is described as cluttered and unorganised to everyone else, but wei wuxian is perfectly fine working in it- he knows where everything is, at least. He also has a terrible memory, which could also be explained by the general terribleness of everything happening, but is portrayed in a way I personally felt was very ADHD-esque, especially with the other things I described. He will pretty much forget anything unless he has it in writing or is otherwise reminded, yet somehow remembered a tune his friend sung to him when he was delirious, injured and half conscious 13 years later. That probably isn’t everything, but I can’t think of anything else rn
#this was the first double submission that i mentioned btw#poll#noncanon adhd character#mo dao zu shi#the untamed#the grandmaster of demonic cultivation#wei ying#wei wuxian#mdzs#mdzs wei wuxian#mdzs wei ying#one of the submissions called him both wei wuxian and wei ying so i assume thats two names for the same guy#seems like a neato guy#so THIS is the mdzs thing i see people mention. never knew what it stood for
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@last-capy-hupping asked me about Fingolfin’s view of Maedhros after his rescue and how that relates to his views on former prisoners in general and as this is something I’ve thought a lot about as their relationship is one of my favorites and the topic of former prisoners in Beleriand is also one of my favorites I had a lot of fun with this!
much more on that in the post angband tag!
cw: mentions of ableism/stigma towards trauma survivors and general discussion of trauma and torture
Maedhros and Fingolfin had a close if strained relationship in Valinor. Fingolfin was Maedhros’s favorite uncle, being only a young adult himself when Maedhros was born and for
But acting as a mediator between Fëanor and Fingolfin was exhausting and left everyone involved resenting everyone else. When Maedhros followed his father to Foremenos, he mostly broke off contact with his other family and he did not part on particularly good terms with his uncle.
And then Mithrim. Fingolfin is desperately relieved that his eldest son has returned alive to him
Maedhros in Fingolfin’s eyes had gone from an eager and curious child to an overly serious youth to a potential ally to Fëanor who wouldn’t speak to him. And now he lies in the bed the healers have made up, on the brink of death, emaciated and scarred.
I’ve written before about how unprecedented Maedhros’s condition and circumstances are for the Noldor at this time. They have not been in Beleriand long enough to have much experience with this part of the Enemy’s doings. Few Noldor have so far been confirmed captives in Angband let alone managed to escape (or been released)
But injuries inflicted from years of intentional neglect and abuse are different and the psychological implications are even less understood.
We know that a deep suspicion of former prisoners is held by the Noldor later on but it’s just beginning now. Most of what they know come from rumors and from the memories of the older of the returned Noldor who heard from their parents whispers of the horrors of Morgoth’s work in Beleriand, the ways he twisted elves sometimes into grotesque monsters and sometimes in ways no one could see from the outside.
Their Sindarin allies in Mithrim have shared stories of those who escaped the mines of Angband, who now wander, haunted and unsettled. Of the rumors of deaths and violence and betrayal that follow them. It is because of their allies that they are able to identify the thrall brand that marks Nelyafinwë’s skin.
I know I have an entire Masterlist for this topic but I must emphasize again the sheer weight of this trauma; for decades, Maedhros has been in a position where nothing was guaranteed to him, where he had no power or say or autonomy over anything. Food, water, sleep, relief from pain, privacy, the ability to move, everything depended on the whims of his captors.
The memory of Angband lives in the blood and bones. It does not let go just because you have left its walls.
Maedhros knocks a glass of water from a healer’s hand when they pause to check his bandages before offering it. In his mind he is refusing to play the cruel games that so often come when water is offered. He is refusing to allow access to water to be controlled by his keepers again. Of course this is not understood by Nolofinwë’s host. Maedhros is believed to be irrationally distraught at best and dangerous or violent at worst.
Maedhros shouts in an unfamiliar language while half asleep. He frequently seems to refuse to communicate at all. It does not yet occur to the Nolofinwëan host that his own language might have been forbidden to him or that simple words (“I am leaving the house”, “I would like to eat sooner, I am very hungry”, “Don’t do that”) have been absolutely meaningless to the point of obscurity for him.
Fingolfin in the beginning views Maedhros with uncertainty. Uncertainty that he will survive the night, uncertainty that he will walk again, uncertainty if his reappearance is a good tiding for his host. Uncertainty if his nephew is truly still there. He openly dismisses and condemns the more hostile rumors; those who claim Maedhros is now loyal to the enemy, that he lives only through the darkest magic of Angband, that he can never be trusted. These rumors will only cause further discord among his host
But privately? I think he wonders these things himself. He has almost no experience with trauma or injuries of this kind. Certainly the Grinding Ice was unimaginably traumatic and Fingolfin both saw and aided in gruesome but necessary medical procedures. But it’s a different kind of trauma
Neither him nor anyone else truly knows what to expect
And that’s without the added tension of the old feud with Fëanor and the lingering anger over the betrayal that led to so many deaths on the ice.
I think Fingolfin is not at all an innately callous person but he is a shrewd one. It does not escape his mind that the presence of Maedhros in his camp is a profound factor that can be used in potential negotiations with the Fëanorian host
Fingolfin would never deprive Maedhros of medical care or see him harmed or neglected or anything. Ideally to Fingolfin Maedhros need not ever know his position had any ulterior motives (certainly, Maedhros is already intensely suspicious of each kindness he receives in Mithrim as is typical of former prisoners). But if his position could be used to gain leverage with the Fëanorian host…he is glad it does not come to that.
Fingolfin does feel compassion for Maedhros of course. He sits with him often while he’s still unable to leave his bed. He’s extremely supportive of Maedhros during his relearning walking, writing and fighting. But I think there’s an imbalance in their relationship here that Maedhros is acutely aware of and it’s not until Maedhros is able to return to living spaces of his own that he can build a stronger bond with his uncle.
Fingolfin does also question Maedhros about Angband when Maedhros agrees to submit to questions. This likely exacerbates the tension at least at first rather than bringing them closer.
The sessions of questioning are long, exhausting and uncomfortable; fragments of practical knowledge that must be extracted from decades of horror. Maedhros is perhaps too eager to prove himself, to be of use in the fight against Morgoth and to show that he hides nothing. Fingolfin is perhaps too eager to be doing anything that gets him closer to a real plan
Later Fingolfin and Maedhros form a powerful alliance and friendship but in those first months and even years after his rescue, their relationship is tenuous. Because of Fingolfin’s questioning and Maedhros’s testimony and Fingolfin’s presence in those early days after his rescue, Fingolfin knows more context to seemingly casual references or phrases by Maedhros, knows to look further where others might not and definitely don’t want to.
Maedhros is also at times uncomfortably conscious of just how much Fingolfin knows.
(Maedhros’s knowledge of Angband as both a horror and a weapon is something I love to talk about if anyone has any questions! or about anything!)
Also in my au where Maedhros is not rescued until the end of the war of wrath, re-embodied Fingolfin is one of his first visitors and advocates.
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dont want to go back to drawing so i'm reading news articles. A lot of us should read this one.
The second technique [to accuse critics of Israel's policies of antisemitism] draws on the definition of antisemitism formulated by the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance. Founded in 1998 (under a different name), the IHRA is a political body with considerable political power, uniting government representatives and Holocaust scholars from 33 countries, nearly all of them in the West. The IHRA aims to spread and institutionalize teaching and research on the Holocaust, commemorate the Holocaust, and struggle against antisemitism.
The IHRA agreed on a definition of antisemitism in 2016, along with a list of examples, based on previous definitions. It has since become a kind of “soft law” that is binding in many institutions and even states across the world. The problem is that the IHRA definition deals obsessively — more than with any other topic — with the degree of antisemitism in criticism of Israel, making it far more difficult to identify real instances of antisemitism, while casting a cloud of suspicion over nearly all criticism of Israel. Meanwhile, the burden of proof lies with critics of Israel, who are constantly asked to prove that they are not anti-Semites.
Richard Spencer, one of the prominent voices on the nationalist right in the United States, provided a prime example of this connection in July 2018 when he expressed fervent support for Israel’s Jewish Nation-State Law. This came a little over half a year after he called Israel an inspiration and a model of ethno-nationalism, while at the same time explaining that “Jews are vastly over-represented in what you would call ‘the establishment’ and white people are being dispossessed from this country.” The IHRA definition certainly aims to fight against such statements and people such as Spencer, but its obsession with silencing criticism of Israel diverts attention from real antisemites who may support Israel while simultaneously posing a serious threat to Jews in the United States.
Put differently, one does not need the IHRA definition to identify people like Spencer as antisemites, but once antisemitism becomes identical with criticism of Israel, people like Spencer are off the hook. After all, they are great supporters of Israel.
Using the IHRA’s poor definition of antisemitism, they have succeeded in completely changing the discourse: rather than talk about the occupation, the Nakba, or its violation of national, human and civil rights, the dominant public discourse now revolves around what is or is not forbidden when it comes to criticism of Israel, and to what extent said criticism is antisemitic. In this reality, Israel no longer needs to defend itself against allegation — it has a free hand to throw around accusations.
#israel#gaza#red rambles#also before anyone gets weird about this: the authors are both scholars of Jewish history and Dr. Raz Segal was born in Israel
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(Fall into Temptation) III: Jealousy
Like adulterers in the forbidden garden, their souls slither among the buds of temptation. Jealousy, like venomous snakes, coils around their love, whispering sins on every fallen leaf. Can they redeem themselves in the aridity of their own Eden, or are they destined to be eternal exiles from celestial peace?
In their little bubble, they had created a small domestic life that they enjoyed. Their weekend meetings were not just for pleasure; even if the moment was right or they truly desired it, they would yield to their desires. Other times, they simply slept, talked, cuddled – a moment used solely to forget the reality they lived in and enter their own world. It was like... feeling as if they had been together for many years, at least that's how they felt.
One thing Toto had noticed in their domestic bubble was Christian's ease in falling asleep, especially on him. He knew that Christian relaxed enough, and sometimes in the middle of a conversation, the younger one would slowly drift into sleep. On other occasions, Toto would run his hand down Christian's neck, applying pressure at certain points where Christian quickly relaxed.
They were in that position now. Christian slept or tried to sleep on him, in Toto's room in the hotel where Mercedes was staying. In the last two races, they couldn't be together, especially during Christian's birthday week because... their wives would be there.
So, both of them had silently clung to each other. They were going to be separated for a long time, especially after the season ends; the winter break was another matter they had been avoiding, but that time was looming over them.
To ran his hand on Christian's back, gently moving up and down when he felt the younger one stir. He got up gently with slightly tired eyes. He had spent the last half-hour trying to sleep, but thoughts were bothering him.
"What's wrong?" Toto asked.
Christian looked at him and sighed. "Nothing."
"Am I doing something wrong?" Toto asked, sounding concerned.
"No... it's just that... I can't sleep," he said softly.
"Then I'm doing something wrong," Toto said, running a hand through his hair.
"It's not that... it's just that I'm thinking about... the winter break approaching," he said, avoiding Toto's gaze.
Toto smiled gently. "Chris..." he approached and kissed his cheek. "We'll figure this out, don't worry."
"But we haven't talked about this. We've been apart for a week... but three months?" Christian said.
"We'll figure it out. Maybe we can find some time outside of our business commitments," Toto suggested.
That was another pending topic of conversation. In all the months they had been in this affair, they hadn't seen each other outside of their work moments. Christian was afraid of doing something like that, afraid of being discovered. So, he stayed silent because, in the end, it seemed like the only solution.
"Christian, that's another issue we've been avoiding, and you know it," Toto emphasized. "We'll be careful, maybe once a month."
Although they knew that once wasn't enough, even if they managed to escape for a whole day, it wouldn't be sufficient. They barely tried to get enough with the times they saw each other during the Grand Prix weekends.
"It's the only solution, I suppose," Christian whispered.
"Yes, but we'll discuss it later. Look at your eyes," Toto said sweetly. "You look tired, darling."
"I am," said Christian, trying not to blush.
They had recently started using affectionate terms between them, occasionally. They were afraid of getting used to it, but when Toto spoke to him that way, Christian melted.
They looked at each other, smiled, and Toto leaned in to unite their lips, the sound of a sweet kiss resonating in the room.
"Come on, let's go to sleep," Toto said.
They settled in more comfortably. They had left the room dimly lit, but they turned off the lights entirely, and darkness enveloped them.
Not long after, they were asleep, in the same position, Christian on top of Toto, hiding his face in his neck.
~~
There are many topics they are avoiding, gradually accumulating in a to-do list that they don't want to touch.
Lately, both have been experiencing conflicting emotions. Christian becomes desperate at the thought of being away from Toto for too long. It's not because he can't be away from him for an extended period, but rather, it's about who Toto will be with during those days.
Christian reproaches himself for those thoughts and discomfort, not wanting to have them, not wanting to be possessive with Toto.
Because... until they decide what step to take, exclusivity is forbidden. Christian has fantasized a lot about the "what if." In his mind, he has created different scenarios, knowing each other when they were teenagers or when Christian was just starting in TP, and he always asks himself, "Why didn't fate bring us together earlier? Why do we have to live through this?"
Toto, on his part, has noticed the same sensations, well, since that time when they were distant and Toto felt so possessive, and he still feels that way. He knows he can't mark Christian the way he wants. He lets Christian do it, lets him scratch his back as much as he wants, mark him if he wants. If only he could do everything he wants—bite him, leave hickeys.
But Toto controls his strength and knows it would be unleashed if he did it once, although something deep down can tell him that it might happen soon.
~~
Jealousy at the beginning is sweet, playful games that end in a pleasant and flirtatious outcome.
The first time it happened, Toto sensed a different scent on Christian, and he knew perfectly well that it was the scent of a woman. Christian's wife had been accompanying him a few days before to celebrate the upcoming Grand Prix, but she had to leave due to some commitments, so the weekend plans had changed for both of them.
Christian was so excited that after dropping his wife off at the car that would take her to the airport, he went straight to the hotel where Toto was staying. He bit his lower lip with a smile, hadn't told Toto yet, and wanted to surprise him. They had made plans to spend time together before his wife decided to join him, so they had exchanged room numbers, as they always did, just in case they had the opportunity.
When Toto opened the door to his room, Christian smiled at him with excitement.
"There's been a change of plans," he said, smiling.
Toto sighed, sounding relieved, and smiled faintly.
Then Christian entered the room and pounced on Toto, hugging him tightly. When Toto wanted to bury his face in his neck, he felt that scent, inhaling the perfume that was subtly perceptible, a trace of jasmine and sandalwood, like an echo of her presence.
And then, jealousy took over his feelings as he inhaled that perfume that didn't bear his name. The mix of emotions enveloped him, the reminder that Christian is not entirely his invaded him.
Toto stepped back, and Christian looked at him with confusion.
"What's wrong?" Christian said. "Aren't you happy that I'm here?"
"Where were you before coming here?" Toto asked.
Christian was surprised by the question. "I escorted her to the car to go to the airport and then came straight here," he replied.
Toto clenched his teeth, imagining a sweet farewell, and his mind began to reach its limit.
"What's happening?" Christian insisted, noticing Toto's gaze.
"Her scent..." Toto whispered. "I can smell her perfume on you."
Christian smiled, noticing how much Toto was controlling himself. Getting jealous over just a scent would feel silly, but it's Toto, and he continues to surprise Christian, and above all, he loves it.
Christian placed a hand on Toto's abdomen, using his thumb to circle gently. They locked eyes.
Then Christian separated from him and lowered Toto's gaze, searching through his belongings. He found his perfume, and when he returned, he took Toto's hand, sat him on the bed, and then settled in his lap, placing his perfume in his hand.
"Drench me in your scent then," Christian challenged. "Remove that scent from me."
There were many moments when Christian let himself go and stopped thinking for a moment; those were the moments where Toto, and only Toto, existed in his mind.
So there he was in Toto's lap, captivated by the man's jealousy and with a strong desire for him to claim what is his, and Toto doesn't lag behind.
With delicacy, he let the aromatic drops caress his wrists. With movements full of tenderness and connected gazes, Toto slid his hands over Christian's skin, ran his fingers, and made small circles.
Christian sighed at the touch, stretched his head, exposing his neck more. Shortly after, Toto approached, and with his eyes closed, he inhaled the scent. The other perfume had disappeared; now, Christian once again had his mark, his scent, stating that he belongs to him.
There's nothing Christian likes more than seeing Toto so hungry, his eyes turning dark, like a wolf about to catch its prey, and Christian is offering himself on a silver platter.
Christian let out a small laugh and caressed Toto's face. "I already smell like you, don't I?"
Toto just nodded, and when he tried to get closer to capture Christian's lips, he was stopped as Christian covered the Austrian's mouth.
"Jealous," he whispered, smiling, and then moved his hand away.
"So are you," Toto replied.
"Maybe, but I'm not so possessive," Christian said, his hands now on Toto's abdomen, starting to unbutton each button.
"You like it when I am," he said, sighing as he felt Christian's hands move up and down his body.
The shirt descended, revealing his back and abdomen.
"I do like it, yes," Christian affirmed, and this time, he joined his lips with Toto's.
A slow but intense kiss, tongues playing with each other, a small bite on a lip. Christian began a trail of kisses along Toto's neck, gently biting his collarbone, descending down his chest. Toto's breathing became heavy, enjoying the lips marking his skin.
Christian's hands traveled to Toto's belt and slowly unfastened it. Then he stood up from the bed and slid to the floor, kneeling in front of Toto.
In his years as a Team Principal, not even as rivals for a decade, Christian would have imagined being on his knees in front of him, looking up at him larger than life, and him returning the gaze with hunger and surprise.
Christian just smiled and winked, knowing that Toto wants him, and he's there to give it to him. He could already feel it half-hard between his pants; the visual image delighted him. How much Toto would give to have Christian like this every day if he could.
Christian started with gentle licks, working his way to the base, keeping his mouth there for a while. Toto's body felt electricity for a moment; he threw his head back in a sigh. And Christian continued his work, moving up and down slowly. Toto's hand traveled to the other's head, stroking his hair as his breathing became labored. They were just starting with everything they wanted to do, and they knew it was going to be a long time.
Jealousy at the beginning tends to be playful, showing desire and possession as a display of affection, indicating that they only want each other in their bubble, not allowing anyone else to enter.
They demonstrated it by increasing their flirtation, discussing it superficially because, for the time being, they could control it, diverting their thoughts for a while.
And yet, they didn't know how long it would last.
Later, when both were satisfied, they lay on the bed facing down. Christian had his hand in Toto's wet hair, his fingers playing among the strands, while Toto had his hand on the other's mouth, his thumb slowly caressing the reddish lip.
"Satisfied?" Christian whispered with a smile.
"With you, I'm never satisfied; I always want more, darling," Toto replied.
"I'm glad to hear that; I feel the same way," he leaned in for one last kiss, amid soft smiles and looks of longing.
~~
As long as it was like this, both would be comfortable with the situation. However, disagreements wouldn't take long to arise, one of the reasons why Christian was nervous about the winter break. He remembered what happened during the summer break just a few months ago.
The inevitable moment when jealousy intensifies began to approach.
They could say they had mentally prepared themselves to be apart from each other for a long time, and Christian believed he could endure it. They had scheduled a day to call and talk, to hear each other's voices.
They had exchanged messages, yes, but due to their commitments, they couldn't do it frequently.
Anxiety became frequent. Christian could suddenly be nervous with just one thought crossing his mind, wanting to know what Toto was doing, and more importantly... with whom. It was corrupting him.
So, the eagerly awaited day for their call had arrived. Christian had decided to lock himself in his office for more privacy. To distract himself, he had started to get ahead on work for when they returned to the factory.
Half an hour passed, an hour... no call, no message. Anxiety returned, a fleeting thought of calling crossed his mind. Maybe Toto was waiting for his call?
He hesitated a bit, unsure. Who knows what he could be doing... he could send a message, but no, it had to be a call.
Christian made up his mind, called. The phone rang once, twice, three times... nothing. It was nighttime, and Christian's thoughts couldn't help but delve into what Toto might be doing. When he checked his social media, the icing on the cake was seeing her recent posts, uploaded just a few hours ago. He felt sick for a moment, a shiver ran through his body, and he felt a knot.
Then he remembered he couldn't get angry like that. They didn't have the right to claim who they touched when they weren't together. In reality, at least for Christian, he had stopped touching that person for a while. And when he did, he couldn't help but feel strange, as if what he was doing wasn't right, when it should be the other way around.
His head hurt, amid so many thoughts and his struggle to push them away. He closed his eyes and let the tears flow.
Days later, the call came. He was in his living room, trying to watch TV when the phone rang. His wife asked who it was, and he quickly lied about something work-related. When he went to his office, he placed the phone on the table and let it ring, not answering.
Another call, no response. Christian didn't know how long he could endure without answering, just staring at his name on the screen.
He felt a lump in his throat. He had tried to dispel his anxiety for days but hadn't been able to.
One last call, and this time, he decided to answer, but probably not in the way Toto expected to hear his voice.
"What do you think you're doing? I'm with my family now," he said, trying to sound upset.
"Excuse me, but I owed you a call... I just wanted..."
"No, don't say anything. You were probably too busy to give me time," he said, and it sounded like a complaint.
"Let me explain..."
"You don't have to explain anything. We had a day, that day has passed, and now you come and talk to me when I'm busy."
"But you answered, so we could talk as we agreed."
"I don't feel like talking, and respect my time because I respected what we had said," he continued. "But who knows what you were doing."
"What are you implying?" Toto asked, sounding annoyed on the other end. "Do you think I didn't respond because I was doing something else?"
"Who knows what you can do one night with..."
"Christian..." Toto said.
"I don't know. I'm not going to blame you for anything, but again, respect my time," Christian said.
"Darling, it's not what you think."
"Whatever," he said and hung up.
He felt a stab in his heart, feeling bad because he didn't feel entitled. Toto wasn't entirely his, and Christian wasn't entirely Toto's.
But Christian felt like he was giving himself completely. He hadn't noticed when the tears were flowing down his cheeks. He left his phone on the desk and listened to it ring, another call, and Christian focused on looking at the sky.
With the sound of a call and then a few messages, he looked at the sky through the window, asking the sky why it was so hard to love someone.
Stormy days followed. Christian immersed himself again in not eating or eating very little. Thoughts were tormenting him, and he slept more than he could.
He felt unstable, unable to believe how difficult it was to be in love—a torture when you're in a prison, unable to touch or have the precious freedom in your hands.
On the other hand, Toto hadn't called back, and that only killed him even more. Although he told himself that he was stupid to think that Toto would talk to him all the time.
They had argued—or well, there had been complaints about Christian's jealousy, and Toto knew how Christian reacted when he let his thoughts take over. That worried him. It was something Christian dealt with—what's right and what's wrong. Toto had decided to give him his time, fearing that the younger one would feel bad.
It's not that Toto thinks it's right to be jealous, but he understands Christian. He, too, has had torturous days this summer, trying to get it out of his mind that the person he wants is not with him.
If only Christian knew the days Toto had dedicated to him, looking at the moon, wishing that he could be the one by his side.
The race that marked the return from the summer break was in Austria, a bittersweet cocktail for Christian. He was angry with that tall man, like a tree, and, on top of that, the return race was Red Bull's home race, but also that man's home race.
It was inevitable that he would seek him out in the paddock, because that's what he did.
There were a few knocks on the door of his office in the motorhome, until he let him in.
"Hello..." he said cautiously.
"Hello," Christian replied, trying not to look at him, focusing on his documents.
There was a moment of silence until Toto decided to break it.
"So, are you going to ignore me, or can we talk?" he said, trying to be patient.
Christian sighed, closed his eyes, and with another sigh, he looked at Toto.
"What do you need?" he said softly but with a very serious look.
"To talk, that's what I need, but not with the team principal. Please, just give me Christian for a moment," he demanded.
"I'm here, can't you see me?"
"I see you, but you have the same behavior when you get angry in a press conference and don't want to see anyone."
"Toto, enough. I have a lot to do; it's Red Bull's home race..." he said sounding exhausted, and he was. The last week before this weekend had been torturous. He knew this moment would come, and Christian sank into anxiety.
"Have you even slept? Have you eaten?" Toto asked.
"You're not interested in that," he said defensively.
"I'm interested, I'm as interested as the day I couldn't call you"
"We've closed this topic. Leave it there."
"Christian..."
"Seriously, Toto, just leave it there," he said decisively, getting up to look for other papers, not wanting to see him.
He couldn't believe that even when Toto had come to find him, his jealousy was still there. Mentally, he cursed himself because he didn't insist on calling him, but there he was, the bastard was there, claiming that he was being ignored, when he had been doing who knows what during the other days of the summer.
Toto sighed, and he didn't care about anything else. He approached Christian and took him by the arm.
"Hey, what are you doing?" Christian said, annoyed, trying to break free.
Toto put his hand on Christian's neck to hold him and brought their lips together.
"Toto!" Christian resisted the other's lips.
He didn't say anything and sought his lips again, pressing them, and Christian tried to resist the kiss, feeling Toto's tongue trying to enter his mouth. But he didn't resist for long until the longing and the repressed desire to feel those lips for a long time invaded him.
When they separated with a thin line of saliva connecting them, breathless from the lack of air, Christian's eyes moistened. He wanted to stand firm against his complaint, but he couldn't anymore.
"I missed you," Toto whispered.
Christian looked away, trying not to cry. Toto hid his face in his neck. "I didn't call you that day because I had an impromptu dinner with some friends. I was trying to distance myself when I saw your call, but it wasn't allowed. Then, my son approached, and he wanted to spend time with me."
Christian opened his eyes in surprise and pulled away. Toto continued.
"I wasn't doing anything, I promise," Toto said, pressing his forehead against Christian's.
"You don't have to say that," Christian said with a slightly choked voice. "I was wrong... I..."
"Stop... don't torment yourself," Toto silenced him. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry," said Christian.
"I'm sorry," Toto said, looking gently at Christian, and shortly after, they kissed again and embraced.
"I missed you..." Christian finally said.
---
They knew it was difficult not to have these jealousies with the nature of their relationship. They had been apart for a long time, but over time, they started talking about things. They tried to be honest, and Toto made sure that Christian didn't stay silent because he had started doing that.
In these two weeks when they would be separated due to the presence of their wives, Toto had struggled with the fact that Christian would be accompanied. In his mind, he could have organized a nice dinner on a quiet night, but they couldn't.
In that case, he prepared a gift, an elegant box lined with velvet, containing the treasure that Toto had carefully selected for Christian. The box, adorned with silver details (a subtle sign of the giver) and a gracefully twirled red silk ribbon, was a prelude to the jewel that awaited inside.
As he uncovered it, the light revealed a meticulously designed watch, whose pulsating beat marked the time. The dial, adorned with a design reminiscent of the curves of a race track, shone with timeless elegance.
However, the truly exceptional part lay on the back of the watch. There, engraved with surgical precision, was the dual declaration that encapsulated the complexity of their connection: "I Hate You and I Love You." The finely crafted letters stood out in contrast, like the paradoxes that wove the very fabric of their relationship.
The watch, more than a simple measure of time, stood as a silent witness to their intertwined emotions.
Christian was delighted; he smiled like a fool throughout the rest of the day. As he adjusted the strap around Christian's wrist, the watch became a tangible symbol of their unique connection. When he saw Toto walking in the paddock before the free practices, he gave a subtle wink accompanied by a smile.
For the moment, everything was going well. Even Christian felt that he was handling it better than it seemed. The watch had been something he had loved. Now, he had to think about giving something special to Toto since his birthday was also approaching.
Christian doesn't know how, but on Toto's birthday, he managed to slip away, and when he saw Toto approaching his motorhome, he first made sure the man was alone, then ran behind him and hugged him.
Toto let out a laugh.
"You said we couldn't see each other," Toto said, smiling as he glanced at the watch Christian was wearing.
"I had to thank you for the gift," said Christian, letting Toto turn around.
"Maybe we can't do anything more special, but I wanted you to know that I always think of you," he said, taking Toto by the waist.
And then they merged into a kiss, the only one they could share for this time, or so they thought until they ended up cuddled inside the motorhome. They knew they were taking a risk, but they wanted to be like that, alone for a while.
So, in their Garden of Eden, everything seemed calm. It felt like it was always spring, even though it turned to fall for a while, it always returned to spring.
However, the fear that winter might come still persisted—a winter that would last for a few months. Christian feared letting himself be carried away by his thoughts again.
Fear can take over when a love of shadows is in the air, when you fear that anything could break your idyll, when you fear that everything could be uncovered.
The inevitable winter break arrived, along with a series of events that Christian feared.
A couple of weeks had passed, things were generally going well; they talked from time to time, and if there were any complaints, they resolved them.
But some events were approaching, along with encounters that would be difficult to digest. Christian was going to be awarded for his career in motorsports, a gala would take place, and Toto would be present.
This time, he would accompany his wife, as she would present awards. You never really know how fate works in others.
But fate decided that Toto would be sitting at the table in front, and Christian at the back, right in his line of sight. Torturous, Christian closed his eyes and inhaled, trying to calm down. His wife was by his side, proud of the award Christian would receive, taking photos and enthusiastically talking about the topic.
But Christian couldn't play along; he felt that at any moment, he would be told to shut up, and not in a nice way. His self-control and patience were being put to the test. Why today? Precisely today?
He took it as a divine sign—enjoying the sin but at the same time, remembering the reality. Christian looked at his watch, the watch Toto had given him, and he felt... bad.
Not even a watch could make him feel special because he remembered that on his hand was a ring that didn't connect him to Toto, but to someone else. The person who wore the ring that committed her was right in his line of sight.
Talking to him, smiling with him, and Christian just watched, becoming more anxious. Sometimes he wanted to connect his gaze with hers.
"Turn around," he thought, "look for me," although he regretted it shortly after.
On the other hand, Toto knew that this could be a problem. He wanted to look for Christian, but when he wanted to turn around, he saw Christian talking to his wife.
So Toto decided not to look, he already felt uncomfortable, and this would only make it worse. So there they were, both knowing they were close but divided by a barrier of reality.
This is how it felt to be outside their garden, outside their bubble, the reality check of having to pretend they have cordiality and that their relationship is only professional.
Toto went on stage to present the new award category, his wife by his side, and Christian couldn't stand to look at it.
Complicit glances, smiles, everything was overwhelming for him. He felt so displaced that he thought he would cry at any moment.
Then he stood up, headed to the bathroom, and it was empty. He stopped at the sink, feeling his hands trembling, the vivid memory of what he had just seen while Toto was on stage hurt, it was a thorn in his side.
He closed his eyes, counted to 10, tried deep breaths, and didn't calm down.
He wanted to hold back the tears; he shouldn't cry. They haven't given him his award, and he can't go up looking upset to receive it.
But he couldn't, not when everything he had seen that night crossed his mind again.
"Why can't it be different?" he whispered in tears. "Why can't it be us?"
Many things crossed his mind—fantasies of being the one with Toto, of showing off his partner at the gala. All the things he wanted to do outside their bubble. But the thoughts turned darker the more he pondered.
"No, you don't deserve happiness," a thought whispered. "That's what you're going to destroy," it reproached.
Christian closed his eyes, trying to silence his mind.
"What if you surrendered, but he didn't?" the thought whispered again. "This is the consequence not only of your sin but also of how you treated him in the past," the thought continued. "Have you already forgotten what you said years ago in Qatar?"
And Christian couldn't take it anymore. In his tears, he whispered, "I apologized... I apologized to him."
What if this was the consequence of being a sinner? The constant reminder of what you can't have even if you want it.
The memory that you can only have it in privacy, in the darkness of a room, in the sheets, but all in secret, without anyone knowing.
He splashed water on his face, took a deep breath, and despite the thoughts, he returned. When he sat back at the table, his wife asked him what was wrong. He quickly denied that something was happening and focused on his phone.
At the other table, Toto had already come down from the stage, and for a moment, he allowed himself to look at Christian. He was looking at his phone, and Toto could see he was wearing the watch.
He smiled softly, at least he was wearing something of his, but that smile changed when he saw Christian talking to his wife, and she was touching his arm... placing her hand on his watch.
Toto didn't like that; his expression turned darker.
"Take your hand off there," he thought.
However, everything escalated when the woman's hand moved up to Christian's face. Toto decided not to look anymore and not to turn again for the rest of the night.
When Christian received his award, he felt the tension passing by that table; he knew Toto would see him, follow his steps, but with what little was left of his professional demeanor, he decided to ignore the presence of the other for his own good.
In his eyes, a distant weariness could be seen, the eyes of a person who has just cried—Toto was one of those people. He noticed Christian's gaze.
Later that night, during the ongoing reception, Toto managed to take him by the arm and lead him to a secluded place.
"Are you okay?" Toto said. "You didn't look well during the speech."
"I am," said Christian, but he felt... distant. "Don't worry; I'm just very tired."
"Have you rested?" Toto asked. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes, I am," he said again. "Excuse me; I have to go back. We can't be like this for too long, remember?" He said and walked away.
Toto felt the distance; he saw him moving away and getting lost among the people, leaving him with words on his lips.
The distance would persist for the following events—the premiere of a movie, both invited, both attending with their wives. Christian recognized him, as always, one of the tallest people in the room. Of course, he felt a pang when he saw them, holding hands, smiling at others.
And the questions returned, "Why? Why didn't we meet earlier? What if it were us?"
The worst part is when, in front of you, that person is looking at their official partner, the one everyone knows as their partner, looking affectionately at each other, and you feel like the world is crumbling around you.
Then doubt emerges, guilt appears—should we really continue with what we have?
The night goes on; Christian is the one in the spotlight now, and that gives him a glimmer of relief. At least he feels like he could enjoy the movie.
The garden is now in winter, feeling the distance between them, spring has yet to appear, and it feels like it doesn't want to peek out.
Toto, who is a few seats away, sees him and imagines being there by his side. Maybe they could hold hands since they are in the dark, he thinks.
His wife snaps him out of his trance when she talks to him about something related to the movie. When he turns back, Christian has his wife on his shoulder again, and he thinks about the perfume... the damned perfume.
For some reason, Christian feels strange in that gesture, in the way he's positioned with her—it's the way he is sometimes with Toto. Still, he senses Toto's gaze on him and feels nervous.
This time, he doesn't feel the jealousy to be playful; it feels more bitter, more distant, more... like winter.
Christian doesn't know, but suddenly his wife commented on something, he smiled, and she playfully kissed him on the cheek, although she later pointed out that she had stained him with lipstick.
Dazed and feeling strangely embarrassed, he got up and went to the bathroom to clean up.
Toto, who was at a distance, witnessed everything. It seemed like time froze at that moment, and a knot formed in his throat.
It seemed like destiny wanted them to reflect on what they're doing, on what they have to decide until this progresses further.
When he saw Christian come out, he waited for a moment before coming out as well. He found Christian in the bathroom, cleaning up.
"Hello..." Christian said when he saw him in the mirror.
"Hello," said Toto.
Toto approached and noticed that Christian had wet towels there; he took one and wiped the other's cheek, running the towel over his beard until there was no trace of that lipstick. If you ask, yes, he felt the perfume, but he cared more about removing that stain. Christian just looked on, and when Toto finished, they stared at each other for a while.
And to finish it off, Toto took his face and kissed him. Christian was getting carried away, but he remembered where they were, so he pulled away.
"We... we could be seen," he whispered.
Toto nodded but, when Christian turned to grab the small pack of wet towels, he hugged him from behind.
"Toto," he warned.
"Look at us," Toto said, and with his face, he directed Christian's gaze to the mirror.
And they looked at each other, like a postcard, like a couple's photo. Toto rested his chin on the shorter one's shoulder and winked; Christian smiled gently.
"We look good, don't we?" Toto said.
"Yes," said Christian, smiling at the image reflected in the mirror.
"These days are torturous, believe me," he whispered. "I want to see you, have you all to myself for a whole day."
"I... I don't know... you know it scares me," Christian responded.
"Just think about it, a getaway just for us, without work in the middle," he said, placing a kiss on his cheek. "Tell me you'll think about it and let me know."
"Alright," Christian conceded.
And another kiss emerged as a farewell – a slow, tender kiss accompanied by looks of longing.
Both exited the bathroom at different times.
Christian thought about it for a few days and decided that maybe it would be a good idea. Wouldn't it be? Meeting to dissipate the anxiety that afflicted them and spending some days together.
The idea was discarded when an article was published accusing Toto and his wife of a conflict of interest in their work. There was a great uproar on the internet; everyone was talking about it.
Christian called Toto.
"Is everything okay?" he asked.
"In theory, yes, but... well, there are people who aren't okay," Toto said cautiously.
Christian understood. "That article... only someone trying to create chaos would write it," Christian said.
"I know," Toto said. "For now, I'll see what I can do; she doesn't deserve this."
Something touched Christian beneath those words. No, Toto wasn't referring to them, but it could be taken in both ways.
Something Christian knew about Toto was that he always spoke well of people he cared about. It's undoubtedly something he struggled to differentiate, especially with the nature of the relationship he has with him.
When Toto talks about her, and in this case, with genuine concern, Christian knows that despite their relationship, affection for that person won't disappear – just like his own affection for his wife.
But it's challenging to live in that moment, especially when they talk about it and set aside their relationship.
However, in those same days, as a way to help, Christian spoke with the other Team Principals, communicating that they should all disassociate because no one had made such an accusation. He gathered the courage to highlight Toto's qualities and, biting his tongue a bit, spoke of her qualities.
So that day, everyone communicated simultaneously, releasing the new statement – all the teams in a form of support.
Shortly afterward, Christian received a call.
"I appreciate it," Toto said as the first words Christian heard. "Fred told me you campaigned in the shadows to defend me."
"Well, I... it was the least I could do... you don't deserve... well, neither of you deserves that," Christian said.
"I know how hard you try not to let your thoughts take over... thank you, my love," he whispered on the call.
Christian gave a gentle smile.
"That's what we're here for, to support each other," he said.
"Yes, I'm grateful for this support," Toto said. "We'll see each other, my love, I haven't forgotten... we have a date to keep."
~~
Christmas was tough. Christian believes he has endured everything because his children give him the energy to do so. They haven't spoken since that call, and obviously, Christian is getting desperate. He saw Susie's statements, and she hasn't posted again.
He's trying to be patient and not be anxious as he was in the summer.
"Don't think, don't think," he tells himself.
Three weeks pass, even Christmas and New Year.
During that time, there were a few messages, "I'm traveling, but I promise to see you on New Year's Eve."
The winter felt even darker then. Christian tried to control his thoughts, but it's so difficult when visual images come, scenarios he doesn't want to see. Anxiety appears from time to time, scaring him, making him desperately try to distract himself.
There were days when he cried because he no longer wanted to think. His thoughts screamed that Toto was just using him, other times that he deserved it.
There were days when he simply stared at the sky and wished for the new year to come quickly.
Christmas and New Year passed, and he sent kisses into the air and the sky, hoping the breeze would carry them to Toto.
There had been no messages. A part of him believed he had grown accustomed to it (he hadn't).
When he had returned to work at the factory, there were still no messages or calls. However, Toto's birthday was approaching.
Christian had a shirt made in a soft blue tone, as that color suited Toto perfectly. It was embroidered with Toto's initials and on one of the sleeves, "Te Odio y Te quiero" (I Hate You and I Love You).
He was still deciding whether to send it or wait to give it in person. This time, he felt a bit more prepared to see whatever appeared on social media.
And so it happened. He saw a photo posted by Toto's wife, a shiver ran through him, and he couldn't stop thinking about the way Toto looked at her in that image.
But he decided to silence his mind, telling himself that a photo wouldn't tell him anything, that all he had to do was talk.
So he decided to ignore everything for the day.
A few days later, he received a call while he was at the factory in Milton Keynes.
"Hello," Christian said with a small smile.
"Hello, Mr. Horner... tell me, would you like to go out today?" Toto's deep voice sounded.
"Really?" Christian said with a laugh.
"How willing are you to go out?" Toto said.
"What do you have in mind?" Christian said, thinking it was all a joke.
"The anxiety of wanting to see you," he replied softly. "Now tell me, can you leave the company today? Sneak out?"
Christian hesitated for a moment, but excitement invaded him. It had been so long since they had seen each other; they were going to take a risk.
"Yes, I can," he replied.
"Good, I'll pick you up in half an hour," Toto said.
"Don't you think it would be risky... you..." Christian said.
"I'm not coming in a Mercedes, for your safety, love," he replied.
Later, ironically, a Ford arrived a bit far from the entrance. Christian said he had a meeting elsewhere and would take his car until the next day or later.
"What kind of joke is this?" he said, referring to the car.
"I thought you'd like me to bring you in a Ford," Toto said with a laugh. "You know, it sponsors your team."
"Do you really own a Ford?" Christian said.
"God, no, but at least I made the gesture," Toto said.
"Bastard," Christian said, laughing.
"I missed you," Toto said, leaving a small kiss that deepened.
Toto then took them to an apartment, a private condominium that was only half an hour away.
"This place..." Christian said, thinking it might be a home for Toto and his wife.
"It's an apartment I own," Toto revealed. "Sometimes I come here... usually when I argue with..."
"Oh... so there are no things of..."
"No, just mine," Toto said.
He approached and took Christian's hands.
"I know we need to talk," Toto said.
And after a long time, they allowed themselves to talk. Christian poured out everything his thoughts were telling him until he started to cry.
Toto apologized for provoking such thoughts in Christian, for indirectly hurting him. Even though Christian insisted he was okay, it wasn't enough for Toto. They needed to clarify everything, to build their trust.
Then they agreed that there needed to be changes, that they should talk when discomfort arose, when something bothered them, even if it seemed silly.
Anyone would think that due to the lack of tact, they wouldn't be able to keep their hands off each other. However, they were mature individuals, old enough to talk first before going further.
They did just that. Christian admitted his jealousy, his distancing at times, his fear of reaching out to Toto. Toto did the same, admitting that he had wanted to reach out but remembered Christian and the last time during the summer break.
Some time later, they were in bed, cuddled up and had been talking a lot. Although they weren't doing much more, the way they were together was enough.
Toto looked at the watch he gave to Christian, observed how it looked on Christian's wrist – it looked good.
Christian then looked at him, and they smiled, followed by a kiss.
"I missed you, I love you," said Christian.
They hadn't used that term yet, and Toto smiled satisfactorily.
"I missed you too, I love you," he whispered.
They began kissing again, this time feeling that they had somehow overcome another step. Under different circumstances, Christian might have been more nervous, but this time, he genuinely missed the other's embrace.
The kisses intensified with their breaths. At the moment of surrendering after so much time, desire emerged, and along with a sweet confession, they had to seal their love.
Subsequently, brief dates began to emerge, outings and getaways.
Christian was happier now, feeling that taking risks was okay. He even started occasionally wearing Toto's shirts.
Spring arrived in the garden, butterflies returned to play among the flowers, while they enjoyed the flourishing of their adventure.
But some storms had to happen because there was a secret that had to be discovered sooner or later.
~~~~
I want to thank @silvereds for some inspiration for some scenes in this chapter ♡
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You know what I find funny? That a drama that no one saw - nuh-nuh, of course not, it was taken down, locked away, forbidden! - made Xia Zhiguang & Huang Junjie so popular. Like, only a half a year ago, HJJ in particular was still canceled and now he's doing magazine shoots and has endorsements and is among the hot topics on Weibo and is invited to film festivals and... yeah. Because of a show that no one saw *nudge nudge wink wink*
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February 9th, 1975
Lily Evans liked to think that she was an early riser, always up in time to tame her hair and have a strong cup of tea before anyone else could assault her senses. She mostly did this because she could not stand the constant chatter of her dorm mates, and prying eyes as she got ready. Most of all, she had no patience to wait for her morning tea while half the Gryffindor pride argued over who would get the pot first.
No, she would much rather drag herself out of bed when the dorm was nothing but snores and murmurs. Get herself ready and saunter her way down to the breakfast table. It was what was best for everyone. It kept casualties to a minimum.
Today was different, though, Lily woke up in a quiet dorm. Enjoying the peace for a moment. No snoring, no giggling, just silence. Snuggling into her blanket, soaking in the heat of her comforter, the redhead started to get the sense that something was off. She was starting to realize that it was too quiet.
Peaking her head out of the hangings to inspect the manicured chaos that was the girl’s dorm. Starting to come to the horrific realization that the dorm was quiet because it was empty. Everyone is not just out of bed, but likely already at the breakfast table.
Scrambling out of bed, Lily looked at her little alarm clock and gasped. She was not just late for breakfast. She was running late for class. The Gryffindor rushed through her morning routine, skipping every step she could for her not to get reprimanded by the professor. Not wanting to mess up her perfect record now.
Lily tapped her foot impatiently at one of the last stairs, watching and waiting for it to slot back into place. She groaned when she was joined by none other than her least favourite duo, the harbingers of chaos. She looked at them with a haughty look, arms folding tightly on her chest. “Sirius. Morning.” she acknowledged with a curt nod. “Potter,” Lily added as an afterthought. Her eyes set stoically on the stairs now.
Once the steps got close enough, the redhead hopped on and made her descent. Only for the rowdy pair to follow on her heel. Pushing and nudging each other over something silly. Their laughs pulled at her already high-strung nerves.
She was rolling her eyes at a throwaway remark behind her, not noticing that they moved past her. Their movements were still wild, all elbows and flailing limbs. One of them caught her side, sending her tumbling. Just as she was about to steady herself, Lily’s foot caught on a trick step, and she sunk into the disappearing stair.
“Black! Potter!” She cursed and waved, though only James seemed to turn around. Taking in her predicament with his hands at his side, laughing. “Oh bullocks, fucking shit. Can one of you smug-faced twats help before we’re late for class?” The words slipped out of her mouth before she had realized.
“My, my Evans, I wasn’t aware you had it in you. That perfect record of yours really is important to you, isn’t it?” James taunted, but he moved closer to her. Crouching down in front of her, but making absolutely no move to help her up.
“Yes, it means a lot to me,” Lily admitted, her gaze level, trying to swallow the impatience and breeze it out her nose. “Now, please help me up.” There was a moment when his smile almost didn’t look irritating as he extended a surprisingly soft hand. Promising her:
“Don’t worry, we will make it”
February 14th 1978
Everyone had been a little disappointed that Valentine’s Day fell on a weekday that year. It sat awkwardly on Wednesday, making it feel strange to go out on the weekend before and after. Which Lily had lamented to her friends. To the point that both Dorcas and Mary had already forbidden her speaking on the topic.
A ban they gladly lifted when it seemed that James had actually forgotten about the day altogether. Constantly blowing her off for one thing or another. “You know, I understand if he doesn’t want to do anything too romantic. We’ve only been dating for two months.” Lily started, sighing disappointed as she wrapped her robes around her a little tighter.
She had followed her friends out onto the bridge to sneak a smoke between classes and felt the need to cover up her Head Girl badge while she condoned the illegal activity. “But he bloody turned down a shag. Can you imagine that? I even offered to get down to the pitch.” She rolled her eyes, holding out her hand and wriggled her fingers until Mary passed her the cig. “Like, the one fantasy that man has is having a cheeky encounter in the dressing rooms. Now I finally offer it and he fucking turns it down. Saying he has other shit to do. Bloody bullocks if you ask me.”
Marlene laughed, watching the redhead practically inhaling the roll-up she offered. Already reaching into her jacket to make another one. “Normally I’d say the problem is that he is a bloke.” She offered, clicking her tongue and swinging her blonde ponytail over her shoulder. “But a normal bloke would not have turned me down?” Lily offered to a chorus of hums agreeing with her.
Following Mary’s cigarette bud as she flicked it gracefully into the ravine, Lily fell silent, eyebrows knitting together. “What if he doesn’t want it?” She asked, cringing as everyone scoffed and laughed at her suggestion. “Okay, so then he doesn’t want me?” Another round of laughter made that assumption disappear like her own smoke.
“Lils, that boy has been drooling over you since he laid eyes on you,” Dorcas assured her with a firm hand on her shoulder. “He’s just being a guy. Worse, he is being James Potter. The poor, clueless lamb.” Marlene wrapped her arms around her from behind, giving her chest a squeeze and her cheek a kiss. “There is no way he is turning down a chance to see these.” The blonde taunted, coughing when Lily’s elbow landed in her sternum.
Chewing on the inside of her cheek, the Head Girl considered their arguments. She threw her hands up in surrender when eyebrows raised in her direction. “Fine, maybe I am just reading into it too much,” she offered, motioning all of them back to the castle. Hopefully, they would consider this conversation over.
Lily ended up having to shush a couple of them, but her friends behaved relatively well. Only offering minimal comments and lewd gestures as James whisked her away. Or, at least, she could pretend that was what he was doing as he held out his hand to start their patrol.
They laced together their fingers, hands swinging between them as they walked down the hallway. “James?” She asked quietly, peering into a classroom that seemed empty as she took a deep breath. “Do you think I’m pretty?” His eyes turned to her questioningly. “Yes, I do.” His sentence stretched curiously. “Do you like me?” He pulled his and from hers to cross his arms over his chest. “I love you, I’ve told you that before. What is this about?”
James gave her a long, stern look before the redhead asked the crucial question. “Do you not want to shag me?” There was a long silence as James looked at her in pure shock. “Lily, you’re joking, right?” She shook her head in reply. “At least half my day is occupied actively trying to not think about shagging you. I can hardly drag you into every broom closet and empty room, can I?”
Clicking her tongue, Lily considered his words. “Maybe you have a point there.” It didn’t take away the fact that it was Valentine’s Day and she had managed a card and a little gift. He had barely taken the time to snog her. Too preoccupied with some scheme Remus had come up with. “I know, Evans. Just trust me, okay?”
If it had not been for that damned smile, she would have quipped back, but she knew there was no use. She could do nothing by trust her boyfriend and continue their route.
Pausing suspiciously at The Astronomy Tower. Not a usual stop. Yet, here he was leading her up the spiral stairs. A lambent light coming from the main observation deck. Curiously, the redhead leaned into him. Trying to peer around the curve of the staircase to catch a glimpse of whatever this was.
Being greeted with a picnic blanket, throw pillows and candles. So many candles. A little dazed, Lily let herself be led to a spot. “You really thought I’d forget?” He questioned and she pulled up her shoulders. Watching James unpack a basket, pulling out sweets, fruit, and a bottle of wine. All things she enjoyed. “Happy Valentines,” He murmured, doing another thing she very much enjoyed. Kissing her.
Only breaking apart for a final attempt as a sensible remark. “We should aim to be back before curfew, though. Darling. Don’t get too distracted.” Getting a reply that almost certainly meant that they wouldn’t:
“Don’t worry, we will make it”
January 27th 1980
They should have never agreed to this mission. It was too risky, and they knew that from the moment they’d seen the look in Dumbledore’s eyes. But they were not about to let him down. One last mission for Lily before they’d tell everyone the good news. That is what they agreed.
In and out, all they needed to do was grab the artefact. What Lily did not expect was to come face to face with the Dark Lord himself while towing clutching a large, powerful tome. Even they did not know how they’d fended him off. The adrenaline made her memory hazy. There were spells and suddenly James pulled her out to make a run for it.
They were still running when he came to a halt. He stopped dead in his tracks, her body slamming against his, but she barely noticed. “James. let’s go. Get out of here.” Lily whispered, feeling his hand on her chest, pressing her back against the wall. “Not yet.” He informed her, leaning around the corner to check. His hand was still on her, purposefully shielding her with his own body as a green light flashed their way.
The redhead watched in horror as he looked at her, a few seconds longer than he needed to. Dreaded the stupid smile on his face as he winked at her, wand at the read. “I’ll take care of this one. You concentrate on the rendezvous.” Pausing for a moment, waiting for her confirmation. “Be careful,” Lily whispered back, forcing him to smile back at him.
Heavy footfalls came down the hallway quickly, her heart hammering in her chest as she tried to pull her mind together enough to get them both out of there at the drop of a hat. Her concentration was broken by soft lips pressing against hers far too briefly. Leaving her with the reassurance:
“Don’t worry, we will make it”
#jily#31prompts#jilytober#jily fic#jilytober2023#james potter#jily fanfiction#jilytoberfest2023#lily evans#repost#edited
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Responsibility
Fandom(s): Percy Jackson and the Olympians
Rating: General Audiences
Summary: Annabeth's been feeling a little bit too guilty lately. As a brother figure, it's Luke's job to make her feel better.
((Based on @reader-inserts-and-others-thing 's post))
AO3 link
“It was my fault.”
Luke saw Annabeth’s distressed expression as she slouched down on a rock by the creek.
“I should’ve known Clarisse was going to bait Chris and that he’d react.”
She looked so miserable.
Luke knelt next to her, and took her hands in his.
“Listen to me,” he said slowly. “You’re only eleven. You’ve almost led us to victory!”
“But we lost!” She snapped, getting up and stomping back a few steps. “We lost because I wasn’t clever enough.”
Luke sighed.
Ever since he’d come back wounded from his quest last year, Annabeth had been behaving with what he could only classify as Catholic guilt. She blamed herself for everything that went even slightly wrong in any and every aspect of her life.
She blamed herself for not going on the quest with him –as if Luke would’ve let her–, she blamed herself because her little sister couldn’t learn the multiplication tables, she blamed herself because their team hadn’t won the dodgeball match the other day…
It worried him monumentally. She was too young to take responsibility for everything.
When Luke had suggested she come up with a strategy for Capture-the-Flag, he’d done so hoping she’d relax and enjoy. Clearly this was all his fault.
“You made a mistake, Annabeth.” He took a step closer to her. “And then you covered it up nicely, too. If you’d been a bit taller, you’d have got to the creek sooner. Give yourself a few years, puberty will hit you like a train. You’ll wish you were short and slower again.”
He said the last bit dismissively, hoping she’d roll her eyes, annoyed at him so much as mentioning adolescence, the big forbidden topic she adamantly refused to talk about.
She did look away, but she appeared sad rather than embarrassed.
“My mother’s Athena,” she told him. “I’m supposed to be able to solve problems.”
Gods, not again with the Athena thing. Luke was ready to march up to Olympus and run over the old goddess with her own golden chariot.
Annabeth had had a dream, a week or so before, –whether a demigod dream, or a plain meaningless one he didn’t know– in which her mother told her she’d make her proud. Proud how? Athena didn’t say. Proud when? Yeah, not that either.
If the Goddess of Wisdom had truly gifted her daughter with a message, it was as vague as it could be. And not very productive at all. And also had the worst timing ever.
But Annabeth refused to believe that it had just been her subconscious creating an olympically unrelated dream, so she’d spent the past several days wishing for a triumph that won her some divine recognition.
Either way, Luke wished he could convince her to put less importance on her mother’s opinion of her.
“No god over there,” he began, pointing towards the general direction of Manhattan with his hand. “Has ever been good at solving problems. They create them, and then they let them run loose. It’s us who clean up their mistakes, and that’s something you’re very, very good at!”
She gave him a hesitant smile. “I did help with the Party Ponies last month.”
“You did,” he grinned. “That idea of the prom dress was amazing!”
Her eyes shone with pride, but they lost their gleam after a moment.
“But I still can’t win at Capture-the-Flag!” She insisted. “I keep messing up all the time!”
“Chiron likes to say you can be part of the problem, or part of the solution,” Luke said. “I happen to believe you can be both. And what’s more, I think it’s important to be part of both.”
Annabeth rolled her eyes. “Because you learn from your mistakes?”
“In a way, yes,” he agreed. “But also because it’s important to take responsibility when you mess up. You made a mistake, that’s true. But you also realised it, accepted it, and found a way to patch it up in like half a minute. Not everybody can do that, you know? Most people would fall over blaming this, that, you, me, and everybody else.”
“I do blame Chris a bit,” Annabeth admitted. She sighed. “But I should have known better.”
“There you go, then.” Luke grabbed Annebeth by her shoulders and pushed her towards the cabins. He felt sweaty, he wanted a shower. “You’ve learned and you’ve taken responsibility for it.”
Annabeth shrugged. “I guess it could’ve been worse.”
Luke nodded. “It’s only a game. We play every week, you’ll have a million chances of getting it right.”
“We’ll win next Friday,” Annabeth decided.
“I don’t doubt it,” he assured her. “That being said, though, it’s okay to throw some blame on other people if they are guilty about things. A mistake is not always one’s fault alone.”
“So you’re saying it’s also Chris’ fault for being baited?” She asked skeptically.
“Yes,” he said. “Maybe you could’ve seen it coming, but so could the rest of the team, and none of us realised it was a weakness in our defence. And Chris shouldn’t have been so easily baited by Clarisse.”
“As a strategist it’s more my fault though,” Annabeth stated. Luke thought she sounded less upset that she’d been a few minutes back.
“To quote one of the most iconic lines to ever come out of popular culture, with great power comes great responsibility, that’s true,” Luke agreed. “But when it comes to teamwork, everybody should try to help. A leader speaks for their people, they guide them, but they’re not to blame for every single action every person in the group makes.”
“I don’t mind taking some of the blame,” Annabeth said.
“That’s because you’re becoming a good leader,” he told her.
She stopped walking and turned towards him. “Do you think it would make my mother proud? Being a leader?”
Luke repressed a sigh.
“I can’t speak for your mom,” he offered. He knelt in front of her, and to his chagrin had to look up into her eyes. “But I can tell you with absolute certainty that Thalia would be very, very proud of you.”
Annabeth grinned.
#luke castellan#annabeth chase#clarisse la rue#chris rodriguez#thalia grace#chiron pjo#pjo#pjo hoo toa#riordanverse#mis fics#tagthescullion
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Hello, Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening!!
🎶👽😶 for Gold, Silver & Espio for the Ask Game
Good afternoon! ^-^
Gold
🎶 A headcanon about music
Music in Onyx City was all but forbidden because it got deemed as distracting, an outlet for people to express their unhappiness at the system, and capable of inspiring rebellion, so Gold just basically did not into contact with it at all for ten or so years. Once Onyx City is rescued Silver introduces her and her peers to some songs from the past, and they immediately become quite a hit! Gold especially loves very dramatic romance songs.
👽 A headcanon about a weird quirk of there
She strikes me as the kind of person who would begin a collection of Fancy Notebooks but then never writes in basically any of them because she hasn't found a True Purpose for them yet. While her poems and such are in one notebook and she can pick a new one when her old one is full, it's done very meticulously, and the others remain untouched until her next one is full too, and so on.
😶 A random headcanon!
Secretly loves dressing up fancily, with pretty dresses and ornate jewellery. Onyx City did not allow for anything like that, but her sari already is a good first step in that direction! And she can learn about how to make clothes of her own and sew them together, so it truly fits the vision she has in mind.
Silver
🎶 A headcanon about music
Likes singing, even if he doesn't have the best singing voice. But he didn't grow up with music either, so the moment he came across it he immediately wanted to try it out and make it himself! He can sometimes be found humming fragments of songs and such to himself, when he's in a good mood.
👽 A headcanon about a weird quirk of there
Sometimes likes just randomly floating with his powers while doing nothing in particular, just letting himself be moved by the world like a leaf on the surface of a pond. He can even hang upside-down for an extended period of time without getting dizzy, just twirling around and enjoying himself.
😶 A random headcanon!
Doesn't mind clothing, but is absolutely the kind of person who stubbornly refuses to put on a jacket because he deems people's fussing over him and how cold it is outside to be unnecessary. And then he also refuses any clothes offered to him when he's outside and freezing half to death, because that would be a hit to his pride.
Espio
🎶 A headcanon about music
His ability to play the shamisen is entirely self-taught, with only sheer force of will plus some old books on the topic and a few cassette tapes with what it is supposed to sound like as guidance. Though, nobody around him knows just what a feat that is, so bragging about it sadly never works in his favour.
👽 A headcanon about a weird quirk of there
Sometimes gives people a whack with his tail when they are annoying him but his hands are otherwise occupied. Charmy's gotten quite adept at dodging out of the way as to not be struck.
😶 A random headcanon!
While Japanese-adjacent cuisine is the one he is most adept at making, he's long learned to branch out and take into consideration ways to prep dishes from all over the world. It helps that living with the Chaotix regularly requires some creativity to ensure something proper can be served for dinner, because ingredients tend to be limited.
#silver the hedgehog#espio the chameleon#gold the tenrec#Gold might have a nice enough singing voice but she's so embarrassed immediately she can hardly sing louder than a whisper#thanks for the ask! ^-^
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Vet Med in Warrior Cats: Reproduction and Theriogenology
Disclaimer
Additional disclaimer for this one: I fully understand why a lot of these issues were not addressed in the series since it is written for children, but I still think the topic is interesting and that some concepts, especially those involving kitting, could have been more accurate.
Cats are seasonally polyestrous long day breeders, meaning that the females only cycle reproductively in the spring and experience multiple heat cycles every breeding cycle. Estrous cycles occur when the females are exposed to over 14 hours of light every day, so depending on the climate that they are in, cats are only able to become pregnant in the spring and fall. A queen’s gestation period (the time that they spend pregnant) is 2 months, so queens can have their kits from about late spring to early fall. The location of warriors is never confirmed, but it is presumed to be in England or the UK since that is where the authors are based, and since it snows every winter. With a colder, darker climate, this breeding season is even shorter. Queens in warriors are shown to have their kits at any time of year, even in the dead of winter. It is possible for some females, especially short haired breeds, to be able to cycle year-round, but not common. Narratively it makes sense to spread the litters out, but realistically the clans would have most of their kittens in the summer and fall.
Cats are also induced ovulators, which means that ovulation is triggered by and occurs about 24-48 hours after mating. Females need to be in estrus to allow mating, but the induced ovulation makes it very likely that pregnancy will result from mating. Females may also mate with multiple males over the span of a few days, meaning that one litter can have multiple fathers. This is not something we would see in warriors since there is an unspoken societal standard of monogamy.
Pregnant cats require almost double their normal nutrient intake in the second half of gestation, and even more while nursing. Taurine deficiency can cause pregnancy loss, as well as malnutrition in general. It would not be uncommon for a queen to lose her pregnancy if prey is scarce in her clan. There are several infectious causes of pregnancy loss, including feline herpes, FIV, FIP, feline panleukemia, toxoplasma gondii, and other bacterial infections of the reproductive tract. Many of these diseases, especially feline herpesvirus, are extremely common in feral cat populations. Early, undetected embryonic loss from these diseases could be a reason for why female cats in warriors are not pregnant as often as real life feral cats, but that is unlikely. Cats in warriors seem to be able to plan when they become pregnant (except when it's a secret forbidden romance of course), and I have no explanation for why that could be. Unless the medicine cats discovered an herb that can act as contraception (progestagens, dexamethasone (a gluccocorticoid) and dopamine agonists can all be used in companion animals as temporary contraception, but they all have moderate systemic side effects).
At the start of parturition (birthing), queens become restless, pace, and nest. Once uterine contractions begin, the “water breaks” and a kitten should be delivered every 3 to 5 minutes. This entire process can take anywhere from 4 to 42 hours, with the average being about 16 hours. It’s unclear how much time the birthing process takes in warrior cats, but it usually seems to be much faster than this. In Bluestar’s Prophecy, when Leopardfoot has been kitting for “most of the afternoon” and then into the night, this is implied to be an abnormally long amount of time.
Dystocia (complications with pregnancy) are pretty rare in cats. The most common cause is primary uterine inertia, which is when the queen is unable to begin uterine contractions. This would be treated with oxytocin in a veterinary clinic to induce contractions. Borage is stated to be used to help with milk let down and may work to stimulate oxytocin since oxytocin is also used to stimulate milk letdown. The other common causes of dystocia are uterine torsion and oversized fetuses, both of which would require a C-section to correct.
When Sorreltail is kitting in The Forgotten Warrior, she is described to be in pain and having trouble passing the kits. Jayfeather gives her chervil root to help, so it is implied to be either something to give Sorreltail strength or to help with uterine contractions. Several sources said that chervil can be useful for cough, eczema, and even abscesses, but there was no indication that it could be useful during childbirth.
Leopardfoot is also described to have a long, painful kitting in Bluestar’s Prophecy. Featherwhisker gives her raspberry leaves. Raspberry leaves have been shown to benefit with strengthening uterine tone and facilitating contractions, so this herb would be more useful than chervil root. Two of Leopardfoot’s kits die young because she kitted two weeks too early. This is called “fading” and occurs because the kits were not able to thermoregulate or breathe properly. Premature kits are less likely to be developed properly, and may be lacking in reflexes such as suckling that would have helped them to acquire sufficient nutrients and immune-boosting milk (colostrum).
In Crookedstar’s Promise, Brightsky delivered 3 stillborn kits followed by one surviving kit, and then died. Brightsky had been sick not long before her kitting and was described to still be weak from her illness. Brightsky likely was sick with a virus that causes late term abortion, like herpes, FIV, or panleukemia. While it is possible for a cat to abort some fetuses and still deliver other fetuses to term, it’s not common, especially this late into the pregnancy. I honestly was not able to find the most concrete information on this, but it is feasible for Leapordkit to have survived. As for Brightsky, she likely died because the three stillborn fetuses mummified inside of her, causing her to develop an infection. If this were true, she would have had dark or purulent vaginal discharge and had abdominal pain even before her kitting.
Silverstream also died from dystocia after delivering her kits in Forest of Secrets. She is described to have powerful spasms that slowly got weaker, which sounds like secondary uterine inertia (when the queen is too exhausted to continue contractions). Since she only had two small kits and fetal malpositioning is rare in cats, there might have been some sort of obstruction to the birth canal. In later books, Silverstream was described to have been “blood soaked”. Possible causes of hemorrhage during birthing could be uterine vessel tearing, uterine rupture, or uterine torsion. Uterine torsion would cause an obstruction to the birth canal and would require emergency surgery. The likelihood of Featherkit and Stormkit surviving would have been very low without the ability to intervene and there are no reported cases of a uterine torsion resolving without surgery. It is most likely that Silverstream experienced uterine rupture due to the stress of contractions.
There are several other common reproductive issues that do not appear in warriors. Mammary hyperplasia is the spontaneous overgrowth of mammary tissue in intact female (and sometimes male) cats. This condition usually spontaneously regresses, but it can be confused with mammary neoplasia. Mastitis is the bacterial infection of mammary glands after parturition. This condition is not only painful and dangerous for the queen, but can cause the kits to fail to thrive. This would be treated with antibiotics, warm compresses, and milk replacer for the kittens in a veterinary clinic. Cystic endometrial hyperplasia is a degenerative condition mediated by a hormone called progesterone. Too much progesterone causes the endometrial glands to proliferate and over-secrete hormones, making the uterus an ideal environment for bacteria and leading to pyometra (bacterial infection of the uterus). Depending on if the cervix is open or closed, the queen will either have purulent vaginal discharge or the pus will build up in the uterus. While a closed cervix is more dangerous, both will cause the cat to feel extremely sick, vomit, run a fever, and experience renal dysfunction. A pyometra can quickly develop into a systemic condition, so emergency ovariohysterectomy is required to save the cat's life.
Sources:
BSVA Manual of Canine and Feline Reproduction and Neonatology. Gary England and A. von Heimendahl, 2nd Ed, 2011
L. Ari Jutkowitz, Reproductive emergencies, Veterinary Clinics of North America: Small Animal Practice, Volume 35, Issue 2, 2005
https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/pdf/10.1177/2055116917726228
https://www.merckvetmanual.com/reproductive-system/reproductive-diseases-of-the-female-small-animal/dystocia-in-small-animals
https://www.rxlist.com/chervil/supplements.htm
https://healthyfocus.org/health-benefits-of-chervil/
https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/howto/guide/top-9-health-benefits-of-raspberry-leaf-tea
#I have a therio test tomorrow and spent almost 4 hours on this because priorities right?#vet med#vet med in warrior cats#warrior cats#warriors
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The Stanley Parable AU - MerStanley [and maybe Fisherman AU]
TL;DR Narrator being a fisherman (he doesn't like his job) and Stanley is a merman who lives in solitude and likes human-watching.
Stanley likes to watch the humans near the lighthouse docks, especially this one older human who complains often about his job of catching fish. He's funny, but also intriguing as he followed that human as they go to the lighthouse and read his stories aloud, thinking no one could hear them.
Then one day, that human slipped from the docks and fell, normally Stanley wouldn't interfere as other humans would be around to save them. But that wasn't the case, they were alone, they couldn't swim, and they were going to get tangled in the fishing nets.
Swiftly, Stanley catches and rescues the human and takes them to a rocky slope nearby to climb back up to the dockside, before the human could thank them, Stanley goes back to his hidden home. The human saw the ripples and a silver fin, and wondered if they're going insane from the saltwater.
Stanley remembers that day but remains hidden and up to his usual routine of human watching, yet he could sense his favorite human being more alert of their surroundings. He complained less, but he still reads loudly by the ocean on his chair and their fellow humans ignore him for being annoying.
Here starts Narry's safe-level obsession of merfolk.
Points of this AU:
- Narrator has like a glass cabinet where he keeps all of Stanley's gifts in display.
- Stanley likes the cats and pets and feeds them. Some like him, some don’t.
- Stanley, like Ariel, collects human stuff in his underwater cave home. Lots of buckets, gemstones, portraits, etc.
- Narrator wondering why Stanley is alone, where is his merkind?
- Narrrator hates saltwater until he kissed Stanley
- Narrator has Thalassophobia
- Stanley can’t talk above water because of his respiratory system. Though he and Narrator communicate by sending each other bottle messages.
As fun and soft as this AU goes, of course there would be angst...
It’s under “Keep Reading”
Warning: First half is about Narrator’s fear of deep water, and some people finding out about MerStanley but nothing too bad. However, the rest is about Character Deaths and a BitterSweet Ending. (More Bitter than Sweet)
Narrator’s Thalassophobia:
Narrator’s Friends being d!ck$:
When/If Narrator’s friends finds out about Stanley:
When/If a friend of Narrator found one of the bottle messages:
Before I get to the final parts, I MUST WARN THAT THE NEXT PART INVOLVES A LETTER OF DEATH, turn away if you’re uncomfortable with sensitive topics like this.
Start of Letter//
"To the one who found this letter, it is a sign that I had died.
These are the last words I will share with the world.
I was once a lonely man who saw the world as cold and gray and had seen no delights in the years I had been alive. I didn't have close friends, just the faces of those who never bothered to stay a while and talk for a while. I was certain that my dreams of living a bright happy life would never happen... That was until I met him.
The one who watched over me like a guardian angel.
The one who had to hide yet still appeared just to see me.
The one who saved my life once, and who I've saved as well to return a favor, and to see his face once more.
He showed me a new world through his eyes, it was brighter and warmer than the sun. Even when I could never hear his voice...We had a language that felt forbidden to share with anyone else. Just the two of us, together alone...Alone Together.
Sadly...My days have dwindled and I don't think my new dream of being together in a lighthouse with adopted children to break the silence would ever happen...
But I am happy.
Because I can and will spend my last days with the love of my life, I want to see his face, his eyes, his smile, his happiness, his tears, and, his sorrow.
Just one last time.
If there is a higher being up there who could see this through you, dear reader, I could only pray that he and I are together on our next life...
That is all I ever wanted.
Goodbye
Yours Sincerely,
The Narrator"
//End of Letter
This letter was found by Curator in the Narrator's lighthouse after his funeral. It gave answers and more questions.
Though he never said it in the letter, Curator decided to honor both Narrator's home and his grave, saving everything that he had and all the gifts that Stanley gave him were in display at her museum along with his letter.
Curator claims to not know what happened to Stanley, but she does when she found Narrator. She kept that a secret and took it to her grave.
#giftbox_ramble#ideas#au idea#the stanley parable#tsp#tsp au#tsp the narrator#tsp narrator#tsp stanley#tsp curator#tsp mariella#tsp MerStanley AU#Merfolk#merfolk au#stanarrator#stannarrator#fluff#hurt/comfort#character death#angst with fluff#angst with a sad ending#angst with a hopeful ending#angst with comfort#angst with bittersweet ending#bittersweet#tsp Fisherman AU
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Day 6 Takaritsu Day/Confession
I can't believe @takaritsuweek is almost over yet again. It always goes by in such a whirlwind lol enjoy <3
***
"You know what I regret most about our high school relationship?" Masamune asked, Ritsu's back currently to him as they snuggled up under the covers, both of them naked from previous nighttime activities.
It was pillow-talk moments like these before Ritsu inevitably fell asleep that Masamune could attempt to open up without Ritsu fleeing the room in fear of emotional intimacy. Ritsu was shy about physical intimacy, but it seemed as though vulnerability was his kryptonite.
"The fact that it happened at all?" Ritsu mumbled tiredly, hoping Masamune would drop it at that and let him go to bed. Masamune gently pinched his side, apparently not appreciating his cheekiness at the moment. "Well, I thought it was funny..." Ritsu grumbled, too tired to realize that thought had made it past the filter.
"Don't even joke about that." Masamune scolded, entirely too serious. Like he could ever regret meeting and falling in love with Ritsu. "My biggest regret is that I never properly confessed to you. I mean, I know I said I love you that night in my room the first time we-"
"Spare me the details." Ritsu interrupted, still only sounding half awake.
"Fine, skipping the details." Masamune said with a roll of his eyes. "Basically, my confession never meant anything because you obviously didn't hear it." Otherwise there would've been no need for the 'big question' that had torn them apart. "And it's not because it could've saved us ten years of separation-well, at least that's not completely why. It's because you deserved a confession; a big, grand, heart-pounding confession. You loved me so much and so intensely and never asked for anything back."
It wasn't inaccurate to compare Ritsu to rain or the ocean or even a hurricane with how he had fully enveloped Masamune in the waves of his love. But never had it felt like drowning, no, it had been like floating without a worry in the world. Masamune couldn't recall a time he had felt like that before Ritsu, but all Masamune had done to reciprocate that love was promise himself that he'd crush Ritsu's 'delusions'. The worst part was he then accidentally followed through with that promise.
"Every day there were little reminders about how much you cared about me, if you weren't just outright confessing again. You were so thoughtful and kind and I...couldn't even say I love you and make sure that you heard it. You deserved an epic high school sweetheart romance. You had so much love to give and for some reason you gave it to me and I never returned the favor." Masamune finished, hoping he was making some kind of sense.
It was quiet for a few moments, in fact it was quiet for longer than Masamune would've liked, and for a second Masamune worried that Ritsu had fallen asleep halfway through his rambling. I swear I will bully him so badly at work tomorrow... However, just as Masamune started to stew in frustration, a very awake Ritsu turned over to face him.
"It wasn't a 'favor' and I wasn't doing anything out of the kindness my heart-"
"That's a lie." Masamune said. "Only an extremely kind person would've put up with me for as long as you did, even if in the end you did run off. Some days I seriously thought you had to be some kind of saint." Especially after that outburst in the library that neither he or Ritsu liked talking about. That topic was even more forbidden than The Laugh.
"You are exaggerating. Yes, I did nice things, and yes it was mostly because I wanted to see you happy and healthy, but it was also because I loved you and very selfishly wanted you to love me back." Ritsu said.
"Wanting to be loved back isn't selfish." Masamune said.
Ritsu snorted. "Please, it's totally selfish, especially with the way you tend to go about it." He said, gently pushing Masamune for emphasis. "You don't need someone to love you back in order to keep loving them and taking care of them, but you want it anyway because it'll make you happy. I think that's selfish." He said. "And I wanted you to love me back more than anything. Maybe I 'deserved' something out of a romance movie, but people don't always get what they deserve. Even if I had gotten some confession out of a fairytale, it wouldn't have meant anything if it wasn't from you. I just wanted you, at whatever level you were willing to meet me at, and I had you. At least for a little bit." Ritsu said, getting quieter and quieter the longer he spoke. "Besides, maybe it's better that we separated. We both had a lot of growing up to do." He added, the strength in his voice returning.
"We could've grown together. We might be even better than we are now if we had stayed together." Masamune said.
"Maybe." Ritsu shrugged. "But this is where we are."
"And where is this?" Masamune asked. "Obviously, the literal where is in my bed, but what does that mean for us, Ritsu? Is you being here with me a good sign? Are we any closer to being together than we were yesterday or is this another step forward before we take two more steps back?"
Ritsu took a deep, slow breath, carefully contemplating Masamune's question. "I know what you want me to say-"
"I want you to be honest." Masamune said. "I love you. I'm going to love you for the rest of my life. Even if you never get to where I am, I'm going to love you. So, where are you?"
Ritsu took another deep breath, thankful for the darkness that hid him somewhat. "I'm with you." He answered. "I'm wherever you are." I always have been, haven't I? Peeking around a corner, waiting for you to give me the time of day...I've always been here.
Masamune gently ran his fingers through Ritsu's hair, admiring him as best he could in the low light provided by the moon shining through his bedroom window before he kissed him.
"I love you."
"...I love you too."
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