#to think they were always on my mind since january this year

[bluedrawsalot]

that one trend of drawing your comfort characters as the steven universe meme on twitter.

#bluedrawsalot #to think they were always on my mind since january this year #time flies #honkai impact 3rd #hi3 #hi3rd #honkai impact 3rd fu hua #hi3 fu hua #hi3rd fu hua #fu hua #hades game #hades game zagreus #zagreus #digital art #fanart

[theoldsports]

Moody.

Coriolanus Snow x Reader | 3.3k words

depression, arguing, manipulation/toxic marriage, fucking each other over, possessiveness. it’s tamer than some of my others in an objective sense, but emphasizes dark thoughts and internal monologue.

requests always open! thanks for your kindnesses. i think this one is more experimental than the others. the objective here was to show how both of them mimic regular human feelings because they know they should, but it’s a poor pantomime. two sickos with nothing else but each other <3 i think i am going to call these works the Truculent series.

Coriolanus grew cold fast and did not tolerate heat well. He only slept only in his underclothes and wore heavy layers at the first sight of winter. His alarmingly fair complexion meant excessive sun wasn’t in the cards. In spite of his name, his scrappy build wasn’t meant to cut through harsh January terrain either. His nails chipped at labor, and his mind grew uneasy at laziness.

The world was tough on Coriolanus and he was tough right back on the word.

There was little Coriolanus was designed to do. Many people were strong, or smart, or wealthy, or drop-dead-gorgeous, or violent, or talented. There was something about every person Coriolanus could think of that made them stand out. He could easily categorized people by them. Here was the group of people known for their beautiful voices; here, those who could benchpress four-hundred pounds… Coriolanus could not be quantified like that.

Coriolanus Snow had to take what was left, like a runt. He was only good at two things: enduring and controlling. Since those were the only options leftover for him, Coriolanus became the best at them both. When, like Coriolanus, one has been gifted such shitty talents and nothing else, they have to figure out how to use them well enough to win against everyone with a better gift. Eventually, he realized his talents were not the ability to endure and the ability to control, but actually the ability to win. Eventually, he won so much, Coriolanus forgot there was ever a time when he lost (most days).

(The days he didn’t forget were the Bad Days).

Coriolanus felt like he couldn’t get out of bed on the Bad Days when the crushing weight of his failures and his ego landed across his chest. He told himself he was done with love after Lucy Gray. Disgusting Lucy Gray, a name he never wanted to even think again. He thought he would marry someone he hated and be done with love.

But junkies and addicts quit every Monday anyway.

Once he found [Y/N] again after their childhood together, there was no quitting. He knew it was bad for him, so he married what was bad for him to make sure he had an endless supply. How he hated that familiar feeling of obsession, the feeling of being so desperate that he had to rely on something other than himself. Somehow, he would have to sustain the feeling without losing his girl like an idiot. Marriage was likely the thing to steel their attempt at a bond.

Upon waking up to the alarm that morning, Coriolanus knew this was one of those Bad Days. Maybe it was the weather, the stress of Games. First year as head Gamemaker had almost driven Coriolanus mad under the pressure to succeed. He reached over to turn off the clock that buzzed painfully at six in the morning every day ending with a Y.

“Coryo…” [Y/N] mumbled, hearing him stir beside her. The sound must have woken her. She tossed an arm over his chest.

“‘Mornin’, Darling,” Coriolanus replied, wishing he were dead.

[Y/N] immediately picked up on the flatness of his tone, but she knew better than to push him too far. “All good?” She asked.

Coriolanus grumbled passively. He rarely did anything passively. Coriolanus grabbed the hand over his chest and dragged it up to the side of his face to rest it there, but only after he had kissed [Y/N] palm.

“You’re affectionate this morning.”

“I just missed you. I’ve been busy.” He said dismissively, pressing his face further into her hand.

“Well, thanks, dear, but don’t you have work?” [Y/N] asked. She propped her chin up on his shoulder to stare at him inquisitively. This attitude was odd. First thing in the morning during Games seasons, she got a kiss on the forehead and then Coriolanus was gone for a run and a shower and out til nightfall, barring special occasions.

“Don’t you?”

“Not til early evening today. Normally, you’re up and out of here first thing on a Tuesday morning,” [Y/N] told him, as she rubbed from his cheek to the side of his throat gently. She dragged her hand up his face to rest on his worried forehead. “You sick, or something?”

“No.” Coriolanus replied weakly. He closed his eyes again. He couldn’t face the legendary blunder he had made at work. Coriolanus had allowed his aides to code the program for the arena wrong. The open water was nowhere near as deep as was needed for the aquatic muttations. It was causing all sorts of trouble. The Games would end too fast if he didn’t do something, yet the stress of thinking of reaching across the nightstand for his Communicuff was paralyzing.

“You sure? You don’t feel feverish,” She confirmed. [Y/N] sat up to press her lips to his forehead just in case her cold hands had misread his temperature. “I can call the doctor, though.”

“[Y/N], stop. I’m fine.” Coriolanus lied harshly. He tried to sit up, but his psychological anguish made him feel like vomiting.

“Call in. Stay here.” She suggested, watching his weak movement to sit up.

“I’m head Gamemaker, I don’t get to call in. I need to go for a run’n I’ll be fine.”

[Y/N] raised an eyebrow. “So you aren’t currently fine? Because you said—“

“I know what the fuck I said, okay?” Coriolanus barked. “Wanna recap anything else, or can I go?”

Sharply, [Y/N] scooted away from him to the other side of the bed. His moods were hardly predictable. She sighed. “Fine,” She said, averting her eyes to her hands like a scolded girl. “I was merely concerned that you—“

Coriolanus scoffed at her and shakily stood up from the bed. He quickly stepped into the closet and stepped joggers and a wifebeater. [Y/N] hoped he would grab a jacket as well; the weather was much too cold for mid summer. The Capitol itself got disproportionately cold often. She didn’t say anything out loud, though. “Get off my ass. Can’t you sit there and be grateful for once? With all that I do for you?Fucking hell.” Coriolanus said. He did not so much as look back at her as he stormed out of the bedroom.

[Y/N] could not understand what she had done wrong. The only things she had were provided through Coriolanus or simply the man himself. Once Coriolanus was presumed out of earshot, [Y/N] dropped her head into her hands and cried. Not tears of frustration or anger, but tears of self-pity that her one lifeline had yelled at her like that.

—

By the time Coriolanus returned from his run, it appeared his wife had gone out for the day. Strange since she usually capitalized on the extra sleep if she was not working downtown with Capitol News until evening shift. Since their reckless young adulthood of media stunts, Coriolanus had watched [Y/N] grow a stifling love for spectacle. With his support and their shared deranged name recognition, she had quickly risen from an editor, to a correspondent (brief. He had helped her but her way up and out of that position) to Associate Head of Programming for Capitol News. It helped to have his wife steer both their media narratives from the inside.

Except for when she was mad at him.

Coriolanus wiped the sweat off his brow in the shower as he thought. There was no doubt in his mind that [Y/N] was going to run some sort of primetime bulletin that made him look a fool during his Games coverage that night. It was bad enough that Lucky Flickerman was beginning to look like botox had gotten better of him, in addition to Coriolanus’ own fuck up with the muttations. Fact of the matter was that viewership was down and [Y/N] was going to make it worse. She was going to make his Bad Day worse and he knew it.

He could feel his heart rate racing as he stood under the shower’s cold stream. His equally cold blue eyes glanced across the bathroom at the clock. Six-fifty AM. Realistically, he need to be into the Gameroom by no later than eight-thirty, but it frustrated him to be in later than eight. In roughly an hour, how could he perform the maximum amount of damage control? Coriolanus’ head began to ache at the thought.

She had never run that harsh of a piece on him before, but it was a Bad Day, and no doubt she was angry with him for his attitude. [Y/N] was capable of a great many horrible things. Wouldn’t Coriolanus himself want to sting somebody back who he had known was pissy with him?

When he exited the shower, Coriolanus rushed to dress himself. [Y/N] said she wasn’t working until late. But where, then, had she gone? With all the thinking about his own feelings, he hadn’t considered that conundrum.

—

Coriolanus called her secretary, a boring woman with a name neither man nor wife could recall. According to that woman, [Y/N] had not gone early to work. He rang Tigris. Tigris said [Y/N] had not been over unless she was lying which Coriolanus wouldn’t put past her. The Plinths swear they had not encountered her.

Coriolanus stared down at his datapad of phone numbers. He refrained from calling all of their friends because he didn’t want to to exude the panic he was starting to feel for letting his wife run away. None of her belongings seemed out of place. Her suitcase was present in the back of their closet. Still, Coriolanus was terrified in the back of his mind that his wife had finally left him. A year and half was a dreadful lifespan for a marriage in his opinion. [Y/N] was not getting away that easily.

However, his watch told him it was eight and the Games weren’t going to run themselves.

Throughout the day, Coriolanus could not get his heart rate to settle. It made him feel ill. So ill, in fact, that he couldn’t keep down most of breakfast, or all of lunch. He skipped dinner all together. Who was [Y/N] to up and leave him like that?

The slight rational segment of his brain told him to walk it back, but the rest of his brain paid no mind. Coriolanus had nothing going for him other than gut instincts and his gut instincts now were implying something was fundamentally wrong.

Coriolanus’ decision-making was way off of its game at work. Coriolanus, for ratings, could not allow the Hunger Games to end on a Tuesday night. Somehow, he would have to create obstacles to last the four remaining tributes til Friday. He didn’t much like those odds. He was going to cave and hand in his resignation before the end of the day, he was certain.

Though, at eight in the evening, the primetime announcement or chiron that Coriolanus was a shitty husband or a murderer never cut through his broadcast to make his Day irreparably Bad. Nor did it at eight-thirty, or even nine. Coriolanus felt shaky. Maybe with relief for his reputation, maybe because he had nothing in his system.

If nothing had aired at Coriolanus’ expense on TV, had something happened to [Y/N] while he was on his run, or later? Was this some rebel attempt to bring the head Gamemaker to his knees? An attempt from a bitter rival to play games with him? Coriolanus frowned. Many things could have happened to his wife between six in the morning and nine at night. Coriolanus could barely stand up as it was. He clocked out and summoned his driver as quick as he could.

The second Coriolanus’ key entered the lock, he started shouting with the energy he had left. The door had yet to even close behind him. “[Y/N]! [Y/N], my love! Are you here?” Coriolanus pushed open every cabinet and closet on his way to the bedroom. Empty. He checked the closet - her suitcase remained. Coriolanus had called her office on his way home. She had not shown up for work. Unheard of.

Coriolanus ran through every room of the townhouse shouting [Y/N]’s name over and over until he felt hoarse. He could only imagine what the neighbors thought. Then he saw the attic door open.

The door remained open, but the stairs to the attic had snapped back up halfway and gotten jammed. “Coryo!” He heard [Y/N] yell faintly from upstairs.

“Darling, are you… in the attic?” Coriolanus shouted back cautiously under the open door. He watched as [Y/N]’s tearstained face peered around the edges of the attic door. It was really her. Not a Jabberjay, not a setup. Coriolanus exhaled for what felt like the first time all day. “Let me come up. I’ll come to you. Hold on!” Coriolanus’ finally left behind the Bad Day as he leapt into action. Protecting his wife was his job before Gamemaker, or any other obligation. Anyone in the Capitol would remember their vows, or her smashing cake into his face much to his dismay. Marriage was socially his most binding contract of all. Coriolanus did not take contractional obligations lightly.

Coriolanus had not realized that his wife was so delicate and helpless as to get stuck in the attic. She needed him more than he thought. His heart swelled with pride. Coriolanus grabbed a broomstick and hooked the hinge in the stairs. He yanked with all his strength until the ladder descended. Quickly, he dropped a large sack of rice from the kitchen counter over the bottom step in hopes it would weight the stairs down and he took off up them.

“[Y/N], are you alright?” Coriolanus asked, popping his head through the attic door

There on the unfinished attic floor sat [Y/N], bundled up in her thin teddy she had been wearing when Coriolanus left. She had only that and a too-short blanket Tigris had crocheted as a child. There was very little in the attic at all. Some of the Grandma’am’s belongings in clear glass bins and whatever surviving relics had carried on from their post-war childhoods.

It was clear [Y/N] had been crying. “I thought you would come back.” She sniffled.

Coriolanus urgently climbed the rest of the way up the ladder and sat carefully down beside [Y/N], wrapping her in his long arms possessively. “I thought something happened to you,” Also, that you tried to leave me. “You’re freezing… How long have you been up here?”

“Since you went on your run.”

“Shit… All that time?”

[Y/N] thought her tears had long since stopped, but seeing Coriolanus appear upset about ignoring her all day made her want his attention more. She wanted him to feel bad.

The tears started flowing the second his arms were looped around her waist. [Y/N] rested her head on Coriolanus’s shoulder heavily. “Coryo, you just left. I come up here all the time to think and I didn’t think it would—“

The blonde man’s heart softened at the sight of her. “Darling, Darling, shh, don’t cry,” Coriolanus combed his hand through sobbing [Y/N]’s hair. “You’re okay. I’m here now.”

Coriolanus felt like he was able to play the role of comforter and protector nobly tonight in a way he had recently felt inadequate at. With ease, he draped her legs across his lap and adjusted her arms around his neck so that her body was completely supported by his. She clung to him like a desperate child. The skin-to-skin contact was most appreciated by Coriolanus after the Day he’d had. Coriolanus excitedly drew a breathe from her neck, taking in her scent.

[Y/N] sobbed dramatically into Coriolanus’ dress shirt, but he pretended not to care like a good husband. “I’m sorry. I c-couldn’t—couldn’t get down. I th-thought you would come get me. I shout-ted for you,” she played up her tears. [Y/N] played up everything for attention; they both knew that. But the situation was mutually beneficial for people that liked attention so damn much. “You didn’t hear me.” You never hear me.

“Oh, Princess…” Coriolanus rubbed his hands up and down her arms, hoping it would warm her up. He pulled away from her regrettably and stripped off his blazer. He wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled it carefully in front of her. He knew [Y/N] would like the gesture. Now, Coriolanus did not say I’m sorry. It was not his fault that [Y/N] had fled to the attic. He did instead try to make good from now forward. “I was so worried, I started to think something happened to you. I wanted to give you space, but then I didn’t hear from you all day. I’m relieved to know the only monster that got you was the attic,” Coriolanus leaned into her neck to kiss her in his favorite place. “You sat up here in all this junk and dust today; how are you still so stunning?”

[Y/N] laughed through a wet sniffle as Coriolanus searingly kissed her neck. “I didn’t know I’d worried you this much.” She muttered.

“I didn’t know I’d upset you this much,” Coriolanus agreed. That was as close to I’m sorry as she was going to get. “What did you do up here all day?”

“W-Went through some boxes. Found your old uniform.” [Y/N] smiled back.

“My Peacekeeper uniform?” Coriolanus asked in surprise. He hoped that she had not found anything else, if there was anything more scathing up in the attic.

“Mhm,” she affirmed. [Y/N] stood shakily from the floor, snot dripping from her nose. Snot, which she knew better than to wipe on the sleeve of his blazer. She followed where the beams were in the floor nimbly so she didn’t put her foot through the ceiling below her. [Y/N] collected a decently sized metal crate with a handle on it. PRIVATE SNOW, CORIOLANUS B. was stamped on top of the dusty, dented metal. She carried it back to Coriolanus and sat down with it in front of him.

“I didn’t go through everything in here, that felt intrusive, but I did pull this out,” they both knew that was a lie and that she had absolutely gone through every item, but Coriolanus let her keep going without cutting in. [Y/N] decided she would still let him explain the history behind every item he wanted to share anyway.

When she shook the long gray-blue jacket out of the box, something happened that hadn’t happened last time she took the jacket out. “Coriolanus, what’s this?” [Y/N] asked, plucking a bulky chain off the floor that had tumbled from the coat’s breast pocket.

“Ah, I’d forgotten where those went. Dog tags from my time in Twelve.” Coriolanus said.

“I still have my father’s. You were like a real soldier then, huh?”

“Peacekeeper.” Coriolanus corrected.

“Yes, Peacekeeper.” [Y/N] agreed quietly.

[Y/N] held the two identical pendants in her hands.

SNOW, CORIOLANUS

CITADEL, CAPITOL

4147769218S 12

O NEG

CREMATE

His entire identity all on two pieces of nickel. While she squinted at the embossed metal, Coriolanus leaned forward across the box that had once held his entire world and grabbed the chain she was holding as well as her hands. [Y/N]’s red weepy eyes met his crystal clear blue ones. “Would you like them?”

“You don’t want to keep them?”

“Certainly not. My name right there on your chest? That’s preferable to them sitting in a dusty box forever. People will know who you belong to if you wander off like this again. ‘Know you’re not, hm, like… up for finders-keepers.” Coriolanus shifted them out of [Y/N]’s hands and dropped the chain around her neck as if it were the finest gold necklace he had ever purchased her.

Coriolanus put that box up in the attic because he had not wanted to think about it ever again. Above all, though, Coriolanus Snow was an opportunistic man and he put those dog tags on [Y/N] just like he had Lucy Gray because he knew this move was flattering. If it worked once, it would work again. Sickeningly, he pulled out the same words he had used before too: “There. All mine.”

“All yours.” [Y/N] replied.

TAGLIST:

@badwicht @stelleduarte @cinnamongirl127 @prettyppetty @soulessien @bejeweledreverie @jjstyles @arminsarlerts @chmpgneprblem @co1dmountains @miscellaneousmoonchild @lille999 @pumkinnxsmut @taykorsyogurt @ndycrls @watermelonharry @nananarwhal @ohantonia @catlover420sstuff @justaproudslytherpuff @notarabellasstuff @scarytiger111 @zucchinimalfoy @secretsicanthideanymore @h-l-vlovesvintage @dannydevsbbg @clintsupremacy @lookclosernow @10ava01 @or-was-it-just-a-dream @lucielsstuff @fairyydvst

as usual, apologies if your tag didn’t work. tumblr’s tough like that. also so sorry if i forgot anyone! remind me if i did!

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #hunger games #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coryo snow #the hunger games

[f1goat]

his masseur x lando norris

In which you're Lando his best friend and masseur, but your feelings start to cause a bit of trouble.

Requested: yes Warnings: small mentions of sexual content / not proof read

Tuesday - August 2022

“Maybe you can sleep in my bed this time?” Lando asks you. 

You look up surprised. This is new.

“What’s wrong with the guest room?” You ask still surprised.

“Nothing!” Lando quickly exclaims, “but I’m tired but I also don’t want to stop cuddling like this. So I thought we could sleep together.. Maybe?” 

You notice that Lando is rambling now. You smile at him. “That sounds great,” you say with a genuine smile.

Lando leaves his earlier position to get of the couch. You think about what’s happening. Maybe it’s weird for friends to cuddle as much as you and Lando do. Maybe it’s even weirder that you’re going to sleep in the same bed as him. But it’s not like you mind. You have been crushing on Lando forever, so every little thing you can have you take willingly.

Thursday - November 2022

“Happy birthday Lan!”

You kiss him on his cheeks. Lando pulls you even closer to him so the two of you can hug properly. After a bit you release yourself from his hug so you can give him his present. You hand him over the present you carefully wrapped with an orange wrapping paper. You watch how Lando unties the golden ribbons. 

His face lits up when he sees the present. You smile as well from his happy reaction. It’s safe to say he loves the new microphone you got him. It’s themed with everything he likes. The Quadrant logo and colors are covering the stand part, while the mic itself is a bit more McLaren themed. 

“I thought you could use a new one for your streams,” you tell him. 

“You’re amazing!” Lando exclaims enthusiastic. He pulls you closer to himself again. It doesn’t take more then a few seconds before he’s hugging you once again. 

“I love it,” he tells you softly, “You know me the best!”

Sunday - December 2022

“Finally a well deserved break,” Lando says. 

You nod. “You were amazing this season,” you tell him. 

Lando smiles gratefully. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he tells you even more grateful. 

“Don’t say that,” you say quickly, “It was all you. I’m just massaging you.”

“I’m glad you’re on my team,” Lando says, “so I might have a tiny surprise to thank you for that.”

“A tiny surprise?” You ask.

“I booked us a hotel here, so we can spend a week together. We can do some fun things! Like exploring the city and go buggy riding in the desert.”

“That’s not a tiny surprise,” you tell him while laughing.

“Oops,” Lando just says.

“Are you thanking everyone on your team like that?” You ask.

“I send the rest a nice thank you card,” Lando replies.

You laugh.

Sunday morning - January 2023

“I can’t wait to spend the whole year with you again,” Lando softly says. The clock just stroke midnight. Lando is sitting next to you on the couch. You’re with friends, but everyone is busy with wishing each other a happy new year. Something you should do as well, but you’re enjoying your small private moment with Lando. 

“Me too Lan,” you say, “and a happy new year to you!”

“Happy new year!” Lando replies happily.

He comes closer to you. You want to press a kiss to his cheek, like you always do with friends while wishing them a happy new year. Lando seems to have the same idea. You don’t know how it happend, but in some way Lando his lips end up on yours.

“Oh fuck,” you say.

It didn’t even last two seconds, but it feels like an eternity. 

“Sorry!” Lando quickly says.

“It doesn’t matter Lan, nothing happened. I’m going to wish the others a happy new year as well.”

Lando watches you when you walk away. He sighs. “Yeah, nothing happened. Just my feelings for you,” he mutters annoyed. 

Thursday night - February 2023

“Thanks for picking me up,” you tell Lando.

“It’s nothing, how was the date?” Lando asks you.

You sigh. “Since I texted you a few hours earlier then we discussed I think you can conclude that it was bad.”

“I don’t get it. Why do you keep going on dates with types like this?” Lando asks you.

“I don’t know either,” you sigh. You think about who you really want. The guy next to you who’s currently driving you home in his McLaren. Lando is silent, he’s thinking about how it shouldn’t feel this way. Every time he picks you up he’s happy that your date didn’t go well. He can’t be like this. His jealousy is rising up way too much recently.

“I think I’m going to stop dating for a while,” you tell Lando after a bit of silence, “Maybe I’m not ready yet,” you add.

Lando can’t stop himself from smiling. It’s insane how relieved he feels suddenly.

Friday night - March 2023

“Would it be weird if we kissed?”

You look up at Lando. Does he even know what he’s asking you right now? It’s not like you can blame him right now. He’s drunk. But still, you let out a small sigh when you think about his question. Yes it would be weird, but you wouldn’t care about that. 

“I kinda want to kiss you,” Lando continues.

Butterflies are all over the place inside of you. You don’t have to check the rear mirror in Lando his car to find out your cheeks are red. You feel flustered. You try to focus on driving, but Lando is making it hard for you. For the second time that evening you remind yourself about Lando his condition. He’s drunk. Carlos and Max texted you before to warn you and when you picked up Lando you quickly noticed it as well. You can’t take his words serious right now, he’s drunk. 

“You’re drunk Lan,” you tell him after doubting for a bit, “but yes, it probably would be weird. We have been friends forever.” You don’t tell him that you don’t mind the weird aspect. You also don’t tell him about your feelings from the last years for him. 

“If you say so,” Lando sighs. 

You hope Lando doesn’t asks questions like this again. Or not like this. He can ask questions like this, but not when he’s drunk and his words are meaningless. 

Saturday morning - March 2023

“Fuck,” Lando grunts, “That was just what I needed.” 

You release a bit off the harsh pressure you used earlier. Slowly you massage further. Since you graduated last year, you’ve become Lando his personal masseuse. You’ve been lucky when McLaren hired you for it. Since then you join Lando and his - and your - team to every race. Meaning you can spend a lot of time with Lando. 

“I thought so,” you tell Lando smilingly.

Lando lets out a soft moan. Something that can give you weird butterflies sometimes, but now you’re getting used to it. It’s just because your massaging him. 

“You seemed pretty drunk last night,” you add.

“Oh god,” Lando grunts, “Please don’t remind me. I have no memories left. Sorry that you needed to pick me up like that.” 

You let out a soft disappointed sigh. You already expected this, but still. It would be nice if Lando remembered what he told you last night. It’s nothing new. Things like this happen way too often. 

“It doesn’t matter Lan, that’s what friends do,” you tell him to comfort him.

“Hm, friends yeah,” Lando sighs. 

“What do you mean?” You ask.

Lando doesn’t really respond anymore. You put a bit more pressure on his abs while massaging him. While you do so you think about multiple weird situations you had with Lando. 

“Maybe we can have a night in tonight? After qualifying,” Lando suggests after a bit. “We can watch some movies or something, whatever you like,” he adds.

“I kinda planned a selfcare night,” you tell Lando, “but maybe we can combine it?” 

“I’m in,” Lando tells you happily. 

“Great!”

Saturday - April 2023

“Y/n, it’s time for my massage.”

You look up surprised. Lando is standing in front of you and Pierre. What is he talking about? You just massaged him earlier. You’re free for the rest of the day. 

“Let’s talk further another time,” Pierre tells you.

You just met him. He seemed nice. Maybe you can finally find some other friends on the grid as well? 

“That sounds great,” you tell Pierre excited. 

You almost start to think that Lando lets out a scoff, but you’re probably wrong. You walk closer to Lando and he takes you with him to his drivers room.

“I already massaged you Lan, what was that about?” You ask him confused.

“I just got a bit of pain in my shoulder,” Lando mutters.

“Okay, can you pull of your shirt?”

When Lando feels your hands on his painless shoulders, he feels happy again. Maybe it was childish, but he didn’t see another way to get you away from Pierre and back to himself.

What’s going on with him?

Wednesday - May 2023

“I think I’m in love with y/n.”

“No shit,” Max sighs, “It took you forever to find out.”

Lando looks at his friend. Was he that transparant?

“So when will you tell her?” Max asks.

“Never!” Lando says quickly. He almost shouts. “What do you think that’ll happen? She doesn’t return my feelings, everything will become awkward and then I will lose her.”

“For fuck sake,” Max sighs, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Max, you have to keep this a secret,” Lando almost begs, “I can’t lose y/n.”

“You’re such an idiot.”

Saturday - June 2023

“Fuck, that feels amazing,” Lando moans.

You slowly apply more pressure to his body. Your hands roam around Lando his necks and shoulders carefully. When you come closer to his neck, Lando can’t withhold another soft moan. You start to feel the well known butterflies flatter around in your body.

Lando doesn’t stop. He keeps letting out soft sounds that show you exactly what you’re doing to him. After a bit you notice that you’ll get an even bigger reaction when you massage him on a specific spot close to his neck. You can’t help yourself and don’t stop touching him there. Can it be his sweet spot? You wonder what will happen when you let your lips touch his neck right on that spot. Fuck, you shouldn’t think like this.

“Can you lie down on your back Lan?” You ask a bit later.

Lando shuffles a bit, but he doesn’t move to lie down on his back. You wonder what’s going on. 

“Lan?” You ask.

“Give me a few minutes,” Lando tells you. 

“Is something wrong? You need to tell me if you feel uncomfortable or painful when I do something,” you say.

“No!” Lando quickly replies, “It’s far from wrong.”

You don’t get it at first, but then Lando lies down on his back. You notice the bulge that formed itself in his pants. Lando doesn’t look at you. Something that comes in quite handy right now, because you’re smile isn’t really professional anymore.

Sunday - July 2023

Lando his qualifying at Silverstone went amazing. He got the second place and that as his home race. This is amazing. Currently the two of you are laying on the couch. You’re feeling relaxed while spending time like this with Lando. 

“Maybe I can massage you a bit?” Lando suggests, “Reverse the roles  for once.”

“That seems nice.”

Lando helps you to find a comfortable position on his lap. His hands slowly find your shoulders. He’s quick to apply a bit of pressure on them. You let out a soft sigh of relaxation. It’s been way too long since someone massaged you. That’s the disadvantage of being a masseur, everyone always expects you to massage them and not the other way around. 

“How does this feel?” Lando asks you. 

It feels like his hands are touching you everywhere at once. You haven’t felt this relaxed in a long time. He’s slowly massaging your neck and you can’t stop yourself from letting out a soft moan. 

“Like you should do this more often,” you answer Lando jokingly.

You don’t tell him that you already feel yourself getting wet. Fuck. Why does he have to have such big, strong hands? That also feel insanely good on your body?

***

A few hours and a movie and some YouTube video’s later you’re still laying against Lando. The two of you are cuddled up on the couch in your hotel room. Lando plays with your hair while he focuses on the television in front of him. You can’t seem to focus anymore. Your mind keeps filling up with thoughts about Lando. 

“I’m glad you’re on my team,” Lando tells you suddenly, “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You’re the one who’s racing this good,” you reply. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lando says slowly, “but I couldn’t have done any of this without your support. It means the world to me that you’re always here.”

“There’s no place where I would be rather.”

“Promise me you’re in for a long time?” Lando asks you.

Without even thinking about it you stick out your pink. Lando is quick to wrap his own around yours.

“I promise Lan and if you join another team, I’ll do everything I can to join them as well.”

“I’m not going anywhere else if you can’t join me,” Lando says, “If they want me, they get you as well.”

You laugh. 

Sunday - July 2023

You haven’t seen Lando for a while now. The two of you are in some sort of night club with a lot of the other drivers. Earlier today Lando got his second place. His first podium of the season. He even drove a couple laps as race leader. Things were amazing. You haven’t been proud, excited and happy like this for a long time. It feels insanely good. That’s why the both of you wanted to celebrate. 

“Hi!”

You notice that Pierre Gasly is standing in front of you and just greeted you. 

“Hey,” you greet him back.

Pierre and you have know each other for a while now. You can say that you’re friends with each other, but not really close friends. During race weekends you’ll talk with each other, but that’s about it. Still, when you talk to each other it’s nice and comfortable. 

“In the mood to dance?” Pierre asks you. You’re quick to nod. Pierre gives you his hand and takes you with him towards the dance floor. 

When Lando searches for you, he’s surprised to find you on the dance floor. Until he sees with who you are. Fuck. He lets out an annoyed sigh. Why does Pierre always come close to you? Lando thinks about a way to get you away from Pierre, but he can’t figure out something right now.

“Congrats on the podium!” 

Without even realizing it, Lando is hugging with Yuki Tsunoda. He makes a bit of small talk with him, but Lando his eyes never leave you and Pierre. It annoys him that you’re still dancing with him. He needs to figure out a way to get you back to himself.

“Don’t you find them cute together?” Yuki asks him after a while.

Is Yuki talking about you and Pierre as well? Before Lando can say anything, Yuki continues talking.

“Pierre has been planning on taking her out for a while, maybe he’ll finally ask her now,” Yuki tells Lando. 

“He likes her?” Lando asks.

Yuki nods.

“Fuck, I knew it,” Lando mutters annoyed. 

Without a plan he walks towards you and Pierre. When he stands in front of you two, he’s quick to grab your arm. You are quick to look up. You’re surprised to see Lando in front of you. 

“We’re going back to the hotel,” Lando tells you quickly, not knowing any better excuse right now. 

“Why?” You ask surprised.

“I’m not feeling well,” Lando lies. 

He notices the way your facial expressions change. He starts to feel like a terrible person when he sees your concerned face. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask him. 

“I’ll explain in the car,” Lando answers with the lack of a better answer.

“Wait, y/n, before you go, can I ask you something?” Pierre asks you.

Lando his grip on your arm firms. He pulls you with him softly. You look at him, still concerned about his well being. “I really want to go,” Lando tells you. He knows what’s coming next, Pierre is going to ask you out. Fuck. He needs to get you away. 

“Maybe you can text me it?” You suggest to Pierre, “Lando isn’t feeling well, so we’re leaving now.”

“I’ll just ask you later,” Pierre sighs.

When you’re sitting in Lando his car, you notice that the boy is looking a lot better already. His weird facial expressions from earlier are gone, he almost seems relieved now? Maybe he was overwhelmed with all the attention and loud music? 

“What was wrong?” You ask Lando. 

“I uh,” Lando stutters a bit, “uh, I uh, I had a.. a uh, a headache. But it’s already getting better now.”

***

“Sooo,” you let out. You have been waiting for a moment to ask Lando something and maybe now is your chance? 

“So?”

“Why don’t you like Pierre?” You ask him. 

Since you and Pierre have gotten a bit closer, you have noticed Lando his strange behavior against Pierre. He always tries to get you away from him with excuses (?) about more massages. Or he joins your conversation and makes things awkward. What seems on purpose sometimes. 

“You always try to get me away from him,” you add while waiting for Lando his reaction. 

Lando sighs. Maybe he should just tell you everything. But he doesn’t. 

“There’s nothing wrong with Pierre,” Lando replies.

Wednesday - July 2023

“Want to lunch together?” Lando asks you. 

“I’m sorry Lan, Pierre asked me to get lunch together earlier today,” you reply a bit disappointed. If Lando only asked you earlier…

“Oh allright, then I’ll see you later. Right?” Lando asks disappointed.

“Yeah, after lunch I’ll be back,” you reply. 

“Okay, have fun.”

Friday - July 2023

“We’re still on for tonight, right?” Lando asks you. 

“What do you mean?” You ask surprised. 

“It’s Friday!” Lando exclaims loudly, “we always have your self care night on Friday.” 

“Oh fuck,” you whisper. You totally forgot. Or better said, you didn’t know Lando saw it as a weekly thing. “Pierre asked me out for dinner tonight, I’m so sorry Lan,” you explain, “but I can cancel?” 

“You don’t have to,” Lando sighs, “just have fun with Pierre.” 

***

Y/n: uh hi 

Y/n: can u pick me up?

Lando: where?

Y/n: *location*

Lando: where is that? Who lives there?

Y/n: Pierre

Lando: can’t he bring you home

Lando: you seem to be dating him

Lando: not me.

Y/N: please lan

Lando: Omw

***

“Thanks for picking me up,” you tell Lando when you step into his car. 

Lando is quick to notice your sad expression. He wonders what happened inside Pierre his house. When he sees a small tear rolling over your cheek, he knows for sure something happened.

“What’s wrong?” Lando asks you. 

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you sigh. 

“Babygirl,” Lando sighs, “What’s going on lately? We barely see each other and now I’m picking you up from Pierre’s while you’re all sad?” 

You let out a small sob. 

“I fucked things up,” you cry out. 

Lando increases his speed, he wants to get home as soon as possible so he can talk to you properly. He puts his free hand on your thigh and slowly draws some figures on it. When you use both of your hands to hold his, he can’t resist a small smile. 

When you’re inside Lando his home, you know Lando still wants answers. He deserves them as well. Together you sit down on his couch. You try to look at Lando, but you can only sob when you do. 

Pierre asked you to be his girlfriend tonight. You told him no. Of course you said no. You thought things between you two were just friendly. And there’s Lando. Maybe if Lando wasn’t here, you would have given Pierre a chance. But he’s here. He’s always on your mind. Even when you tried to forget about him, he’s always present in your thoughts. 

“What happened?” Lando asks you again. 

“I uh,” you stutter, “Pierre uh.. He, he asked me to be his uh.. his girlfriend.” 

“Then why are you crying? Isn’t that what you wanted?” Lando asks confused. His body is heating up. He can’t handle it if you’re officially Pierre’s. 

“I said no,” you state. This time the words come out a bit calmer. 

“Didn’t he accept that?” Lando questions.

You just nod your head this time. When you think back about Pierre his reaction, you shiver. 

“Want to talk about it?” Lando asks you.

“Later,” you suggest. 

Lando opens his arms for you. It doesn’t take you long before you find your comfortable spot back. You lean on his chest. You’ve missed this. 

“I’ve missed you,” you sob.

“I never left,” Lando states, “I just gave you some space with Pierre.” 

“I don’t want space,” you sigh. 

“What do you want?” Lando asks you confused, “I thought you wanted to date Pierre, so it seemed logical to give you a bit of space while figuring things out with him.”

You don’t think about your answer.

“I want you,” you state. 

When the words leave your mouth, you realize the impact of them. Fuck. What did you just do? This is going to be the moment that you’ll lose Lando. You already feel him straighten up, sitting more straight then before. Slowly you seat yourself different as well. Lando looks in your eyes and you can’t look away. 

“That’s a dangerous thing to say,” Lando replies.

“I can’t unsay it I guess,” you sigh, “This is just great. I fucked up something even more important now.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Lando comforts you, “but you need to explain what happened and what you mean.” 

You sigh again. 

“I told Pierre I didn’t want to date him, I thought our ‘dates’ were friendly. Then he got mad. He started to talk about all the money he spend on me,” you explain slowly, “I told him I could pay him back, but that wasn’t what he wanted. I don’t know what happened, but I do know I lost a friend.” 

“And then I started thinking about you. How I blew you off multiple times because Pierre asked me to do something, I was afraid that I lost you as well.” 

“Pierre’s a dick,” Lando scoffs, “and you can’t lose me. No matter how hard you’ll try, you can’t lose me.”

You let out a couple sobs. Lando pulls you closer to himself again. 

“What do you mean with wanting me?” He asks you.

“Fuck Lan,” you sigh, “I’ve been in love with you for like forever.” 

Lando doesn’t know what he just heard. He asks you again. And again. You keep telling him the truth. 

“Fuck,” he says after a while.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, “I knew telling you was a mistake. Please stay my friend.” 

“Max was right,” Lando says.

You look at him, confused by the deeper meaning behind his words.

“I should have told you,” Lando continues, “Then all of this would never have happened.” 

“Told me what?” You ask confused.

“I’m in love with you,” Lando confesses, “I’ve been for the longest time. That’s why I didn’t like all of your dates, including Pierre.”

Saturday - August 2023

“It always turns me on when you massage me,” Lando confesses. 

You laugh softly. 

“Remember than one time you massaged me?” You ask Lando. He’s quick to nod. “We both have that problem.” 

“Maybe I can massage you again tonight?” Lando suggests. 

“That sounds amazing.”

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris x y/n #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris imagine #ln4 #formula one #f1 #lando norris imagines #lando norris smut

[carolmunson]

is he rich like me? (wealthy!s.h. x thick!reader)

desc: hi, we've missed you here at slate insurance hq. i've been working on this WIP since i think october, having the initial idea back then and then going back and forth on it for a million years. anyway, i finally finished it. you and big money steve are finally both on the same page, so here's some porn with plot. big money steve is big money steve, and he loves to spoil his girl. especially before a big dinner deal closing with a new client. tw: 18+ minors dni. p in v sex, oral (f and m receiving), some daddy kink (it's steve c'mon) but he's pathetic, some breeding kink. casual dominance. big wealthy tings. recommended listening: time of the season - the zombies

"what's your name? who's your daddy? is he rich like me?"

Big boxes and gifts were nothing new anymore. Selfishly, they'd become expected whenever you walked in the door from work. Though, if it were totally up to Steve, you would have quit your job the moment the last box of your things came past the threshold of his Tribeca apartment in January. But having at least some semblence of your old life was important to you -- and Robin would lose her mind if she didn't have you to share an office with anymore. Steve on the otherhand, was adamant that once the first baby was on the way, you'd put your career behind you. Presumptiuous of course, considering you weren't even engaged. Tonight was a dinner -- not for the both of you, but for business. Sales pitches, deal closings, re-enrollment. He'd never take you a steakhouse for a date, he'd rather die. But, always a steakhouse for business, 'It's just more -- I don't know how to explain it baby -- money talk, red meat, stuff like that. I know you hate it, I'm sorry, but it just looks good when I bring my girl with me.' He'd make it up to you every time with a new dress, a new pair of shoes, his lips on your neck, your knees to your chest. This dinner was no different, coming in from a nail appointment and a pedicure out to see an array of boxes laid out on your side of the bed. Your main component, which you were expected to wear to dinner tonight, was a black silk dress. "It looks small, Steve," you mumble, holding it up by the skinny straps. Sometimes your wonder if he forgets how full your hips are, how things that look chic on Kate Moss can sometimes look suggestive on you. Not that he minded, he was always very suggestive whenever you dressed up.

"It got it tailored to your measurements, so it shouldn't be," he explains while tying his tie in the mirror, "Just put it on, baby. The car's gonna be here soon."

You huff a little, turning on your heels to his walk in closet -- it might as well be a second bedroom with how big it was. You laid the dress down on the center island where he keeps all of his ties and watches in specially made drawers. You eyed the dress for a moment -- it really was beautiful. Black as night with a high slit on the right side -- of course he made sure it showed some leg so he could run his fingers along the hem under the table.

You take a look at yourself in the mirror in the long line black bustier he bought you. Breasts lifted and high, nearly spilling out of the cups. You'd never seen something without straps have so much support. But then again, you'd never had a bra be custom made either. The matching satin panties sat high on your waist, cut high enough that you'd never see the lines under the silk dress.

Moment of truth, I guess, you think, taking the dress and stepping into it. You waited for the resistance when you pulled it up over your hips but it never came. You waited for the uncomfortable pull of trying to get the skinny straps over your arms and shoulders, but it didn't happen. The dress slid on like butter, like it was made for you.

Oh yeah, duh, it was made for you.

"Can you help me with the zipper, honey?" you call out. Steve still loses his breath when you call him a pet name. So overwhelmed that you want him, that you call him baby and handsome and honey. Honey, honey, honey. Maybe someday husband. Maybe.

He steps into the room with purpose, stopping short when he sees you in the dress.

"Oh, wow," he gasps, "Wow, wow, wow."

"Stop," you bloom heat when he eyes you, "C'mon help me, we gotta go soon."

He steps behind you and you can smell the cedar and sandalwood in his cologne -- having long traded his Aqua di Gio for Creed's 1992 Bois du Portugal. His fingers are warm when he trails his middle and pointer up the skin of your back where the zipper opens, just to watch you shiver. He hooks the closure at the top carefully before pulling the tab at the bottom to slowly close the dress up. At the finish, everything is pulled into place. It was perfect. Dipping and flouncing exactly where you wanted it too, every curve perfectly showcased.

“Do you know where my clutch is?” you ask him in the mirror while his fingers trace your shoulders.

“It’s on the island in the kitchen,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss over the strap of the dress, “But I have another surprise for you.”

“Another?” you ask, eyes wide. He already bought you the dress, the shoes, the lingerie. What else was left?

"Close your eyes." You do, you hear him open one of the drawers and can feel him behind you when something cold hits your chest. He fastens it at the back of you -- you know it's a necklace but it must be nice if he's having you close your eyes.

"Keep 'em closed, baby."

You hear him come around to the front of you, adjusting the necklace, feeling his breath againt your ear. His fingers trail from your shoulder, down your arm to lift your left hand up, "Stay like that." Your heart hammers, but quickly fades out when you feel him put on a bracelet. His delicate touches quicken your pulse, his scent makes your mouth water. Steve had a way of making everything romantic -- getting coffee, going to the grocery store, taking out the trash, putting jewelry on you. Jewelry he bought. Jewelry you know you'll love.

"And lastly..." he continues, while putting your hand down. His nose brushes your cheek when his nimble fingers click a pair of earrings into place -- they're heavy and cold. "Harrington," you sigh, squirming at the pinch of the back going too far into your lobes, "I can put these on myself." "Don't be such a baby, Manhattan," he tsks, smoothing your hair away from your ears before standing back and looking at you. He smiles big at the sight, you simply adorned in his gifts. Steve doesn't know whether to cry or kiss you when he feels his heart leap in his chest. It happens all the time when he stares too long at you, no matter what you're doing. You're his. "Can I open them?" "You can open them," he encourages. When your eyes flutter open and adjust to the light, you see them in the mirror. A platinum set tennis necklace sat across your chest, a matching bracelet on your wrist. Earrings in your ears to complete the collection. You gape at your reflection, mouth hanging open while you try to wrap your head around it -- about how much money you're wearing right now.

"Steven -- they're beautiful..." you gasp out. He stands behind you in the mirror again, grinning at your reaction.

"Sorry there's no ring," he pouts before kissing your cheek, "Not yet, at least."

It was an every other day mention -- the ring. You'd only been officially together for half a year, but Steve knew what he wanted. It felt like you both had been together for six years anyway. You knew the ins and outs of each other, literally and figuratively -- there couldn't be anyone else quite like him. It helt like you both had PHDs in each other's likes and dislikes, needs and wants, goals and dreams.

"Don't worry," you breathe, still not over the sparkle on the rest of your limbs, "This is...this is plenty, babe." He burns in his cheeks -- babe. He's your babe! He presses a kiss to your cheek, settling by your ear to mumble a heady 'I love you,' from the deep base of his chest. His lower lip coasts your earlobe and your eyes roll back in your head, feeling his warm breath fan over your jaw. "I love you so much," he murmurs, hand gripping your waist, you can feel his grin against your skin, "But I need you to hurry the fuck up or we're gonna be late, angel." "You're so annoying," you glower when his sensual demeanor turns into a mean snicker, tapping your ass to get you to move out into the kitchen.

It took every ounce of will power in his body to not cover you in hickeys in the car. He had to give it to himself, he knew how to dress you for stuff like this, and God did your body alway deliver. He had to keep looking out the window so he didn't catch a glimpse of your crossed legs in the rear view mirror of the Bentley. It didn't help that you smelled like heaven, dirving him crazy with every movement, sending Mulger's Angel through his olfactory straight to his boy brain.

He helped you out of the car and waked you arm in arm to the door of the restaurant, always sure to be there at least 15 minutes before his guests. You got accustomed to the song and dance: exchange pleasantries, only ask the wife of whoever he's with direct questions, feign some form of old school obedience, let Steve do all the talking and so help you God if you roll your eyes once he has no problem letting you pay for when you get home. Always in good fun, of course.

Tonight is no different, you look over the menu, sharing sweet moments with each other before his guest arrives. Guessing the status of every couple there, what they're talking about, how long they've been together. A few celebrities come in laying low and you never get excited but Steve always does, still deep down a sweet boy from Indiana. "I think I'm gonna do the salmon," I say with a sigh, "I know that's boring."

"Not boring, honey," he shakes his head, taking off his glasses to clean them off before settling the silver frames back on, "The salmon's really good here." "You're really good here," you tease. "Yeah?" his brow quirks, a smile pulling at his lips, "I heard you're really good here." "Actually, you're really good here," you start to giggle. "Surprised to hear you say that because it was reported in the Culiniary section of the New York Times that you're actually really good here," he laughs, but you're both cut short when you see the m'aitre d guiding your guests to the table. You keep giggling, sitting up straight and crossing your legs under the table cloth so that your thigh peaked out of the slit of the dress. "No more fun, Harrington," you say faux seriously, "No laughing, we have to be boring now." "So boring," he agrees in a fake whisper, but his demeanor changes on a dime when his guest and his wife arrive. Steve stands immediately, hand out for a firm shake.

"Mr. Parker, good to see you tonight," he flashes an award winning smile, the kind that make older men wish he was their son and older women wish he was their husband, "Mrs. Parker, you look stunning. He let's you leave the house looking this good?"

Only Steve can make a joke like that and have it be charming. He pulls the fake string in your back and you start your performance as Business Dinner Barbie as soon as everyone sits down. When the sommelier arrives Steve orders a bottle of white and red for the table and when the waitress arrives he gets himself and Mr. Parker their second highest priced scotch. 'Just because it's the most expensive doesn't mean it's good, they just wanna get the suckers to buy it.' You could mouth the words as he says them at this point, the same schpiel every time.

"And would you like to put your entree orders in as well?" the waitress asks. Mr. Parker orders the steak dinner, rare, which doesn't surprise you because he sort of looks like someone who gets joy out of consuming blood. Mrs. Parker orders the salad because of course she does, she's never eaten a starch in her life, or at least not in the past forty years. Steve places his dinner order, always filet mignon medium rare with a side salad. Steve takes your menu from you to pass to the waitress when her attention turns to you for your order. You open your mouth to speak but Steve's hand finds yours with a light squeeze, keeping eye contact with the waitress. "She'll have the glazed salmon, medium. And I hate to bother the chef but can we pass the broccoli rabe on for asparagus?" he asks, eyes dropping from the waitress to yours as she answers 'Absolutely, Mr. Harrington'. You swallow when his gaze lingers on you, a smirk flicking on the ends of his lips, a moment only shared by the two of you.

"Thank you so much," he replies, still looking at you, "She just doesn't really care for it." He smiles back up at the waitress as he finishes his sentence, pulse quickening when he sees you adjust slightly in your seat. You liked that, and he likes that you liked that. He continues the conversation with a winning smile, pretending like he doesn't know you're melting next to him. Staring at him in his suit acting like you care what he's talking about, like you're not watching the way the leather band of his watch hugs his wrist, how he gesticulates when he talks, his long fingers and big veined hands emphasizing his words. The way his brow furrows when he listens, the slight tensing of his jaw while he thinks of what to say next. While Mr. Parker discusses the potential pitfalls of partnering with Slate Insurance, you feel one of Steve's big hands under the table, resting on your knee. His thumb traces circles on your joint for a minute, you figure it's a comfort touch, something to ground him while he considers his next move. You learn quickly that it's not that at all. He lets a finger trace slowly and softly up over your knee and half way up your inner thigh before grabbing it, slowly and intentionally massaging the fat there, slipping his fingers under the black silk. Your back straightens in your chair, trying to keep your cool while he continues -- soft grazes with his finger tips, back and forth, inching further up as he goes. You grab his hand tightly under the thick white table cloth, catching his lips curl at the edges while he speaks -- no one else would be wise to it. You curse him silently at his ability to always play it cool.

"Have some water, honey," he says sweetly, taking his hand from your grasp and pushing your glass toward you, "You're looking a little flushed." You swallow, your smile a little tight while you take a sip and he watches. A battle between the two of you that you know you've already lost. The cool water passes your lips and you're nearly reinvigorated to try your hand but he comes in with a final strike -- a death blow -- "Atta girl," Steve grins. You've never wanted to pull him out of a restaurant by his collar more than you do right now. Just like always, dinner is a success. Steve always closes the deal before the second scotch so that the cool down conversation can feel more friendly. 'You want the client to feel like they made a friend when they leave so that they trust you. That's business, angel.' He'd say. You say your goodbyes and tell Mrs. Parker you'd be happy to join her book club -- you're unsure how many book clubs you've 'joined' at this point, how many invites got 'lost in the mail'. "Very darling woman you've got there, Steven," Mr. Parker says as he and Steve shake hands, the final seal.

"Isn't she?" he asks, giving you a quick once over. Your blood rushes in your ears at his look, the rest of their conversation muffled by an infuriating need for him. As Mr. Parker and his wife leave, he cleans off his glasses while you both wait for his credit card back for the bill.

"Beautiful job tonight, honey," he smiles, putting his frames back on.

"Do not speak to me," you say with a smile, heat pooling through you while a soft pink appears on his cheeks. "Don't worry," he shakes his head, getting his card back and signing off on the receipt. He helps you out of your chair like a gentlemen, passing you your purse as a means to press a kiss to your cheek, "We won't be doing any talking when we get home."

By the time you get home to the Tribeca apartment, all of your lipstick has been worn off. You're lucky if Vinny doesn't quit being Steve's driver after all of that. "Sorry," he says to Vin while you get out of the Bentley, "Won't happen again, I'm so sorry."

You try not to count how many hundreds Steve flips through when he goes into his wallet, you try not to see how many he slips his driver in embarrassment. Sometimes it still made your chest tight. "You say that every Friday night," Vinny laughs, taking the money, "And every Saturday I gotta get the interior detailed. Goodnight, Mr. Harrington."

The air is a little humid when you get out of the car, sticking to your skin slightly -- the soft rush of the river calms you in the quiet of the night, and there he is, in the glow of the lights outside of your building. He doesn't say anything when he approaches you, just pulls you in for another air stealing kiss. Steve's big hand pushing you in at the nape of your neck to give him better access to you. You frown when he breaks away, a small one, a gentle tug on your eye brows an lips. His hand drops to yours, taking you inside, greeting the doorman and front desk concierge by name as he does every morning and night.

The brightness of the lobby is a harsh contrast to the low light outside and the burst of air conditioning makes your nipples peak in your bra. Goosebumps trail up your arms, but you aren't sure if it's the blast of cold air or the way Steve impatiently waits for the elevator to get you both upstairs. The door barely closes when he's on you, shoving you against the wall of the front walk way. "How dare you," he murmurs, lips peppering kisses from your lips to your jaw, tongue licking hot at your neck, "Look this fucking good all night." "It's kind of your fault," you laugh, panting slightly while his teeth graze over a sensitive spot by your collar bone. You kick off your heels, leaving $2600 on the floor of Steve's apartment.

"Mostly yours," he grunts, pulling you over to the living room after taking off his own shoes. He opens the big vertical blinds so that the city glitters into the penthouse apartment. Steve wastes no time however, getting behind you the same way he did earlier, fingers nimbling unzipping your dress. You both watch it fall to the floor in a delicate puddle, black water silk at your feet.

Now there was $6600 on the floor. Steve takes a second to admire you in your skivvies, his bottom lip tucking between his teeth. He surveys you like a work of art, like a statue carved just for him. You shudder while he circles you, feeling the heat of his ambers eyes burning with need on your skin. He chuckles when he notices you get a flustered, settling down on the couch. He motions for you to you come forward and while you are never one to listen, you make your way over to him without question.

"You like when I spoil you?" he asks huskily, pulling you down to straddle his lap. One arm wraps tight around your waist while the other wraps delicately in your hair. Your stomach presses against him while your breasts heave in his face. He pulls your head down to kiss you, hungry and powerful, while his hips press up to grind against your satin covered cunt.

"Mhm," you whimper into his mouth. His hands reach behind you to the hooks and ties at the back of your bustier. Steve's fingers never met a bra that they couldn't take off in an impressive flick of the wrist.

"Let's get all this off you," he mumbles breathily before sliding his lips from your mouth to your neck. The bustier falls forward slightly before he gets impatient, pulling the straps down your arms before discarding it on the ground. You reach for the necklace but he stops you, reaching back up to capture you in a hungry kiss. "Keep the jewelry on," he says, ambers eyes meeting yours. He's stern in his request and you nod obediently, hands lowering down to meet his chest.

Now there was $8,000 on the floor.

His hands find your breasts and he lets out a rugged groan, massaging them with his hands while he presses kisses down onto the soft skin.

"You can't come with me to dinner looking like this anymore," he murmurs between kisses, "Barely closed that deal. Too busy staring at these tits."

"Steve," you gasp out, giggling, "You closed it just fine."

"Mmm," he nods, mouth occupied by taking a nipple between his lips. You can feel the flutter of his tongue over it while he looks up at you, eye shining wickedly. Your whine just encourages him to keep going. Your hips press down against him, reminding him what you want more than his mouth, than his hands. He pops his lips off of you, the sound echoing in the open living room.

“Is there something you want?” he asks sweetly, leaning back on cushions of the couch. You nod, rocking your hips over his hard cock in his pants, letting out a soft tiny moan at each bit of friction.

“You're so spoiled angel,” he teases, thumbs brushing over your nipples before rolling them between his fingers, making you whine. His voice still dripping in depth and heat, “I think you should work for it.”

“I thought the whole point of this was so that I didn't have to work anymore," you tease back, leaning forward to kiss him. He hums into your mouth and you can feel him smirk into the kiss. Bastard, you think to yourself.

“Hmm,” he considers, palm skating over your thigh, “You do make a good counter point."

“I think giving into my demands is a good return on investment,” you assure, hips rolling against him in a way that makes his thighs tense up, "Imagine the long term benefits?"

He groans when you parrot him, getting harder at the thought of you genuinely listening to his business speak when you do these dinners. He squeezes the fat of your hips, tongue gliding over his kiss bitten lower lip while you take off his tie and start to unbutton his shirt. “Take these off,” he says, looking up at you while his finger traces your panty line. You heat up when he says it, a smug smile blooming on your face. His actions only confirming that he’ll always give in, “If you ask for want you want, I'll consider it."

“Oh, you'll pass that on to your team? I'd love to be considered,” you ask with a laugh, but he's done joking around, a tap to your thigh reminds you that he asked you to undress. You stand up off of him, your feet meeting the cold hardwood, your panties sliding down your smooth legs.

Now there was $8250 on the floor.

He undoes his belt while you stand in front of him, eyes glued to yours while he does it. You swallow when he winks, thighs pressing together — you know he notices. Steve shimmies his pants down slightly, enough that he can keep his legs spread wide while pulling out his length. It's clear that he's painfully hard, a guttural groan escaping him while his hand offers him some minor relief, “Is this what you want?”

“Y-yeah,” your voice barely above a whisper.

“Why don’t you suck on it first and I’ll tell you when you can ride it," he smirks, and without thinking, you start getting to your knees. He stops you before you can make it to the floor, putting a throw pillow beneath you to protect you from the hardwood. Steve can't help but kiss you softly once you make it to your knees, he was never any good at being mean and forceful with you. You'd been right the whole time, he couldn't boss you around -- at least not for too long.

You unbutton the rest of his dress shirt that will now need to be dry cleaned and repressed. You let a hand trail down his chest, gliding through the hair there while pressing wet hot kisses down to his pelvis. Pulling some of the skin between your teeth to leave red and purple bruises behind.

“That’s it, baby,” his breath blends with his words as he adjusts on the couch, leaning back so you have more access to him. You kiss close to the base, tongue trailing over the crease of his thigh, breath ghosting over his shaft while your mouth stays occupied with his heavy sac. You feel him lean back, relaxing while you work him up, his hands coming behind his head, arms bending at the elbows. "Just like that, honey," Steve purrs, "Just like that."

Your hand reaches up to stroke him, slow and deliberate, mouth getting wetter while you leave sloppy kisses at the base and on his pelvis. Your thumb glides over the shining bead of pre-cum pooling out of the tip, teasing over the seam just under it. Your tongue finally glides up to the tip expertly, letting your lower lip catch on the head -- his eyes meet yours behind his glasses, burning with need. It feels cruel to keep him waiting when he looks at you like that, so you don't wait. While keeping eye contact you adjust, taking him all the way to the back of your throat without so much as a wince.

“Oh fuck, good girl,” he gasps into a growl, hand reactively entwining in your hair, “That’s daddy’s girl.”

You groan into the praise, sucking diligently on his cock, thighs pressing tight together. Your back arches into a posture he can only recognize as needy, making him grin while he runs his free hand through his own hair.

“Learned to like that, huh? Whose your daddy, angel?” You smirk up at him in response, tongue gliding from the base to the tip again, taking half of his shaft in your mouth before taking it out with a low laugh, "You are, honey."

His eyes roll back, hips canting up towards your mouth while his grip in your hair tightens. You press him by the thighs back down onto the couch eyeing him while he whimpers when your tongue traces the curve of his cock again. Always on top even on your knees. "Fuck, don't stop," he breathes out. He lets go of your hair, arm reaching behind him to clutch the back of the couch. His hips roll up again, disrupting your rhythm slightly. You taste the salt of him on your tongue while you continue, a soft giggle erupting from your throat, sending shockwaves through him.

"Having fun, honey?" he asks, pulling himself away from you slightly. You sit back on your heels and smile, nodding. He leans forward, blessing you with kisses, deep and slow, "Let's take this to the bedroom."

"I'm on top, right?" you ask. He smirks, watching the jewelry glitter on you in the low light. "Not a chance," he giggles darkly, "Not tonight. Really wanna show you how bad I want you tonight."

"Oh, just tonight?" you ask smartly, getting up from your knees to head to the bedroom.

"Every night," he says with a roll of the eyes, getting up and tossing his dress shirt and tie on the couch. He watches you as you walk slowly to the bedroom, eyeing your smooth skin, the way your hips and waist twist when you walk. He knows you're walking like this on purpose, but he'll never complain. You fall back on the sheets you've been sleeping in for six months and he watches your breasts and thighs and tummy jiggle when you land. Steve grins, sliding off his slacks, socks, and boxer briefs before stepping between your legs, standing over you while you lay on the bed. "Hi," you say, a genuine smile pulling at your mouth when you look up at him. A stripe of amber light from outside pools into the room from between the billowing white curtains, coating you both in a dreamy haze.

"Hi, baby," he says back, his hands reaching down to slide from just under your breasts to your waist, "So beautiful," he whispers to himself.

"Move up a little for me," he instructs, his voice sweet and deep. You scooch up the bed, settling between the mountain of pillows leaning against the short head board while he settles between your legs again. He watches you and the way your body manipulates when he reaches down behind your thighs, pressing the tops of them to your chest. He leans forward, pressing his own chest against what can be felt of yours. Your knees are at your decolletage when he leans in closer to give you another deep kiss before leaning back again, quickly tossing his glasses on the bedside table.

You both stay quiet while he strokes himself a few times, smirking down at your glistening core while he lines himself up to push in. You aren't sure why, but every time he does, it feels like the first time.

"Oh my God," you whine while he pushes in slow, "Stevie." "I know, angel," he nods, gliding in all the way to the hilt. He grunts when he feels you grip him tight, trying to pull out slightly only to get sucked back in. He grips the back of your thighs for leverage, pulling back half way and pressing in, feeling you get wetter around him while he picks up a rhythm.

"Shiii-Steve, that's so deep," you whine. It only encourages him to push in deeper.

"Gotta practice, honey," he grins, starting to pant while he looms over you, letting go of your legs to get close to you again, "Need it to stick when we do it for real."

You pulse over him when he says it, back trying to arch despite your position beneath him.

"You like when I talk like that?" he whispers, his voice sliding back to gravely in your ear, "When I tell you how bad I wanna cum inside you?"

"Mhm," you whimper, nodding against his searing kiss, working himself up the more he thinks about it. "Get you all fuckin' full with me?" he growls, "Keep you nice and pregnant the second I get that ring on your finger?" You burn with lust while he babbles on, wrapping your legs around his waist while his thrusts get rough and desperate. Your body shakes and quivers while his hips slam against you, filthy wet squelches filling the high ceilings of the room. Mixing with a symphony of both of your sighs and moans, the smell of your sweat mixing with his cologne. Slam, slam, slam, slam, slam. The headboard beating the wall between the windows with a thud over and over again. "I fucking love you," he grits out. "I love you, too," you whine, eyes rolling in the back of your head. Heat licks at your lower belly, building while the slight curve of his cock makes the head brush over your g-spot in rapid succession, "Baby, I'm..." "Yeah?" he asks with a knowing smile, "So close for me, hm?" He sits back on his calves, still able to thrust while he looks down at you. His thumb presses against your lips, asking for entry. You let him in, making sure to get it extra slick with your spit before he takes it out, reaching down to slide it in circles over your clit. "How's that, angel?" he asks, thrusts not showing a hint of slowing down, "Does that feel good?"

Your thighs shake, eyes pricking with tears, shining while they look up at him. Well he's pleased with himself, you think, making a mental note to throw him on his back tomorrow and ride him into next week until he's a babbling mess. "It does, huh?" he asks softly, nodding down at you while you nod up at him. "Shit," he huffs, "Oh fuck."

"Not so...oh my god, oh wow -- not so t-tough now, are you?" you giggle. He groans when you giggle, Why are you so fucking precious? he thinks to himself, Who allowed this?

Heat rises even more, the jewelry starting to feel clingy as it sticks to your shining skin. Steve keeps his pace, eyes closing softly while he leans his head back, the column of his neck begging to be bitten and kissed by you. You whimper, pulling at the clasp of the bracelet, tossing it onto the carpet next to the bed. Now there was $48,250 on the floor. Feeling less trapped and more desperate to destroy his neck and chest, you sit up, your manicured hand pressing against his hair covered pecs. It doesn't take long for him to allow it, looking up at you while you climb on top of him.

"That's it, honey, give it to me," he breathes, "Show me how bad you want it."

Your hips move with a slutty percision that he loves, grinding against him for your own pleasure and his. He hisses when you bite down on his neck, letting out a soft laugh when you pull at his hair, "Come for me, angel, c'mon." He hears you pant in his ear while you lean over him, the diamonds in your necklace shimmering in his eyes. You sigh, sitting up straight, unclasping the necklace while you bounce on top of him, gently tossing it to meet the bracelet. Now there was $198,250 on the floor. "Do not," he groans out, hands grabbing your hips with bruising grip, "Put those earrings on the ground, we will never find them until a post ends up in my fucking heel." You laugh, your own head leaning back, making him yearn to taste the column of your neck this time. But your laugh doesn't last long, it morphs into guttural moans while he holds you in place, thrusting up into you in an unforgiving speed. Steve gasps, watching your breasts bounce in front of him while he continues on unrelenting. "Baby..." You squeak out, "Steve...oh fuck, oh Steve -- Steve, Steve, Steve..." The heat builds and builds and builds. Your eyes water while his cock bullies into you. The head hitting your g-spot, pushing in deeper while he goes. You let out a cry, nails digging into his broad freckles shoulders while our hips slam down on him, thighs vibrating while white blooms behind your eyes.

"Good girl," He coos while you shake, collapsing onto his chest, "That's it, angel, that's my girl." He eases you onto your back again, giving you slow kisses on your neck and chest while he chases his own orgasm. It doesn't take long, nearly on the precipice of cumming since he zipped you up in your dress earlier in the evening. His mouth gapes while he sends his seed over your tummy, painting you with ropes of glistening white. "Jesus Christ..." he gasps, settling himself with some big deep breaths that expand his sculpted chest. You both look at each other, panting and sweating, the passion wearing off to a pure and gentle love for each other. You both start laughing. "We swear we're sexy," you laugh up at him. His smile makes you melt all over again. You watch him ease up off the bed, leaning forward from the side to kiss your forehead. He picks up the jewelry, inspecting it for missing gems, or - god forbid - a scratch, and places it carefully on the side table with his glasses. "Wanna get cleaned up with me?" he asks, tilting his head, "Can you stand?" "Oh please," you roll your eyes, sitting up slowly, "I can..sort of stand." You already feel the ache between your legs from taking him, knowing you'll need at least a day to recover from something so big. He helps you up, taking you into the en suite bathroom and getting the water just right for you to step into. "I'll be right back," he says, pulling you in for a kiss on the temple before he disappears in the steam. When he returns behind the glass of the standing shower, covered top to bottom in dark green tile, he passes you a glass of Malbec that matches his. "A little celebratory night cap," he says sweetly. "To closing the deal," you grin, giving his glass a clink to cheers. "To closing the deal," he says back before you both take a sip.

"I know you're not wearing those earings in the shower, Manhattan," he sighs, putting the glass on the product shelf out of the water. He reaches for you ears but you yelp playfully, stepping away from him, "You're gonna be the fuckin' death of me, honey. I swear."

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x thick!reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fan fiction #pbv!steve #steve harrington fluff

[dariwrites03]

Fucked up Monday.

A/n: this is the first Ellie x female reader I’ve ever written so pls be kind ??? ( let’s be real, first thing I’ve ever written ngl) Also, English isn’t my first language so excuse my mistakes. Otherwise have fun!

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/daribertduck/748855174059130880/fucked-up-monday-23

Summary: Having Ellie as a friend is great. Having her as you’re patrol partner? Even better. Loving her though, that’s where all the problems begin. Especially since Ellie doesn’t feel the same, right?

Warnings: slightly mention of grief, anxiety,post apocalypse world!! Slightly curse words ( what’s you’re favorite curse word? Probably fuck.)

-5,9K words or something xx

The world suddenly became gray, the clouds got thicker and as the rain started to make its way down onto the dirty ground surrounding your house, you knew today was most definitely not a good day. But It's not like you didn't know that already. The last couple of days weren't great either, and that's not something you can blame on the terrible January weather.

No, partly you blame yourself for those terrible hours that turned into days you spent in front of your living room window wasting away important minutes, stuck with way too many thoughts to function. So many things you have to think over and over, without really ending up with an answer that satisfies you. And you blame her, too, for somehow making the world much darker than it already is. But deep down you knew that this wasn't the right way to go, you could not make her the center of your problems, couldn't build your own mistakes around her. But you'd like to try anyway.

Monday, only a week ago, everything was as fine as it could be, considering the circumstances. Because life in the post-apocalypse isn't always easy, because one of your closest friends, Dina, is in love with Ellie Williams. Because Ellie Williams is the girl you gave your heart many years ago.

This specific Monday,where everything went down, you were on patrol with Ellie. Over the past two months, it had become a ritual. The two of you made the best team in Jackson, using supplies judiciously and working smart and fast. Everyone could rely on you both, and you loved it. The feeling of being needed was something great. The idea of people believing and trusting you was something you wouldn't trade for anything. You loved to help, and God knows you were doing a pretty good job at it too.

That Ellie was the one assigned to you wasn't something you were mad about. You craved nothing more than the attention from the emerald green-eyed girl. Knowing that you two spent hours on patrol with nothing but meaningless conversations filling the air made life taste a bit sweeter. And Ellie felt the same way. From the moment you first exchanged words in Jackson, you both knew right away that whatever you had in your hearts for each other was too precious to let loose.

But now, that specific feeling you get whenever you think about her is probably the reason why you're scared in your living room, hiding from everything and everyone, but especially from her.

Having Ellie as your friend was incredible. You both talked about everything and always found playful words even in serious situations, lightening the burden on your minds. But being friends with her wasn't enough for you. You yearned to be closer, to have her in every way you could possibly want a human being. And that terrified you since your friend made her intentions about Dina very clear.

And having her as your patrol partner was the wisest decision Maria ever made. Even though you weren't always assigned to each other, the moments you shared on patrol were precious. The way you both moved in sync, anticipating each other's actions, spoke volumes. It was more than just duty; it was a connection that defied mere partnership.

At first,starting off new right after the parole training Tommy gave you, you were in a group with your cousin Dylan. He was a smart man, kind and caring—one of the closest people you'd ever call family. Not much older than you or your friends, but he lost his life in a fight with a bloader while the two of you went to check on an Abandoned School near Jackson. When you returned without Dylan by your side, the traumatic experience still etched into your bones, you explained the situation to Maria right away, sharing as many details as you could remember. You hoped that you wouldn't have to recount this nightmare of a story multiple times. You described to her exactly where it happened and how you somehow managed to escape, paying the price of Dylan losing his life while distracting the bloader. Maria promised to be there when you told all your family members and to send out a group of people to the building. Their mission: to finish off the bloater and retrieve whatever was left of Dylan for a somewhat respectful funeral. Something he deeply deserved.

After your conversation with Maria, she immediately called Ellie in to ask if it would be okay for her to pair with you. Returning to work wasn't something you originally had in mind, but in hindsight, Maria probably knew that working would keep your mind off things. She was also aware of the deep connection you had with Ellie. If she had assigned you to someone else, you might have been too terrified to venture close to the outside world ever again.

Ellie, however, always wanted to go on patrol with you. She hated the idea of you going with Dylan instead. It wasn't that she didn't like him; it was more that she felt like she lost control the moment the safe gates of Jackson closed, and she wasn't by your side.

The first couple of times the two of you went on patrol together were more challenging than you had anticipated. Sometimes, you believed you could still hear his screams echoing in the back of your mind. Other times, his anguished facefilled your thoughts, and you grappled with the regret of running in the opposite direction. The guilt of what you *should* have done never truly left your mind.

Maria, understanding the weight of your experience, altered the usual patrol routes for you and Ellie. She ensured that you both didn't have to cross the area where the incident with Dylan occurred. Deep down, you knew there was nothing you could have done to save Dylan, yet you couldn't help but blame yourself.

Ellie did her best to empathize, and you noticed and appreciated her efforts. While she couldn't erase all the pain, her presence made the feelings a little less overwhelming. You sensed that she was aware of this too since she let you sleep over at her place almost everyday since and somehow already knew when a new anxiety attack was about to happen without you even knowing it.However, over the past few weeks, you've been avoiding her, along with almost everyone else. The ache in your heart, triggered by thoughts of Ellie being with Dina, became too much for your frightened heart to bear. Distance seemed like the only viable solution—a way to shield yourself from the emotional storm.

On that bittersweet Monday,where the two of you headed out a little earlier than you'd prefer, the sun not yet fully awake, you embarked on a new route. Not far from Jackson, there lay a small town—one that Maria wanted both of you to investigate and "clean." With  that purpose, you made your way over there.

As you and Ellie stepped into this town, its quiet streets greeted you. The air smelled of pine and nostalgia, and the sun cast long shadows across the wooden storefronts. Maria's instructions echoed in your mind.

Ellie walked beside you, her gaze scanning the facades. Her emerald eyes held a mix of curiosity and determination. You wondered what thoughts raced through her mind.

As you explored the town, you noticed faded murals on brick walls, their colors muted by time. Abandoned storefronts stood like sentinels, their windows boarded up, history locked within. The creak of a rusty swing in the town square hinted at children's laughter long gone. And somewhere, perhaps hidden in the shadows, lay the heart of this place.

With each step, you peeled back layers—the layers of dust, of stories, of forgotten dreams. The sun climbed higher, casting warmth on your shoulders.

"Hey, I thought I was funny!" Ellie's voice echoed in the back of your mind, snapping you back to reality and the conversation you and her had going on."God, Ellie, you know I love you lots, but do you have to be so weird?" you asked her, a smirk spreading across your face. "No idea what you're talking about, babe. Am I not allowed to express my love for clothing?" she said dramatically. "Not when you show up at a parole meeting wearing a cowboy hat?!" you said, laughing, recalling the expressions on Maria and Joel's faces when Ellie walked in. "It was a statement!" - "A fashion crime, that's what it was!" Your tone was amused. Ellie didn't respond to your playful jab and just shook her head, her laughter filling the air. That sound, that sweet sound you could never get enough of, made everything feel more than alright. It was just the two of you, on your horses, riding near a lake, continuing to cross the small town, laughing as if this was how it was meant to be. But the comfortable silence that enveloped both of you suddenly halted when you laid eyes on a massive, abandoned mall ahead. "Seems like we need to check this place out," Ellie said, her voice calm as she studied the map in her hands. You tightened your grip on the reins of your horse. "Alright, lead the way?" you asked her. She responded, "Already on it, princess." You rolled your eyes, but the nickname slid off you, making your heart beat faster.

Ellie dismounted her horse, handing you the reins. She strode toward the entrance, determined to open the massive door that separated you both from the darkness within. Meanwhile, you secured the horses to a nearby fence and joined Ellie, who stood waiting. "Ladies first," she quipped, making a sweeping gesture toward the freshly opened door. You rolled your eyes, a small smile tugging at your lips. As you prepared to step inside, Ellie's hand pulled you back. "Spores. Masks on," she mumbled, adjusting her own mask. You followed suit, the cool fabric pressing against your face. Stepping over the threshold, you moved quietly, attuned to the sounds echoing through the abandoned mall from clickers and runners. Ellie held her gun with unwavering resolve, and you mirrored her stance. Her gaze met yours, locking in a shared understanding."Try not to get bit," Ellie said, her voice low. "I don't really feel like shooting you in the head today. Maybe tomorrow, though." Her eyes crinkled, a smile hidden behind the mask. You couldn't help but grin. "Fuck you, Williams," -"Nah, I'd prefer somebody else doing it."

As the two of you make your way deeper into the building, talking nonsense quietly while finishing off Clickers on your way, A loud sound makes you and Ellie stop in your tracks. ''what the fuck was that...'' She mumbled, and you're looking past Ellie in the direction the horror sound was coming from. ''I…”You were unable to speak, move or even breathe because you recognized that sound immediately. ''Hey, are you okay?'' You heard her saying, she moved closer to you and softly grabbed your shoulder with her free hand, shifting your chest so you're looking into her direction again.'' Babe, are you okay?'' Ellie repeated her Question, looking for something in your eyes, you cannot make out. Yet again you were unable to answer, fear slowly making its way up into your lungs, preventing you from breathing properly. She was about to say something again, but she got interrupted by the sound of loud footsteps moving into your direction, revealing one of the most terrifying things this 'new' world has to offer. ''A fucking Bloader...'' Ellie's whisper recalled in your mind and without even knowing it, you're back with Dylan. You were back in the school with him by your side, you hear him screaming your name in pain, begging you to leave, you taste the blood of his on your tongue. You can't breathe. Tears started to form in your eyes, the world got blurry, and that anxious feeling from that same night made its way back into your bones. The feeling of Ellie's hands drifting away from your shoulder, just past to your underarm. Her grabbing your hand was the only thing you noticed before a jerky movement brought you back into reality. Ellie was leading you up an Escalator, running as fast as your guys lungs allowed. ''Fucking shit, we have to move, princess!'' She said, her voice demanding. You couldn't say anything, not even recognizing the nickname she gave you that normally makes your knees weak, the only thing you were able to do was moving with her, her soft hands grabbing your underarm being the only reason you were able to move in the first place.

You couldn't even notice the way Ellie ran a bit faster than you, not letting go of your hand while shooting down upcoming Runners and Clickers, snuffing out whatever life they still clung to. You couldn't even hear Ellie's words as she spoke to you, couldn't see her breaking down a random door and pushing you both inside, closing it firmly and securing it with whatever heavy material she found to lock you two in. Your mind was a whirlwind of panic, grief, and regret. You couldn't move, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to control your agonal respiration. The mask felt even more uncomfortable than it already was. Then, two soft hands carefully grabbed your face, removing the mask and gently resting on your skin. It was a lifeline back to reality.

"Babe, you're okay. We're safe. Come on, try to breathe with me, okay?"Her voice slowly penetrated your foggy brain. Your right hand automatically found her wrist, and for a moment, you tried to do what the brown-haired girl in front of you said—you tried to breathe. "Doing so good, Darling,"she encouraged. „Keep going. Focus on me, alright? Breathe in... hold it, love... okay, breathe out." The softness of her voice traveled up to your brain, dispelling the dark smoke that had clouded your thoughts. "Shit..."you whispered, not caring how pathetic you probably looked right now. Her eyes never left yours, and finally, you took your first real breath since arriving in the mall. "Yeah... that probably captures it best,"she said, her touch gentle as she caressed your cheek. She was still a bit out of breath from all the running.

You looked at her for a second longer, and for some inexplicable reason, everything didn't feel so dire anymore. Maybe it was because with Ellie by your side, you could never feel truly unsafe. A grin crept onto your face, and without bothering to hide it, you burst into laughter, tears still wetting your skin. Ellie stared at you, momentarily confused, but her expression softened. She wasn't able to hold on the grinning expression herself.

Ellie looked at you for a moment, her confusion giving way to laughter. "What the hell, the fuck was that?" you said, still chuckling. „I wish I fucking knew“ she said. Ellie's hands remained pressed against your cheeks, and you didn't mind at all. She grinned, pulling you a bit closer until her forehead rested against yours. "You feel okay, though?" she asked, her tone shifting back to concern. You replied quietly, "I'm with you, so... yeah." Ellie didn't say anything, but her touch lingered on your skin before she pulled away.

"Let's try to find a way out of here," she declared, already scanning the small store she'd barricaded you both into. Her movements were purposeful, and you appreciated her practicality. "I'm definitely not cleaning this entire mall up by myself."- „I mean, you did almost half of it already?“ you said, grinning again. „Yeah, the others can do the other half. I’m fucking done with this place.“

The closeness between you wasn't weird; it was familiar. Ellie had always been a touchable person, and you never complained. In fact, you loved the feeling of having her close—the warmth of her skin against yours. It had happened countless times before Hands touching a little too long, hugs that stretched into eternity, and mornings waking up tangled together. It was no longer something to overthink; it just was—a connection that transcended words.

You made your way through the store, noticing only just now that it used to be some sort of clothing shop. ''hey, look at that. Should I grab that for Dina?'' The voice from the opposite of the room bought your attention, you let your eyes travel their way to where your best friend is standing, holding up a basic brownish lined jacket, weirdly posing with it like she's some sort of model getting pictures taken. ''Yeah. Sure, do that.'' You said, already regretting how your voice sounded out loud. Ellie being in love with Dina wasn't news to you, you were the first person she ever told about her undeniable feelings towards Dina. That your heart shattered in about a million pieces isn't something you ever considered of telling her-You wanted to be supportive, knowing that Dina also felt the same about your best Friend. ''Is everything alright?'' Ellie said, confused by your lack of enthusiasm. ''Yeah, all good, just still, you know, fucked up from that bloader trying to rip us apart.'' You answered while pretending to look through some of the clothes. you practically didn't lie. The encounter with the bloader made you feel all weird and anxious, you were already struggling with not allowing yourself to even think about the incident and with that thing crossing your path it was almost inevitable to keep those memories locked away. Ellie looked at you as she isn't really buying it ''Hey, we don't have to leave right away. We surely can take a break?'' she suggested, making her way over to you. ''A break does sound fucking nice.'' You said, giving the slightly taller girl a tired smile. Ellie nodded at you, nudging your shoulder with hers while walking past you. Now opening a gray door behind the cash register with the words ''Employees only.'' written on lined paper.

Entering the common room was more than disappointing. Although there was an old sofa welcoming your stay, Ellie and you must've shared the same idea because before you could even make a step towards the in dark blue colored sofa, Ellie already dropped her body on it with a load groan. "Fuck you, move your ass over, El.'' You said, smirking as you moved to the small space. She looked up at you, her face blessed with another grin as she crossed her arms behind her head. ''Nah, I'm quite comfortable, thanks for suggesting it though!'' She closed her eyes and moved around on the cheap looking fabric to find the most comfortable position. ''Oh yeah? I mean, you wanted this. Practically dared me to do it'' You said. One of her closed eyes opened „what do you mean?“ she said. Without saying another word you set yourself as carefully as you can down on her lab. Ellie, on the other hand, dramatically lifted her upper body up, pretending to cough for much-needed air ''Help!! Help!! Doctor, I Can't breathe!'' Her arms went in every direction, making it seem like she's struggling to move, "c'mon, fuck you, I'm not even using my full body weight!" You said defending yourself. "Okay, okay, I'm done for. Dead, you won this round, you're officially the “Ellie defeater”.now get down!" She said, laughing as she gently pushed you from her lap. As you got up, Ellie actually made some space for you to sit down, which you did almost immediately. You lean your head against the wall behind you and look at your best friend now sitting leg crossed facing you. "You actually feeling okay tho?" she' asked for what felt like a million times today, which brought a small honest smile onto your face „yeah, as okay as I can be. Seeing that thing did bring some memories back, if rather forget. Thanks for saving me though" you said, playing with the strands of your jacket. „Yeah, glad to be your savior when time gets rough. You owe me one" she said, grinning. "Yeah, sure I owe you" you said. „Totally. Hmm," she said, pretending to think "what could you possibly do for me to regard me for saving your life?" with a grinning face she looked you up and down, and you knew immediately that what your friend had in mind wasn't something that's going to turn out good. „What are you thinking right now? Should I be scared?"- ''Don't know yet.'' Ellie said, lifting her body into a more comfortable sitting position."How about... I ask you a question, and you'll answer truthfully?" Ellie's words carried a weight of seriousness, and you couldn't help but feel anxious. "I'm always honest?" you replied, looking at her, bluffing with your answer. You knew that you weren't always honest, but you kept your own truth close to your heart because it wouldn't change the outcome anyway. Survival often required pretty white lies.

"Cut the bullshit. Okay, so... why are you avoiding Dina all of a sudden?" The question caught you off guard, and you looked at your best friend as if you'd just seen your dead cousin dancing with a Clicker in the distance. "What? I'm not?" you said, knowing Ellie wouldn't buy your bluff. "Hey, you promised to answer truthfully," she insisted, making you roll your eyes. "I never said I'll answer." You shrugged your shoulders, and Ellie gave you a slightly annoyed look.

"Babe... be honest," her voice calm and almost a whisper, her body leaning against the sofa frame. "Dina and I talked about this. She feels insecure, like she's done something wrong. And thinking about it, I feel like you've been avoiding me as well. The only time I ever see you is on patrol. It used to be more, you know? We barely talk. I think it's rather sad. Have I done something? Has Dina made you uncomfortable? Don't give me that look, love. I'm trying to understand you." Her voice shifted from calm to confused, and you knew right away that Ellie wouldn't let this go until she knew the real reason for your distance.

"No... Dina did nothing wrong."It's the only thing you're able to answer. You look down at your hand, playing with the matching bracelet you share with Ellie. „Did I do something...?"you hear her whisper, her voice filled with insecurity. Your heart clenches at the thought of being the reason why Ellie's overthinking her behavior. So, before you can overthink your next move, you look up to her. You move your body a bit closer and lay your hand on her knee, comfortably caressing the fabric of her skinny jeans.

"No... God, of course not. You did nothing wrong. It's just... it's me."Her eyes meet yours, and you know right then and there that you're fucked, unable to lie with her eyes looking at you like that. „What is it, then?"she whispers, resting her own hand on yours. The touch makes you feel like you need to run away as fast as possible. „I... I'm hurt, okay?"You say it with all the honesty in your heart. „Hurt? From what? Dina and I didn't—"You don't let Ellie finish her sentence. Instead, you get up from the comfortable sofa and run your hands over your face. "... this is exactly why I don't want to talk to either of you!"You're now standing in the middle of the room, looking at Ellie who remains in the same sitting position. Her eyes follow you as you pace the small common room.

"You and Dina, all day... when I hang out with you, you only tell me how beautiful she is, how perfect you guys are together, and how deeply in love you are. If I hang with D, it's the same fucking story."Your voice shakes with all the built-up anger inside of you. You're well aware that you don't have the right to be mad about those two people falling in love. You've never even addressed your feelings to anyone else except your mirror at 3 am. How are Ellie or Dina supposed to know that it's ripping you apart? "And what's your problem with that? And did Dina really say she’s into me too?" Ellie asks, and you couldn't help the tears already welling up in your eyes again. "Yes, she did, Ellie. You know she feels the fucking same," you say, your voice breaking into a desperate whisper.

"Hey, the fuck?" Ellie's voice is already alarmed with worry as she gets up to walk those three more steps, entering your personal space again. Her hand reaches for yours, but you subtly step away from her, your back slightly hitting the white wall behind you. "Love, what? Why are you crying? What does Dina feeling the same have to do with you avoiding us?" She asks, her eyes showing some sort of disappointment the second you stepped away from her."Just... forget it, okay? I don't want to talk about it." You mumble, your voice breaking. "But I want to talk about it." Ellie's eyes never leave yours until you look down at your dirty, almost broken Converse shoes. "Ellie, just leave it b—" You get interrupted by Ellie's sharp voice cutting you off. "For fucks sake, can you be fucking honest for once? I don't get your fucking problem. You don't talk, you ignore me and Dina, and now you're saying it's because Dina and I are falling for each other? I thought you're fucking happy for me! Like a best friend should be! I don't understand you, really, I don't." Her voice grows louder with every word. You try to say something again, but you can't bring yourself to talk. You notice Ellie walking toward you again, the wall behind you failing your escape. You felt anger rushing over you, mixed with regret and.. disappointment.

"How about you finally say what you think, huh? Can't go around treating your friends badly because you have some weird jealousy problems. It’s not my fault you don’t have other friends besides me”She's mad, and you know she doesn't understand your reasoning for drifting away from her. Deep down, you also know she's just hurt and, more importantly, scared of losing you.

"...Why are we still talking about this?" You say, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you look into her eyes. She's already looking at you, and god, she's close—too close. "We're going to talk about this until you tell me what's going on." Tears continue to stream down your face for the second time today but this time not because you were sad. You were angry, without even being sure at who you’re angry at.You shake your head, not wanting to answer, and begging to whatever is above you to somehow make Ellie drop the entire topic. ''No, no, you'll answer me right now. What the hell is wrong with you?'' Her hands grabbing your shoulders, pressing your body more against the wall behind you. „You already know it anyways, now let go of me.'' You said, although you were not even trying to pushing her away. ''Not until you answer me with your own words. I Can do this all day'' She said. ''fuck,els, you don't want to know, okay? Just forget it, let me go and let's get the hell out of here''-''So that you can ignore me again? Hell no, we're having this talk now even if it's the last thing I’ll do'' She demanded. ''I don't know what you want from me right now, Ellie!'' you said, voice rising as well with every new word leaving your lips. ''The truth! Why the fuck are you avoiding us?!'' You closed your eyes, taking all that bravery you have left inside you to speak the next heart wracking words filled with honesty. ''Because I Can't handle you falling for somebody else. Because knowing you want her breaks my fucking heart, because I want to be the girl you think about, talk about, dream about! Because I fucking love you, okay?! I’m sorry!” You looked at her, eyes scared, like a little puppy. She didn't answer but didn't let go of your shoulder either. ''you happy now?'' You said and before Ellie could prevent it, you took the moment of her confusion as a way to escape her grip, pushing her away slightly. That movement was the wake-up call Ellie needed because she grabbed your shoulder again just to push you into almost the same position, back pressed against the cold wall.

And suddenly, you waited—waited what felt like ages—for the eclipse of her cutting words to happen. You anticipated her telling you to never talk to her again, accusing you of selfishness, and lamenting the ruin of a perfectly good friendship. But instead, there was silence. The only sound that reached your ears was her deep breathing, mirroring your own. And in that hot, suspended moment, you feared she could hear your heart beating, laid bare and vulnerable for her to either take or break. You studied her face intently, fear gripping your heart. Scared of what you might find in her expression. She does the same. Ellie's eyes traced every contour, mapping your features as if committing them to memory. And then, abruptly, her gaze halted. It rested on your lips-

"What are you doing?" you barely whispered, your voice a fragile thread in the charged air. The brown-haired girl lifted her gaze to meet your eyes once more, only to trace a deliberate path back down to your lips. A soft, almost imperceptible pressure settled against your chin, her hands holding you in place. Her thumb danced gently over your bottom lip, igniting a flutter of anticipation within you. You swallowed, the moment hanging suspended—a fragile bridge between friendship and something more you’re not ready to cross. "Ellie..." you murmured, the syllables almost lost in the charged silence. Her face drew closer to yours, breaths mingling, and before you could draw your next breath, her lips crashed onto yours without further hesitation. A simple kiss, yet it ignited a cosmic explosion within you. Her lips on yours transformed the quietude into a kaleidoscope of colors. Every rational thought in your brain was stripped away, replaced by her presence—the warmth of her hand still cradling your chin, the delicate shift as it left your shoulder to encircle your waist. Your fingers, guided by instinct, wove through her tousled hair, pulling her closer. Because when it's Ellie, close is never close enough.

As you finally convinced yourself to pull away, the air around you seemed to shimmer with heat. But your brain? It was a tangle of wordless wonder, unable to string coherent thoughts together. So, without hesitation, you drew her back into your space, pressing your soft lips against hers once more.

———————————————————

The ride back was weird. The air around the two of you, once filled with comfortable silence, had shifted. Now, it hung heavy with unspoken words, a chasm between you that seemed insurmountable.

After the kiss, neither of you said much. You swiftly wiped away your tears on the gray sweater you wore—a piece that belonged to Dylan, a memory of another time. Ellie, unable to meet your gaze, chose the only sensible course of action: finding a way out of the mall, escaping the charged atmosphere that clung to you both. Escaping you. And so, you found a backdoor, a clandestine escape from the weirdness that had enveloped you both. Even as you stepped into the outside world, a part of you wished you could linger within those walls a little longer. The horse up front awaited you, and you mounted it, riding away from the mall. The silence between you and Ellie weighed heavily, an unspoken question echoing: Why did it all become so weird?

Embarrassment clung to the silence, and you wondered what comfort you had once found in the noise—the cacophony of everyday life. But answers eluded you. As you returned to Jackson, Ellie by your side, you led the horses back to the stable. Maria received a brief explanation about the situation inside the building, her eyes curious but respectful. And then, without uttering a single word, you and Ellie went your separate ways. The silence remained, a chasm that neither of you dared to bridge.

This was 2 Days, 5 Hours and 54 Minutes ago. But who's Counting, right?

Ever since then, knowing you had three days off parole with her, you barricaded yourself at home. Maria didn't question it; she probably assumed it was because the bloader brought back too many memories. You certainly wouldn't correct her on that theory. Instead, you settled by the big window in your living room, watching raindrops trace their paths on the glass. But it couldn’t it stay that way and you knew eventually you'd have to talk to her, face her, and work with her. You didn't want things to become even more awkward than they already were. So you prepared yourself for a long, difficult talk.

With what felt like hours of convincing yourself and an argument you played out in your head, you got up and made yourself look presentable again. Leaving the comfort of your house, you took a little walk around the built neighbourhood in Jackson, pondering what you'd even say to her. Instead of taking the short road leading directly to Ellie's safe four walls, you made your way to one of the information stations across town, just to have a quick look at next week's schedule.

Arriving there, you meet a friendly face: Sophia. She's almost like Maria's right hand, diligently putting up new lists every week. You give her a small smile, though the turmoil inside you threatens to spill over. Her pitying look doesn't go unnoticed. Your eyes scan the handwritten list, searching for your and Ellie's names, followed by the assigned route. But something catches your attention: Ellie's name isn't next to yours anymore; it's now paired with Dina. You blink, thinking it's some cruel, messed-up joke. Your eyes dart around, seeking your initials, and there they are—next to Jesse.

"What the hell?" you mumble, the confusion swirling in your mind. Sophia approaches, sensing your distress. "Can I help you with anything?" she asks, her voice gentle. You hesitate, then blurt out, "Why am I assigned with Jesse instead of Ellie? Is this some sick joke?"

Regret tinges your voice; it's not Sophia's fault. Mistakes happen, right? She shifts uncomfortably, glancing at You. "Oh, Maria didn't talk to you yet?" she says, reading your expression. "Uhm, Williams, here." She points to the list, where Ellie's name is scrawled in an unsteady handwriting. "Asked Maria to switch parole partners... I don't know why," Sophie mumbles, fear evident in her eyes on how you'd take the news.

You turn to the door hearing a cracking sound, and there's Maria, striding toward you with multiple papers in hand.

"Maria, what the—" Your words catch in your throat. Maria's weathered face meets your gaze. "Hey, sweetie, don't give me that look," she says gruffly. "I tried to talk Ellie out of it, but she insisted on changing partners. Didn’t even gave me an explanation but I could tell she was serious. And since you and Jesse are friends as well, I thought it wouldn't make much of a difference. He can help you out” she said, making it sound like not a big deal.

She insisted on changing.

The words hang in the air, a sledgehammer to your already fragile heart. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? What are you supposed to do?

#ellie tlou #ellie williams #joel and ellie #the last of us #ellie the last of us #tlou #tlou2 #joel miller #joel tlou #elliexreader #elliewilliams #ellie x fem reader #ellie #ellie x reader #reader x character #ellie x you #last of us

[blueparadis]

a concept:

tattoo artist kaeya having a thing for u, his regular client rosaria's cute little roommate, who is the exact opposite of her. he feels bad for touching himself to the thoughts of u but he can't help himself bc he likes u so much

❝ INKED SECRETS ❞ + KAEYA ALBERICH !

+. CWs —» tattoo artist au + modern au, f!reader, fluff, light angst with comfort, some canon elements, love at first sight, mention of cigarette smoking, bad relationships, hookups, stranger to lovers, smut ( fantasies, m-mastarbation ) ; word count — 2k.

+. NOTES —» thanks to my beloved yoru ( @anantaru) for helping me and beta reading this otherwise i would've opened the gates of kaeya-brainrot; also, thank you for being patient. This ask was almost a month old and I know this was supposed to be short but the thing is kaeya is the one who had me invested in genshin impact. However, surprisingly I've never thought of writing about him so thank you for your muse. I loved writing this so fucking much. Thank you. Tattoo artist kaeya shall live forever in my mind. If you wanna check more of my writings, click here.

Kaeya Alberich. The name of the mystery man who would always be the talk of the topic for Rosaria. He was more familiar to you than your roommate ever was. You two shared a room yet you could never read Rosaria but she was thorough with you; maybe that is why you two clicked. Every one of your friends considered it a mystery how a sunflower like you would ever survive in the company of a moon. Everyone including Kaeya. He had his own proportion of confusion every time Rosaria talked about you. 

Kaeya knew how you looked, talked, and liked to eat ice cream in winter. Not only that, your favorite colors, bits and pieces of your small dreams were known to him. And all because Rosaria wouldn’t stop with the constant blabbering about you whenever he directly hung out with her, emphasizing the fact that you were nothing but an angel in disguise. Kaeya had to endure all of it, every bit of you that Rosaria seemed to find alluring. At moments like this, one could say that they exchanged personas since Kaeya was a guy of smiles and chitter-chatter while Rosaria was quite the opposite.

True, the friendship between Kaeya and Rosaria was another talk of Mondstadt’s inhabitants, but they both did not seem to react as people expected, as people thought they should. You would, barely, call them lovers. While Kaeya enjoyed different takes of his customers about Rosaria, she, on the other hand, brushed those petty rumors off, with just a glance keeping her stoic persona. 

But, among all these happenings, Rosaria had the front-row seat of the chaos that was about to unfold. She had her beauty salon just above Kaeya’s tattoo parlor. They have been working together for at least five years. Rosaria had her shop on rental and the five-storied complex was owned by none other than Kaeya Alberich himself. 

Anyone who wanted to go to her parlor had to cross Kaeya’s floor; hence, no one slipped past the grip of his galactic eyes. He knew the regulars of her shop and had an immense influence on them. He believed it was his charms while Rosaria begged to differ.

But she was just being professional, clearing non-financial tabs that she owed to him, for bringing the immense influx of customers to her salon. Sometimes, it worked both ways, but whenever they fought, the elders of the locality had more spice to flavor the rumors that had just started sedimenting.

January, the prime of winter, of snow and the freezing cold, Kaeya laid his first glance at you. Warm and alluring: you were every bit of beauty that Rosaria spoke of, in fact, now that he had finally seen you in person, he thinks Rosaria fell short of speaking of your angelic aura. 

“Hello, I have a parcel for Rosaria, could you please deliver it to her? I would have done it myself if I wasn’t in such a hurry.”, you kept the package on my desk, “Thank you very much, Mister . . .”, you looked at his batch that reads Kaeya Alberich, “. . . Thank you so much, Mister Kaeya Alberich.” And before Kaeya could say anything back, you fled out of his sight like a bird.

He watched you get into a cab holding the package in his hand, barely registering what you asked him to do. His mind had drifted far off to all those times when Rosaria was talking about you. He checked his watch and smiled to himself. Oops! Rosaria’s smoke break was ruined since he joined in with the package you had left for her, with many questions.

For a tattoo artist, Kaeya seemed the least bit invested in its antics, yet he had a steady influx of customers, mostly because he is very professional and dedicated to his livelihood. He pays special attention to his regular customers, sadly, you weren’t one of them, not yet.

Still, he would stand and smoke at the corner of the entrance so that he could watch you go like the wind to meet your roommate with a package in hand. He would notice the color of your dress, the matching nails, shoes, and every little detail thinking how flawlessly sexy you looked. 

But he abruptly stopped the second he had bruised his fingers with the cigarette burn. Fortunately, it was his left hand but with his line of work, he needed both. 

Today, during the lunch break when Rosaria told him that y/n wanted to have a tattoo, his blood rushed to his cheeks and ears. He did not think you’d be interested in tattoos or piercings. He definitely did not see the next blow coming. “Yep. sure.”, he supplied, coughing back the lump in his throat. Of all the parlors you could choose you had to choose his. What in the lord’s fuck was going on?

The day came faster, faster than he had anticipated. Needless to say, it did not go like he thought it would. It was safe to say he was more nervous than you were. “Are you sure about this?”, “Ya’know it’s gonna hurt, right?”, “Should I use some anesthetic on the area?” His questions wouldn’t stop and you were trying your best to stay as patient as possible It is true, part of him was nervous but another wanted to spend and enjoy some time with you.

“And done!”, Kaeya playfully mused as he wiped over the work of ink, careful enough not to accidentally graze his fingers over your inner thigh but of course, he did want to.“y/n” he spoke, his tone low but clear enough for you to hear, “so, how many tattoos do you have now?” Kaeya shifted in his chair as he intently watched you normalize your heightened breathing

“Didn’t you keep count?”, 

“nine”, he said, letting out a breathless laugh. “which means you dumped your ninth partner.” and he was not wrong. Of all the regular customers he had, you were his favorite because you had an amusing story to tell whenever you had visited his parlor. He would listen to you the moment he was finished with his handiwork.

But this one in particular, was quite a different story. You never told nor was he allowed to ask about the guy you dumped, ever. Part of him wanted to console you, and tell you that good things take time but another part of him was too afraid to lose you, realizing it was unprofessional of him to offer any form of painkiller against a situation like that. Because on any other occasion, his usual customers weren’t as chatty as you were. 

He never thought of a case where it might be the opposite. With that, he thought that you, of all people, being dumped by someone was utterly ridiculous, because who wouldn't want to date someone like you? He knows he would, after all, and if he could, he would make sure the ninth tattoo is to be the last tattoo on your body.

“What about you?”, you asked, swinging your legs in the air while sitting on the bed. “For a tattoo artist, you are awfully blank.” 

“It’s somewhere. . .”, he started, “wait I’ll rather show you . . .”. and when you, in a sliding second, unexpectedly flashed him, his hands immediately found their way crawling at the hem of his turtle-neck.

“Wait. wait. Wait. stop. Just stop.” kaeya panicked as you partly opened your eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest while your eyebrows jumped and stayed intact for seconds. Pin-drop silence and then both of you simultaneously laughed. Some might think it’s corny, and maybe you did as well but it doesn’t matter, what matters is that you were smiling right now. 

That’s good. That’s really good. 

Kaeya checked his watch as you left his place to run upstairs, checking to see if Rosaria was done with her chores; after all, she was almost approaching the closing hour of her shop so she should’ve been done by the time you had arrived at her place. Fifteen minutes, fifteen minutes before you and Rosaria would come out of the elevator to go home;  maybe he could if he’d finally stop thinking about it in such an unhealthy calculative manner.

Yet, well, there was just one problem. His ears felt hot, his mind was restless and he couldn't focus on a single task. Generally, it took ten minutes to close his shop and he does it every day, all alone so if not his mind, his muscle memory should be functioning properly. But all he desired to do was to touch himself and relieve himself from the agony of months boiling in his core.

June, the prime time of summer and ice cream. Kaeya slides his right arm under his vest while grazing his lower belly, eagerly thinking of the last time, but eventually, his arm ends up slipping into his pants, his fingers clamping around his length, and finally, a soft groan escapes from his mouth. The tip of his tongue kisses the corner of his lips as he takes out his cock which was coated with warm white fluid, at the tip pre-cum.

For a moment, he is surprised, and then he suddenly is not. There is a crescent formed along his lips as he taps the tip of his cock, smearing the reddened end with its pre. “Oh fuck. This feels so much better.”, he groans, mumbling to himself, thinking why he didn’t do this way sooner.

He palms his member, a little harder, this time trying to imagine how it would feel to be sheathed by your gummy walls. He started to pump his cock as his pants slipped, now clustered at the bottom of the chair while his legs were trying to give as much space as possible by spreading them further apart.

With half-lidded eyes, he checks if you had locked the door before leaving or not. You did not and the thought of you walking onto him turned him so bad that he thought he might cum right away.

The moment he closes his eyes he could see you, your calloused fingers around his cock and now he is pumping his cock rashly, the hem of his vest being buried in between his teeth, muffled moans escaping his mouth as the squelching noises had gotten louder and louder.

His other hand gradually made its way towards his nipples, pinching and circling around them thinking of your lips instead. “Oh fuck.”, he hisses as his toes curl, his hips bucked up with a force as he thinks of how euphoric it would be to have your soft lips wrapped around his cock, to have your puffy lips on his, to have your boobs tightly pressed against his bare chest, pronounced nipples grazing against each other while Kaeya’s cock is hitting your sweet spot with precision, blessing his ears with the prettiest desperate moans from you.

He squeezes his eyes shut as his hands move up and down his swollen cock, hitting his girth with calculated thrusts. He paces up as he feels his orgasm approaching, huffing and panting, not caring how vocal he has become until the coil at the core of his flat belly snaps, making him dizzy, his hand movements sloppy, and his inner thighs gradually closing, relishing in the high he had just experienced.

Kaeya’s chest rises up and down frantically as he finally opens his eyes, watching the spurs of milky white fluid all over the floor and his study desk. A heavy sigh leaves his body as his breathing normalizes. “Fuck . . .”, he mumbles throwing back his head before closing his eyes and thinking of you, again. He takes a few deep breaths to relax before cleaning the mess.

Yet, when he suddenly heard the footsteps, his heart sank. He regrets touching himself while thinking of you, he regrets not saving himself for you, he regrets chasing love so fast, so insanely that he almost lost his hope for finding the one. 

“Hey Kae-ya, you done?”, you asked, opening the door, “Rosa is gonna be late today. So, I’ll stay and help her. I’m going out to buy some food, you wanna come with me?” You let your exhausted body lean against the door frame while Kaeya remained silent. 

It just made him crazy how blatantly you ignored him, his magnetic affection for you, and the truth was, he cannot even blame you for that. He has always enjoyed this feeling, to like you in secrecy. The more you are unaware of his emotions, the greater chance he has to be around you. Kaeya does not ask for much, just a few more days till he musters up enough courage to finally ask you out.

—

@tokyometronetwork

#genshin impact smut #genshin smut #gi smut #kaeya smut #kaeya alberich smut #kaeya x you #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya alberich x you #kaeya alberich #gi x you #gi x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact fiction #genshin fanfic #genshin fic #kaeya alberich genshin #kaeyagenshinimpact #rosaria #rosaria x y/n #rosaria x reader #rosaria x you #rosaria x kaeya #genshin impact oneshots #genshin oneshots #smut oneshot #smut #smut fics

[v3nusstardust]

💋~New years gift~ - Lana del rey (Niki x reader) 💋

Pairing : BF!Niki Nishimura x reader fluff

Sypnosis : your boyfriend didn’t know what to get you for new years. He got you plenty of wonderful gifts for Christmas, but he also felt it was necessary to get you something for new years too. It was the day after Christmas. You and Niki had gone to your parents house for Christmas. Your family loved and adored him

Warning : fluffy af

You were cuddling in your room with him. You were afraid your “habitat” spooked him a little. Sure yeah, you visited your home many times but you hadn’t been home long enough to reorganize anything. Your room looked the same since your senior year in high school. The posters.. the funko pops.. the manga.. the random anime shit in your room. Niki didn’t seem to mind it. He found himself comfortable in your room actually, especially your fluffy bed. He loved how your room showed all the things you’ve ever liked.

You both cuddled on your bed. Niki was little spoon and you had your leg thrown over his waist. You tried to match your breaths with his and he thought it was the cutest thing ever. The room was quiet and your purple LED lights set a chill mood.

“Y/n. What should I get you for New years?” Niki asked. His voice was raspy and low. “huh? Why are you getting me something for new years?” you asked. Niki turned over to face you. His gorgeous eyes looked into yours. His nose scrunched and he gave you a warm smile. “Because I love you.” He giggled. His response made you laugh. He grabbed your hand from under the blankets and brought it to his lips. “You’re so wonderful. I’m such a lucky girl, but why are you getting me something for new years? Is this something you’re used to doing with your family?” You questioned. “No. I just.. I want to get you something.” He whispered. “But love, you got me a LOT for Christmas. I think your love is enough for me. Don’t waste your money on me.” You replied. “Princess I’m not wasting my money. I love getting you gifts. I love seeing your face light up and I adore you.”

His response made your face heat up. He was so perfect. “What are you going to get me?” You asked. Nicki gave you a confused look. “Y/n I’m not gonna tell you.” He laughed. His laugh was so cute. You loved his laugh, it was like a melody to your ears.

•FAST FORWARDDD TO NEW YEARS EVE•

You and Niki were in your living room with your family. Your Tias had been giving Niki all the family lore and tea. He actually seemed.. interested surprisingly. Your family introduced Niki to your new years traditions. You thought it was so amazing how they accepted him into your family so quickly. You loved it.

Finally, As the clock neared 12, you all stepped onto the backyard deck, where a spectacular burst of fireworks painted the night sky, marking the beginning of a new year filled with love and joy. You were mesmerized by the beautiful fireworks, but you looked up at Niki who had already been looking at you. “You’re so gorgeous. I love you beautiful. Happy new year.” He smiled. “Happy new year my love. I’m so excited to go into the new year with you.” You muttered. Niki gently cupped your face with his cold fingers and brought your lips to his. The kiss was cold and warm at the same time. As you pulled away, niki looked at you with eyes full of stars. You lowkey knew your whole family was watching y’all but it was fine.

After everyone left, Niki helped you and your parents clean up the house.

January 1st, 2024. 2:34 am.

You and Niki were cuddled up alone in the living room. The living room was dimly lit from the tv. “oh damn. I forgot to give you your new years gift.” Niki said as he got up from the couch. “Gift? You actually got it for me?” you asked confused. “Of course I did! Stay here it’s in the car I’ll be back.” Niki asserted.

When Niki got back, you were excited. You loved gifts and Niki always got you expensive ones. He came back with three gifts. A small one wrapped in green and red wrapping paper and the other two in pink and white. “You got me THREE?!” You murmured with excitement. “Yeah I did. Open them love.” He winked at you.

You grabbed the two pink and white ones first. With eager anticipation, you unwrapped the carefully adorned package, revealing the treasure within – two Lana Del Rey vinyls. One Born to Die and the other Ultraviolence Deluxe. A wide grin graced your face. Niki smiled at you. “Do you like it?” He asked. You hugged both vinyls tightly. “LIKE? I FUCKING love Lana del rey! How did you know? I never told you!” You exclaimed with excitement. “I saw the posters in your room.” He laughed. “ I didn’t see any vinyls so.. I bought you some. I hope you like both those albums” Overwhelmed with gratitude, you replied, "You're incredible! These vinyls are perfect. They are both my favorites from her! Thank you so much!" You carefully placed down the vinyls and kissed your boyfriend on the cheek. “Love open the next one.” He insisted.

You grabbed the green and red one next. It was kind of small, but you knew whatever it was you’d love it. Carefully unwrapping it, your eyes lit up - a new Red maybelline super stay Lipstick. “It’s beautiful! You remembered when I said I wanted to start wearing red lipstick?” You questioned. “Yes. I asked my sister which one you would like most and she said that one.” He responded.

“I also kind of.. wanted to make a tiktok with your new lipstick.” He smiled at you. “You wanna.. wear it?” You laughed. “No no. Kind of? Uhh.. you know the lipstick kisses trend?” He inquired. Though the lighting was dim, you could see him blushing . “Yes we can do that! Of course my love! You’re so adorable.” You said, placing a kiss to the tip of his nose. Your heart melted. The warmth of the moment lingered, and the thoughtful gift became a symbol of the attention and care he put into making your New Year’s Day special.

(I wrote this on my phone srry for the wildin ass mistakes if there are any bad ones. Niki got me so in love bruh😿 lmk if this was good or it was ass 🫦)

#enha fanfic #enha niki #enha x reader #enha fluff #enha imagines #enha #enha scenarios #enhypen riki #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #enhypen niki #enha riki #niki nishimura #niki fluff #niki x reader #niki imagines #niki #nishimura riki #riki nishimura x reader #nishimura niki #niki x y/n #niki x you #enhypen x female reader

[bit-dodgy-innit]

Heaven Sent You to Me

Pairing: Apollo (who happens to look exactly like Orestes in Agora) x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI!

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CW: umm we all know Greek Mythology is like screwed up right? So there’s mean patriarchal men in this, a bit of power play between Apollo and reader, innocence!kink, oral (f!receiving), PinV sex, loss of virginity, talk of pregnancy

A/N: YES I AM AWARE THAT I SHOULD BE WRITING THE MORE THE MERRIER OR ANSWERING THE OTHER 87 ASKS IN MY INBOX BUT MY MUSE IS FICKLE OKAY? She said “Oscar as Apollo or no words at all” so here we are 🤷‍♀️ I watched The Two Faces of January last week and kept thinking that Oscar looks like a Greek god and @lovely-cryptid ‘s greek mythology AU lives rent free in my head and I couldn’t help myself…

Also the title is a lyric from an Ariana Grande because I have fully reverted ten years writing a Greek Mythology AU for my fandom du jour with a song lyric title bc I'm ~artsy~

You should have known he was a god. The way his fingers seemed to fly over the strings of his lyre. That enchanting, mellifluous voice. The smile that shone brighter than the sun itself. You’d encountered him in the woods behind the temple consecrated to him for Zeus’s sake.

Though who could blame you for assuming he was a mortal man? What would a god, an Olympian, want with you – an unimportant peasant in a small, unimportant village? He’d appeared to you as a mortal, a beautiful, alluring one, but a mortal. In fact, he’d been rather short in stature. Apollo’s affairs and exploits were famous, nay infamous, and even now it seemed impossible to reconcile the man who had spoken to you with such sweetness, who had wrung ebullient laughter, as well as previously unimaginable pleasure, from you was the mighty god you and your family had worshiped since time immemorial.

The revelation that you had lain with the god of light, music, medicine, the averter of evil, had been one that raced your head endlessly over the past few days, but it never failed to send a shiver down your spine. You instantly conjured the broad, chiseled planes of his body, so starkly contrasted with the gentle way he’d made love to you. When you revealed that you were a virgin, he was tender with you. Fragments of memories flashed in your mind’s eye but the one that oddly lingered the longest, and the most vividly, was the sweep of his thick, dark lashes across his high cheekbone when his eyes fluttered shut in ecstasy as he met his release. He had been the portrait of pleasure and beauty. You were truly a naive fool for not realizing the divinity in front of you in that moment.

“We must pray that you conceive,” your mother had declared. “You have already secured our family great status, but a demigod? Dmitri, can you imagine?”

Despite her praise, your cheeks burned in shame when she turned to your father for his reaction. You detested how openly and calculated this very intimate, typically private event in your life was being discussed. No one was supposed to know. Yet your sister had found the blood stains on your chiton while laundering it, and she’d coaxed the details out of you.

“Did it hurt?” she whispered.

“No.”

Her brows furrowed, “But you bled. It always hurts. It hurt my first time.”

“I…I don’t know. It didn’t. There was a–,” you blushed bright red and lowered your voice even further, “–a stretch, but it was pleasurable. I didn’t notice the blood until you did.”

Your sister was not willing to let it go. A trait among the women in your family that you’d failed to inherit.

“Well, how large was he?”

“Caris,” you urged her to stop. Yet, you knew your plea was useless, so you quickly approximated your lover’s size with your hands.

“Oh that definitely should have hurt!” Caris squawked in disbelief.

“I’m not talking about this anymore!” you proclaimed.

And that really should have been the end of it. Yet when you, Caris, and your parents made your weekly tribute at Apollo’s temple the following day the priests and acolytes were all abuzz. The god had appeared yesterday.

Initially, you had been as exhilarated as the rest of them, yet your stomach dropped and face blanched as the priest who had seen Apollo described him. Inky curls, olive skin, dark eyes with a strong brow and prominent nose. The god possessed an undoubtedly commanding presence, but there was a playfulness, an exuberance to him.

You and Caris traded bewildered glances. The priest’s depiction of Apollo matched up rather perfectly with Phoebus, the young man you’d stumbled across when you’d decided to take a walk through the forest rather than immediately returning home after your visit to the temple.

“It’s him,” she asserted lowly as you all headed back home.

“Shhhh,” you tried to speed up and away from her, a stupid idea because Caris had longer legs than you. When she inevitably caught up with you two seconds later, you insisted, “Don’t be silly.”

“Apollo is the god of healing and diseases. Is it really so far-fetched to believe that he could minimize any pain for his lovers? Especially the virgins?”

“Caris! Enough!”

The vehemence of your demand had caught your mother’s attention. While in the moment you were able to extinguish any suspicions she had, eventually Caris’s big mouth betrayed you. You had expected her to rage. To punish you. You, an unmarried, unbetrothed woman, had engaged in an activity that was the most important gift in your dowry to your future husband. You readied yourself for the insults and reproaches your mother would hurl at you for becoming damaged goods as a marriage prospect.

Yet, she all but kissed your feet when she found out. She rejoiced, then immediately marched you back to the temple to meet with the clerics. That was when the humiliation began. You were examined to ensure that you had in fact been deflowered. As if that hadn’t been degrading enough, you then were stripped and prayed over for hours, leering men begging Apollo for a sign to confirm that you were indeed the one the god had chosen to ravish. The manner in which the priests brusquely groped and prodded at you couldn’t have been more different than the way the deity himself had treated you, the god they claimed to serve.

When a sign didn’t immediately appear, doubt had set in. A mortal woman winning the attention of their patron god was the most momentous thing to happen in your village in generations, so if you were lying? Eternal shame. For you and your family.

You were kept overnight in the temple in a nicely appointed room, but forbidden to see anyone. You cried yourself to sleep, yet much to your relief, at dawn, Apollo provided the confirmation the priests needed and you were allowed to go. Of course, by the time you returned home, everyone knew.

After having a bit of time to contemplate it, you realized that it wasn't so much the fact that every single person in your life began treating you differently that unmoored and overwhelmed you, it was how swiftly it had all happened. It hadn’t been your choice.

You were required at the temple daily now for rituals. Thankfully, the fact you’d lain with a god disqualified you from becoming an acolyte, you were still needed for “veneration” purposes. You soon deduced this meant that the priests simply wanted to keep you around to curry favor with Apollo.

You hated it. You were the only one present in the chamber currently who had ever meaningfully interacted with the deity, yet you were reduced to a glorified altar ornament for their rites.

The only way to weather these hours-long sessions was to recall what brought you here in the first place. You retreated into your memory of that fateful afternoon when you met Apollo.

It’d been a beautiful day, and you were more at ease in nature. The hustle and bustle of the village and the imposing columns of the temple felt suffocating to you.

You’d heard him first before you saw him. The most beautiful music wafted toward you. You couldn’t have turned away if you’d wanted to. It was as if the mixture of the melody he played and the tune he sang had entranced your feet to carry you to the source of the sound. You hadn’t heard the song before, but inexplicably, it had an odd air of familiarity within your ears.

The sight of him initially seemed to be a joke. He had to be a mirage of some sort. A song so gorgeous coming from a man who was even more dazzling? Had you tripped and hit your head on your stroll from the temple? Surely you were dreaming.

His song ceased when he sensed your presence.

“I’m sorry,” your apology tumbled from your lips at once. “Please don’t stop on my account, I didn’t mean to–I’ll leave. I apologize for intruding.”

Before you could tuck and run, he called to you.

“Don’t! There’s no need.”

You froze, and slowly pivoted back to face him. He’d gotten closer to you, which was terrible for your clarity of mind. In addition to his good looks, he radiated an irresistible air of power, and his proximity only compelled you to submit to it more.

“Thank you.”

Suddenly, the man before you turned boyish and shy before he queried, “Would you like to hear more?”

“Please.”

It was the first time you were treated to his smile. It reduced you to a blushing fool with a startling amount of efficiency.

He motioned to a nearby boulder for you to take a seat on. You obeyed instantly. He took his place on a nearby log and resumed plucking at his lyre.

His song was haunting, beguiling, and hopeful all at once. His voice lilted over the lyre’s strings. He sang in a language you didn’t understand, and couldn’t begin to identify, but you were captivated all the same.

You were slightly embarrassed, though not at all surprised, that there were tears staining your cheeks when he concluded.

He grinned dopily when he saw you dabbing at your eyes, “That bad, huh?’

“Stop,” You chuckled through your tears. “You have a gift.”

He shrugged off your compliment with a frustrating amount of nonchalance.

You needed to know more about this mysterious man. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m merely passing through.”

“Are you a minstrel then?”

He smirked as if you’d said something inadvertently humorous to him. “I suppose you could call me that.”

“Well, what should I call you then?”

“Phoebus.”

“Have you traveled much, Phoebus?” you inquired.

“I have.”

“Could you tell me about the places you’ve been? I’ve never left this utterly boring village.”

“I will, if you tell me what keeps you here. Is it your village’s association with the deity?”

You cocked your head in confusion. It was an odd question to you. You strove to answer diplomatically, “While I wouldn’t say that Apollo is driving me away, I wouldn't say he’s keeping me here either.”

Again, that secretive little smirk tugged at the corners of Phoebus’s quite luscious mouth. “I see. He’s vastly overrated isn’t he?”

“Oh I wouldn’t go so far to say that!” you attempt to course-correct. “We’re blessed with his patronage.”

A mischievous glint danced behind Phoebus’s dark, magnetic eyes. “Say no more. Now, where do you want to hear about first?”

He proceeded to regale you with tales of the most wondrous places. Of seas and mountains and monsters and the divine. You got lost within his stories. You wished you could live within them.

It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to accompany him on a stroll when he suggested it. Typically warnings would blare in your head - you must not stray any further with this handsome stranger, he could sully you, or worse, harm you, but you felt entirely safe with Phoebus. At the time, it had been impossible to put your finger on why you’d felt so. Now, it was abundantly clear: you’d been in the presence of one of the most powerful creatures in all of existence. Still, he chatted and wandered with you in a remarkably similar manner to mortal men your age.

When you two came across a river and Phoebus proposed a swim, your cheeks had burned with sheepishness. He hadn’t mocked or derided you, he simply offered to turn away while you undressed and submerged yourself into the water to afford you some modesty. However, Phoebus hadn’t been quite as bashful as you had been when disrobing. In fact, the flourish with which he all but flung off his chiton led you to believe he wanted you to watch him, rather than avert your eyes like you immediately did once you realized what he was doing. You hadn’t been quick enough however, and had caught a delectable glimpse of his toned chest, thick thighs, and what you deduced was a well-endowed groin.

You only dared look back up when you heard the splash signaling his entrance into the river. He resurfaced with his black curls matted and slicked back against his skull, an impish grin on his lips. He reached for you and you floated to him without hesitation. The feel of his bare skin against yours was intoxicating.

“I want to kiss you,” he murmured, even though you two were the only people around for at least a mile.

“You may,” you granted him permission in a similarly hushed tone.

Your lips drifted together, and then it was as if you had become a feral animal let out of its cage. You couldn’t get enough. Your lips moved against his ravenously, your legs wrapping around his torso on instinct when he moved toward the river’s bank. While the press of his arousal against your hip was certainly a foreign sensation, you weren’t afraid. He deposited you on the warm silt for a moment before retrieving your tunic and laying it under you, a makeshift bed for what was about to come.

It was then that you confessed. You didn’t know what to expect once the words left your mouth - judgment, indifference, a perverse excitement - but Phoebus smiled softly, and nodded his head, as if he’d expected it.

“Then I shall show you how beautiful pleasure can be,” he vowed.

He took his time, dipping his head between your breasts to mouth at your pert nipples, then lower to between your legs. When the tip of his nose drew a featherlight line along the seam of your sex, you gasped. You may have been a virgin, but you weren't totally naive. Caris had been betrothed recently and regaled you constantly about her rendezvous with her soon-to-be husband, but she had never mentioned this. It was as if Phoebus was sending you flying through the clouds, straight to Olympus, with only his tongue. Your fingers had wound into his damp curls to hold on for dear life as you fell apart for him.

It wasn’t until your pleasure crested that he slid a thick, suspiciously uncalloused finger through your folds and pressed it inside. He cooed comforts to you when you tightened around him, your body’s first reaction to try and expel the intrusion. One digit became two, and after a while, he guided your hand to manhood, showing you how to grip him, coaxing and coaching you on how to bring him back to hardness.

Caris had always advised you to shut your eyes and not to look at a man’s member for too long, since it wasn’t the most pleasant of sights. She was wrong in this instance. Every bit of Phoebus was mesmerizing, and his erect cock was no different from the rest of him. His encouragements echoed in your ears as if he was speaking them to you in the present.

“Yes, that’s it sunshine,” he’d panted, “You can grip me tighter, oh, that is lovely. You are a fast learner, aren’t you? I’m going to make you feel so very good.”

Becoming one had been the most intense sensation you had ever endured. It was all too much, yet you wanted more. You keened when Phoebus had draped your legs over his broad shoulders to penetrate you deeper, your skin suddenly feeling too tight. It was too much, it was too much, you’d chanted to yourself. Phoebus’s girth was unrelenting, but at the same time you never wanted it to end.

Your lover was an attuned one, so when he observed that the position was perhaps too vigorous for his little virgin, he’d rolled you over so you were straddling his ample hips and speared on his desire.

“Here, grasp onto my shoulders,” he instructed you, “so you can control the depth and the pace, yes?”

Phoebus had long fucked the words out of you, so your reply came as a breathless, frantic nod. You wished to thank him, truly, you couldn’t have asked for a more considerate man to share this with for the first time. Instead, you did as he said and found a tempo and pattern of undulating your hips against his that suited you.

Phoebus couldn’t help himself, he began meeting your pelvis, thrusting up into you. You howled in pleasure, and his gaze instantly searched out yours to confirm those were good sounds instead of pained ones. He didn’t look away once he had found the answer he was hoping for in your eyes. Those deep brown irises had bore into yours, and the longer you looked into them, the more convinced you were they held galaxies.

You were so caught up in Phoebus’s gaze that you didn’t notice he’d snuck a hand in between your bodies until the pad of his finger connected with your sensitive bud.

“There you go sunshine, let go for me, you can let go.”

You felt as if you were going to explode out of your body as Phoebus continued to repeat those sweet-nothings as if they were a prayer.

“Let go for me darling, I know you can, let go–”

“You may go.”

The high priest's imperious tone snapped you out of your reverie. No longer were you in the forest with Phoe–Apollo, but rather the towering temple consecrated to him. Your relief that you could leave superseded your annoyance at being interrupted. You desperately needed to return to the privacy of your bedroom for a bit of self-relief.

Perhaps it was because you were in such a rush that you didn’t initially notice him as you flew out of the side entrance of the temple. It was his voice that stopped you.

“You’re not with child.”

“Holy Hera! You frightened me!” You put a hand to your chest to calm your beating heart.

“So you can stop fretting." Clearly, Apollo wasn’t particularly remorseful about the scare he'd given you. "Though to be honest, I’m surprised you’re relieved. Most women, beings far more divine than yourself, are usually thrilled to carry my offspring. They clamber for the chance and flaunt their bellies if they conceive.”

“I…I could not withstand the attention, I do not think. Nor the pomp and the responsibility.”

“The priests would help with the burden.”

“Yes but the child’s father wouldn’t,” you pointed out. “As great an honor to mother a demigod would be, I would prefer a…someone to experience it all with.”

Apollo nodded. “That I could not give you.”

“I know,” There was no resentment or disappointment in your voice. “I would never expect you to.”

“That must be why I yearn for you still,” Apollo mused, “why I cannot stay away.”

“I...my family is expecting me.”

Apollo was not accustomed to being refused. He fixed you with a look of amused incredulity after you spoke.

“I do not want them to know. Or anyone for that matter.” You realized how ungrateful you sounded. To spurn a god was to write your own death sentence. “Not that I don’t desire you, or that I wish to disregard your desires–”

“You want me all to yourself.” When you opened your mouth to amend his statement, he stopped you. “It’s alright. I want you all to myself too.”

“You have me,” you averred. “However, when the priests and my mother get involved…”

“I understand. I do not wish for fanfare either.” He pulled you close to him. Your breath hitched at the press of his hardness into your hip through both of your chitons.

Your mouths were millimeters apart. Instead of closing the distance, you asked, “Why did you tell me a false name when we first met?”

He smiled that bright, beatific grin that warmed you from the inside out. “I suppose for the same reason that you want to keep this a secret. If you believe your family is meddling, then mine is…”

Apollo didn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand. You giggled, a sound he much enjoyed. At last, he captured your lips with his. Kissing Apollo melted you, you became a molten, liquid being when he pressed his lips to yours.

As transcendent as the kiss was, the god could feel that you were holding back. “What’s wrong, sunshine?”

You were not proud of the flip your stomach did at the pet name. Once you regained control of yourself, you replied, “Nothing, nothing at all. Forgive me.”

“Don’t apologize, simply tell me what is bothering you,” he countered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

When you hesitated, his fingers tilted your head up so your eyes met. “I won’t be angry.”

Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to voice your complaint. It was funny, you’d spent your entire life beseeching Apollo for this or that in the temple, yet when he was standing right in front of you, eager to know what troubled you, you couldn’t find the words.

“Why me?” It was a deflection from Apollo’s question, but still a valid inquiry.

He chuckled. “You’re asking me to apply logic to attraction, something inherently instinctual,” Apollo pointed out. “Though if I had to try to put reasoning to it, I would say it was because you are kind, beautiful, you have a tight, juicy little cunt…” he cupped your mound to demonstrate his point. You gasped at the contact. “...and when I’m with you, I feel the most like a mortal that I've felt in decades.”

Mortal? Was that a bad thing? Were you unintentionally insulting the deity?

Apollo was quick to assuage you, “I enjoy it, sunshine. The immediacy, the urgency. It’s refreshing. You’re refreshing.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. You sought to return his kind words but what was there to say? It was obvious why a mortal such as yourself would fall for a god.

“Now, I won’t ask again. What vexes you?’

“I…after we…our first meeting,” you struggled to select the right words, “the priests wanted to corroborate that we’d lain together, and their methods were…they were not very gentle.”

Your lover’s eyes turned stormy. No sooner had you told him did a crack sound from what you guessed was inside the temple.

“No, please! Don’t hurt anyone!” you begged him just as swiftly.

Apollo’s face softened slightly. “Even after they violated you, you show them compassion. I swear to you I won’t, however, I must ensure that you, and by extension, myself are treated with respect.”

“Of course,” you acquiesced. Gods were not known for their mercy, so the fact he was willing to compromise with you at all was a victory.

Apollo pulled you into another kiss that stole your breath. “If I cannot have you now…then tonight. When the moon peaks in the sky.”

“How will I find you?”

A smirk played across his lips. “Don’t fret, sunshine. I shall ensure it.”

A/N: Sooooo…what do we think?! 🫣 A little more flowery than my usual but I just had too much fun with this and now I have ideas for a few installments 🤦‍♀️

READ PART TWO

Tagging a few folks who might be interested:

@bitch4marvel @luciannadraven33 @oof-its-roobi @twwcs, @ninebluehearts @damnzelsoul @missmarmaladeth @welcometostayingawake @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction , @romanarose @dameronscopilot

#Oscar Isaac #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac smut #Apollo #greek mythology #Greek mythology AU #oscar isaac thirst hours #oscar isaac x you #oscar issac x reader #oscar isaac fanfic #Oscar Isaac x female reader #reader insert #oscar isaac greek god au

[bad268]

Could u write a princess of Monaco and Arthur lecrelc , I see this being written so much for Charles and none for Arthur

thank you :)

Queen of Monaco (Arthur Leclerc X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/Formula 2/3

Requested: Clearly (haha we have the same mind bc I was already drafting this before you requested it)

Warnings: death of parents and brother (mentioned), google translate, the Monaco curse is affecting Arthur now and that's a warning itself bro. I am in denial about the race results today, so I made this to make me happy.

Pronouns: She/Her

W.C. 4108

Summary: The beginning of the relationship between Arthur Leclerc and the Queen of Monaco.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(@/Arthur's insta from January 29, 2023)

It was a normal day in Monaco. It was not a race week, and there were no pressing matters to attend. I had just returned to Monaco last week after attending the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in the United States, but I just received my Bachelor's degree and wanted to return home before starting my Master's. I decided to take my first semester online, so I could go home and spend time with my family.

When I got back, my parents urgently began to train me for the throne even though I was not next in line. Despite having an older brother who was scheduled to become the King of Monaco after my parents, he had to serve in the military before he could move forward. They wanted to have me prepare in the event that something happened to him in battle. 

I had never really been in the public eye due to my brother being the next in line. He was always the one attending meetings, trainings, and keeping up appearances. I was free to do as I pleased for the most part, but in 2015, they sent me to a training school in London. It taught the basics of monarchy and the foundations of how to run a country. It was the same one my brother attended. Even in my spare time, I found my passion in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics. It took some persuasion, but my parents allowed me to attend MIT after my graduation because they were so sure that I would not be needed. My brother is in the final stages of the training. All he needed to do was finish the last few months of military training, and then he would be crowned. 

Upon my return, I learned that my mother was ill, so they wanted to get my brother crowned quickly. However, they practically had to start from square one since I was provided very minimal training in London. My father was furious, not at me, but at the situation they had been placed in. They told me the best thing I could do while they prepare the training is to memorize Monaco as it had been nearly seven years since I had been here. 

I was walking down the pier, looking at all of the little shops that lined the pavement and the boats at the dock. There was a small ice cream shop, a couple of clothing stores, a few restaurants, and a salon. I realized that I had not had my hair professionally done since before college, so I thought it would be a good idea to treat myself.

“Bonjour, comment puis-je vou aider? (Hello, how can I help you?)” A lady greeted me as I stepped through the door. It was a small shop, no one else was in there, but it was cute and welcoming other than the fact that I could not remember French for the life of me.

“I’m sorry, my French is no good,” I replied sheepishly, fully prepared to leave, but the woman stopped me.

“Oh, not a problem, dear. My name is Pascale, what can I help you with?” She smiled, kindly, leading me over to one of the chairs. 

“Well, I haven’t gotten my hair done in almost four years, so I think it’s time to freshen up,” I explained. 

“Oh perfect, I can most certainly help with that,” She laughed, placing an apron around my shoulders. “Are you thinking about dye, highlights, trim, cutting…” She started listing more but I couldn't follow along with all of the terminology. 

“Uh, probably just a trim,” I chuckled, “my parents would kill me if I showed up with short, dyed hair.”

“Not a problem at all,” she grinned and began cutting the ends, little by little, as we made small conversations. “What do you do for work?”

“I actually don’t have a job at the moment,” technically, “but I just came back from the United States. I was at MIT for the last four years, getting my bachelors in mechanical engineering and aerodynamics, and before that, I attended boarding school in London.”

“That’s interesting,” she hummed, “Sounds like you like Formula 1?”

“Not so much the races. I just like the cars,” I laughed in response. “I like learning what could make the cars better, faster, stronger, and safer, but the actual races aren't something for me. I watched one too many accidents end badly, so I can never find enjoyment in it anymore. The last race I went to was in Japan, and I lost my best friend.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, dear. If you ever need to talk, I’m here,” Pascale consoled. I looked at her confused through the mirror. She just set the scissors down just as her phone got a notification. She pulled out her phone and opened the notification. It was a text message with a picture. “That is my son, Charles, and his best friend, Pierre. They’re in Formula 1. They went out karting today, and he just sent me this.”

“Oh, Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly! I know them,” I recognized immediately. “That’s your son?”

“Yeah, he’s always had this passion for driving, so I’m proud to see him living his dreams,” She smiled, putting her phone back, and resumed cutting my hair.

“Well, I’m proud of him too, and I don’t even know him.” I laughed. 

“Maybe, if you’d ever change your mind, you could join us for a race,” Pascale offered. “Only if you’re up for it.”

“I’ll have to see, but probably not,” I declined nervously. 

“It’s not a problem, dear,” She said, patting my shoulders. “But you are all done. How do you like it?”

My hair was shorter by a couple of inches, but it felt so much lighter and healthier than it did earlier today. “I love it so much, Pascale! Thank you so much! How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing, just promise you’ll think about joining us? It would do you some good to get to know more people, and you could even check out the cars before the race! If you’re not comfortable staying for the race, you can always leave. Just promise you’ll think about it before immediately rejecting it?” She pleaded.

“Fine, I’ll think about it,” I laughed, “but only because you were so persuasive!”

–

The next time I was out in the streets was nearly a week later. My time was being packed with different trainings and attending private events, but nothing public yet so as to not stir up controversy. I decided to go to a local bakery and get some tea and some food. The food in the castle just did not compare to my favorite bakery. Not by a long shot. 

When I walked in, there were not a lot of people in there. It was a small shop with only two tables and a counter. There was the person behind the counter, Ella, and three people at the tables. One sat by himself and the other two occupied the second table. I approached Ella and ordered a tea and sandwich. She said she would bring it right over once it was finished, and I approached the man sitting by himself.

“Bonjour,” I greeted, my French was slowly coming back to me but not enough to carry a full conversation. The man looked up from his phone at me. He had blue eyes and shady blonde hair. He had airpods in and took one out as I approached the table. “My name is Y/n. Would it be alright if I sit with you? The other table is filled.”

 “Of course,” He responded immediately, moving the bag that was hanging on the other chair to the floor. “I’m Arthur.”

“Nice to meet you, Arthur. Thank you for letting me sit with you,” I laughed, taking the seat that he pulled out for me. “I really appreciate that.”

“It’s my pleasure,” He chuckled along, “It was just empty anyway.”

~

That was the start of an inseparable bond. It was strange having someone so close again because even though I had some friends in school, they were never as close as Arthur was. For the first couple of months, any time that was not filled with training was spent with each other. Whether it be chilling in his apartment, driving around Monaco, boat rides, and random trips around France and Italy, we were content with doing random acts of entertainment. It didn’t take long before he asked me to be his girlfriend.

One thing we knew would be difficult is the time commitments. With his recent change from Formula 3 to Formula 2 and more royal training for me, we knew it was going to be more time-consuming. That didn’t stop us, however. Tuesdays were the most random day of the week, but neither of us had any responsibilities.

One day in particular, the day before he was set to go to Australia, we were at his apartment, and I was helping him pack since he *conveniently* forgot. We had gone to get smoothies and acai bowls earlier that morning before heading to his apartment. Then, after we ate, we put on some music as background noise while we packed and conversed back and forth.

“Would you ever come to a race with me?” He asked as he pulled a couple of shirts out of his closet. “I know you didn’t have a good experience at the last one, but would you be willing to give it another time?”

“I don’t know, A. I get anxiety just knowing you’re racing,” I explained. Moving to fold the shirts he’s pulling out. 

“That sound like an improvement!” He laughed, jumping over and wrapping his arms around my shoulders as I put the folded clothes in the suitcase. “When we first started talking, you said no immediately. Now, you’re saying you don’t know.”

“What can I say?” I leaned back into his embrace, “You are pretty persuasive.”

“What are the chances of you coming to the Monaco Grand Prix with me?”

“The odds are in your favor since I don’t go anywhere,” I laughed in response. He turned me around in his arms. He was pouting and had his head tilted slightly. “No, don’t do the puppy face. You know I can’t say no to that face.”

“Please?”

With a heavy sigh and a joking eye roll, I caved. I was about to vocalize my decision, but my phone started ringing. This time, my sigh was out of annoyance after seeing it was from Mila, my personal guard and trainer.  “I need to answer that, but yes, I promise to go to the Monaco Grand Prix with you.”

“Of course,” He exclaimed, kissing me all over my face. “I will take care of everything. You go take the call, and I’ll finish packing in here.”

With a small smile, I walked out of his bedroom to the living room and stepped out onto the balcony before answering the phone. “Hi, Mila. What did I forget?”

“Nothing, but are you near the palace?” She responded. Just the tone of her voice made me nervous.

“Not really, I’m about 20 minutes away. Do I need to head back?” 

“Yes, let me know when you get here.” And with that, she hung up. I walked back in to see Arthur with his suitcase fully packed by the door.

“I need to head home,” I started. “Something’s not right.”

“That’s fine,” He reassured, pulling me into a hug. “I’ll need to head out for my flight soon anyway, so I’ll walk you to your car.” 

During the drive back, my mind wandered. Was there a meeting I missed? I couldn’t remember having anything scheduled on a Tuesday. Most meetings were on Mondays or Wednesdays and policy training sessions were Thursdays and Fridays. Maybe there was a last-minute meeting.

Pulling through the gates, I texted Mila once I parked in our car park, and a few guards were waiting for me. “Hi, what did I miss?”

“Y/n, we need to talk,”  one of the guards, Chris, said, and right then, I knew things were worse than I thought. We walked through the corridors to reach one of the meeting rooms, but the only person in there was Mila. The guards immediately turned around and left the room.

“Mila-”

“Have a seat,” She cut me off, gesturing to the seat next to her. I took it hesitantly as I looked at her skeptically. “So, I’m not going to beat around the bush with this. As you know, your mother, the queen, was sick.”

“I assume she died then? That’s what this was for?” I cut her short. However, there was something on her face that said she wasn’t finished. “Okay, I’ll let you continue.”

She shook her head dismissively, “No, it’s fine, but you’re right. She passed away early this morning.”

“So my brother will be crowned when he comes back?”

“That’s the next news,” Mila paused. I encouraged her to just rip the bandaid off because I was getting impatient. “Your father went to the base to get your brother, but there was an explosion. There was a gas leak, and somehow the building they were in exploded. We’re still waiting on the details.”

“Wait, so my entire family…” I trailed off, but she knew where I was going. She just nodded solemnly as she pulled me into her side. “So that means…”

“It means you are to be the queen.”

~

Third POV

Ever since the Melbourne Grand Prix, Arthur has been talking about how his girlfriend was going to join him on the paddock for the Monaco Grand Prix. To say that his friends and brothers teased him would be putting it lightly. Any chance they could, they asked questions about this “girlfriend” of his that they had never heard of, and Arthur was willing to spill all of the details. On the Thursday before the Monaco Grand Prix when he was driving to the track with Charles, he accidentally let it slip that he actually had not heard from her recently. He asked Charles to check his phone to see if she had texted him recently.

“Wait, you haven't heard from her in over a month and you’re not at all worried?” Charles asked, very concerned for someone he’s never met.

“No, we’ve definitely texted recently,” Arthur responded in disbelief. When they pulled up to a red light, Charles showed him that the last message from her was April 1. “No, we’ve definitely talked.”

“Here, pull over. We’ll switch, so you can call her, and I’ll drive us the rest of the way to the track,” Charles said, already getting out of the car as soon as they were on the shoulder. He immediately dialed her number, and after a few rings, it went to voicemail. He thought about leaving her a voice message, but she was already calling him back before he could start.

“Hey, traffic is hideous, but I’m almost there,” She started her explanation. She was sitting in the backseat with a couple of guards, and Mila as her driver took them to the track. “Are you already there?”

“No, we’re not there yet,” he laughed. “Charles and I are still stuck in traffic, but we noticed that I hadn’t messaged you since the Australian Grand Prix. Thought I would call to see if you were still coming.” Charles was half listening to the conversation, but he was smiling to himself, hearing how lovestruck his younger brother sounded.

“Oh, definitely,” She chuckled. Mila nudged the girl with a knowing grin. “I’ve just been insanely busy recently, but I promised. On the bright side, I finished my training!”

“No way, I’m so proud of you, ma chéri!” Arthur cheered. Charles was a little confused as he pulled into the track, but let it go, knowing Arthur would explain it later. “Does that mean there will be a ceremony or something?”

“You could call it a ceremony, yes,” She giggled. She noticed that they were only a few blocks away from the car park of the track, so she turned her phone away toward her shoulder as she directed a question to Mila, “Could I jump out and meet up with Arthur before the race? I promise I’ll be careful, and I’ll be in the box before it starts.” Mila turned to discuss it with one of the guards who was entirely against it. “Please, I won’t leave Arthur’s side, and you know he’s trustworthy.”

“I won’t let her out of my sight, Mila!” Arthur’s voice could be heard through the phone despite it not being on speaker. She gestured to the phone at her shoulder as Mila tried to reason with the guard.

“I’ll go with you,” Mila said as she started collecting their passes and jumping out of the car that was stopped in the traffic going into the parking lot. Y/n immediately climbed out of the back, pulling her phone back up to her ear.

“Alright, Arthur, where do you want us to meet you?”

~~

First POV

“You seem to have gotten shorter since Melbourne,” I laughed as I ran into Arthur’s arms from where he was waiting at the Dams garage. 

“You’re wearing heels,” he pointed out after we pulled away. “What are you and what have you done with my girlfriend?”

“You say that like you don’t like me in heels,” I teased back.

“Ok, lovebirds,” Mila pulled our attention away from each other, “I am going to head up to our seats. Don’t tell anyone I left.”

“Your secret’s safe with me. Thank you, Mila,” I responded as she started walking away.

“You have seats?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah, I didn’t want to rely on you for the passes for Mila, so she bought us hospitality seats,” I explain. It wasn’t the whole truth, but I could not just tell him that in the open. “Is it possible to talk somewhere away from the cameras?”

“You’re not breaking up with me, right?” He immediately jumped to conclusions.

“No, no, no, no,” I quickly shut down. “Je t’aime trop pour partir, mon amour. I just want to tell you something. (I love you too much to leave, my love)”

“Je t’aime, ma belle, (I love you, my beauty)” He whispered, pulling me in for a light kiss before leading me back towards the driver’s room he shares with Ayumu. “Make yourself comfortable.”

I took a seat on one of the beanbags as Arthur sat right next to me. I took a deep breath before deciding the best way to tell him was just to say it fast. “Arthur, I need to tell you about my family.”

“Are you trying to have me meet your family already? You could meet my brothers and maman today if you want,” He rambled.

“I can meet them, but you won’t be able to meet my family. That day you left for Australia was the day I found out they passed away.” I paused looking at his reactions. He looked sorrowful as he grasped my hands and ran his thumbs across the backs of my hands. “Maman had an illness, and papa went to get my brother from the base.”

“Your brother’s in the military?” He asked.

“Was,” I answered. He looked even more confused at that before I continued. “He was serving in the military as his last stage of training. Kind of like my trainings, he had to serve in the military.”

“What kind of training did you need to do? Was this part of your degree or something?”

“No, that’s the big secret I haven’t been able to tell you,” I whispered, putting my head down as I felt guilty for not explaining this sooner.

“Anything you have to say, I will accept you either way,” He reassured me as he pulled me into his chest and kissed my head. “I understand that you have your reasons for hiding some things, so whatever this is, it is not going to stop me from loving you.”

“What if it is complex with more spotlight than you already have?” I asked, throwing my head to rest on his shoulder and looking into his blue eyes. “What if it’s a big change?”

“When we go public, it will be a big change, but I’m willing to do anything for you, ma princesse.”

“Reine, (Queen)” I whispered.

“Quoi? (What)” He responded just as fast.

“What if I told you my parents were the king and queen of Monaco? And my older brother was the prince of Monaco? And now that they’re gone, I will be the queen of Monaco? What would you do?” 

He went silent for a few seconds before whispering, “Are you serious?” My silence was enough of an answer for him to jump up, pulling me with him as he starts laughing and spinning us in circles. He set me down after a couple of spins before holding me at arm's length,  “I would completely understand. I mean you probably didn’t plan on taking the throne because of your brother, and you’d just come back from studying. I only tell people who need to know, and when we met, I wasn’t someone who needed to know. We haven't talked since you found out, so I could never be upset with something like that.”

“But now, if we tell people, you will be heavily scrutinized as people will see you as a potential king,” I signed, happy to know he isn’t upset with me, but still wanting him to see all sides before completely agreeing to move forward. “You’d have more on your list.”

“The only question I would have is if it would interfere with racing,” He turned serious.

“I would never let them keep you from your passions,” I laughed. “They have to respect it by order of the queen.”

“Well, then I would see no issues against continuing to be by your side, ma reine,” he chuckled with a mocking bow.

“Merci mon beau prince, (Thank you my handsome prince)” I mocked back, “now by order of the queen, go win this race.”

~~

“And Arthur Leclerc passes Fredrik Vesti in the final turn of the race,” Crofty shouted over the radio during the final lap of the race. I was up in the hospitality seats with Mila and the guards but headed down to the pitlane a couple of laps before since I was going to be presenting the trophies. I was standing at the pit wall with Charles, Lorenzo, and Pascale, who I met (again) just before the race. “The Monaco Curse is broken for Arthur Leclerc as he wins his first Monaco Grand Prix!”

 I left the pit wall to meet everyone at the podium and stopped to meet up with Mila on my way over. She and the guards escorted me through the crowds. “I’ll tell you now, one of you will need to tell Arthur not to out our relationship when I give him his trophy.”

At the podium, I stood behind the steps as Alice announces the winners. “In third place, we have Théo Pourchaire! In second place, we have Frederik Vesti! And in first place, breaking the Monaco Curse, the home favorite, Arthur Leclerc! Presenting the trophies today is the future Queen of Monaco, Y/n.”

“I’m proud of you,” I said to Arthur as I handed him the trophy.

“Merci, now if only Charles could win,” He joked, taking the trophy and posing with it.

“I’ll tell him you’re talking crap about him,” I teased back, moving away to grab the next trophy for Dams. I handed them all out and expressed my congratulations to the other two drivers before posing for the picture and immediately ducking back as I knew Arthur would try to spray me. I walked down the stairs to meet up with Charles before he heads back to Ferrari for his own race. “Arthur’s talking shit about you. You better win.”

“I’m starting sixth, so we have hope,” Charles responded as he rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t box for hards at the last lap again and you’ll be fine,” I laughed as if it were really that simple. 

“Maybe I broke the curse for both of us or maybe I just had some good luck today,” Arthur said, coming up behind us and throwing his arm around my shoulders.

“Oh yeah, what good luck did you have?” Charles teased, punching Arthur into me.

“Maybe just the future queen of Monaco.”

~~~~~

© BAD268 2023. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

#arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc #formula 2 #formula 1 #charles leclerc x reader #bad268 #ship268 #thing268 #arthur x reader #f2 #f1 #dams racing

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for blocking my suicidal friend?

TW for suicidal ideation, mental health.I know this sounds bad but hear me out.

I (25F/NB) met F(26M) in January 2017, a few months after I started university through a mutual friend, and we quickly hit it off. We started dating a few months later. We split near the end of 2021, but aside from a few awkward months right after the split, we've stayed friends. We've both seriously dated other people: F had a girlfriend, A(mid-20s F), for a little under a year, and I've been dating my boyfriend, H (30M), for about 9 months.

Throughout the time we were dating, F and I had a few problems. Money was a big one: he would borrow money a lot and not always pay it back (either when he said he would or at all). He currently owes me about £8000 that he borrowed for uni. For most of the time since he borrowed it he hasn't been in work, so I haven't been pushing the matter. One of the last straws for our relationship was when he bought a brand new PS5 and lied to me about it when he had recently borrowed money from me.

The other big one was his mental health. F has been dealing with poor mental health for about as long as I've known him, but he refuses to do anything about it. He often talks about how much he hates his life and how he should just kill himself. He often punched himself in the head or punched walls when he was upset, but he refused to admit that this behaviour was unhealthy. He wouldn't go see a therapist or doctor, or speak to anyone except me. Once, when I was visiting family, he became upset about something and I was worried he would hurt himself, so I asked a mutual friend to check on him. He refused to let the friend in, and got very angry with me.I wanted to break up with him sooner but he'd often tell me I was the only good thing in his life, and I was scared he'd kill himself if I left him. We eventually broke up near the end of 2021. Fast forward to this summer. In August, A broke up with F and F had to move back in with his abusive parents. He initially asked to stay with me but I said no (I live in a tiny flat, I can't afford to financially support another person and to be honest I'm just not comfortable with it). I later changed my mind and offered him my sofa when I realised how bad the abuse was, but he declined.

Also in August, I found out my grandmother was dying. I went to see her with my sister and brother-in-law, and the same day received a message from F venting about his life. I replied with: "Hey I'm kind of dealing with something right now can you talk to someone else? I don't really have the emotional bandwidth rn"When he asked what was up, I told him my grandmother was dying. He expressed his sympathies, and told me that his stuff could wait. He sent me the following message four hours later: "I think I'm going to kill myself""I've totally ruined my life, I've got nothing except daily torture from my parents". Again, this is four hours after I'd explicitly told him I don't have the capacity for it. I spoke to my sister and brother-in-law (28F and 30M) about it and they both said I should block him.

In September I started a new job (I recently qualified as a teacher) which has been very challenging, exhausting and intense. My grandmother died at the end of September, so the past few months have been hard for me. He knows all this, but he keeps sending me all these messages about how much he hates his life and how he should just kill himself.

Early October, I was added to a group chat between A, F's ex, and a mutual friend Z. A told us that F had sent her an email that was essentially a suicide note. I called F and made sure he was okay, and passed that along to the group chat. F was angry that, as he perceived it, we'd been talking about him behind his back. He didn't speak to me for a day or so but quickly went back to normal.

At the end of October, the day before my grandmother's funeral, I woke up to a message that was essentially a suicide note. This was not the first time this had happened. I had a panic attack, though I'm not sure whether that was due to the message or imminent funeral. I send him some messages saying that I didn't want to receive these kind of messages unless it was actually something I could help with, that he wasn't respecting my boundaries and that the friendship had become entirely one sided. I told him that I didn't want to block him but I would. He seemed to accept that, but this morning I woke up to another suicide note message. After verifying that he was still alive (he is), I started writing this ask. I feel bad, but I'm so tired of doing all the emotional labour. I have my own shit to deal with and i'm not his therapist. WIBTA if I blocked him?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #self harm cw #suicide cw

[onceuponastory]

the day i lost you - bucky barnes x reader

Still remember how you taste Somewhere in the bitter and the sweet dream Do you think of me standing in a summer haze? When we were gonna be okay? - january rain by PVRIS

Plot: In the aftermath of The Blip and her boyfriend Bucky turning to dust, Y/N finds a voicemail from him... sent the day she lost him. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Warnings: Mentions of death, or at least Bucky is presumed dead (obviously we know Bucky isn't dead but we all thought he was after Infinity War, let's be honest) and grief. And of course, some angst. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: This is for @whumptober Day 24. I used the prompt: "Goodbye Note". I also combined it with the @angstober "The Day I Lost You" prompt. I was once again sad and listening to PVRIS as I wrote this, so now you can be too :)

Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

Stepping over the threshold into her apartment, Y/N drops her bags to the floor with a tired groan. The rain still pounds down outside, the sound echoing through the building. As a personal assistant to Tony Stark himself, Y/N’s working life is extremely busy. And since The Blip, she’s busier than ever, constantly being pulled into meetings with little time for herself. For the past few weeks, she’s been away at a conference with the surviving Avengers, working on a solution to The Blip. This is the first time she’s had to breathe in about a year. And that also means it’s the first time she’s been home since it all happened, since her boyfriend and some of her best friends turned to dust.

And she’s never felt so alone.

Of course, Y/N knows that dating an Avenger, let alone the Winter Soldier himself, comes with its own risk. Especially the risk he may never come home. But although it’s always been at the back of her mind, seeping into her every thought whilst he’s away on a mission… Bucky came back safe so many times that the worry dissipated. Foolishly, she believed he was indestructible, and that he’d always come home to her.

Until he didn’t.

Tears spring at her eyes then, and she furiously tries to wipe them away. She’s done enough grieving over the last year. Enough hoping that he’s coming back, only to end up disappointed. There’s only so much pain you can take before you can’t go on anymore. And Y/N crossed that line a long time ago.

The red light on her answering machine blinks back at her, and she sighs, rubbing her temples and closing her eyes, hoping that when she opens them, the light will be gone. But no matter how hard she tries, it’s still there, and she groans. The last thing she wants to hear right now is more “I’m sorry to hear about Bucky” and “We understand how much it hurts, but he’s in our thoughts.” Nobody will ever understand how much it hurts. Even the other Avengers. 

Because Bucky isn’t just in her thoughts. He’s everywhere. He still occupies the empty space in her bed, his laughter still fills the halls, his singing echoing from the shower. He’s the whisper in the wind, the faint scent of his cologne whenever she enters a room, and that still clings to her clothing like a safety blanket. He’s the shiver up her spine, the faint feeling of a hand holding hers, an arm wrapped around her waist.

It’s like he never even left.

Y/N presses the button, bracing herself for the onslaught of messages to come. “Hey sweetheart. It’s me-” As soon as she hears her mother’s voice, Y/N deletes the message. She’ll deal with her and her incessant questions later. She means well, of course, they all do. But the last thing she wants is to be pestered, reminded of her pain over and over again. They may mean well, but there’s nothing they can do. There’s nothing anyone can do. The other message is boring, a message about her car’s extended warranty that gets deleted almost immediately.

But when she hears the voice in the next message, she collapses to her knees. “Hey doll.” Bucky speaks. It's the first time she’s heard his voice - actually heard it - since he left. As soon as she hears him speak, she can see the smile on his face, and hear the laughter in his tone. Her presence always brought a smile to Bucky's face, even on his worst days. Because he loves her. …Loved her.

Hearing Bucky’s voice again, so soon after losing him, causes all her pent-up emotions to erupt, a year's worth of pain spilling over. As the first of her sobs break through, Bucky’s voice continues. “Just checking in to see how you are and keep you updated. Steve and the others are here…”

“Why didn’t I answer the call? I could’ve stopped them!”

“... and we have a game plan now to stop this asshole. Before you know it, I’ll be back home in New York with you, my favourite girl.” Her chest heaves, and she sobs even harder. “I miss you so much, though. The guys keep pestering me about it, but I don’t care. I love you, Y/N, and I want the entire world to know.” That sends her over the edge. A painful, anguished wail rips through her, the sound filling the room. Y/N’s full body shakes, and she clutches at her chest. “I hope you’re doing well and staying out of trouble.” Bucky chuckles. “Keep me updated. But I’ll see you soon enough, anyway.” 

“Why didn’t I answer? Why didn’t I answer?!”

“I better go, Steve’s shouting at me. Think the mission is about to start.” 

Y/N sits up, trying to grab the phone to dial Bucky’s number and tell him she’s still here, that she still loves him. Hoping that he’s there on the other side, waiting for her.

“Bye doll. See you soon. Love you always.” And then, the line goes dead, the dull beeping noise going right through her. Picking up the phone, she dials Bucky’s number, holding it to her ear as her heart pounds.

“Please… please…” she begs. "Just answer me Bucky... please."

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

“Hey! This is Bucky. I can’t talk right now, and I don’t really know how these things work.” He chuckles, the sound forming a small glimpse of warmth in her belly, and Y/N even laughs softly too. She was there when he recorded that message, her best efforts to teach him the wonders modern technology still not sinking in. Not that it matters now, though. None of it does. She just wants him back. “So I guess if you leave a message, I’ll call you back?”

And he always called her back. Even if it was a day, a week or even a month late. Bucky always called her back. But he won’t call back. Not this time. 

She tries to speak, to say something, anything, to Bucky's voicemail. If there's even a chance he could hear it, she wants him to know how much she loves him, and how much she misses him. Yet she can't say anything through her tears.

When the call disconnects, Y/N sinks to her knees, huddling into a ball as the sobs rack through her entire body. 

She’s alone again. 

And she always will be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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#whumptober2023 #no.24 #angstober 2023 #day 26 #goodbye note #bucky barnes #marvel cinematic universe #fanfiction #death tw #grief tw #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine #bucky fanfiction #marvel oneshot #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #fanfic #bucky oneshot #bucky one shot #bucky barnes oneshot

[turquoisenintendo64]

New Year’s Day !

in which: leo valdez has always been pathetically in love with you, and he finally confesses on a porch at a frat party

fratboy!leo valdez x daughter of athena!reader

warnings: language, use of y/n

a/n: english is not my first language, so sorry if there’s any typos!! :)

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂

leo was sitting on the couch, holding a half-empty paper cup in his hand, observing all the people at the party. his friends, people he didn’t even know, and people he had seen two or three times in college and greeted with a head nod. but you weren’t there. or at least he hadn’t seen you yet.

his best friend, jason, flopped onto the couch.

“why are you here alone?” he asked.

“this party sucks,”

“you haven’t seen y/n, huh?”

leo looked at jason. he had lipstick marks on his cheeks and neck.

“someone had a good time,” leo said, pointing to jason’s face.

“shut up.”

leo sighed and looked at the front again. everyone was dancing to the music, happy, joyful. some holding onto someone’s waist, some not. some kissing someone, some not. some probably fucking someone on the rooms upstairs, some not.

“she said she’d be here,”

“maybe she is,” jason reassured, “but you haven’t seen her yet.”

“the house is not that big,” he chuckled.

“piper said she’s here.”

“maybe she left.”

“for the gods’ sakes leo,” jason hid his face in his palms. “go search the girl, you are not doing anything sitting here.”

jason got up and walked towards piper again. leo took a sip out of his cup. he drummed with his fingers in his left thigh.

he was waiting for you. waiting for a text, a call. something. waiting for you to suddenly sit down next to him and tell him (at last) you love him.

you two met at camp. chiron told you to show him around and you got closer after that. you were always together.

leo saw his phone screen lit up. it was a text. from you.

“porch :)”, it read. he smiled and got up.

jason winked at him from the distance, and something told leo jason already knew you were outside.

he opened the door slowly, and saw you facing away. he approached you, quietly.

“so…” you faced him, “good evening.”

“good evening.” he leaned against the fence, like you, by your side. “i thought you wouldn’t come.”

“and miss percy doing karaoke drunk? hell no.” leo laughed. “also, it’s new year’s eve. i wasn’t going to rot in my room the whole night, evidently.”

the chill air of the night brushed through your hair. leo was low-key staring at you, but could he help it?

you fell into a comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence. you rested your head on leo’s shoulder, feeling his body warmth.

you could hear the before loud music now faint, the only sound that mattered to you being leo’s calm breathing. he could hear his own heartbeat going faster, and prayed to his father you couldn’t feel it.

“i heard you were going out with a boy,” he said. you looked at him. “what was his name… lucas?”

you laughed, “luke. no, no, i’m not going out with him, we’re just friends. maybe just study buddies.”

then something crossed your mind.

“are you going out with someone?”

you mentally prayed to your mother that he wasn’t.

ever since camp, you’ve had a crush on leo. when late at night you helped him with summer homework. when you reassured him after a bad nightmare. when he forced you to help him with his inventions. when your lives were so miserable you didn’t have time to think about feelings. and now, that your lives were remotely normal and you did have time to think about relationships, it would suck to know some other girl was faster than you.

“no”, he said, and you breathed out even though you didn’t know you were holding it, “i’m not dating anyone.”

“would you like to?” you asked, hoping for him to take the hint.

you heard cheering inside the house, clapping and the music got louder. you checked the time in your phone. 0:00, January 1st.

“happy new year leo,” you smiled sweetly at him, his eyes darted from your eyes to your lips.

“happy new year. and i would love to,” he said. “to date someone. well… not someone, you. i want to date y…”

you cut him off by kissing him. he hesitated a few seconds, but then he kissed you back, placing his hands in your waist. you placed yours in his neck, gently touching his curls.

you felt his smile on the kiss. you imagined your first kiss differently, but this was perfect.

now, you didn’t have to save the world. to risk your lives everyday. so you could dedicate entirely to love each other properly.

on the distance, you heard everyone shouting.

“to new beginnings!”

#leo valdez #leo x reader #leo valdez x reader #athena #pjo #heroes of olympus #new year’s day #taylor swift

[see-arcane]

Blood of My Blood: Never Loved

One more Blood of My Blood cinderblock for you @ibrithir-was-here and @animate-mush. Put on your most dramatic breakup song playlist.

Summary: Castle Dracula is abandoned. By son, by subjects, by its Master. The latter finds himself dwelling in the dirt and dark as he waits to strike the English shore once again. Thinking on traitors and thieves. And on his dear friend, who makes him bleed still into the grave earth.

Warnings for: Violence, coercion with and without hypnotism, and domestic abuse.

He woke with a draining ache behind his eyes. A worse one in his chest.

The surprise had gone out of this nights ago. Anger rushed over the sensation like a balm. More, he rushed toward anger. Spurred it, stretched it, wrapped it around himself like a gossamer membrane. It would thicken as the night wore on and his mind roamed its new gamut of bile and rage, snapping at itself until the sky overhead should have roiled in time with his internal tempest. But no. Only favorable winds here. Not that such winds were wholly necessary now. He and his grave earth rode a ship without sails. How fast the mortal mites and their innovations worked in this age.

Jonathan had spoken of traveling by one. An idle comment in their talks of England. One of many. The travel, the choice of estate, the precautions needed to counter the possibility of a second attempt to thwart the setting down of roots. Always in that measured way. Always with the mien of one laying out itinerary rather than laying the foundations of an invasion. Always looking his Master in the eye. Always with that sad grey shade in his pallor, the face of a man who hates his work and knows the alternative is worse.

Poor villain against his will. Poor martyr. Poor Jonathan.

Thunder grumbled high overhead. He heard voices through his box, warm bodies exclaiming and jumping. One of them was close. There was a spiced whiff of cigar smoke. A cheap odor.

Not like the ones you gave him. He dropped so many vices after the boy was born. Smoke and drink vanished from his lips overnight. Just in case they might have tainted him somehow. Spoiled the blood. You told him it was nonsense. Even she did. But he would not have it. Not until this year. He used his allowance for one single box of cigars; cheap, like the ones he’d had back in his shriveled nothing-life in Exeter. You caught him at it in January. Within the month he found the little box gone, replaced by a pack of Romeo y Julietas. One, maybe two a month since then. And what did he say when you asked him why? Why return to the habit now?

“Almost time,” he’d said. That’s all. “Almost time.”

He had pressed Jonathan on it. Oh, gently, gently. Barely a nudge of the mesmer; because he’d thought he already knew.

Jonathan had looked at him through the coiling smoke with those dead starlit eyes. The same glowing shade of the ghost-light on St. George’s Eve. And he had simply raised his hand to his chest, rubbing the place over his heart as if there were still a crucifix to wear there. Worry and sorrow had rolled off him like cologne.

“I may as well, Sir. I think I am saying good-bye to it this year. In whatever way.”

And oh! Oh, what an idiot child he had been in that instant! Later that night he had laughed aloud at himself. He had actually felt a pang of fear. Had even strained his ears to be sure of his friend’s heartbeat. It had drummed steadily enough, he thought. Mostly. Steady, but thin. Always thin, for the tide of his blood was necessarily fickle by his exsanguinations, but…

But you did not know for certain if there was some threshold near to being crossed. You’d never had a case like Jonathan Harker before you. Not even to experiment with. Why bother? You never thought in terms of keeping a single body as your reservoir when you were content to either starve or glut yourself at random. No one like Jonathan existed to you until he offered himself up as the living meal to you and two other hungry mouths for twenty years. And, childish thought, you’d wondered if he could do thirty. Longer. However long the charade could last before the inevitable came and you bled yourself back into him, feeding him from your heart’s blood to end the game of humanity and lock him in your thrall. And then, finally, you would get to see him drink. Master’s orders, my friend. Gorge yourself.

But that presupposed there would be no issue come the time of turning.

That this state, the ghoulish and gauntly haunting form that existed on the line between life and death, was not itself a spoiling factor in the process. Would the rules change if he died as this creature? Would he rise at all? If he did, would he be a Vampire or something else? Something still beholden to his Master only because he was chained by love and not the unshakable tether of being sired into undeath?

He did not know.

Having acknowledged that he did not know, he had almost ripped the cigar from his friend’s mouth so that he might force the man to drink from his veins that second.

Jonathan had seemed to read this in him. He tapped his ash into the tray with something very nearly like a smile.

“No, Sir. Not now. There is every chance I could be wrong. Perhaps it’s age alone whispering to me. Many men start to dwell on these things once they reach the 40-year mark. So I was always led to assume. For myself, I remain shocked that I have lived this long in the first place. I only feel as if there is now a clock ticking somewhere in all this. That it will end before the year is out because…”

He had paused to puff and shrug.

“…because it must end. Either because this state is finally preparing to collapse or because, with three adults to feed, I have begun to deplete too much to sustain the meals and myself.”

It was true. The boy was now a boy only in feeling. Somehow the calendars had piled up and the child was now a young man. Careful with his Papa—and no, even now he did not envy the boy learning his Lesson from his mother the night his adolescent hunger had slipped too far and left the man as pallid as his hair—but still taking more than he ever had in his boyhood. He and his mother had agreed in silence to feed a little less, alternating on their meals each feeding. Even he had stopped short of a full draught more than once. And it was not enough.

Still, Jonathan had been unperturbed. His Master had thought little of that calm. Time had not broken so much as smoothed him. An unfinished stone sanded and shined by a waterfall’s endless pressure until what had been his nightmare was reduced to mundanity. Ah, he woke to the New Year feeling that death was imminent? Hmm. A shame. May as well enjoy a smoke first.

Months passed since that scene. Though his blood did not change, his mien did. Each turn of the calendar’s pages brought some unknown weight down heavier and heavier on him. Distraction drew his attention away, his ghost-light eyes blazed like warning flares in the dark sockets, he lost himself for minutes or hours at a time at the desk, and once, in the far end of March, his Master had caught him weeping silently while eating. A tear would roll every few bites. Savoring and saying farewell at once.

Whether this unknown mortal clock really was ticking or not, his friend believed in it. Felt it was real enough to say his good-byes to human sensation. Such a fuss, his Master had thought. Tried to think.

You did try. Truly, painfully, you tried to make yourself laugh. Jeer. Hold to certainty and joy at the approaching finality. Humanity shed to give your friend his stalled eternity. Still, you caught yourself worrying. Wondering. What if something went wrong? What if something was wrong already? What if, ha, he was making plans to short you at the last? What if he had made plans with some conspirator in the towns to pierce his heart and take his head? What if the turning somehow did not take at all? What if, what if, what if?

What if indeed. You fretted so much over those months, old devil. You worried about every little thing that might go wrong before you made your move. Before you ended the game and took your prize and burned the nuisance of mortality on the pyre it deserved two decades ago. 

The prize you never thought was waiting at the end of someone else’s long game.

He made a noise into the soil. A coughing bark of a laugh. Out in the cargo hold, the smoker stirred.

“Hello? You down here, Mikhail?” He leaked himself out of the box. Fog to flesh. The smoker squinted in the half-gloom, coming closer. “Hello?”

“Hello,” he echoed. The smoker swung around to face him. There was not much to face, as he stood still in shadow. He watched the man’s brow furrow. Trying to squint his way toward recognition.

“Who are you? One of Arnold’s new boys?”

“No,” he answered, stepping into the glow of the man’s lighter. The squint turned to a gawking mask of horror bordering on disgust.

“Jesus,” came out in a gasp that reeked of cheap smoke. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Trouble at home,” he admitted with a flash of teeth. Within a blink, he was tearing into the man’s throat. He inhaled blood and cigar fumes until he was iron-grey, until he was at his prime, until he was a youth. Hating the taste with every gulp. Unable to glut himself further, he sighed and twisted the man’s head off. The heart he tore out with more relish than he preferred to admit. He crushed all three pieces of the body as if crumpling paper and did not rise to the deck until he sensed it was unoccupied. Up he went, tossing the balled up remains into the waves. “My thanks,” he whispered after it.

The corpse had provided him with something like a lackluster disguise. A jacket to match the rest of the seafarers.’ He hoped the sight of it might let him go unbothered on deck. Though it was an easier thing to simply slip back down to the cargo’s shade, he wanted the openness of the night and the sympathetic frown of the moon peeking through the clearing clouds. He looked up to it now the way a drunken man sulked up to his barman. A barman who had waned a few phases since he was last seen.

The moon had been so full the last time he saw Jonathan. Rather, times.

Once while alive. The other…

“Which one are you, then?” Swallowing a curse, he slid his gaze to his right. A man with a flask stood there, pausing mid-sip to scrutinize him. His lip curled as he gestured with the liquor. “Who said you could have hair like that and work a vessel, eh?” He did not pause for an answer before shaking his head and taking a full drink. “Arnold’s getting sloppy if he’s hiring from…from…” A cloud of hazy concentration came and went on the ruddy face. “What? The Nordics? The Slavs? One of those lots with hair to their knees.”

He did not answer. Only looked again to the moon. He imagined the wedge of it gazed back at him with apology. The man blundered forward a step, reaching to take him by the shoulder.

“I’m talking to you, boy—,” A callused hand passed through his shoulder like mist. For it was. The flask made a tinny sloshing sound as it struck the deck. “Oh.” It was a small sound. The frightened moan of a child in a rancid dream. Feeling the moment warranted it, he turned his young man’s head to fully face the man. Letting him see the maimed display of the left eye. The dried maroon crust that streaked his cheeks. The man made another noise, even reedier. “Oh, Christ. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Arnold never said anyone died on this one. It’s too new, he said.” His throat worked like a thin tangle of pulleys. Bloodshot eyes bulged. “The Persephone’s only been on the water three years and no one’s ever…”

“Newness is no guarantee against death any more than age is a guarantee against foolishness,” he grated out.

“Right. Right, of course, apologies. I’ll just—I’ll just—,” the man didn’t seem to know what he’d ‘just’ for several tediously agonized seconds. But, between the drink and the rarity of the moment—How often did one cross paths with a spirit, after all?—his feet remained anchored. Then, “…How did you die?”

Of idiocy. Here and now. Requiescat in pace.

“I was betrayed. Over a woman.” Sour needles pricked along his throat. “Over a child. The years made me blind. Soft. Comfortable. So certain that all was in order, that I held everything in my hands. But I lived among thieves without knowing it. I woke one night to find all that was mine was gone, stolen, and the one I had handed my heart threw it away as though it were the sole piece of filth that could not be bothered with. And then…” He gestured to the mark upon his face. His eye now a ball of blazing arterial red set in a spray of wild scarring from the lightning bolt. Even after a deep meal, he felt that the damage had scarcely receded. Had he not twisted in time, the blast would have struck him square through his skull.

The wretched woman had fine aim.

And that’s not all she has, is it?

“Sorry to hear it, son,” came from his right. The man had retrieved his flask again. It winked like tarnished silver in the moonlight. Though his face showed a bleary bafflement as to what exactly the manner of death could have been, he went on, “And here I figured the worst that could happen to a man at sea was drowning.”

“Terrible ends can happen anywhere. But if it saves you worry, I will not remain on this ship forever. I will disappear once it docks in England.”

“Reckon you’re off to haunt the bastard who did this to you?”

“Not yet. First I must go to my son, who they sent away all oblivious to their work. Then,” his hand drifted of its own accord to his chest, dipping under the hanging coat to feel at the lump in a high pocket. It sat cold and out of place there, like an elaborate little tumor. Touching it brought back the pain to his chest and eyes. “Then I shall see to the traitors.”

“Cannot say I envy them.” Another sip, nearing the bottom.

“Few would. They thought me a monster to slay together. But they have yet to meet the worst of me. For they grew comfortable too, seeing me docile, hospitable, giving them my home and my love and a thousand allowances that no other in my life has ever wrung from me. Yes, I will haunt them. I will hunt them. And I will deliver to them a recompense so much worse than death.” The man was trying again to drink from his flask and finding himself thwarted. “Empty?”

“Afraid so. Do you ever miss that, being dead? Getting to drink?”

“No. I still drink. But I am full for the evening.” He bared his teeth in a gleaming crescent. Some of the man’s crewmate still stained his fangs. He watched the man’s face abruptly lose all its tint. “I am glad you got to enjoy your own. It is a rarity not to face this part sober.”

So saying, he plunged his hand into the man’s chest. He twisted out the heart with the ease of one plucking a ripe apple from its bough. The man croaked out only a small noise at this. Nothing more than a damp little bleat, smothered by the steady roll of the waves. He was still gawking at his heart in one clawed hand while the other snared him and hurled him overboard. The sound of the splash was nothing. Sighing, he shrugged off the apparently useless jacket and cradled the heart in it to prevent a drip. Back to the cargo hold it was. Down to the dark and the dirt and—

He left it waiting for you. Even in the midst of all the confusion, the haste needed to get out, to be gone, he made sure to leave it right there in the sow’s coffin.

The cold lump shifted in its pocket.

He bit down a curse as his eyes stung, burned, boiled.

A roost was made in the furthest corner of the hold. The heart sat in his hands. Huge and dense with old smoke and liquor and fatty seaside meals. He’d lied to Jonathan before, about how certain consumed vices changed the blood’s quality. There was no alteration in what it fed, but the taste shifted. Between the crewmate he’d siphoned and the swollen muscle in his fingers, he realized he was indulging in the nearest thing he had to slovenly eating after a hard day. He took an experimental taste of a ventricle.

Immediately acrid. A rich and awful tang that ran to the back of his throat.

Nothing like the spigot that had flowed for him like careful clockwork for two decades. So meticulously tended by diet, by caution, by the vessel it sprang from. Twenty years of ambrosia meted out in scheduled mouthfuls and the occasional drop snuck between meals, as was his right.

“No, my friend, not the wrist. The boy would know someone was taking extra. And from his own plate! So to speak. Undo your collar, you know she will not complain…”

And Jonathan had. The brilliant eyes sliding away from his Master as he stole one, two, three, four or more little tastes from neck and shoulder, collarbone and breast. A single sip from each bite. He had not even winced. Not until Jonathan’s Master brought his mouth up to his face. Printing the blood there like a girl with her kiss’ lacquer. It had taken his Master’s hand around his jaw to make Jonathan turn and face the second one, pressed into his own lips. Eyes shut against the threat of a trance, mind fluttering frantically out and away.

He had let him then, back in those early nights. Always so shy, his Jonathan. Even after the whirlwind of that long-ago summer, the thresholds crossed and barriers erased for the sake of playing his Scheherazade, still he quailed from the gentler edges of his better. Hiding up in his head or in his Master’s teeth or under the flimsy shelter of his duties whether they were self-assigned or not. Anything to not accept what lurked and grew under the veneer of mere surrender to an enemy.

Had that too been a trick? Laying bait the way his Master had once drawn the hunting dogs back to his genius loci with the woman already tainted?

A Wolf did not chase if the prey did not run. And he did love to chase. To play. Up to a point. He had tried more than once to smother the overgrowing feeling in him as the years marched and his friend continued to drop his eyes and tense away from tenderness. When that failed, he told himself it did not matter. He owned his friend through the woman and their son, and whatever performance he sought—the rent owed to many a charitable landlord, really—could be ordered from him.

And he had ordered it.

In specific, he had, on a particularly maudlin night, ordered his friend to kiss him as he would her. He would know the difference. He’d leeched through her senses on occasion when they were, quote, ‘alone’ together. Sometimes he thought Jonathan even saw him staring out of her eyes. Or else the woman simply gave him away by some private sign or other. Whatever the case, Jonathan had never once withheld his love with her.

So, the order. Out of curiosity. Out of boredom. An order given without even a trance to smooth the act, just to see how he would muscle past the walls of indignity and a lover’s loyalty as he had back when he thought he had been charming for his life in their supple sabbatical once upon a time.

Instead, a magic trick.

Between one blink and the next, Jonathan had been the self he reserved for the woman. Even the smile kept for her had been there. A necessary prelude to the hands that bookended his Master’s face and pulled him level. Just like that, there were their mouths together. Not the press of a patient doll’s lips as its owner mashed themselves there in pantomime of intimacy. If he had not known better—

But Jonathan made sure he did. As soon as the kiss elapsed, he’d receded into himself. Less a tortoise into his shell than a closing fist praying not to be pried open lest the treasure in it be snatched away again.

“Was there anything else, Sir?” asked in the rug’s direction. Shame and a miserable whiff of apology yet-to-be had stamped him. He would throw himself into making amends to the woman, of course. Whether or not he wounded her with tattling on this little service, he would meet her with whatever kindnesses he could muster that were not already given. It was one of many moments in which he was convinced that his friend would give of himself until he was down to bones and then try with his last breath to gift someone his ribs. “Sir? Am I dismissed?”

He was not. All at once, his Master had a list of tasks for him to perform over the course of days. Weeks. Months. A year and more. And was that not where the mistake of it all had begun? The willing leap at addiction? Commanding his friend, his immaculate actor, his Scheherazade, into a hundred little indulgences. And not just in matters of sampling each other. Sometimes he would wring whole nights out of the man, without even the boy to perform for, trapping him by the fire or in a moonlit room or down in that half-secret glade by the stream where they played hunter and hunted and hid together from the walls of domesticity, spurring his friend into the easy and smiling talk of companions, of intimates, of…

Go on, old devil. You can admit it. Why not? What point is there in pretending he did not perform so well as to leave you reduced to this?

Fine.

Talk of those in love.

Yes, he had used the exact word. More than once.

Do this, do that, do any and all these things as if you loved me. Just as you do her.

And Jonathan had. Always with the bracing misery before and the shuddering withdrawal after. But he served his Master’s wants. He did so with such an ease that his Master had invented half the trap himself; he had convinced himself somewhere that he was giving his friend permission to do what he truly wished to do, freed from the yoke of duty and fealty to the woman, to his morals, to his sanity. Yes, that was it. He was giving his friend release. Lifting away the leaden weight of his beloved martyrdom and letting him know, yes, it was alright, he could want something other than what was ‘right’ or ‘good.’ What had such scruples brought him besides pain? God and humanity no longer had a place for him or his family or his love; that bottomless fount that had more to give than his veins ever would.

Here, my friend, I will take it. I will catch it all as it spills. Love me. Love and be happy. It’s alright.

The cold lump in his pocket felt heavy and frigid as a glacier on his chest. Scrubbing his hand clean on the jacket, he fished the hateful treasure out of its home and glared at it in his fingers.

A brooch the size of a dove’s egg. Antique gold ringing a garnet of such brilliance it might have been frozen claret. Splitting it was an ornate dragon, rampant, seeming to cling to the stone like the mythic hoards of legend. One of few mementos kept in his bedchamber from mortal days and nascent immortal nights that had gone sour in recalling their joy. He had taken it from its hiding place of velvet, shined it until it glowed, and, at the end of another race through their wilds, another capture, another victory drunk from the won throat…

“You have been here five years. Yet still I get word that you are not always recognized as being in my service.” This was fractionally true. At least in the sense that he knew there was a certain level of laxness that existed between Jonathan and a handful of those he did business with in the towns. Little mistakes or a dragging of feet on assorted exchanges and services that his friend would try to paper over with excuses on their behalf.

Once, only once, he had even tried to get away with hiding a newcomer’s attempt to swindle him outright. He had only seen a tourist of means with an Englishman’s lilt and tried to rob him over a new toy for the child and a novel for the woman. Jonathan had not pushed back, only gutted his allowance while the seller’s neighbors threw their shocked and silent looks. Perhaps that would have been the end of it but for Jonathan idly mentioning the encounter to the woman as they shared his bed post-feeding, thinking little of it. His Master, listening through her, had thought otherwise. Enough to find and inform the seller of his misstep personally. The next time Jonathan went to town he came back somewhat shamefaced with a burden of extra wares given ‘as a courtesy.’ The peasants were careful to point him out to new citizens ever-after.

All this in mind, Jonathan had looked at him oddly over the excuse.

“If that is the case, it has not hindered me in any way. The people have been nothing but gracious when I come through.” Gracious and afraid, he knew not to say. His Master had shooed the words away like flies.

“You remain ever lenient, my friend. You would apologize to the wheels of a carriage as they ran you over. It is for your own good that you must wear this, lest you and your goodwill are trampled by the opportunists among the chattel.” Out had come the brooch. “You will have this visible at all times. Be it to clasp on your coat or wear at your throat. Do you understand?”

“Yes, S—,” A look was caught. No, no. He knew the rule out here. Away from mother and child. “Yes, balaurul meu, I understand.”

Not well enough, of course. Not even when he was made to sit still, his chin up so that his Master could pin the thing in place. No, he had not understood then. Not until the next night when he took his place in bed for the family meal. There he had sat, undoing his shirt collar—with the brooch nowhere in sight. Not before the feeding. Not after he buttoned himself up with strengthless fingers. Not even on his nightstand.

The boy and the woman had looked up with curiosity and ire respectively when Father hadn’t taken his usual leave for the saccharine post-bleeding period with Papa. Papa himself had looked concerned and lost. No one had made a mistake, had they?

“Father? Did you want to stay too?” from the boy. A thread of worry in his voice, as was natural whenever Father deviated from his routine, but far more of eagerness. Father so rarely lingered overlong with the entire family in the room. And, he would admit it, it stung to deflate the child’s hope.

“I am staying,” he’d said, “But you and your mother must go for a time. There is something important I must speak with Papa about.” There had been some bristling at that. But he had yanked the woman’s leash and the woman had taken the boy away by the hand, thinking soft assurances and lies at him until they were out of the tower. Jonathan, dear oblivious Jonathan, had peered at him with genuine confusion.

“What is it? Has something happen—,”

His Master had flung the full weight of the trance into him like a boulder. A boulder that became a crushing fist around the flailing mote that was Jonathan’s ostensibly free will. Having hold of it, he wrenched his friend up to his feet and prodded sharply at his mind until he turned to where he’d stored the brooch. There, the wardrobe. Go. Fetch.

Jonathan had managed two steps before the weakness of his emptied veins dropped him to hands and knees. He crawled the rest of the way. Staggered back upright. Worked the doors open and shuffled with trembling hands through the hanging clothes. Here was the coat. There, fastened at the chest, was the brooch. He fumbled at it with twice the difficulty of fastening his shirt. So much so that it pricked his thumb bloody and slipped through his fingers. He made a small despairing sound before falling back down on his knees, searching in the shadows and shoes for it. When his hand finally closed on it, his Master tugged again at his mind, ordering him back the way he’d come. Across the floor, up into the bed. Holding the brooch.

His Master tugged again. Jonathan held the brooch out on his palm. The one now striped and smeared from the bleeding thumb.

“What did I tell you to do with that, Jonathan Harker?”

“To—to wear it in town—,”

“No.” He’d paused to watch Jonathan’s face. The shift of expression that sketched such a perfect epitome of dread, especially in a bloodless face. “I said, You will have this visible at all times. And where was it instead? Thrown away, out of sight, out of mind. Is it not so?”

“N-No. No, I did not mean to—,”

“Must I make it simpler for you? The boy still has the collar he never bequeathed to the trapped wolf. I am certain it would fit you. The emblem would never be misplaced again.”

“Sir—,”

“Do you think I gave it to you as a whim? Another token to cast aside, to ignore like all the rest you are showered with all unconscious to, stewing in your precious stringency, self-deprived as a monk?”

“Please, I swear, I only thought—,”

“What? What did you think? Do tell.”

“I thought,” his voice caught and rasped, trying not to be a cough. “I thought it was meant for strangers. As something official, part of a uniform. I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t know it was…” But here the words dried and his face showed again that crumpled confusion. The pain of a kicked dog unsure of what mistake he’d made, only knowing he had erred. Jonathan’s eyes had found his Master’s, as much plea as fear.

What? the look begged. What is this? What did I do wrong? I cannot act without my lines.

There was no questioning of his Master’s anger. Such storms were known to pass and one could only brace and weather them. This was all he knew.

But you knew better, didn’t you, old devil? It took you a moment to catch up to yourself. To truly admit it to your own mind, even knowing from what happy old era’s dust you fetched the thing from. You made no ceremony of it. You buried the giving of it in a disguise. But the meaning was there even as you fastened it to him without fanfare, without warning. All you did was stitch an importance to the ornament that was invisible to him. And look where it led.

Jonathan hadn’t blood enough in him to hold rigid as he usually did before his Master’s moods. He shuddered even as he fought to be still. Afraid. Cold. Eyes of pale blue glass pinned to his Master, searching desperately for a reason to it all, for the thing he must make amends for.

Still with his hand outstretched. The brooch in a bloodied palm.

Just as it is now. Here in the brine-scented shadows. It looked more precious in his.

It had.

Jonathan had kept the hand out even as his Master joined him on the bed. As his Master plucked the brooch up, tasting it clean of the red stain, then kissing away the same from the bleeding thumb. As his Master gently tilted the quivering chin up and fastened the emblem in its proper place. As his Master did not move except to close the last of the gap between them, stroking the white curtain of hair from his brow.

“I am sorry, draga mea. You did not know because I did not explain. It is too easy to forget you are the only one here who does not go walking into others’ minds. So often you fool us all into believing otherwise.” The stroking hand traveled down to trace Jonathan’s jaw. No longer shaking. Not as badly, anyway. “You did not recognize that it had a mate, did you?” Jonathan turned his head an inch, frowning. His Master tilted up his own chin. For a moment, more confusion. Then realization.

The stone worn at his Master’s throat had no beast stretched across the stone. His was a coil that encircled it entirely, an ouroboros of a dragon.

“I know that rings are the tradition. But you are a creature of loyalty and I did not wish to test my Harkers’ ire in demanding you remove the gold band for something of mine, be it a signet or a stone. This is as close as we can come the way we are. At least until the night of consummation. Baptism. Whatever you prefer.” He trapped Jonathan’s eyes with his. “When that time comes, we can talk of more classic rites, insofar as our arrangement allows for such things.”

Jonathan had nodded at this. Perhaps tried to speak. A ‘yes, Sir’ seemed to snag on his tongue. The shock was too much to work around on his own, so his Master hoisted him over it with a final hook of the mesmer and gave him words to say:

“Of course, balaurul meu. I look forward to it.” His mouth had snapped shut around the last word, pallid eyes huge and almost teetering in their sockets. He was shaking again. Ah, it was too much as he was, poor thing. His Master had left him swaddled in another blanket, asking if he was prepared to see mother and child now. Jonathan could only nod, his hand rising and falling away from the space before the brooch. As though he feared the thing would bite him.

Good.

Good enough, you reasoned. He would grow into it. He would accept it. He had accepted it already. Enough that you had to deal with a particularly entertaining round of aftermath from the woman’s mind. For all her collaring of herself when she had to grovel for something—and was her own peasant’s past not fine training there?—the Vampire of her could not be smothered when it came to theft. Not even sharing! This, when you could have ordered the ring off him. Could have had him write up divorce papers for the dead, if only as a prop to hang in the office. But then the boy would have questions. Perhaps even tears. Was Papa not allowed to love more than one parent? It would not do. To think you offered to let her be Maid of Honor.

Amusing fireworks had ensued.

They had cooled, he thought, as the years continued to stack. On and on until the end of their second decade made its way to them. Jonathan never misplaced the brooch again. The woman appeared resigned to joint custody of both her Loves in her sullen way. And the boy, his little diavol, barred from full knowledge and unhappiness, had grown to manhood under their care.

A fine excuse the latter had made.

He thought back to it now. That last scene with the grey and ghastly shape of his friend in his surreal mortality. Another cigar lit, the smoke curling out the library’s window. What a strange image he’d made. He had looked like…

A month or so ago he had found his friend thumbing through an American magazine of all things. Some publication or other that had made its way across the Atlantic and the Channel to join its English siblings. It had been one of his few vices over those latter years, catching up on the newsworthy pulses that beat outside their mountains. The American one had shown an advertisement at the back. A rather charming illustration of a man in what had to be a modern eveningwear suit. Arrow Collar and Shirts for Every Occasion the image declared.

Jonathan had seemed to be a macabre translation of the man posed in the picture.

Seeing this, an abrupt needle of mourning had pierced his heart. Twenty years of feeding had made his friend into this wasting enigma. Twenty years of allowing the arrangement to unspool on and on without end, simply for the fact of Jonathan continuing to breathe and bleed unimpeded, as if his will alone were enough to hold his half-life existence together. Twenty years of letting his friend’s incessant need to give of himself down to the marrow get in the way of sense. Of what was right. Of what was long past due.

How did you allow this? How did you agree to let this carry on so long? Look at him, look at the calendar. So many years lost in which he could have already been what he was meant to be. Why? For your agreement? For the charade of the bitter conqueror taking his consolation trophy? It made sense at the start, perhaps. Those early years of gloating. It was your due. But once the sting was gone, once it became clear what he was to you under the vitriol of old, what excuse was there to drag this on, to make a living ghost of him? What excuse is there now? Look at him, old devil. Look at him and think of what he could have been, should have been, for the last quarter of a century.

And he had. He’d stood in the doorway, staring, overlaying the haggard reality with what should have been. Here was Jonathan Harker, forever young, the flesh back on his bones, his eyes free of shadows and crimson as an opened throat. Jonathan Harker, still and strong, a beautiful killing thing like a spider waiting in its silk.

Instead, he was this. A ghoul waiting to find out the when and how of his death before the year concluded, seeming far deader than the thirsty revenants he called his family. The unfairness of it wrenched in his Master’s chest. Worse still was the hindsight of its pointlessness. As if this arrangement of the household had done anything but ruin his friend and cripple their son against the reality of the wider world waiting for them. He had even felt a twitch of pity for the woman, if briefly. She had lost her Love to the needs of their hunger and their Master’s whim, watching every year as that Love was shriveled and shifted into a wretched grotesquerie of what he ought to be. Her prized possession spoiled by mishandling and a refusal to simply tear their Jonathan free of his scruples and do what needed doing.

“Was there something you needed, Sir?” Jonathan had asked without turning. His eyes were on the moon. Full as a pearl.

“There was. Is.” His friend did not jump upon seeing him abruptly at his side. Nor did he turn his head. “You are almost replenished.” It wasn’t a question.

“I am.” A tap of ash. Still not taking his attention from the sky. “Did you wish to steal a drink ahead?”

“It is not stealing. Only taking what’s owed.” There was a soft sound of fabric pulling away. Jonathan had turned and froze. His Master had removed his own clasp and the cravat under it. Vest and shirt hung open. The skin above his heart was already cut open. “And giving what is long overdue.”

“Sir, that’s not necessary. Not already.”

“When, then? How much longer will you reduce yourself like this? They are beginning to go hungry even with your sacrifice, my friend. Mother and child both. But he is not a child anymore, is he? He is grown. He must feed as such. Yet he tries to feed only as a boy, just as his mother feeds in her little halved tastings. Even I have taken less than my share. All to bow to your craving for self-destruction. No more of it.”

“This seems somewhat—,” Jonathan first tried to sidle away from the sill, only to have himself caged back against the stonework by his Master’s arms, “—abrupt.”

“You have until you finish the cigar.”

“Case in point.” Another drag was taken, neither rushed nor prolonged. Jonathan blew his stream of smoke out into the breeze. Then, “Was that why you had so many of these on hand before? The food and drink and assorted sensory comforts?”

“Before?” Jonathan looked at him. Waiting for him to—, “Ah. Then. No, not precisely. There was an act to perform. Had it been Peter Hawkins there in your place, he would have had the same to consume before his…dismissal.”

“That’s what I mean. You were always planning to either ‘dismiss’ or ‘retain’ your solicitor of choice. You went out of your way to provide the equivalent cuisine and indulgences of a noble’s home, even when the reality of things had set in. I might have had, say, a week’s worth of fine dining and then bread and water from then on. But you kept at the kitchen regardless. Why was that?”

“To drop the quality would be to ruin the masquerade,” his Master said, wondering at the turned subject. Knowing not to be swayed. “Had you proven to be a lowly churl not worth my time beyond the completing of paperwork, you would not have eaten at all. The wolves would have had your bones for toys in the same week.”

“Mm,” another puff. Jonathan was halfway through. “My mistake, then. I had assumed you were interested in giving your pawn a long last meal before his life ended, permanently or otherwise. That or fattening the metaphorical calf. It was hard to imagine you enjoyed playing the role of host and staff without it being part of some standard habit.”

“So it might have been when you returned home.” Oh, only twenty short and endless years ago. Still with their enemies’ blood under his nails. Begging sanctuary for his Loves, bartering his own throat. Memories, memories. “For some reason, you seemed hesitant to trust my culinary skill a second time.”

“Yes, well. Blame that on a joke too many made about the wine and red meat on the menu. I’d not expected you to throw aside pretense to the point of…” Jonathan nodded at his Master’s bleeding chest. “…this.” More ash tapped over the stone sill. A third of the cigar was left. Jonathan’s eyes floated from the oozing cut to the moon. The effect erased all but the furthest edges of blue from his irises and made them into coins of silver. His brooch glowed like fire. “Do you know what I ate on my wedding night?”

Stop. Plug your ears. A trick. A trap. Laying bait again, old devil, do not listen, do not let him talk, do not hesitate, this is how he works, how he has always worked, how he has been the only one in all the infinite hell of your unlife able to steer the storm of you. In pain, in suffering, in servility or supplication, the silver of his tongue did more to tame you than any holy relic, and you knew it and you did not care, did not think to care, because he made himself satisfied with crumbs, with vapor, even when you tried to force bounty into his hands and down his throat, do not listen, do not wait, take him, own him, seize his mind and soul and senses now now now before it is too late—

But this was the bellowing of the present into the past.

All he could do in the ship’s dark was muffle his curses by biting into the bloated heart as the memory unfolded in all its hopeless reality.

“No,” he’d half-whispered to his friend. “You never said.”

“I had what I’d been having since I was taken in by the nuns. Broth and bread. Small simple soft things. I was half-dead then too, albeit in a different direction. Mina and I married and made love on my sickbed, in a rush of joy and tears and illness. I left our wedding venue with one hand in hers and another on a cane. Now I am here, twenty years on, with another marriage to begin in haste. The marriage that will also be my death knell. Lenore again, but without any hope of resting in peace.”

Jonathan watched his Master through his lashes.

“When I am drunk from a last time and I drink in turn, it will be the moment I say farewell to what is left of the good man who existed before I turned the kukri on those I trusted with my life and who I would have died to shield, had it not been for God putting my Loves on the same altar He set before Abraham. The last of that good man will die to the blood baptism, to an unbreakable chain of connection with what is reviled by the divine. Fickle thing that it is. But before I was a Christian, before I was taught the lie that God is absolute love, I already held Love as holy. I held kindness unto others as a mission. It hurt me then as it hurts me now to envision pain wrought on another without cause but profit or cruelty.

“But that feeling will be sunk into a spiritual chasm once I turn. Already I dropped a piece of it into the dark when I bloodied my hands. The rest will follow and I shall become a Judas not only to a select few, but to the whole of humanity. While I can see the logic in throwing myself into consummation for fear of turning back at the last second, I do not think I can stomach yet another threshold where I do not get to walk, but must hurl my way across. Another sprint, another crash into one world out of the last. I would ask—,” his throat had caught, eyes gleaming, “—I would like to have the day.” He cracked a sad smile. “St. George’s Day. A fitting hour to say good-bye to the good of me. And for our son’s birthnight, we shall have our last family meal. No meager shares. No restraint. I shall be too weak by then to hold off. And it will not be done behind closed doors. Behind my Loves’ backs, like another secret. Please.”

The eyes, the eyes, no power in them but what his Master put there, but they held and they drowned and pleaded for this, this last meal, this final allowance, and—

And you swallowed it. Inhaled it. Drank it from him like he’d slit himself open over your mouth. You did, old devil.

He had.

He’d looked his friend in the eye—eyes still vulnerable, still susceptible, still able to be hooked and pinned like the rest of him, ready to be stolen away into his thrall without another puff of the cigar left between them—and said, “Very well. But know that I will accept no hesitation tomorrow. No rescinding, no stalling, no last-minute dawdling. You make your good-byes to yourself tomorrow. Make your peace and apologies to the world if you must. But then I will eat the martyr out of your blood and fill the space with something better. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir.” This he said before taking his handkerchief from its pocket and wiping the dark smear from his Master’s heart. For almost a minute said Master held still enough to pass for a waxwork as Jonathan righted the shirt, the vest, the cravat. He took his Master’s brooch from a clawed hand that had turned suddenly feeble before pinning it to the silk. It wasn’t until Jonathan tried to pull his hands away that they were caught.  “Was there something else?”

“Yes. You finished,” he’d nodded to the smoldering nub of the Romeo y Julieta, “and I will not go without something for my patience.”

“I need my hands if I’m to open my collar.”

“Everything I want is above the neck.”

“As myself? Or is this a commission, balaurul meu?”

“Surprise me.”

“Only if you do not bite your tongue.”

He’d not understood. Not until his face was brought down and he had seen the flash of parting lips and teeth and then—

You should have bitten your tongue. Should have trapped his head in your hands as he played at catching yours, should have bitten and fed yourself into him while he was snared. If he would dare lie to your face your deserved to bleed yours into his. Bastard. Delilah.

He thought these and a thousand curses even as he warred with the recollection of that taste, that consumption in two directions. What he had thought was a mere prelude to all the ages yet to come for them. Never thinking for an instant that it was only the last helping of honeyed poison. Even the sheepish fraction of a laugh that had left his friend was another dose of venom to numb him with.

“Forgive me. I just now imagined how we must look. An old man preying on the youth.”

“Indeed. You are still all but a gamin, draga mea. In any case, this is hardly novel for us, is it? Merely a change of position. A slow dance.”

“We must all be cautious about said dancing in England, you know. The laws are still—,”

“I am aware. Just as I know what lawmaking parties are at the top of my list to be invited to dinner once we secure the new estates…”

And they had talked. And talked. On and on toward the sunrise. Jonathan had insisted on taking himself to sleep lest he spend his grand farewell to humanity passed out the whole day. Away, Master, away. Shoo.

Off he had gone. Dense and careless.

Did you smell coffee on the way down? Did you? If so, did you think it only imagination or just shrug it away? Your friend, ever disdainful of wasting an hour. Fine, fine, let him wring St. George’s out in his way. What did you care? Fool.

The boy had still been up with his books and, he saw, some his Papa’s magazines. Odd. No less odd than seeing him return to the coffin rather than exercise his ability to doze where he liked; his miracle of a child, born alive and undead at once, able to sleep without a grave earth as bedding. Odd, odd. But he had not cared, had he? What reason was there to care when he had tomorrow night already dangling before his eyes?

The woman was already in her coffin, either sleeping or feigning sleep. He had not bothered to check. Had not cared whether she knew of her husband activity or not. If she now mulled the vision of her Master tasting what was hers, his, theirs, making plans for the future while she gathered dust in the chapel. How pleased he’d been. How sure.

“Father? Are you alright?”

The boy, the child, the son. His son. A young man who’d looked now so agonizingly like his fathers it sent a shamefully fond dart through his chest. Bless the fluke of the woman’s own features, kin of his kin, blood of his blood, by design or accident. He had smiled. Not grinned, not leered, but smiled with an ease he had forgotten he was capable of for so long. The look had made the boy’s face go even slacker with wonder.

“Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

“You look different.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You look…I don’t know. Not younger, but,” the boy had fumbled for a word, “lighter, I guess. Did something happen?”

“No. But something will. Ah-ah, no prying,” when the boy perked up in his coffin, “Go back to your books. You will know more tomorrow.”

“Alright,” came the half-false sulk. “Good-day, Father.”

“Good-day, diavol.”

And he had gone to bed in his tomb fattened on bliss and craving more.

And then.

And then.

Bastard. Delilah. Thieving scheming viper of a traitor.

So much accomplished and destroyed within a day and night. Oh, his treacherous Harkers. Had they only been loyal, been wholly his in mind as much as will, he would have drowned them in praise and prizes for such work against a foe. The patience of it all. The skill. The performance. It surpassed the immaculate and made him ponder for one dumbstruck instant in the midst of his rage whether they had ever been human and not some stealthy pair of incubi come to prey on him.

Such a theory was only an excuse, he knew. It would not do to whittle down their ability to that of mere imps. No, they were but a man and a woman, however altered now, and they had proved themselves to be of such sterling cores of concentrated resolve that their Master had laid barely a scuff mark upon their joint machinations all these years. Their labors had born an unthinkable fruit; one it would have doubly shamed him to behold had he been victim to anyone less canny. But no, no. He had harbored his Harkers for a reason. They were uncommon creatures. Singular. Rare pets he’d thought he could tame. And given another century, perhaps he’d have managed it.

But like the fool who mistakes a tiger for a housecat, he had let his guard down too soon. Too quick. A mere two decades. And now his beasts had bitten and torn and robbed him.

His boy, his son, gone inside a day. Shipped away and on toward the teeming masses of England. This alone had been enough to spur him on. Or would have been.

If not for the impetus that the clever sow and her stolen Lessons from the Mountain had brought down on his head. He had fled before the next bolt could strike. Running, running. Just as he had been running since missing the boy’s departure, since realizing he was the only one left in the castle.

What had actually come first? His mind still spun when he tried to concentrate things into a clear order. The entirety of that period was still a swimming blur in the way the events of a nightmare will reach the waking mind as disjointed pieces.

He had awoken to the nettling pressure of the wild rose upon his coffin lid. The annoyance, the struggle, the hard toss and soul-deep agony that had come with booting the thing off. The blossom crushed. A resignation letter crumpled under the cracked ebony of the lid.

He had known his son was missing.

He had thrust his mind throughout the castle and known he was abandoned in full even before he tore away the lid of the woman’s box.

He had seen the glint of Jonathan’s brooch left on her pillow.

He remembered a vision. Sent from her. Brief. Teasing. Baiting.

Jonathan looking upon her with exhaustion and exultation, with relief, with want, with Love. Drinking from her like a man in the desert finding his oasis. Just the two of them in that boxed dark of her coffin. Mere hours before he found them gone. Eloped. So to speak.

She had left a message for him too, though it had come later. The one that came firing out of the roiling sky he’d thought was solely his. Once again the bait had been too much to ignore, even in his hunt.

It had been him.

How long had it been since he’d first tried to claw his way back into the woman’s mind, into her senses? He could not say. Only that he had been shocked to find himself barred except when the moon was high. She had been hardening herself up from within. There was more of a fortress around her will within two decades than his first trio of Loves had built up in centuries. She had been playing lame all this time. Preparing. Working in the shadows cast by her the distraction of her husband. Sharpening herself all along.

What irony, that they had left Jonathan’s old toy behind. The forgotten memento left in its hiding place in favor of being out and away before their Master fell upon them. Before he thought to whip them into the chase after their child. He’d had the kukri on his hip when he came upon the mist. A tell-tale wisp made visible only by the flash of lightning.

You recognized the essence in it. You knew it and you knew what it would lead to. And still, old devil. Still you threw yourself after him, maddened as a Wolf outran too long by his prey.

Only now it was not a Wolf and a hare, a Wolf and a hart. This was the bitch’s dog, her hunting hound, made to race and tear and follow commands—but not his. Not directly. No lashing of his will into Jonathan Harker’s mind would slow him. No order, no threat, no curse found traction upon the spectral rush of him. Cloud and man and spirit and beast flitting away, away, away, a parody of the hunts of old down their hill. It seemed his friend had been playing lame too.

He knew the speed of the Vampire, as was natural. Man or woman, fit or ill before their change, would have roughly the same gait.

But where he and the woman held that equal speed, Jonathan Harker was lightning on the ground. What had he truly been before he was turned? What blight or miracle had he kept hidden under a guise of constant frailness? He had not cared enough to mull it then. It was simply another frustration for the pile. Another nettle, another spur. The whole of it grated to the point of torture as, idle as a child at play, Jonathan had slowed long enough to throw a look back over his shoulder.

Grinning. Mocking. And there, at last, his own internal voice flying back into his ex-Master’s face:

Have you truly grown so slow, Count?

Through trees, over hills, onward, away, steering him off course, away from where the coast waited. The ships. The boy on the other side of the Channel.

Again, you did not care. Once in bliss, now in wrath. You went blindly after. Never learning your Lesson, old devil.

I see you wear my knife. Is it for my head? Or is it just to let you pretend something of me will still hold you against my will?

His own mind had leapt out after the fleeting shape, all champing teeth and thunder. Not in words. There was too much anger to fashion into coherence. Only the intent made its way out. Hate-fury-hate-fury-hunt-catch-punish—

Mine!

It had slipped from him. Flown. Bright and cutting and horribly naked in what was both a craving and a declaration. Had his eyes stung? It did not matter. The thought-snarl came again.

Mine mine mine mine mine mine you are Mine as the boy is Mine as the woman is Mine and you You YOU were Mine first by right by claim MINE and I will not be robbed by her by you thief traitor bastard Delilah—

Here came an echo from the deepness of the past, that cruel Lesson that Jonathan had once taught them all as his preying family warred over the greater claim to him, tugging at his mind like spoiled children over the same plaything, and Jonathan had thought those horrid sharp thoughts, the woman think-scream-ordering…

You can't, Darling, no, no, no, never. Don't you take yourself away, no one can steal my Jonathan, not even you.

But now here he was. Jonathan stealing himself out of reach. Just out of reach. His claws had scraped the back of his shirt, a lock of his hair. Close. So close.

Never yours, Jonathan had thought back. Never. You knew it then, you know it now. If you were ever so oblivious as to think otherwise, my Darling would have been slain the moment the Conqueror became the Coveter. When it stopped amusing you to see us huddled together and instead began to fester. Red eyes turning green. Because you knew. For all you made us do, all you ordered from me, it was only possible because I belonged to my Love. First, foremost, always. While you were only ever the thief stealing from her bed.

A thunderclap above. A pounce upon the quarry below. Just slow enough. Just as they made it to the clearing.

They had tumbled and Jonathan had thrashed until he was pinned in the grass. His grin had curdled then, deforming into an expression barely an inch removed from that of a bat’s grimace. He did not look at his captor, but bared his teeth in feral loathing at the hands locked around his wrists. There was a hiss as the grips tightened; enough to have broken bones had he been human. Jonathan’s face contorted into a horror of twitching muscle, his fangs crowding with the spires of sharp neighbors that jutted out and snapped so close they might have torn a swatch of flesh from his ex-Master’s face.

“Off me,” came a glottal excuse for a voice. The quintessence of revulsion.“Off me get off me off OFF—,”

“No,” he’d grated back, daring the nearness of the rabid jaws simply to press himself nearer. The closeness itself seemed to repel another bite as Jonathan twisted under him. “I am Master of your Mistress, thief. I am lord of your lady. If she is above the Son, I am above All, and the moment I loop my thrall through her blighted skull, I shall make a noose of the collar your soul donned for her and drag you screaming by it.”

Thunder had rolled again. Louder, louder, until it had irritated. He could not hear himself aloud and was barely better in his mind.

Why so coy now, draga mea? You have missed the wedding night and your funeral! Not to worry. I have what you left for me. It will stick so prettily in your throat.

The sky roared. And its Master, its Weathermaker for over four-hundred years, puzzled at that. He was not ordering the tempest to make such a din. Under him, another change. Jonathan was still. The monstrous face smoothed. Still unhappy, but abruptly devoid of any emotion greater than disdain. Perhaps with a hint of disbelief.

“Even now you insist upon the act. I had thought you would finally drop your mask entirely for the sake of rage, but no. Still you insist on pretense as though sincerity were as great an anathema to you as Him.” The grimace shifted briefly to an upturned rictus. In a lilting voice, brittle and musical as tinkling glass, “You yourself never loved. You never love! Ha. Twenty years of playacting fooled me no more than it did them after half a millennium.” Jonathan’s face hardened again, the grin turned to a razor. “I will never return to your stage again, Dracula. No more acts. No more charades. No more using me and the imitation of affection as another thing to steal from her. We are all but finished with you.” His fangs bared to the gums with a smile. “Now comes the denouement, balaurul meu.”

Then, fired into his head:

This is the last time you will touch me.

And like that, Jonathan Harker was gone. Dissolved and slithered away with such speed he might have been a puff of smoke blown away by the storm. The thunder boomed again. Not by his will.

There was a sound almost lost under the noise. An animal’s cry. A bird?

He looked up, feeling the skim of something familiar—

Her, her, the woman, thief, wretched bi—

—and had only a heartbeat in which to notice first the silhouette of a great owl outlined against the clouds, then the bolt of lightning racing down to find him.

He had dodged. Not quite fast enough.

Not before the pain landed and made its home from face to neck to arm to everywhere, everything, every possible niche of being that could feel agony. A blast that would have killed a mortal man. Had it taken both eyes, the second bolt may have landed too. But he was not blind and so outpaced that one. And the next. The woman was trying to track his motion once again, the old reverse turned on her Master, but he threw up the wall of fire between them and shot away toward the waiting coast. Running from his own sky. His own creatures.

Now here he sat in the present. In the gloom and the sea-salt air, crammed hastily away with a bed of thin earth in a stolen crate, hunting after his own son while his subjects herded and hounded him, dancing through the gaps they had found in his grip upon them. The old tricks of his perished Loves who had known that his hold was not as complete upon a mass as he would have wished. Animal minds were simple to coerce. The Vampire was its wants before all else and that very nature could war with a Master or Mistress if the focus was split enough.

And his focus was in splinters now. 

You would have laughed to see another suffer it, wouldn’t you, old devil? You took all that was hers once upon a time. Now she takes away all that is yours. Even your storm. Even the shapes of the animals. And him, of course. But then, he gave himself away. Is it not so?

“Silence,” he hissed to the cold mound of the heart. The blood was already starting to congeal within it. “Silence, damn you.”

If you have resorted to talking to yourself, you may do well to keep a diary of your own. Record your last nights for posterity.

He sat up quick enough to crack his neck.

I do apologize for the interruption, Jonathan hummed on. I can only assume you are terribly preoccupied. Either trying to pry into her head or trying to keep her out of yours. Even now, I remain banished to the outskirts of the conversation.

He felt himself smile for the first time in too many nights.

Oh, dear. His poor unschooled friend, who had not had needs or means to build up the walls as his wife had. Well. Let this be a Lesson for him then.

His own mind sprang upon Jonathan’s like jaws snapping shut. He felt the younger psyche spasm and raise phantom hackles at the intrusion. Scrabbling with an unpracticed grip at the Presence that bulled its way in, clawing, breaking, crushing his way across the waters that he could not pass in flesh, and then they were—

How do you like flying now, my friend? Everything you hoped it would be?

In the theatre of the mindscape he was launching himself and his catch back across water and shore and hill and mountaintop, wind whistling around false bodies. He was the Bat, Jonathan pierced a dozen times in his teeth. They were—

This is enough for me.

In the snow, the sun frozen an inch from setting, dead men watching as Jonathan brought down the kukri. Head, heart, limbs, over and over, carving and splitting. There was no collapse into elemental dust here. Only the mincing of a carcass. Even here, even wearing the skin of the living man he’d been, his eyes ran red. They were—

Ah, for a thief, still you go after too little. Let us at least be comfortable.

In Jonathan’s bed, each bite into his throat another night, and all those nights were his ex-Master’s. Kissing, mauling, drinking, sinking teeth to the gums. Only now his friend fought in his jaws. Jonathan’s teeth and claws tore at him as if he meant to shred him out of existence. To no avail. He was the practiced mind, the greater mind, greater will, and in mind and flesh his will was Law. But now he heard the whistle of air overhead, metal and timber swinging down. They were—

You still feel this one, don’t you? Mina feels the one in her throat on the same day it cut her. Does yours come like a blow at the end of each June? Again, Count, my apologies. You’ll not suffer the headache of me once your head is gone.

In the morning of departure. The shovel was in Jonathan’s hands, the edge bloody. No basilisk gaze pinned him now and his ex-Master’s brow was not merely scratched, but cracked like a grisly egg. The spade came down again. His ex-Master’s hand came up. They were—

But my friend, you know from experience how much I love to suffer you. To suffer for you. Saving—

In the ladies’ chamber, Jonathan torn out of three different suckling jaws as the dead Loves of old shrilled and grasped at him—

and sheltering—

In the grim first night, the woman in a deathly Limbo in Jonathan’s arms, the boy barely more than a twitching thought in her belly, on his knees, knife cast aside, bartering and pleading for the safety of his Loves, thankless and ungrateful already in his traitor heart—

 and supporting you all this time. Even now! Do you think me angry for your little trick? Your theft? Your lies? Why, it is nothing but heartening! To think I ever worried you were too soft for the eternity ahead of you! You, so cunning and patient, laying your tripwire over twenty years’ worth of convincing me—me!—that you were a thing worth trusting. Once we clear up this mess with the boy and your pending penance, I could see you eating holes through whole countries with your sweet venom.

Jonathan was in his hand now. A cursing, struggling mote trapped in a fist the size of a small house. The hand tightened. Jonathan howled. Not with pain, for there was no real sensation here. But the revulsion was true enough. He fought and pried at the knuckles of his ex-Master’s grip as if trying to break free of a cesspit.

The fist broke into other hands. A hundred thousand flashes of as many memories, cold clawed touches finding him wherever they felt like landing. Not injuring, of course. Would he hurt his dear friend? No! Only come closer, draga mea, the better to see you, feel you, count your pulses, that is all.

Jonathan bayed and swung and shuddered in the flurry. Every forced turn of the head with a hand on his jaw. Every talon of a nail tickling along chin and throat. Every idle raking of hair or stroke of his shoulder. Every seized arm, caught hand, grabbed hip, rubbed back. All of these blasted Jonathan’s unvarnished hate and disgust through the shared plane of their mind. And the worst of them all had been—

There.

The window in the library.

Their last night as man and monster. When he had spoken his last lying promise and slipped it into his ex-Master’s mouth like candy. Only hate had been there. Hate, disgust, shame. The weight of it staggered.

He staggered.

Jonathan broke free, but did not run, pausing to bare psychic teeth.

I can feel your scandal from here, Count. Even had you been short all the hundred other evils I had to ignore, I think your hypocrisy alone would have nauseated me. How do you sit there stunned at the obvious? Did you seriously believe my mind so pliant a thing that it would ignore the cruelty you held over our heads at every hour and fool myself into think you capable of love? This, when we both know you only consented to the terms for the sake of my payment in pain. Another performance, meant to last all of eternity, as you reveled over how I sunk to nightly agony behind every measured word, every smile, every taste of me ‘freely given.’ Our precious little summer together made infinite.

Here was the crackling fireside, a client and his solicitor beside it, white hair and dark switched around again. One of the early nights to judge by the healing cut on Jonathan’s cheek, the newness of the shadows under his eyes. Eyes whose fear had been so carefully reined in as he’d goaded his host into talk of the land, of its history, of himself in the guise of ancestors. Rapt young thing. After, he had sat then as he sat now, trapped against the arm of the couch, his host almost crushing him into the tufting as the old devil purred incessant questions about what there was waiting for him in England. Were there others like Jonathan there? Ah, he should not build up his hopes too much, souls such as his young friend were a rarity in any place…

Now the pleasant-pleading eyes flamed. Running red again.

This here. Even before the Weird Sisters laughed the truth in your face and you insisted on a lie of a rebuttal. This game was the core of all the years to follow. And now you complain because I played it too well and ran away while you were having fun? Over four-hundred years old and still a petulant child throwing tantrums over a lost toy.

The castle fell away into the heart of a storm. Veins of lightning wound through the black of it as the ex-Master loomed over his subject, his vassal, his traitor, his—

A toy? This alone?

Jonathan was seized in thunderbolts. Marionette strings that burned scarlet.

This is what you think would earn my interest? My protection?

Jonathan bowed and danced and split his face with grinning as the strings pulled.

I could have that from anyone, Jonathan Harker. I could have had that from you for twenty years, no longer leaving the sword hanging above your head, but walking and talking you through every night while your mind sat bound and mute behind your eyes. I could have laughed in your face that November night after I had twisted your head off your shoulders and burned what was left of your wife on my fire. I would have too. If you were anyone other than yourself.

The strings were a net were a web. Jonathan strangled in it, unable to die, to move, to look away as the parade of that prelude to his life in Castle Dracula came and went before him. The deaths and undeaths, the pains and the promises. Mother and child, Master and vassal with the blood never clean from their hands.

 All of this, my friend. All of this is because of you. You, who came to make the sale of Carfax. You, who refused to stay in your proper place among my lost Loves, waiting for my return and all the future I would bring. You, who set the hunting dogs upon me and so forced my hand with the woman. You, who faced the consequences of going among good men, pretending you were a mere hound instead of a jackal, striking them down for a Love you put above their mandates and their cherished divinity. You, who brought that Love to my door, groveling for the sake of your selfish heart.

You, Jonathan Harker. You are my equal in this ‘game’ you say I played. It is one impossible to play alone. If you had not baited me, not teased and strung me along, not made yourself into a vital thing to my heart rather than a mere curiosity, all would have ended swiftly.

 Something shifted. He couldn’t say what. A tipping, a sliding. The fraying of some final tether left straining in his friend’s mind. Jonathan had despised his touch and shown it well enough. Jonathan had raged on behalf of his Loves and the slain and their life that would never be. Jonathan had even managed to offer wrath on his own behalf.

This was not that.

This was an incandescent, a righteous, a Holy conflagration of fury that turned the clinging threads to ash and boiled away the storm into a flaming void. For a moment, Jonathan was not Jonathan at all. He was only a blistering red light. The fire trailing behind him spread like wings, either those of Eros or one of the Fallen. Whichever he was, he seared in his ex-Master’s mind like a torch.

Your heart? YOUR HEART?

A hand of flame pierced him, cooking the centuries-old heart before it was torn out as a cinder.

Even now! Even in your own skull! Even with the stage forsaken and the audience of our son finally free, still you must shroud yourself in this act!? STILL YOU FEIGN KNOWLEDGE OF LOVE BEYOND USING IT AS COLLAR AND CUDGEL!?

Jonathan fractured then, an inferno of indignation and devotion, flaring with the memory of all he had cherished and loathed in his life. Mother and child for the former. His ex-Master for the latter. All smiled for, all made happy as he could endeavor. Yet only mother and child were given all of himself in earnest, their own love reflected back into him, keeping filaments of joy alive even as he brutalized himself with the conviction of his being a worse monster than they could ever be in potentia, deserving of nothing, of worse than nothing, of—

Flashes of his ex-Master, of his voice and embrace and the steady grinding away of his sanity and will and soul under the lord of the castle’s heel, crushed by the weight of self-loathing, dragged up and eaten again and again by the bottomless pit of his ex-Master’s want, of the threat that he must play the game or leave his family to suffer, of a conviction that all of this, every minute of every night, was no more than entertainment, a distraction to grow bored of and smash to pieces should he fail to cozen and serve and be a good Scheherazade ever-after. His penance for the dead men. For his wife. For their son.

That was all it was. All it ever was to Jonathan Harker.

The shock of it came on too quick and too heavy for its owner to catch before it tumbled into the mindscape. It shattered open as it fell and showed all that had been true behind its owner’s eyes. Twenty years’ worth of truth. What he had taken for truth.

The woman, no longer even dreamt of as a companion, but a brittle-bitter comfort. A sibling he had never asked for, but could not deny for her use in keeping his own barbs sharp and for the guarantee of what she anchored to him.

The boy, so suddenly grown, his love uncomplicated and real and awed, an experiment fostered and festering, burrowing into his Father’s heart as blithely as an insect left to gratefully build its nest in the home of a welcoming corpse.

Jonathan Harker.

Jonathan Harker.

Jonathan Harker.

The keystone against which the sheltering of mother and child, the performance played for the boy, the willingness even to entertain the farce in the first place, all leaned. Why? Why, when he would not have suffered any other victim, any other enemy, any other dear friend to wring such a feat from him like blood from a stone? Why, unless..?

He could not hide it. Could not bury it. Could not raze or deny or shred it into dust. It was too loud, too vivid, too strong. Too starved.

It lunged at Jonathan like its own living thing, an excited Wolf gone mad with hunger, seeing the only thing it wished to eat. Raced, leapt, pounced, dissolved into a frantically grasping wraith of red tears and a heart, unburned but hanging open and raw in its cleaved chest, coiling around Jonathan’s mind and forcing the reality of itself down his throat. Choking on it, the fire of Jonathan Harker went out. Only the man—what had been a man—was left. Staring.

Now would come the laughter. The insult. The dismay. The sour-mocking questions. Oh dear, old devil. Had he really tripped and fallen so? Had he really dared to think that the feeling was returned?

Jonathan, no longer flame or fury, only stood in the black of their shared mind. Still staring. Still…

The shock was not just his ex-Master’s.

The void cracked and splintered. Now. Now the laughter would come. Now another act. Now a sardonic bat of lashes, a false swoon, a coo of cloying flattery, or else the woman herself would dare to graze his mind with her own, the better to jeer alongside her Love, yes, yes, any moment now. Now. Now.

Count. I did not know.

The laughter did not come. No act. No sneer. Not even a ripple of disgust. Nothing. Nothing but—

I’m sorry.

The sentiment was attacked with a thousand tearing teeth. Shredded down to psychic atoms in the hunt for the disingenuous core, the hidden chuckle, the lie, the trick. But Jonathan was no less bare than himself in this space. There was no more to find in the sensation than the feeling itself. It repeated:

I’m sorry. And, just as sincere: I never intended to break your heart. Only to impale it.

The whole of it saturated with an honesty and apology that cut deeper than any bludgeoning of hate.

Sorry is not good enough, my friend. There is no taking it back.

Jonathan, a pillar against the abyss, nodded.

I know. Not for either side. I did tell you. This will end before the year is out. We shall kill you or you shall kill us. It is all that’s left.

Now came a laugh; a familiar hideous sound that unfolded into a trail of chuckling. Giddy, almost.

No, Jonathan Harker. You misunderstand once again. Yes, you and the woman mean to slay me at last. But I remain nothing but loving in my design. All that is left is that you kill me, or—

The void was gone.

They stood in the castle’s chapel. With the certainty of a dream, they knew that the boy was returned. Their only witness as he clung and wept over his mother’s coffin. She had been willed into paralysis by her Master, moving only to maim herself in the box or to gorge herself. Her meals’ dried carrion lay piled and broken around the coffin. The infants’ heads lined in rows while the tiny hearts were left to shrivel.

‘Please, Papa, you have to, please…’

And Papa was, of course. The woman’s Master had slipped the noose of himself through her at last, and now her orders were his orders, and the order was being carried smilingly out by their dear Jonathan. Pardon, his dear Jonathan. The picture of bliss despite his running eyes. Under his chin, the brooch shined. On his knuckle, the gold band had been replaced with a matching stone and clutching dragon. His vows, leaked through the permanent stamp of his grin:

‘I will never look at her again. I will never respond to any word from her. I will speak of her only as if she were dead. And I will love you as you are owed. I will be yours alone. Always. This I will do, or she shall never leave the box or know a moment without pain again. Te iubesc, balaurul meu.’

‘Te iubesc, draga mea.’

And then they were together, in the snug gloom of the great coffin that had been built and delivered in secret months before, undetected in the same chamber as the kukri. Two Grooms lay within it, one joyous and one merely smiling as he wept a stain into his Master’s breast and eternity finally began.

This is how our game ends and the next begins, draga mea. There are consequences to becoming what a monster loves, by accident or intention. He crushed Jonathan to him in their box, hissing. You stole our son. You stole my heart. You stole yourself. I will have all back in time. And you will never slip free again.

 For just a moment, he felt it. Fear breaking through Jonathan’s miasma of shocked anger and distaste. But it was not the whole of him. Horribly, cruelly, crawling up and out from the center of his friend, was that unbroken condolence.

Again. I am sorry, Dracula. This will not come to pass. And even in the dreams where you paint this future as reality, you will still have my sympathy in this single thing. Your love is only a chain. Never an embrace. Only a noose, not a held hand. Our son is perhaps the first and only soul to love you without coercion, and he does so only because we spent his life hiding the worst of you from him. You will shatter that illusion if you think to steal him back. And then what will be left? Only this?

Jonathan’s hand was on his cheek, sweeping away something damp.

I had thought your pretenses only another knife to twist in us. But the performance was for you as well, wasn’t it? It was as close as you could get.

Jonathan was crushed again. Tighter, closer. Enough to snap an ordinary man in half. The arms, illusory though they were, trembled.

 Do not dwell like this. You have your conquest to think of, don’t you? Your march on the Living? Return to that, if it helps. You are four centuries deep in this existence. Twenty years should be nothing to scrape aside. We were a distraction, all of us. Let us go. Let us be enemies. It will hurt less.

There was no need for breath here. No more than there had been a need for breath for anything but speech since the day he ceased to live as a man. Despite this, he buried his face in Jonathan’s neck, his mouth opened to bite, but releasing only a choked and shaking sound. It was followed by more. Then:

I will—I will conquer. I will slaughter. I will rule. But I will not be alone. If I must have you all on tethers, so it will have to be. You should not have made me happy, draga mea.

There was no true contact in the mindscape. No touch, no sense. He shivered just the same as Jonathan’s arms slipped around him.

I promise to make you very unhappy once we cross paths in person. My hate is rivaled only by my Love’s and her endings for you are as imaginative or worse than my own. In the interim, I shall do my best to gain your hate, Count. But that shall be another time.

There was a change. A softening in the phantasmagoria of the dark as the characters in it began to lose their edges. He grasped at Jonathan all the tighter.

I have not dismissed you. It is a long way to England yet. I hope the woman is satisfied with riding the rest of the way with you in a coma.

The thoughts leered, but the intent begged. It wound around Jonathan in a serpent’s coils, holding, clutching, trapping—

Let me go, Count.

No.

Tighter and tighter on the disintegrating form, becoming a cage, a coffin, a clutching fist, a dragon winding around and around its treasure, no no no, mine mine mine—

Before it’s too late.

No!

Within the mind and above the Persephone, thunder cracked and lightning struck. A great, blinding, devastating bolt. It had her voice and a single message to share.

MINE.

And with that, he was back in the cargo hold. The sailor’s heart had been crushed to pulp in his hands. His fingers and eyes ran with the same scarlet runnels. Above deck, he felt the riot of a storm that was not his battering the ship. He cursed and threw himself out to it, wrestling until dawn to hammer the weather smooth again.

In another patch of water, under the same voyeur moon, the Aurora cruised on under a starlit sky. A girl and her young man stood on the deck, her hand over his as he gripped the railing so hard it bent to the shape of his fingers. The young man’s eyes snapped open, lungs jerkily refilling with a gasp they’d not yet learned was reflex more than need.

 Jonathan?

“I’m fine. …How long was that?”

Less than two minutes.

“It felt longer.”

It’s like that. Even when conscious, it will try to drag things into dreaming. Ever a showman.

“Did you trace him? Do you know which ship?”

Yes. The Persephone. Our ports won’t be far apart.

Her smile curved, red as rose petals, thorn-sharp.

And I believe their vessel has hit some stormy weather just now. Though it is endeavoring to ease the worst of it.

“Do you need..?”

No, Darling. I only press when I feel it slacking. It will be wrung out by the time it reaches shore. I will merely be peckish. 

Her smile dimmed a shade as she searched her husband’s face.

Are you certain you’re alright?

“I am, Mina. Even if I weren’t, we could not risk it being you. Not while he’s still scrabbling to take your reins again.”

It showed you, didn’t it?

“Showed what?” Mina looked at him. Read him. Turned over the stone that her husband had freshly laid over the revelations bled out into his mind. “Ah. That.”

That. Was this what hurt you in there?

“I am not—,” Her hand went to his cheek. A rust-colored drop was swept away. “Oh. I thought I felt lightheaded.”

Do not distract. Was learning it what hurt you?

“It did not hurt. Only shamed me, somewhat. It casts a different light on his pending demise.”

A slaying made into euthanasia?

“…That is certainly a word for it.”

There are few others to choose from. Extermination. Justice. Recompense. Safety. But, in its thinnest terms, yes, euthanasia. I would not be surprised if he welcomed it in the end. I think I would.

His hand seized around hers.

“Why?”

She smiled back. The ghost of the living girl made its edges soft.

You would not understand. You do not know what it is to love and be loved by you, Jonathan. To imagine the latter was a lie? Worse, a lie you assumed was known by the one who loved you? I do not know if I could suffer it. More, you remain Love himself. Coveted and giving and, even for the Thing we hunt, pitying. For you champion the feeling in its own right, even as you did not guess that you were more to the Thing than a trophy.

They were silent for a time. Feeling the creep of dawn coming for the horizon. Jonathan looked to her again. Searching.

“Mina. Did you know?”

The possibility occurred to me. It did not mourn the Weird Sisters for more than a year, despite their time with it. Lucy it was bitter for losing only because she was the first conquest of a new land, slain before she could be enjoyed. I, the supposed new companion, was relegated within months to an afterthought. No more or less than a necessary evil in its mind—the hostage there to keep you there. With it. And it speaks volumes that it kept even a fraction of its word to you at all.

It could have taken you at any time, Jonathan. Pounced and bit and fed and turned, all with no one to stop it. But it didn’t. Not merely to see you suffer through the performance as you had before, but because it wanted to hide in the fact that you had free will. That you were immune to all but the most superficial pulls of the mesmer rather than the permanent leash upon my mind. It wanted you free and human and in its company, ‘of your own choosing.’ Or near enough. I can think of no reason for it beyond the Thing hoping for the act to become real.

“I cannot tell if that’s a mark of insanity or sadness.”

Perhaps both. And you do not have to cover yourself in barbs here, my Love. There are things we do not wish on enemies, even if they are deserved. That being said—,

“My plans have not changed, Darling.” He leaned his face into her palm, smiling. “We will dance on his ashes for what he’s done. For what he means to do.”

When we finish, we can pour what’s left of him upon a garden of wild roses. Perhaps it will carry some peace after him.

The rest of their conversation was not in words. It carried on even as they pressed their lips into the perfect mold of each other’s, the tableau of them spied only by another couple who thought they must be their elders as they went along to their own room.

“Now when was the last time you kissed me like that?”

“Oh, hush. I’m sure it was only yesterday I did. Sometime after the banquet, wasn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“And anyway, it’s not the sort of thing for our age, dear. These young people are growing ever brasher out in the open.”

“Yes, in public, on a boat. Most brazen. Lord knows there’s scads of witnesses…”

Daybreak came and the storm departed with it. The one in the sky, at least.

Down below, in the dark, in the dirt inside a box, a smaller tempest raged. Tried to rage. Tried to hold to thunder and lightning and hail. But the death-sleep melted it down into its truer shape, freed from the whipping of desperation in the guise of anger. The grave earth became rosy mud as new tears rolled. Between this and the toll of keeping back the storm, even nursing from the crushed heart had barely helped in stalling the change. Black hair had turned to iron, iron to ancient white.

Dreaming dragged him down and away from his own will. Through the foam of futures yet unborn, through the penalties and precautions yet to be inflicted, all the way to a moonlit window in the library. His friend stood before him. Alive and undead. Wasted and hale. Blue-eyed and red. Cold lips smiling and pressing into his. Joy frozen in place.

In the world outside his mind, the cadaver of an old man moved just enough in his bed of soil to hold the brooch tighter. Enough so that the clasp split his skin and poured ichor over the golden dragon and its treasure. He did not feel it.

But wept just the same. 

#this AU has wrung four novellas out of me #I pray this is the last or my hands will be reduced to nubs #anyway #for maximum ambience imagine Dracula rocking back and forth in his dirt box listening to Annie Lennox's “Love Song for a Vampire” #but this time with the (grudgingly) appropriate Harker swapped in #he's about there #blood of my blood #dracula #dracula bad ending au #jonathan harker #mina harker #quincey harker #my writing

[feelbokkie]

Things He’d Write in His Planner for You

❤︎ January 14th: Diary Day ❤︎

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

Couples swap cutesy yearly planners/diaries where they write important dates for each other to remember.

genre: fluff headcanon

pov: 2nd person

description: some of the little dates that skz would add to their planner for you

pairing: bf!skz x reader

warnings: none

word count: 1,087

Love Day! Masterlist

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

방 찬 (Bang Chan)

His days off and vacation days

You already knew what Chan was like when you started dating him. His work always seemed to be a priority. His late nights at the studio. His long practices. Promotion periods. It always seemed like he was too busy for you. You almost didn’t date him because of it. And while Chan has been trying his best to make time for you, you felt like he was overworking himself more to be with you. You were just worried that he was spreading himself thin. So when Diary Day came around, you were surprised that he had time to make one for you. You didn’t even think about making him one, not wanting to add to his stressful schedule. You were even more surprised to find every single one of his days off and vacations written and highlighted.

“Here, that way it’s easier to plan dates. Although, I’ll always make time for you, m'kay?”

이 민 호 (Lee Know)

His work schedule

When you told him that you wanted to swap planners for diary day, he looked at you confused at first. He just stood there and blinked at you at first. "What, are you planning on forgetting my birthday or our anniversary?" He was mostly teasing you. He wasn't sure what to put at first, so he just did the basics like birthdays (including your step-cats' birthdays) and anniversaries. He left it like that for a little bit, nearly blank with a few days. Until he got his schedule for the first half of the year. He knew you were going to ask anyway and he thought it'd be easier for you two to plan around dates. He mostly just put in interviews and when he would be out of the country or when he would be MCing. But then he added in all of the recording sessions, dance practices, and other practices. He even put in little notes reminding you that you could go sit in on practices if you wanted, definitely not because he wants you there.

"You have no excuse, I better see you at every event."

서 창 빈 (Changbin)

Anniversaries

He’s going overboard. He’s not just writing the anniversary of when you two started dating. He’s writing in the day that he first saw you. The day he knew he was in love with you. The first time you two held hands. First kissed. First ‘I love you.’ The day you two had your first fight. All the little firsts in your relationship and other important memories that you didn’t even think of to put in your diary for him.

“These days are important! We have to remember them so we can tell our kids about them one day.”

황 현 진 (Hyunjin)

Sketches

He started by writing quotes for each month since he didn't know what else to put. And then he decided to decorate the planner a bit to make it look nicer since it was pretty plain before. Was inspired by his favorite picture you posted online. Did the one sketch and then figured that he could just do that. Little things like the cup of coffee he's drinking or your favorite flower. At one point, he was picking up the planner more than his sketchbook. A few times, on the days he missed you most, he would sketch you.

"A picture is worth a thousand words, right?"

한 지 성 (Han)

Songs & lyrics

Started with writing songs that he listened to that day that made him think of you. Or a lyric that reminded him of you. And then, eventually, when he started writing songs about you, he would put in the lyrics he came up with. He could be minding his own business on the phone with you but the second inspiration hit, he'd put it in the planner with the exact date and time of when he came up with it. Sometimes, he'd give you little descriptions of why the thought that sound reminded him of you or what he was thinking about when he writing.

"See, I told you that you're my muse."

이 용 복 (Felix)

All the times he thought of you

Fair warning, it's a lot. You were confused at first when you got the planner. Besides all of the regular dates and when he gave you the planner. What confused you even more was all the little hearts written next to every date. You asked him and he explained that these were all the times he thought about you. spoiler alert, all 365 (366 if it's a leap year) has a little heart by it. Doesn't really give much of an explanation of it. There seemed to be a color code that you have no idea how to decipher. Every time you ask Felix, he just says he didn't have any other color available. Seungmin blurted it out by accident and now you know all of the meanings.

"You're just constantly running through my mind and I wanted you to know that."

김 승 민 (Seungmin)

Important dates from your relationship so far

Similar to Changbin, he adds in a bunch of dates for random little things, with one difference. In the weekly sections of the planner, he wrote down little stories or thoughts he had on those days. Sometimes, he's put quotes of what he wrote about that day in his journal. Any little memento that he kept like ticket stubs, receipts, and pictures that he took went into the diary as well. It was more like you were reading Seungmin's journal than a planner. Much more sentimental than you thought he would be.

"See, I do pay attention to you."

양 정 인 (I.N)

Small moments he wanted to share with you

He wasn't sure what to write at first. Filled in all the basic information and was pretty much done. Almost asked the other guys for advice but he knew that they'd only end up teasing him. And then one day, something funny happened but he couldn't tell you at that moment. It was later and he didn't want to wake you up by calling or texting you. He wrote it in his notes app at first, knowing he'd see it later and remember to tell you about it. And then one day he came up with the idea to just put them in the planner. Wrote them in the weekly section of the planner. Would write things like, Changbin hyung fell off a swing today, saw a duck and it reminded me of you (with the best drawing he can do of said duck), this city is so pretty, i'm going to bring you here one day, or i missed so i got your favorite ice cream while i was out with the guys.

"Stop reading them out loud!"

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[bamdelune]

In Hindsight 🎧 Ch. 26: "plague my mind like how you always did" ★ finale

The moment January came around, Kunikuzushi felt antsy. Anxiety scratched at him like an animal with claws, bearing him with scratches that would sting until they healed. Just as he was about to reach for his phone, it vibrated on the wooden top of his desk. Kunikuzushi hesitates, his hand stopping mid air.

Fuck it. He mutters. He presses the green button and puts his phone next to his ear.

It was Baizhu.

"Doctor?" His voice was meek, confidence and assurance draining to the floor the moment he spoke. Silence filled the line. It was suffocating, it was too thick. It felt like his heart stopped.

A shuffling is heard on the other side of the line, along with quiet sobs in the background.

"I have news and I thought you should know."

Dread slaps Kunikuzushi in the face. His heart started pounding inside his ribcage. He can feel his breath catch in his throat. This was a long time coming but somehow, he still couldn't prepare himself no matter how much time was given.

"I'm afraid—"

"No." Kunikuzushi interjects quietly.

"What?"

"No." He affirms, his fingers clutching the phone as tight as he can to the point his knuckles turned an ivory white. The warm lighting of his desk lamo illuminates his troubled features. Anxiety was replaced by numbness, which he knew would soon be replaced by a feeling of emptiness.

"Kunikuzushi, you can't just—"

The line ends with a beep from Kuni's end, his fingers trembled slightly. A year was over.

12 months had passed and you left in due time. You left as fast as you came into his life that one December day.

The next few hours felt gray, like a mute movie that you would play in the background. Kunikuzushi hasn't touched his phone once since that call and he's not ignorant to the countless missed calls that have vibrated his phone off the desk. He could only sit in silence.

Kunikuzushi didn't know how to grieve, that one was a given. He was so densensitized from the numerous passings he had witness at the hospital, with family members sobbing until their voices ran hoarse. But of course, this was about you. His feelings, which were too much for him, clashed in conflict. Was he supposed to be glad that you're not in pain anymore? Is he supposed to cry? His head would feel like a thousand bricks were dumped on him from the amount of thinking he was doing.

Kunikuzushi faced death everyday. Whether at the hospital or whether it was him. Everyone did. But why did this one hurt to no end? Why couldn't he cry? Why couldn't he scream? Why can't he feel his heart breaking into tiny pieces and would instead feel hollow, like a shell that was only built to move not feel?

A few hours passed him by, he wonders what they were doing to you now? Moreover, what he would do when he sees you in that casket you planned to lay in going to the afterlife.

Could he even bear to see such a sight?

Death was complicated for him, a taboo in the array of thoughts he had on a daily basis. The amount of exposure he gets only pushes him to never open that can of worms ever again.

He dreamt about you that night. A sick play by his mind, like it was rubbing salt on an open wound.

He dreamed about your album's release, a celebratory party at some random event hall. Your friends, selected fans, and artists were all smiles. The dream was a bit fuzzy, as if to mock him that all of this was too good to be true.

"You look nice."

The him in his dreams turns around to face the familiar source of the voice and he swears just the sight of that expression was almost enough to wake him up if he shook hard enough.

It was you, clad in the best clothes you tried on that day the both of you went shopping. It was the best one you tried on that day, but he knew you never really bought it in the first place.

But God, he missed your voice, his favorite melody. He'd listen to you talk for an eternity if it was up to him.

"Hey, you." He almost croaks out. Hey, at least he found out that he some form of consciousness in dreams. "Congratulations, love."

You give him a smile before taking a sip out of your cup. You sigh before giggling, "That drink is revolting." Kunikuzushi chuckles softly. For the first time today, he felt light. Like a weight off his chest just rolled off so easily when he saw you like this.

He notices you staring at him, worry in your eyes. Your eyebrows furrow in concern before reaching for his face. He sucks a breath in, as your skin comes in contact with his. It was feathery light, like your hand was made out of the softest silk ever made.

This dream is too fucking vivid.

"What's wrong?"

The dream version of Kunikuzushi doesn't notice that small drops of tears streaming down his cheeks.

Kuni was crying.

For the first time today, he finally cried. He finally started grieving for you.

"Hey, hey, hey. What's going on? Look at me."

He feels you align his face to yours, your hand still on his cheek. Your eyes trailed around every feature of his face.

"Fuck, I–I miss you already." He whispers weakly, his voice comes out quiet but choked. He hears you chuckle softly.

"What are you talking about? I'm right here dumbass."

That's right. You're still here. You're still with him, alive and well. The question is how long can he keep that up for?

He feels himself nod as you cradle his face in your hands. Kunikuzushi tries to calm himself down but he hiccups more quiet sobs.

"I love you so much." You embrace him, burying your face into his neck. "Don't cry anymore, you don't need to be sad anymore."

Kunikuzushi wakes up with a gasp, feeling the cold tears run down his face again with his heart clenching for the first time tonight, as if it only started beating ever since he saw you in that dream.

Even now, during the height of his loss, you're still his mind's favorite thought, his heart's favorite pattern of beats, his skin's favorite touch.

Sincerely yours, Kunikuzushi.

synopsis. You are a singer-songwriter. Music has always been a part of you, it's a part of your identity that no one can ever take away. However, there's always a catch: you are diagnosed with a chronic illness that puts your life on a timer. Those who have heard your countless melodies have grown to notice that the notes on the sheet played a gloomier tune. Would the snarky and capable medical student you've met be able to bring life back into these melodies? Even as life begins to seep out of your own body? (scaramouche x gn!reader)

tags. gender-neutral reader, angst, fluff, crack, heavy contexts of death and illnesses, friends to lovers, slowburn, profanities, drinking (characters are in college), suggestive themes but no nsfw.

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masterpost ★ masterlist © bamdelune 2023. do not repost, translate, plagiarize any of my works without permission, thank you so much! reblogs, notes, and comments are always appreciated!

#bamdelune #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x reader #bamdelune's bookstore #genshin smau #📹 (in hindsight) smau #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x you #wanderer x gn reader #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scara x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x gn reader #scaramouche x y/n #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x you #kunikuzushi x y/n #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact angst #genshin impact x you

[nicolesainz]

Why they lost their minds and fought the wars (CS55)

Carlos Sainz x f!reader

Author's note: Happy valentines day pookies! I hope you know you are all very loved and appreciated. Have a beautiful day with your loved ones. This is a special fic, given that I haven't written about Carlos in months and need to show my bf some love. Enjoy :)

Summary: Carlos recently broke up and as his best friend you are trying to cheer him up. Especially now that Valentines Day is coming up. Everything is in order for a special "galentines" day, although what happens when Carlos surprises you out of nowhere?

Warnings: immense dose of cuteness, maybe false spanish translations. (I mention Rebecca in this fic, just to clear things out, I do like her, don’t come for me, everything is for the sake of the plot)

I couldn't bare looking at Carlos sulking on the couch, scrolling through his phone for hours and barely eating anything. I have tried everything in my power to get him moving but no matter what, he ends up either on his bed or the couch. It was a surprise that he managed to get up and be part of the SF-24 car launch a day ago.

Even though he wore his best fake smile, I could sense that he wasn't in the position to show any hint of feelings. Whether this was sadness or anger or happiness. I was trying to shower him with all my love. Constant hugs, words of affection.

The only thing that seemed to put even a small smile on his face was when I was running my fingers through his hair, scratching and massaging his scalp so he would release the tension. His soft moans were a confirmation that I was indeed helping him and the anger was fading away.

"If it eases your mind, I will always be here waiting for you and eventually we get married to each other. I have seen you at your worst do not worry." I have been saying that since we were kids. I would indeed wait for him as long as necessary.

Although Carlos didn't need to know that I was in love with him.

"Cariño, I can't hold you back from living your life, just because I am incapable of having a lasting relationship." He softly replied. Carlos and I may have been life long best friends since childhood, but he doesn’t know that everything I am looking for into a boy, is exactly what he has.

Since kids I used to say to him that eventually one day we would get married and I would follow him around the world while he would be racing in Formula One as a world champion.

“Carlos, it’s been three weeks since Rebecca broke up with you. She’s out there living her life. Don’t you think that it’s a sign for you to do the same. You’re always full of energy and up for any activity. What happened to the Spaniard I know and love?” I sat next to him and his eyes instantly locked with mine.

“I lost my seat at the beginning of the month. My girlfriend a few days before that. Why is everything so wrong in my life? This season started off so badly.” Every time Carlos mentions the Ferrari issue, my heart breaks even more than the first time I found out.

I was shocked when I tuned into Sky Sports and instead of seeing a massive football transfer at the end of the January Transfer Window, I saw the caption with big bold letter ‘Lewis Hamilton to Ferrari in 2025’

“I will do anything in my power for the rest of the year to be the best one for you, I promise. I’m so sorry things have started off on the wrong foot.” My voice was breaking, trying not to tear up, as Carlos’s eyes were slowly closing.

“The world needs more people like you amór. Honestly, even at my lowest moments, you always look out for me. I don’t know how I would’ve survived Formula One without you.” And then he drifted into sleep, as I got up and placed him in a more comfortable position.

It was still very early in the morning and the thought of Carlos not celebrating today was causing an ache in my heart. Before falling in love with him, he was the boy that always made me smile no matter what. Even if this meant he fought with childhood friends that were picking on me.

I grabbed my keys, wallet and phone and headed off to the nearest mini market in Italy close to Carlos’s soon to be former home. Even though I didn’t know the region very well, I found one twenty minutes away and when I made my way there, the first thing I saw was many boyfriends holding the same baskets the market was offering so they could stuff it with candies for their girlfriends.

I took a basket myself and started strolling around the market, throwing in all of Carlos’s favorite sweets. After paying for the basket, thankfully there was a flower shop near and I instantly made my way in. The original plan was to buy Carlos some tulips, given that he had fallen in love with them after the celebration the Dutch fans had organized during the Grand Prix in The Netherlands.

My attention was caught by a machine inside the store that allowed you to create your own stuffed animal and put a shirt on it with a phrase or logo. In most of the stands with the examples of bears you could make there were some Ferrari inspired ones, which also included Carlos’s number on a shirt with the 55 and his nickname ‘smooth operator’

It was good to see how some Italians still supported him, despite knowing that a seven times world champion would be joining the team. I walked towards the machine and was immediately greeted by a lovely old man who was more than willing to help me.

I looked at the options of animals I had. When I saw the dog options and one of them was similar to Pinõn, I picked it up and handed it to him. Then it was time for the t-shirt, to which I asked to have written down the phrase ‘world champion or not, i am your no1 fan’

“Oh is your boyfriend an athlete?” The old man asked me in a heavy Italian accent with a smirk on his face.

I blushed and giggled at his manners “Not my boyfriend but yes, he is. May know him as well.”

“He’s Italian? Footballer?” He was getting excited by the thought of being an Italian athlete.

“Is a member of an Italian team but will soon leave. A champion is replacing him.” Every time those words came out of my mouth, my heart would break even more.

“It’s the young Spaniard, Carlos Sainz? Oh it’s a pity he’s not going to continue with Ferrari. I really liked him.” I nodded my head in agreement. At least he had a final year in Ferrari to prove his worth and what he is able to achieve as a driver.

As the stuffed animal was getting ready in the machine, the old man was telling me stories of how he had always been a fan of Ferrari ever since Niki Lauda first joined the team. He was a little kid when the horrifying accident took place.

“Tell Carlos to never give up. He is capable of so many great things. It was lovely meeting you.” He shook my hand after I payed for the animal which at first he wanted to give me for free but I couldn’t leave without paying.

“I will. Great getting to know you too sir. Have a beautiful day.” When I left the store, I took my phone out which I accidentally had left on silent and was flooded with calls from Carlos, although when I looked at it, there was an incoming one from Charles.

“Where on earth are you?” He said in a worried manner.

“I am out shopping. Why? Is something wrong? Are you okay, Charles?”

“Carlos is getting sick worried. You weren’t picking up your phone and all your stuff were gone. Please go back home, he’s going insane.”

“It was my fault. I had my phone accidentally on silent mode. I am heading back right now. Oh dear. Thank you for telling me Charles.”

“Oh and, y/n, how is he doing? Is he okay? Do you guys need me for anything?” It was sweet that Charles was worried about Carlos. I mean, after all, this was Carlos’s fourth year in Ferrari and he was Charles’s most long lasting teammate, their bond was strong.

“All in order Charlie boy. Go celebrate with Alex. Give her my best. Happy Valentine’s!” I said happily before I received an equally enthusiastic wish from Charles and hung up.

I drove through the streets of Maranello as fast as I could, so Carlos would stop getting worried. Once I was outside the house, I parked quickly and got all the stuff I bought him and knocked on the door.

Carlos opened and instantly a wave of relief washed through him, taking away the worried look that was plastered all over his face.

“¿Dónde demonios estabas? Me asusté tanto que no tienes ni idea.” (Where the hell were you? I got so scared you have no idea.)

“Happy Valentine’s Carlito!” Was all I said, showing him the gifts I bought with a massive smile drawn on my lips.

I made my way inside as Carlos wouldn’t remove his eyes off of the present with a shocked expression. He took the basket first, looking through at all his favorites’s like a little kid.

“Querida, esto no era necesario. Eres la más dulce.” (My dear, this was not necessary. You are the absolute sweetest.)

He wrapped his arms around my body and lifted me into the air, spinning me around like he used to do back when we were children. I wrapped my legs around his torso, squeezing him tightly, wanting to share all the love I have for him. I loved Carlos so much and even though he may not love me the way I do, I am more than thankful to have him in my life.

“What is this? Oh a little Pinõn. It’s so adorable, y/n.” He squeezed the small plushie and when he saw at what the shirt was saying, Carlos started tearing up but quickly removed the tears drops that had fallen to his cheeks.

“You’re so special to me, Carlos. I know this season is going to be a difficult one, although no matter what, I will always be by your side. Whether you finish 1st or 20th, my support will be unconditional. I promise you that." My voice is muffled against his chest and head that is leaning onto mine. Carlos's embrace is the safest place one can find themselves in.

"All my life I had been trying to understand what went wrong with all my relationships and you know what?"

"What?"

"I was looking for you in them. When all I simply needed was to be with you. I could have always been happy."

Carlos's words made my head raise and look up to him. There wasn't just a smile plastered on his lips, but on his eyes as well. The brown had switched into a beautiful hazel and his lips were a brighter shade of red than any Ferrari had ever met.

My heart was beating so fast and let me sound cheesy here, but it would easily burst out of my chest from happiness. My best friend loved me. More than what I was expecting. If someone told me to measure my love for Carlos, I would have to travel the world infinite times.

"I am madly in love with you, y/n and I hope you know, I am not planning on taking it back. I love you as a soulmate as a best friend and as the most incredible woman on the planet. The words in the Spanish and English vocabulary are not enough to describe the way I feel about you."

#carlos sainz f1 #carlos sainz junior #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz one shot #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz fluff