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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

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♡ Girls Just Wanna Have Fun ♡

Week 5 of my Playlist Series ♡

Summary: Spencer isn't used to clubs, but when duty calls, he's made to feel a little bit more welcome by a girl who seems to know him better than a stranger should.

Warnings: Smut 18+ Minors DNI!! Hotchner!Reader (Reader is Hotch's sister), semi-public sex (x2 oops), oral sex (m receiving), fingering, dry humping, hand job, cum play, dirty talk, degradation and name calling (slut only), use of daddy/sir even though this is like solidly season 1 Spencer lmao, corruption kink, loss of virginity (surprisingly the readers)

A/N: Every single intrusive thought I've ever had about s1 Reid tied up in a nice little bow masquerading as a song fic. It is finished, and now I feel flushed. Please expect only fluff from me until my next intrusive thought (maybe half an hour, probably no longer).

Masterlist || Spotify Playlist

Flashing lights and the scent of dried up alcohol stains weren't usually signs of Spencer Reid's presence. He'd managed to get through college - two degrees and three PhDs - without stepping foot into a nightclub. But now that he'd joined the BAU, it seemed to be an unavoidable occurrence.

“The unsub hunts at this nightclub, I get that, I do. But why am I the one going in? He's targeting women,” he panicked as his older team member helped adjust his clothes to conceal the weapon he carried.

“Because, pretty boy, it's student night, and you're the only one here who can pass for a 21 year old. I guess late puberty has some benefits.” Derek smacked his arm playfully, leaving the younger man wincing slightly.

“But I'm not a woman.”

“Yes, but you'll be able to walk around and note any suspicious behaviour, and then we can tail suspects you flag,” Hotch explained to him again.

“Just act natural, kid, it's not like it's your first time in a club.”

“It is.” His warnings fell on deaf ears though, as they pushed him out of the van and into the crowd of students queueing to enter.

It didn't take you long to notice him after you arrived at the club.

The sweater vest was enough to make him stand apart slightly, as much as he was trying his best to blend in. A slight tingle of familiarity raced up your spine as his eyes awkwardly met yours, his scan of the room stopping short as he flushed and turned his eyes down.

Pushing slightly to the crowd, you leaned over the counter next to him and tried to get the bartenders attention. It was loud and busy, but catching attention and keeping it was a skill you'd mastered early, a skill that you were thankful for as you realised the man's eyes were guiltily flicking between your ass and the crowd once again.

“Are you going to stare, or are you going to introduce yourself,” you giggled, sliding closer to his perch at the bar, as he panicked, standing straighter.

“I wasn't, um… your dress, there's a rip at the edge of your skirt, I was trying to figure out if it was part of the design because I know some clothes these days have damage built into the design, or if it was in need of some emergency… sewing.” His hands gesticulating awkwardly throughout his explanation, as if anxious to show you the jumble in his brain was entirely pure and innocent, even as the flush on his face said otherwise.

“And your name is?”

“I-.... Spencer. My name is Spencer.”

You stood a little straighter hearing the name, that familiarity warming you more. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer. You turned the name over in your head but took another step closer as the crowd shifted in a wave, feeling the heat coming off his body.

“Well, Spencer,” your tongue made the decision to act for your brain, the words coming out before you could stop them. “What conclusion did you draw? Do you think the rip was intentional or not?”

Gently, you grabbed his hand and led it to the fabric. The skirt wasn't scandalously short, but short enough to suit the dark heated atmosphere of the club at least, but as his fingers grazed the back of your thighs, still hesitant in his actions, you found yourself wishing it were just that bit higher, so his hands would have to reach further up.

With a gaze over your shoulder at the crowd, Spencer found himself at an impass. He'd already noted a few people of interest, loiterers, men getting a bit rough and aggressive in the club, people on the outskirts (like him, he supposed) that could possibly be their unsub.

He'd been given the all clear to disengage and leave the club as effortlessly as he could bit something in your initial gaze had pinned him to place at the bar, and refused still to let him see reason.

“I think it's a design feature. To draw attention to…” he swallowed hard, but you weren't sure if he was just being delicate about his words or if he was reacting to the hand that was now on him, dragging nails up from his abdomen to his chest.

“Good observation, Spencer.”

“Your name. You didn't tell me what your name was.” He said, grabbing your hand to stop its progress and breathing deeply as if to clear his head.

“Y/N. We should dance.” Without giving him time to react, you abandoned your drink on the counter and pulled his arm around your waist, dragging him out to the crush of people in the middle of the dance floor.

His protests were lost in the pulse of the music, as you kept your back to him and began grinding and swaying against him. His hands tightened on your hips as he gently started moving with you, and you threw your head back to catch his eye again.

Spencer didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. He knew that very little actually dancing actually went on at a club, that this was just a more polite socially acceptable form of foreplay, but he didn't know that it would have such an effect on him.

A mess of sweaty, intoxicated people spilling drinks and other fluids, and he thought he'd stay there forever if it kept your hips torturing his cock like that.

When you glanced up at him, he was a man lost to his senses, lust clouding his eyes, mouth slightly open in a pant, you reached up to his neck and pulled his lips down to meet yours.

You were surprised when it was his to guess to reach out first, his hand that trailed under your shirt without tours guiding it. You'd picked up a fairly innocent man at the bar and turned him into a pervert in the space of one dance. It felt like the club was watching you, how his hands grazed the skin under your breasts and caused the shiver up your spine, how your back arched to press deeper against his election.

You may have tempted him into taking this risk, but he was the one gleefully nosediving into his fall from grace.

“Spencer,” you whispered as he came up for air, lips resting at your ear. “I think we should get some fresh air.”

Something in that seemed logical. It was colder outside. Maybe it would cool off whatever had lit him up like a pyre on the dance floor. Maybe the fresh air would clear his head. Or maybe just the open space would help him detangle his hands from you, would lead his thoughts away from burying himself deep in you.

He would gladly take you outside, bid you farewell, and return to his job and his life. It was a solid exit for his first cover - who was going to question the young lovers leaving together.

You had a feeling that the idea of outside would have Spencer pulling away from you, but you hadn't had your fill of fun just yet.

So just as you led him onto the dancefloor, you kept a hand over his, around your waist, and you guided him out of the club, down the street a few paces, and into a darkened alleyway.

“Y/N, we shouldn't be-” he tried to stutter out as you pulled him in for another kiss. His brain was trying to protest, but his hands were already back on your ass, pulling you up and closer to him.

“What was that?” You said between kisses, his mouth launching an assault against each inch of your skin.

He gasped for breath and pulled back, realising that he'd lifted and pinned you to the cold brick wall of the alley in his haste to feel you pressed against him.

“Y/N… I don't want to take advantage of you, I'm not-”

“I'm taking advantage of you, Spencer,” you said, nipping at his neck slowly raking your hands into his shoulders. “Am I allowed to do that? Can I take all of you, Spencer?”

His eyes rolled back in his head as he let put a groan of pleasure, your lips sucking at the tender flesh of his nape.

“I-I'm not a student, and-”

“I know, but you are such a pretty boy that I decided I wanted to have some fun with you.”

His resolve broke in half as you uttered your compliments, and his lips met yours in a moan as his hands pushed your skirt up around your waist.

His finger trailed between your hips and his, using the wall to balance you as he pushed aside your panties and began slowly stroking your sex.

Your hips pitched forward to press more of his slender fingers against you, desperate to feel him stretch your cunt open first with one, then two, then however many he decided was good enough for you.

Leaving one hand on his shoulder, you let one trail down his pants, stepping one foot down to allow you access to his zipper.

He pauses Again for a second as you manage to get his pants open, your hand pulling his cock free from the constraint of his clothing. Spitting on your hand, you wrap around it firmly and slowly pump up and down, looking him directly in the eye as you watch the pleasure pour over him.

His forehead rests against yours as he melts into your touch, so desperate, needing to cum so badly that he's willing to let it happen in this dark dirty alley.

“Spencer, I want to have a lot of fun with you. Will you let me?”

“Yes, fuck Y/N.” He nods, his hips rocking into your hand with each slow stroke you give him.

“Spencer,” you say, rocking your hips forward and pushing your panties further to the side once again. “Spencer, please fuck me. Take my virginity, Spencer, please.”

His mind whirled at the sentence, the pleas dropping from your lips. Virginity. You were a virgin.

You'd had him cock stiff after three minutes of conversation had pulled him into an alleyway and lost him in a fog of pleasure, and you were still innocent. Untouched.

You wanted to have your fun with him. You'd chosen him.

He couldn't articulate the lust that coated his tongue, so he simply pushed it into your mouth grabbed his cock from your hands, lined himself up with your drippy cunt and pushed in with a single thrust.

You gasped and let out a moan, not quite fully pleasurable. Your hands again found his shouldend, his back, but your nails were sharper this time, digging in further, almost piercing skin.

“Fuck, Spencer, yes,” you said, breathing shakily as you slowly started moving around his cock.

“Did it hurt?”

“It doesn't hurt anymore. Now, please Spencer, fuck me and don't hold back. It's more fun that way.”

He pulled your hips closer, moaning as you tightened around him. Pressing one hand against the wall and keeping another hand gripped so hard around your hip you knew it'd bruise, he began moving.

He began slow, trying not to lose himself in the feel of your unused, tight hole. But with each small moan, each scratch against his back, he lost a little bit more of that control he was begging for.

With his hands engaged, his brows furrowed I'm frustration that he couldn't stroke your bundle of nerves, he couldn't force you to cum on his cock as quickly as he wanted to.

“Y/N, look at me.” You opened your eyes at the words, unaware that they'd closed tight as you emptied all other senses to just feel him.

“Touch yourself. Right there, that's it,” he watched your fingers rub delicately against your skin, spoke little words of encouragement, and told you to increase your speed and pleasure.

“That's it. That's it, now it's time for you to cum, Y/N. Cum on my cock, rub your little clit for me and cum around my big cock, Y/N.”

“Shit… shit, shit, shit, Spencer, oh my god.” Your hands shook, and your hips twitched, and with a cry, you reached that high you'd been craving since you met his eyes earlier.

He pulled out of you, slowly pulling you off the wall, as he held you up, letting your legs regain their strength. His cock was still hard, still coated in your arousal as he took care of you.

You caught your breath fast, regained tour strength quicker as you noticed he didn't plan on getting himself off anymore. He let you have your fun with him and was happy to end it all there.

You weren't.

“Spencer,” you sang again, wrapping a hand once again around his erection as he tried to straighten out your now slightly more ripped skirt. “Spencer, it's more fun of we both cum. I want you to make a mess of my hand, can you do that for me?”

You stroked his cock with a firmer grip than before, your arousal lubricating each stroke, his pre-cum mingling with it to aid you further. You suddenly wondered what he would taste like, but knew your legs would be too weak to do everything your heart desired today.

There was always tomorrow.

He leaned his weight back on the wall behind you, forcing you back as well as you pumped him quickly so desperate to hear him moan your name as he spilt his seed.

“Y/N,” he moaned, and you were triumphant. His hips jerked once, then twice, then a third time, and he stilled, heaving breaths as he buried his head in your shoulder.

He swallowed and regained his breath, and as he pulled away, you pulled your fingers to your lips and lapped up the final drops of cum that he left there.

Most of it had his the wall, dripped to the floor, but you enjoyed these few drops and smiled brightly at him, pulling a handkerchief that you knew would be in his pocket out and cleaning the two of you up.

He flushed again as he came back to his senses, especially as you attempted to put his clothed to rights, stepping back to replace his softening cock in his pants.

“Well,” you said after setting yourself to rights, “Thank you for the fun night, Spencer. See you tomorrow.”

You skipped off quickly before he had a second to even process your words.

The next day at the local precinct was a blur for Spencer as he tried to drag himself from the drug induced haze of meeting you. He'd stroked himself to completion two more times in bed after he returned to his motel room, reliving the sound of you begging him to take you, the words ‘pretty boy’ on your lips as you spread your legs.

It'd taken his entire brain, or what was left of it, to not jump out of his skin every time Morgan had teased him with the words that morning.

“Now how did you like your first club experience, pretty boy? Did any college cuties throw themselves at you?”

He spat up his coffee, choosing that moment to choke, and begging god for this to just be the end of Spencer Reid entirely.

Because there was no way Morgan would actually believe that that was exactly what had happened.

“Morgan, Gideon wants you in the interrogation room, and- wow, Spencer, you should change your shirt. What are you, 5? You can't drink coffee properly?” Elle said, chuckling slightly.

“I choked,” he frowned, but it fell on deaf ears as his teammates walked away quickly to get back to their jobs.

He wished he could recover so quickly, even now the image of you having your fun with him the night before playing like a movie in his head.

Looking down, he realised Elle was right, and he really did need to change his shirt. Hotch always had a few spare on hand, even for cases out of the office. He grabbed some tissues, dabbing against the mess of coffee on his shirt, suddenly thankful for lukewarm police precinct coffee, and started making his way towards Hotch.

“Hey, Hotch-” he made it three steps before your voice cried out.

“Ronnie!!” You shouted, throwing your hands around your elder brother as he caught you in a hug.

“Y/N, we're at a police station. If you're going to come see me, you have to at least call me Aaron.”

“And not take the chance to embarrass you in front of your peers and coworkers? Not a chance, Ronnie. Not a chance.” He chuckled fondly, brushing away his complaints quickly as he turned to introduce you to JJ first, then Elle and then the frozen statue that had replaced Spencer.

“And, Y/N, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer, this is my sister, Y/N. She's a student at the university.”

You held out your hand with a triumphant grin as Spencer stared in wide-eyed horror at the apparition in front of him.

“Hello, Spencer. It's very nice to finally meet you. My brother has told me a lot about you, and I'm very excited to pick your brains.”

The air seemed to explode around Spencer as each breath became deliriously hot, filling his lungs with fire. It was moments before he realised that he wasn't actually breathing at all, and the air was actually quite normal.

Your hand remained out, ready to greet him, and to the surprise of his coworkers, he took it in his for a short shake.

“Y/N. Hotch's sister, Y/N. Nice to meet you, Y/N Hotchner, Hotch's sister.”

He could practically hear the audible sound of Elle and JJ smacking a hand against their faces in horror at his stupidly obvious reaction to the woman in front of him. If he wasn't careful, he'd be spouting confessions of desire soon, and knowing that Aaron Hotchner carried two guns on his person even now did nothing to calm his thoughts.

“Okay, well, Y/N, I'm busy with some interrogations now, but I can drive you back to your apartment in half an hour if you're okay to wait with JJ?”

“Are you busy, Spencer?” You asked instead, keeping her eyes locked on the man who still weakly shook her hand, unaware of when the right time to stop would be.

“I was serious when I said I wanted to pick your brain, my brother said you had a PhD in Engineering and I'm struggling through a class right now that I need some guidance in if you can spare five minutes?”

Spencer stared between Hotch and you, looking for the right answer to please present itself before he imploded right there.

“Yes. PhD, I have a PhD. Three actually, but whose counting? Me. I just counted them. One of them is in mathematics, actually, so I guess I'm always counting.” He finally dropped your hand, and you gave him a wider smile that dropped his heart to his stomach. “I am free, unless you needed me for something else, Hotch?”

His gaze was pleading, though he wasn't sure if he was begging for his life, five more minutes alone with you or the power to extricate himself from this situation entirely, but Hotch nodded his acceptance quickly and let you lead Spencer off to the small, empty visitors room at the opposite side of the precinct.

You shut the door behind you when you walked in, leaning over to close the blinds as well before you turned back to Spencer.

“Your shirt is wet. You should probably take it off,” you giggled as you trailed a hand up his arm once again.

His hand grabbed yours before you could do any more damage to his tender nerves than you'd already managed that morning.

“You knew the entire time? Who I was?”

“I walked over because you seemed familiar, but I only figured it out when you said your name. My brother does talk about you a lot.”

“Hotch is going to kill me,” he said, slumping down into the chair behind him. “Y/N, your brother was outside the club. He could've seen us leave.”

You climbed into his lap, and his eyes finally met yours again, his tongue stopping its hopeless tirade as you relaxed into his chest.

“I have two older brothers, Spencer. Do you know how often they've been able to tell me what to do?” Your hands started down his shirt, making quick work of the buttons as he stared up, enthralled.

“Not once have they been able to stop me from doing something I wanted.”

He scoffed quickly, unable to help himself. Your hands gripped either side of his face and lifted his head to meet your gaze again.

“And right now, Spencer, I really want you.” A roll of your hips was enough to have him hissing and grabbing your hips. You started steadily rocking into him, eyes still locked with his.

“Y/N, please let's be sensible.”

“I don't want to be sensible, I want to have fun. I want to suck your dick right here, and let you cum in my mouth. I want to scream your name and let everyone know who is giving me pleasure. Can't I do that, Spencer?”

“No,” he groaned, his eyes screwed shut as you dry humped him, trying to get yourself off on his lap, his.cock rising with each of your quiet moans.

“Spencer, please. I want your big, hard cock back inside me. Please, please, please. I'll be a good girl, I promise.”

His eyes shot open in incredulity as he watched you use his body as you saw fit.

“Good girls don't lose their virginities in alleyways, Y/N. Good girls don't throw themselves at their brothers' coworkers. Good girls listen when they're told no, and don't try to suck cock in public, like little sluts.” He spat each word at you, bit you enjoyed each insult he hurled your way, enjoyed the way his body recoiled as he finally called you a slut.

He seemed slightly shocked by his anger himself, but you didn't seem to care. It took you only seconds after to push your lips against his again and have your hands on his cock once again, pulling him out of his pants as his hands explored you just as eagerly.

“Yeah, Spencer, your little slut. I'm such a little slut for you, please fuck me.”

He buried a hand in your hair, tipping your head back so his tongue could probe deeper, his other hand already under your shirt and teasing one nipple. You lifted your hips and sunk down onto his cock, neither of you stopping to think again about your actions as you began to rode him.

“30 minutes, Y/N, by now we have 24 minutes and 17 seconds. Can you manage that, Y/N?”

“Yes, sir.” You said, feeling his dick twitch as you rode him. “Oh did you like that? You liked me calling you, sir?” His hips pressed up again, his body answering more honestly than his tongue.

“What else can I call you? Spencer… sir….daddy?”

He broke away from his place buried in your neck to push the two of you down to the floor, the new angle had you gasping as a hand covered your mouth stifling any screams you could make before you made them.

“Be quiet and cum on my cock, Y/N,” he whispered and picked up his pace, one hand gagging you while the other pulled painfully at your nipple, pinching it between two hands and using it to lift your entire chest so your body was arched toward him, letting him go deeper.

“Yes, Daddy,” you whispered again, against his fingers, tempted to wrap your lips around one and suck it into your mouth.

“Fuck, just call me Spencer, Y/N.”

But you couldn't respond, suddenly overcome with the numbness of you orgasm washing over you as you bit back a choked cry.

“That's it, good job, Y/N. You listen so well, good job.” He rubbed soothing circles into your chest as his hips slowed, working you through your orgasm as he withdrew once again.

This time though, he didn't try to pull away and leave himself hard, but sat himself up, and lifted you once again too, putting slight pressure at the back of your head until you were on your knees and letting your head fall down, down, down as your lips wrapped around his wet cock.

You took him in your mouth, and tasted the bitter, salty flavor of your illicit activities, lapping every last bit of your joint pleasure up as he pushed your hair up and down his cock.

It didn't take long for his hips to press up into your mouth slightly harder than before, his hands holding you steady as he came down your throat. He held your head there for a minute two, as you tried your best to breathe and stay there, taking as much of his cum down your throat as you could. He pulled your head off him and you swallowed the rest, smiling brightly at him as you did so.

“Thank you for the fun, Spencer,” You said again, grabbing your phone and checking the time.

Standing up, you pulled your clothes back in place, pulling your skirt down and your panties up, smoothing out the tangles in your hair.

“Let me go get you that spare shirt, Doctor Reid,” you said, opening the door. “I'm very grateful for your help with my class load, sir.”

His head fell back into his hands as you closed the door, leaving him to wonder just what the hell he'd got himself in for.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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httpsserene · 1 year ago

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Gosh please please please can you write something daniel x reader maybe inspired by too sweet by hozier when he thinks(some internal turmoil cuz he can't stay away from her) she's too sweet/innocent for him or something like but it turns out to be further from the truth?? I love love love your writing, i think about please's and thank you's at least three times a day since i read it. You're so immensely talented!!!

I'd really really appreciate it.

(i don't mind age gap(like up to 10years), some kinky smut or even a bit of morally grey characters as long as there are no explicit mentions of past relationships or cheating and etc., happy ending plss, and I won't mind if you add a pinch of "who did this to you")

Ly ly ly

httpsserene's 2k Special | T.D.R.E.

synopsis: she’s too pure for him. she hasn’t been damaged by life like he has and he hopes you never will be. that’s why Daniel can never allow himself to be with her. he knows she’s convinced herself that she can fix him, but he knows that the longer he sticks around, the more he’s ruining her. he finds it cynical: their relationship (or lack of a relationship) reads like one of the books she’s obsessed with: right person wrong time or forbidden love. Daniel learns that it might be a little darker of a trope—like one of her books that she never allows him to see a page of.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. hoping that the tumblr queue doesn’t do me dirty! this should be posted on thursday, because i won’t be able to manually post it on my own as i’ll be hiking in san diego the whole day :p

read the rest of the 2k special uploads here.

TSA — 𝐝𝐫. 𝟑 daniel ricciardo x fem!reader 2.7k words. implied sexual content. mild!yandere!reader. stalking. sabotage. angst with a happy ending. lando and max are here. not edited at all. mentioned alcoholism. pov switch. physical fight (daniel gets his ass beat, sorry). possessive!reader. inspo from too sweet by hozier.

Daniel meets you in the elevator. At first, he thought you were a Formula One fan who snuck into the condo trying to get a glimpse of your favorite driver (himself, obviously) but, he learned that you’re his new next-door neighbor. It was awkward; he accused you of following him to his room and felt like the world’s worst person when you—dressed in the cutest pink dress and matching flowy bow tied in your hair—stared at him terrified, before you unlocked the door to your flat and slammed the door behind you quickly without a word.

He sent you a bouquet of pink orchids the next morning, along with a hand written card apologizing for his rude behavior and that he hoped the two of you could become good neighbors and friends. It seemed all was fixed, as the next time he ran into you, you greeted him softly, like nothing had happened. It was 5 A.M: you were starting your day and Daniel was ending his night.

Daniel was on his third drunken attempt of shoving his key vaguely in the direction of his lock on the door, when you exited your flat with a yoga mat over your shoulder and a water bottle that was comically large. With a hushed ‘good morning,’ you kindly helped Daniel into his apartment, telling him to drink a big glass of water and have pain killers ready when he wakes up; there was no judgment in your wide brown eyes, only tenderness, and a slight hint of worry. He woke up after twelve at the sound of a knock, his head pulsing with pressure and his sight slightly blurry from not quite sleeping all the drunk away.

He eventually made it to his front door and found that you ordered him lunch: a chicken wrap and sweet potato chips, from one of his favorite brunch cafés—Daniel figured you have good taste, as he doesn’t recall ever telling you about this meal in either of the two interactions you’ve had. So, he ate, drank plenty of water, freshened up, and debated if he should go over and express his gratitude, or whatever. He decided he will, and found himself putting on a nice watch and a few too many sprays of his expensive smelling cologne. Daniel didn’t let any thoughts of why he was prettying himself up cross his mind; he’s simply thanking you; a girl far too young, and probably far too sweet for his tastes.

You brushed off his thanks shyly, hidden behind your door with a blush strong enough Daniel saw it paint your dimpled cheeks and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stay away. Thinking quick enough to rival his reflexes, he offered to exchange phone numbers so the two of you could meet up and he could buy you a coffee. You entered your name in his phone with a yellow heart next to it.

The coffee meet-up had to wait due to Daniel’s hectic schedule, yet the texting flourished. He initiated the beginning of your text thread the next day, mindlessly texting you about how he overheard Emilio (another neighbor) arguing with his wife on the phone; Daniel said she’s probably going to mail him divorce papers within the next week. You replied that it was mean to eavesdrop and gossip. Daniel followed up saying it’s not eavesdropping if said person was screaming into his phone in the hallway, and he wasn’t gossiping, he’s merely keeping you informed.

Daniel laughed in the middle of his motorhome listening to the voice message you sent four days later, eagerly telling him about how you saw Emilio in the lobby with a couple boxes and without a wedding ring on his finger.

It was a warm morning, when you and Daniel finally managed to meet for coffee. You scrunched your nose in distaste when he ordered plain black coffee; Daniel did the same when you ordered a drink that was mainly milk and sugar. Daniel chuckled when you claimed the amount of coffee in your drink had you wired for the rest of the day. He decided to let you believe that, and not inform you that it was most likely the sugar content that had you crashing hours later.

Daniel invited you over for burgers one night and you comment that his home looks like a mix of a “mojo dojo casa house” and a “minimalistic hell.” You gifted him a throw blanket and a potted plant the next day, and continued to text him reminders about watering it.

Around 10 P.M. on another night, he’s yelling at Max for cheating at fifa. Max laughed around the lip of his beer bottle before the two of them paused at the sound of a knock. Daniel checked the door and opened it to see you: fuzzy slippers, eye-mask on your forehead, bonnet, matching pajama set, and pout on your lips with a sleepy tilt to your eyebrows. He apologized for the noise and promised to quiet down. Daniel threatened to kick the Dutchman out when he teased him for having a “crush.” He doesn’t get crushes, he’s a grown man.

Daniel spends less time in night clubs and more time with you. You took him to sip and paint nights, pottery classes, hiking, even bookstores. You order him to not open any of the books he’s holding for you; Daniel tries to take a peek when you scan through one and you slam the book shut, saying it’s too dark for your liking. He doesn’t comment when you end up getting it (Daniel paid).

He kissed you in your apartment, halfway through Howl’s Moving Castle. He proceeded to tell you it was a mistake. You teared up when he said you were too pure for him, arguing back that you weren’t a child. The tears fell when Daniel claimed he’s too old for you, that he’d only hurt you. He returned to his apartment, figurative tail tucked between his legs, and heard you crying through the wall. He fell asleep hating himself.

Daniel distanced himself from you; he misses your shared adventures and condo gossip, but he never forgets to water your potted plant, even without your texts. He fell back into the clubs, bringing home various women but never manages to get them in bed due to various things going wrong. He gets stuck in the elevator with Stephanie who happened to be claustrophobic for hours, locked in the stairwell with Sofia who sprains her ankle in five-inch heels, the fire-alarm interrupts him and Kiana just as he unlocks the door, and his kitchen sink burst when he lifted Laura on the counter.

He tries to console Laura, who runs from his flat in drenched clothes, and sees you staring at her in confusion from your doorway as she rushes past. Daniel apologizes for waking you again, and you shrug, ignoring his words, murmuring that he should call maintenance before he floods the entire floor and shutting your door in his face.

Your potted plant starts to wilt, no matter if Daniel moves it in or out of direct sunlight, if he waters it less or more, or if he changes the soil, or adds fertilizer. The universe has it out for Daniel.

He finds himself in an ultra-private lounge, dim-lighting, sultry piano, and dark decor enhancing his dramatics as he reveals how he ruined his life to Max, Lando, and the bartender who will be tipped handsomely for pretending to care. The piano fades to the end of the piece just as Daniel wraps up his lament.

“It sounds like you deserve it, honestly,” Max stated bluntly, Lando nodding agreeably at his side.

Daniel groans into his hands, lifting his head to say that he’s already aware of that, but freezes when he sees you rise from the seat of the piano. Your figure is snug within a floor length, backless, black dress, complemented with gold jewelry, and makeup that opposes your angelic nature. You bow your head slightly in the direction of the tables clapping at your performance, stumbling briefly when your eyes meet Daniel’s. You smile softly and begin to make your way over to him.

“Oh, fuck,” Daniel shrinks into his seat, as the other two drivers stare at him in confusion.

“Hi, neighbor,” you start airily, before turning to smile at Lando and Max, “Hello.”

“You didn’t tell me you worked here,” Daniel mentions.

“You never asked,” you narrow your eyes at him, before relaxing, “I also don’t work here—this is my brother’s bar. The pianist suddenly fell sick and I offered to fill in.”

“Oh,” Daniel hums, “This doesn’t seem like your type of scene.”

You snort, rolling your eyes, “You should know better than to tell me where, what, or who I do or do not belong with.”

“Okay!” Lando claps, kicking Daniel’s shin under the table, everyone ignores his muffled groan of pain, “Sit with us for a minute, if you can take a break. Danny is seriously obsessed with you.”

You take the offered chair next to Max and sigh, “Really? I couldn’t tell,” all three men wince at your dig, but you continue, “Did he tell you that he almost flooded the entire floor last week?”

Daniel watches as you charm his friends, the three of you chattering happily over his demise, and ignoring him as you do so. He can’t find it in himself to be annoyed, only thankful, as this is the first time in weeks that you’ve been in his presence for more than five minutes. You smell so good. Is that weird of Daniel to think?

Unfortunately, the four of you are interrupted far too soon. Your brother calls you over from behind the bar; his expression is less than pleased, jaw tensed with irritation, and Daniel thinks the look in his eyes has a hint of crazy. He wonders if you told your brother about him. Hopefully not—the man looks like he could fold Daniel like a lawn chair without breaking a sweat. The three men watch as you argue with your brother; it doesn’t seem like it’s going in your favor.

Lando calls Daniel’s name, “Mate—she’s good for you.”

“Nah, mate. I’ll only ruin her.”

“Daniel,” Max scolds, “The few months you were ditching us for her were the happiest I’ve seen you. I wasn’t worried that you would be passed out in a random club or yacht after giving yourself alcohol poisoning.”

“She’s sweet, Danny. I think she’s exactly what you need,” Lando adds, “You've convinced yourself that you don’t deserve anything good. She’s trying to prove you wrong and you need to let her.”

He doesn’t answer verbally, he chooses to shake his head and remain silent. You make your way over to the table again and stand in front of them with a pout.

“It’s past my bedtime, apparently,” you huff, turning your head to glare at your brother, “Don’t worry about paying tonight, it’s on the house.” You exchange polite goodbyes with Lando and Max, Daniel gets a soft smile. He watches you leave the bar with a sad tilt to his lips, then orders a shot of whiskey.

You’re sat on your couch, freshly showered and ready for bed. It’s 1 A.M. and Daniel usually doesn’t end his nights out for another hour. So, it makes sense for you to be worried when you see his location nearing your shared condo building an hour early. Did you sneakily (his phone password is his birthday, it wasn’t that hard) use his phone and share his own location with you? Yes. But, you did it with good intentions. You worry about him when he’s not with you.

You decide to go down to the lobby and pretend to ask if you received any packages in hopes of intercepting Daniel when he walks in. You don’t manage to step out of the elevator when you suddenly have an armful of a bruised-up Australian. His lip is busted and you can see a bruise blooming high on his right cheekbone. You start to shake with anger.

Furiously pressing the button of your floor and slamming the ‘close door’ button, you frantically question Daniel, “What the hell? I left you not even two hours ago, and you look like a mess. Did you get into a fight, did you get mugged, did you—“

“Did your brother beat my ass for hurting you?” Daniel groans, not fighting your motions as you tug him out of the elevator and into your flat, “Yes, he did.”

You pause and grumble angrily, forcing Daniel to take a seat on your couch. You rush into your kitchen for ice, then to the bathroom for a first aid kit. He doesn’t fight when you order him to ice his cheek, and lets you hold his face to tilt his head at every angle possible, as if it’ll expose any more damage. Eventually, you end up looking into his eyes, pretending that you have the knowledge to know what a possible concussion looks like, even though you really just wanted an excuse to look at him.

Unconsciously, your thumb rubs soothingly along his temple, Daniel leans further into your hand. His tongue flicks out for a brief second, and he flinches when it disturbs the cut on his bottom lip. Blinking rapidly, you clear the haze from your eyes and frown as you turn to rifle through the first aid kit.

“I can’t believe he put his hands on you,” you bite out angrily, finding a disinfectant cloth to clean his lip, “I don’t know why I tell him anything anymore.”

Daniel winces at the sting of alcohol, remaining quiet as he watches the focus that covers your expression.

“I apologize for him,” you mumble, “He doesn’t think clearly when it comes to me, he thinks he’s like my guard dog or something,” you dispose of the wipe and grab an ointment, “I promise you I told him that the only thing you did was waste my time and hurt my feelings,” Daniel deflates under your hands, “It’s not like you physically hurt me…or anything. He’s just an idiot. I’ll kill him.”

At that, Daniel laughs quietly, dropping the ice from his cheek so you can clean that too, “Don’t say that. You’re such a sweetheart, you couldn’t hurt your own brother. Also—I’m not sure if he hoped this would make me stay away from you, because if you keep rubbing my face like that, I might fall in love.”

You hum, pleased you have him eating out of the palm of your hand, “Have some decorum, Daniel. You sound desperate. Also, he knows that I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

“Oh? You’re possessive,” Daniel teases, “Is it bad if I kinda like that?”

Your heart flutters, he’s really the best for you. He doesn’t need to know about the lengths you went to ensure any of the girls he tried to bring home didn't make it into his bed. It's a shame Sofia sprained her ankle; that was not intentional on your part.

You shrug lightly, “No, it’s not bad. I think it makes you perfect for me. As long as you don’t mind a little crazy. And—don’t think you’re off the hook. You still have to apologize for making me cry.”

Daniel nods seriously, “I’ll fall to my knees and beg right now, if that’s what it takes.”

Sticking a plaster over his cheek, you stand and gesture for him to do so too, “Okay. Kneel.”

“Huh,” he chokes, eyes wide with disbelief, “You’re serious?”

“If you beg well enough, I’ll let you eat me out.”

The sound of his knees hitting the floor echoes.

#serene’s chapters.#httpss :// 2k special #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo smut #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo fic #f1 x black!reader #formula 1 x black!reader #formula 1 x reader #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: dr.

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vinnyvamppp · 4 months ago

Text

Everything But In

Synopsis: You find yourself bonded to both Jake and Neytiri. As time went on, even the simplest aspects of your personality began to captivate him. It felt wrong, like a transgression against his morals. Yet, you remained there, so... prettily and he came to yearn you just as you did him.

Jake Sully/Tsyeyk te Suli x F!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Inter-femoral sex (thigh fucking), hickeys, implied feelings of cheating (not really), porn w backstory, rough sex, DILF! (His locs and dad bod in movie two 🙂‍↕️), slightly more mature Jake, plot changes for convenience, Switch!Jake, Switch!Reader, Both are Omatikaya, and suggests that reader is also in love with Neytiri (in progress + 3some)

Word Count: 5.3k (over 3k is smut)

Amid the bioluminescent splendor of Pandora’s mystical forest, the air hummed with unseen energy, and the flora pulsed with an ancient, glowing rhythm. Its glow was a valiant painting of night in hues of violet, azure, and rose.

Beneath the embrace of an enormous luminescent tree—its roots twisting like veins of liquid light—you and Jake sat nestled within its radiant sanctuary. Plush moss cradled you both like a mother’s swaddle. Expressions flushed with the humid warmth of mingled breath and the musk of sex overwhelmed your senses.

Ethereal spores drifted like whispered secrets, while the distant calls of creatures echoed through the iridescent canopy. With an aching mind and body, your figures were drawn like magnets. The very sight of him sparked an unfamiliar, animalistic urge that set your skin alight.

Clumsily, he reached for you and—

….

Being one of Pandora’s many hunters, you were a warrior for the Omatikaya Na’vi. The clans were civil amongst one another; a common enemy made its reappearance when peace drew near. Sky people. You were fierce, wielding courage as if it were a blade. Being devoted was an understatement, and like many, you worshiped the very ground you walked on. Then fate, ever cruel, offered you a gift wrapped in misfortune. Amidst the chaos of battle, you and your olo’eyktan—Jake Sully—collided. Your body seized with an erotic flux that blundered against the adrenaline thundering in your veins. It was unpredictable. Unprecedented. Unsure of how it occurred, your queue linked. In a dazed panic, you both frantically retreated with a painful untethering of the nerve. The connection was made, and it was too late. You were his second mate now, sharing a partial bond.

The Na’vi were monogamous by nature. This twisted truth fractured everything. Neytiri’s gaze became sharper than any blade. Her eyes, full of mistrust, carved pain into your chest. Finding yourself unwelcome, you isolated yourself in anger, and the days drew near. Days soon became weeks, and sunlight pierced the storm. Jake—conflicted, worn—still found comfort in your presence. The bond that tied the three of you tugged invisibly, a low thrumming in your chest. The bond, now connecting the three of you, left an invisible pull towards them both. Finding ways to reconcile, you would sleep near the couple's snonivi and hunt fish/craft bows as an offering. It was masochistic with every hiss Neytiri cast in your direction when you wouldn't relent. A lingering gaze once tepid became tinted with reluctant fondness. In Jake, you found solace. In your heart, the battle slowly turned in your favor.

… The first touches were chaste—gentle hand-holding under the guise of avùn gathering. The humid air kissed your skin while his palm’s warmth bled into your limbs. His grip was firm, careful. Playful. Fragile.

Traveling through the thick brushes of foliage, the sound of a rushing stream caught your attention. Blades of grass tickled the soles of their feet, and the sound of nature mingled amongst their footsteps. You knelt, gathering yovo fruit—scaly, purple, small enough to gather by the handful. As you worked, your gaze drifted—unbidden—along the contours of his back. His hair, long and silken, cast shadows that accentuated hard muscle. His curious golden eyes landed on you, a memory dawning in your present view.

That memory—early morning. You and Jake hunted for Neytiri, one of many peace offerings. He, always your anchor, kept you in sight. As you firmly secured the handcrafted bow to your torso, your eyes flickered up to meet his groggy ones. Strapping your bow across your chest, you looked up—and found his gaze already on you. Observing. Admiring. The elegance of your stance. The flick of your ears. Your tail trailing behind like wind-washed thread.

With a deep breath, he stood, wiping the drowsiness from his eyes. “How did you sleep? Tell me when you’re ready. I want to find food before the first meal.” Your voice cut through his tranquil solitude. “I slept well enough,” he replied, scrambling to grab and secure his bow with a reassuring nod.

Traveling down the winding roots of the newly formed Home Tree, your feet briskly carried you forward, causing Jake to saunter in a full sprint. The chase was short-lived; nonetheless, your heart thumped violently in your chest. Sweat glistened on your skin, allowing you to tread through vines that threatened to grasp you. With every drop to a new forest floor, a call of pure glee in your element echoed from the depths within. The feel of his eyes boring into your skin made your hair stand on end, he joined, his voice intertwined with yours.

Coming to a slowed halt, your eyes caught wind of migrating viper wolves. Two stragglers, abandoned or unruly, moved ahead without their pack. His ears perked up in anticipation; the looming trees created a natural barricade. Pulling the bow from his back, his eyes focused on the delayed sound of paws. There was a palpable moment of silence. With a swift movement, he aimed his bow, and his arrow shot in its trajectory. A shrill yelp echoed, and the second went flying. An impressed glint lingered in your eye; you should’ve expected no less given his reputation. You didn’t hesitate—your arrow followed his, clean and quiet. "Damn…” He whispered.

Waiting it out, you two emerged, taking your knives to end the animal's suffering with a prayer. With a delighted expression, you planned to create ornaments for Neytiri using its hide. Alone at last. You exhaled, unaware you’d been holding your breath. You thanked him. “Thanks…” He said, his pride inflated upon hearing your praise. “You were solid out there.” he replied, proud. Quietly smug.

You both emerged to end the hunt with swift blades and a prayer. You smiled at your plan to turn the hide into ornaments for Neytiri—another olive branch. As you wandered back, you urged him on. Your thoughts drifted to the chaos of your triad. Jake, juggling two mates, remained composed. You were about to test just how composed. “I forgive you,” you said, glancing sideways. He’d missed your rendezvous the night before. His ears perked. A cocky smile broke across his face. He trailed behind, infatuated.

“So… who were you, before?” you asked, curious despite yourself. He was known, respectively, though you had done little to find out more about him. You climbed a thick branch, reaching to help him—but he pulled up beside you unaided. He seemed somewhat struck by the gesture. “Life was different,” he said. “I was a Marine. A human warrior.” It almost sounded like gloating. “Sorry for trying to help,” you shot back, pacing ahead.

“That explains the extra muscle,” you added, barely hiding the fact you’d stared. Often. If that didn’t inflate his already bolstering smugness, I don’t know what will. “Yeah. Comes with the job," he rasped, tongue jutting out to wet his lips. His words faded as embarrassment shook your bones.

Back in the now, you offered him yovo fruit. “Thanks." He plucked one gently, savoring its tart sweetness. Hands met again. You walked the riverbank. Your tail swirled in the water, flicking droplets against his back. You made a dash only to realize his finger's grip tightened. With an amused and disbelieving sigh, he commented. “Oh no you don’t,” The last thing you see is water exploding in a splash, laughter echoing—until his eyes drop to your soaked feather necklace. The damp feathers clung to your chest.

PROPER NAME, PLACE NAME, BACKSTORY STUFF. SUGGESTIVE CONTENT STARTS HERE, BOOKIE.

The second instance was at night, after ti-yom. Jake had suggested you spend time alone, sensing the tension that lingered between glances. You’d pulled him aside, no longer able to dance around the need clawing at your insides. In the solitude of the carved huts, your voice came hurried, breathless.

“That day we mated was pure adrenaline. I couldn’t tell the difference between battle and tsaheylu,” you said, eyes searching his. A pause. Then softly: “I want to go to the Tree of Voices… to experience it properly. What’s happened can’t be undone.”

It was the most pressing truth you’d spoken. The most selfish desire you’d allowed. His gaze locked with yours, eyes widening—surprised, but not alarmed. Recognition flickered in his expression. He nodded, silent. For the first time in a long while, he seemed… still. The quiet stretched too long.

“We don’t have to. I’m content with what we have now,” you added quickly—lying. You weren’t content. You wanted it all. You wanted him.

When your panic rose unbidden, he noticed. His fingers wrapped gently around your forearm. “Hey, hey—easy…” he murmured, grounding you. His hand moved up, cupping your cheek with familiar warmth. “Wasn’t expecting it, that’s all. I’ve wanted it too. You’re not crazy.”

But it was crazy. Even if his body said otherwise. Even if the memory of him and Neytiri still lingered behind his eyes.

With a quiet nod, you thanked him, and he turned, leading you into the jungle. The weight of what was about to happen stirred your blood, your nerves thrumming with anticipation. You followed in heavy steps, every movement charged. There was no playfulness now, only gravity.

The elders spoke of tsaheylu with a mate as a sacred thing—a spiritual communion, an erotic transcendence. It was a merging of souls and sinew. It was to know your partner’s essence.

As you reached the Tree of Voices, its glowing tendrils swaying in the gentle breeze, he slowed. His gaze lingered on your form as you brushed past him. The way you moved, it pulled something primal from within.

“Are you sure?” you asked, offering him an out. “I’m sure… I want this,” he replied, voice rough at the edges. There was a rasp in it like desire and certainty had tangled.

His calloused palms framed your face. Your foreheads touched. If he saw the way his eyes darkened, he didn’t speak on it.

With reverence, you both knelt.

You pulled the braid forward, fingers trembling, your queue seeking his. His form—taller, broader—hovered slightly above you. When his tendrils met yours, the connection surged like lightning.

Your fingers trembled, stilled only by his urgent grip. Your hearts synced, the beats echoing like drums in your chests. The bond formed in a flash, overwhelming. Saliva gathered in your mouth. A soft gasp escaped him.

Then that feeling returned.

Your limbs twitched involuntarily, overcome by the raw intensity of the connection. It felt like floating, drowning, flying—your mind unable to separate pain from pleasure. You cupped his cheeks, gasping sharply. There was no air, yet you were filled with something sacred. Unable to withhold the sound, a broken moan, unlike any pitch you had heard before, exited you. Your body jerked as if seeking his warmth; the pleasant tingles filled your senses.

The sound drew a crooked grin from his lips. His skin prickled at the sound of you—your moans a melody he’d never heard, and now couldn’t live without. The way your body responded nearly entranced him.

His hips shifted closer. Your pelvis lifted instinctively, your navel brushing his mouth. He underestimated his strength—fingers digging into your hips harder than intended. But instead of pain, it earned a sinful moan from deep within you. Your fingers cradled his head against you as you lurched forward. Nothing seemed to calm, rather intensifying. The close-lipped groans became useless, and the lights surrounding you grew blinding.

Through labored breaths, he groaned and growled; the feeling of your heart pounding shook his ears. A shiver ran down his spine as this felt like the orgasm of the century. His mind and senses were utterly consumed by you. The sound of ragged gasps grew louder, his hips bucking upwards involuntarily. His cock pressed firmly against the material of his tewng, a dribble of precum staining the front. It was greedy. It was intimate. It was everything.

“Jake... Jake... Jake...” you chanted his name like prayer, your nails dragging through his scalp. His chest vibrated with another growl, arms wrapping around you tighter. They trembled—slightly, but unmistakably. “I got you,” he whispered against your skin. It was a promise and a plea.

He was nearly ready to risk it all; the Na’vi were extremely fertile. You would look beautiful, swollen with his seed, or even just his cock alone. His stamina and libido in this body left it so he could indulge to his heart's desire. Specifically, a new desire to explore the pussy in front of him, to have it clench around his digits with coats of your arousal. He nearly melted imagining it. However, there was hesitation, and the minutes grew longer. You stared down at him, and his eyes found yours with a cocky grin; just before you could lean down for a kiss, the queue disconnected. The interruptions left you two in a breathless heap. His hunger, like yours, had been too much. You’d pulled the plug, even as your bodies screamed to stay joined.

As you bathed in the afterglow, wrapped in each other’s breath and silence, one question echoed between you:

Could Neytiri feel the bond growing stronger?

“Didn’t think it’d hit that hard. Sorry.” His cheeky grin spelled liar.

SMUT BEGINS HERE.

As the sun migrated westward, the moon began to claim the sky. Dusk draped Pandora in velvet blue. The hour moved fast, drawn by something unspoken.

You approached the familiar weeping tree, your fingers curling into the sturdy bark as you climbed its elegant height. Settling into its foliage-covered heart, the moss beneath you tickled your feet, a gentle swaddle from Eywa herself. You slipped your bow sling from your shoulders, laying it beside you. Cross-legged, you placed the small log drum in your lap.

A hush fell over the clearing. The soft bioluminescence wove through the branches, illuminating the weeping tree in a gentle, reverent glow. Its light danced in your eyes, and as your breath steadied, you felt the Tree listening. Then—rustling. A shadow slipped through the underbrush.

Jake.

He stepped from the foliage like the forest had parted just for him. The space shifted subtly around his presence—calmer, warmer, charged. He moved with the instinctual grace of a seasoned tsamsiyu, muscles flexing beneath dusky blue skin. His midsection, once hardened by combat, now held the softness of peace. The traditional tewng hung low on his hips. Moonlight filtered through the leaves, catching in the dark waterfall of his hair.

He joined you easily, sliding into a seat beside you. A soft smile tugged at his lips—tired, but real.

His eyes traced the soft arcs of your figure, the way your presence seemed to cradle the space around you.

Your fingers moved over the drum’s surface with practiced tenderness. A rhythm bloomed—quiet, like the heartbeat of the tree itself. It echoed between you both, the sound folding into the evening air. His gaze landed on the drum nestled between your legs.

“You came,” you whispered, voice small. “I waited all day for you.” The second part carried a playful tilt, but your eyes gave you away. Jake chuckled under his breath, tail swishing lazily along the mossy tree limb. “All day? Really?” He gives a lazy grin, tail flicking. “Didn’t think you’d say that out loud.”

Simple words that were unpretentious. But they struck deep, in a not-so-subtle way, he reciprocated that he had been anticipating your presence. His head nodded toward the instrument. “What’s with the drum?”

His eyes made you feel seen in a way that unsettled and soothed all at once. In their reflection, you caught a glimpse of yourself—glistening jewelry braided against your skin, hair loosely styled with strands framing your face, lips curled into a gentle smile. You were softer than most Omatikaya, but strong in the way stone yields to water.

“There will be a festival soon,” you answered softly. “The child… can have this.”

Right. Neytiri had given birth. Their firstborn now nestled in the woven roots of your shared world. You spoke the truth with grace, even as a ripple passed through your chest. Jake’s gaze lingered—not in lust, but admiration. His eyes traced the soft arcs of your figure, the way your presence seemed to cradle the space around you. The carefully woven jewelry plated against your skin and the soft curve of your lips.

Your fingers moved over the drum’s surface with practiced tenderness. A rhythm bloomed—quiet, like the heartbeat of the tree itself. It echoed between you both, the sound folding into the evening air. “I made it before training,” you added. “Did you and Neytiri enjoy the day? You two seemed… occupied.”

Your tone was light, but your hands didn’t stop moving. “She’s been keeping me on my toes.” He replied, a slight smirk forming. Though unintentional, you spat a little jealousy.

Your eyes narrowed slightly in response. “And what about you?” You said curtly, your head turning to face him. “You ask me to get along with your family, yet you’re distant. You only meet me at night; what am I? A special mistress.” It was sarcastic… sort of. He smirked with a chuckle that dripped in amusement. “A special mistress?” He pretended to ponder before feigning a hurt expression. Placing a hand over his chest, he mocked painfully, “I’m hurt, truly. I thought our little trysts in the night were our secret.”

“It would be if you weren’t always caught.” Your eyes rolled at his display of dramatics, a chortle of your own escaping you. “I’m starting to think you don’t want me.” The words left before you could grasp them. “What makes you think I don’t want you?” The question itself made your ears prick in delight. Whacking him gently upside the head with your tail, you scoffed. “Don’t play with my feelings, Sully—“

“You know it’s more than wanting.” He said, reflexively soothing his scalp.

You were turned away from him, stalling your movements.

“Then what is it?”

The quiet sound of shuffling grew closer. His movements were slow but deliberate as his warmth radiated against your back mere centimeters away. His head is craning over your shoulder to look into your eyes, “You know exactly what it is.” A brief silence overwhelmed us. “Do I?” You replied inconspicuously. A touch, a kiss, a handhold—you craved it all shamelessly. “You’ll have to show me by giving me a taste.” It was a promiscuity you had yet to indulge in, but you couldn’t resist. His breath tickled the nape of your neck. “I can do that…” His voice dropping an octave, the rasp ringing in your ears. His fingers confidently found your hips, pulling you between his knees so your ass rests just above his pelvis. “And more.” You could feel his grin against your neck.

The hair on your skin stood at attention, frazzled by the lustful frenzy you hurtled towards. With the slightest nod, he began his assault, tracing gentle kisses down your neck. His face nuzzled into the crook of it as he inhaled your scent like it was his lifeline. The gentle scraping of his calloused fingertips traveled up your abdomen and was both comforting and alluring. “Is this what you want?” He murmured, his lips still pressing reverently against your skin. “Do you?” You whispered as a gentle buzz racked your brain. With a hearty sigh, his fingers trekked higher, teasing the buds of your nipples. “Hell yeah,” it was a hoarse and restrained voice, “I want you in every way possible.” As he spoke, the saliva against your neck chilled as it darted across your skin.

His cock was being smothered between you. Poor thing. At the scent of your arousal pooling around your core, his fingers traveled between your thighs—close, but never quite there. The teasing only encouraged the heartbeat resonating between your legs to clench around nothing.

“Careful,” he hissed. It was a warning—his voice betraying his eagerness. “You’re playin’ with me, baby.” His words made you turn your head, unabashedly staring at his lips.

“Then join me.” Your response made his eyelids droop, lust barely held at bay. His fingers dragged down the length of your inner thighs, sending a shiver through your frame. “As you wish,” he purred, tilting your chin up until his lips ghosted over yours. “You have no fuckin’ idea what you do to me.”

He sealed his mouth over yours before you could respond. The heat building between you reached its crescendo with a searing kiss. He groaned in reply, hungry and low. The kiss turned deeper—still chaste, but desperate. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking access. The need to taste you—to know you—was overwhelming.

With a soft suction, you pulled away momentarily, nipping at his bottom lip before returning. The hand on your thigh tightened in response, his tongue exploring every inch it could reach. Its texture was rough—your cat-like tongues scraping in a way that sent shocks through you both. His kiss stole the breath from your lungs. His fingers now rested firm against your hips.

Every sigh, moan, and whimper exchanged made his claim on you stronger. His pelvis began to grind instinctively against the swell of your ass. The rhythm—fluid and quiet—matched each subtle roll of his hips. His lips drifted down your neck, then turned into teeth. Purple bruises bloomed like petals with each bite.

You weren’t sure if it was the bond, but his pleasure felt like your own. A soft purr slipped from your saliva-slicked lips, followed by faint mewls.

His hands guided your pace—gentle but intentional. Praise hummed between you in low murmurs, encouraging the motion. Suddenly, one finger ran a stripe down the front of your soaked, clothed pussy. A restrained groan escaped him as he began to circle your clit slowly.

The sound was quiet, but to him? Mouthwatering. Your scent flooded his nose just as you caught his lips again. A silent claim. His kiss asked for something he couldn’t say aloud.

“Fuck… I’ve imagined this moment,” he growled against your back. “Over and over.” His hips pressed forward, punctuating the truth of his words. “Well… I’m yours now,” you whispered. “Say that again,” he breathed. His signature toothy grin appeared as he peered over your shoulder, ears twitching with pride. “I’m yours until we return to Eywa.” This time, you meant it.

His fingers left you to untie the tawng that blocked his path from that sweet cunt. It slid down, pooling around the thick muscle of his thighs. A guttural moan rumbled from his chest before he pressed a kiss against your nape.

“Show me,” he said, breathless. “Show me how much you need me.” Then—something shifted. His demanding tone faltered. “Please.” The word was low. Honest.

With shaking hands, you loosened your own tawng, reaching back to guide him between your slick folds. You slid yourself along his length, letting your wetness coat him. You clenched your thighs around his shaft, teasing. He was out of view, but the weight of him was heavy, his pubes brushing your skin.

Pearls of precum beaded at his tip, slipping down your thighs. Your fingers planted themselves on his quads, tension thick between you. The sensation was intoxicating—intimate and maddeningly insufficient. He wanted to be inside you, but his wife waiting back home… wouldn’t appreciate that.

His hips slid back—thwop. You both groaned. His dick stroked your clit with every thrust, its head kissing your hole with precision. “Jesus…” he exhaled. “You’re killin’ me.”

His face didn’t match his words—it was already blissed out. “I want you. All of you,” he admitted, locking eyes with you. Your bodies collided, wet and sweet, every movement knocking the air from your lungs.

A whine broke from your throat. “Don’t be foolish. Stop complicating things.” You groaned. He answered with a breathy chuckle. “Can’t promise I’ll be careful.” He leaned back slightly, admiring the sight of you. “You’ve got me crazed.”

His face was flushed, eyes glassy with lust, pupils blown wide. He still fared better than you. Your hair clung to your temples, eyes lidded with want, your jewelry and loincloth skewed and forgotten. Anticipation throbbed through you. “Give it to me,” you demanded.

And just like that, his restraint broke. “You want it, baby?” he rasped. “Then take it. So d-damn good…” Jake’s hips snapped forward, faster, harder. Urgency overtook him. The feel of your body—your voice—your boldness—only made him burn hotter.

His grip on your hips tightened, bruises forming beneath his fingers. His rhythm pounded against your clit, each stroke building the tension to a breaking point. A shudder passed through you, your toes curling. Your fingertips clawed his thighs, crescent marks deepening as you struggled to hold yourself together. Watching the tip of his cock disappear and reappear, slick with both your arousals, made your vision blur.

You were both close. “You’re close, huh?” he asked, voice fraying as he kissed your shoulder. He smiled, gentle this time. “I can feel it.”

You couldn’t speak—just nodded, your mouth barely forming words.“I’m not finishing until you do,” you managed, shaky and wrecked. He grunted in reply, his body taut as he struggled to hold out. Everything about you—your scent, your voice, your movement—could’ve made him finish minutes ago.

The slap of skin echoed. He murmured low: “Not sure you deserve it.” A pause. Then softer— “But I’m gonna give it to you anyway.” He had little restraint when it came to you.

The sensations were dizzying. His words made you laugh, breathless and teasing. His arms pulled you tighter, hands braced against your shoulders. “So cocky,” you mumbled, your heart syncing to his. That familiar tightness began to stir, deep in both your cores. His hips pistoned forward, your body lurching forward with each bounce. Ears twitched as it received every moan, and you two responded pornographically.

“You talk too much,” you whispered. “Quiet.”

Wet squelches filled the air, his precum coating your inner thighs. His scent overwhelmed your every sense. Your tail wrapped tightly around his waist, possessive. The gesture made the veins in his cock twitch harder against your heat. He fell mostly silent. Profanities broke loose in between gritted teeth and groans.

“Shit… haa—mn, just for a little while,” he muttered, hips bucking into you. “But I’ll make you moan just the same.” It wasn’t the response you wanted—your head dropped against his shoulder, jaw slack and trembling.

A faint whimper left him as his tip pushed just barely inside, the bulging head catching around the ring of muscle with a satisfying pop. Both of you are aching for more. His cock wept, as did you.“I know how much you want it,” you teased, voice thin. “So put that mouth to good use. Make some noise.” You yelped as your clit throbbed violently from overstimulation.

“You know I feel good,” he growled, “but you’ve got me beat for makin’ noise.” His mouth returned to your neck, where he released a low, guttural sound. “You’re a damn minx,” he murmured, mouth hot on your lips. “But I love that shit.”

He kissed you—sloppy, deep. “Since you asked nicely... I’ll give you what you want.”

There was no time to answer. His teeth found the shell of your pierced ear. Then—he began to sing. Just like you asked. He wasn’t much of a moaner. But god… his groans? His breathy grunts? They sent butterflies spiraling in your belly. He breathed hard against you, rhythm slowing.

You pulled away, your eyes meeting his—ears twitching with every moan. Your faces contorted with lust. Shaking breaths became sputtering cries. Your breasts ached from bouncing, your legs tensed in effort to draw out the inevitable. You used him for leverage, shifting to meet him.

Both of you, breaking. “Gonna cum,” he gasped, voice strained. “Give it to me, baby. C’mon—please cum on me. Please...!” He was right there. You groaned, words lost to the rising wave.

Your final moan was silent.

“I… I need to—nnggh...” His voice cracked. His hips stuttered. The wet sound of you sucking him in pushed him over.

With a hiss, he cried out—feral. Climax ripped through him. Harsh gasps tore from his throat as his head fell back. He held you flush against him, grinding you greedily through the end as ropes of cum coated your thighs.

His fingers left you and instead loosened the tawng that obstructed him from that sweet cunt. As the knot was untied, it pooled around the thick muscle of his thighs. A guttural moan rumbled in his chest before he pressed a kiss against your nape. “Show me,” he commanded. “Show me how much you need me.” There was a sultry gaze exchanged before his demanding demeanor broke. “Please.” He whispered in a low, pleading voice. With quivering hands, your fingers loosened your own tawng; your fingers reached back, guiding his cock between the wet warmth of your folds. Gliding yourself along its length, his dick glistened in your juices before you clenched your thighs shut. Though out of view, the weight of it was heavy, and the faint prick of pubes tickled your flesh. Pearls of precum beaded at the tip, slipping down your thighs.

Your fingers planted themselves on his quads, a fierce tension settling between you two. The sensation was tantalizing. Intensely intimate, yet maddeningly insufficient. He wanted to be buried inside of you, but his wife waiting back at home wouldn’t appreciate that. Sliding his hips back, with a loud thwop, you both groaned in unison. His dick stimulated your clit with each thrust, and its tip caught your greedy hole, kissing it each time. “Jesus…” he huffed out, exasperated. “You’re killin’ me.” His expression contradicted his words as a fucked-out expression settled. “I want you, all of you.” His eyes found yours with a knowing glance. Your body jostled against his; wet bodies collided sweetly as every pommel knocked the wind out of you.

A whine ripped from your throat before you groaned, “Don’t be foolish; stop complicating things.” You muttered, his response beginning with a breathy heckle. “I can’t promise I’ll be careful.” He leaned back to admire the view in front of him. “You’ve got me crazed.” His face was flushed, eyes glittering with fervor and dilated pupils. His appearance fared better than yours. The heat caused loose strands of hair to hang in your vision, your eyes lidded with lust, your jewelry and loincloth were left askew, and anticipation rushed through you. “Give it to me.” You demanded, and his resistance crumbled with an intensity that mirrored yours. “You want it, baby?” He asked in a strained voice, “Then take it. So d-damn good.” Jake’s hips snapped forward faster, with a stronger rhythm. Purely driven by the need and urgency of your words. The feel of your body and your sternness only fed him like resin to a flame. His grip on your hips tightened enough to leave bruises, his desperation consuming what more he had to say.

His pace rubbed that bundle of nerves with vigor. A pleasant tingle shot through you as you lurched forward, your toes curling. Your fingertips dug into the flesh of his thighs, crescent indents from your nails remaining. Watching the tip of his dick appear and disappear covered in more slick and cum with each thrust felt transcendent. You both were approaching your climax, his voice breaking the silence. “You’re close, aren’t you?” He asked through bated breaths, pressing a kiss into your shoulder; he smiled. “I can feel it,” You couldn’t respond, merely nodding before choking out a somewhat coherent sentence. “I’m not finishing until you do.” Your words faltered as he grunted, his body taut with the effort to hold himself together. Everything about you could’ve made him cum long ago if it weren’t for his stubbornness. The wet sound of skin made him murmur with satisfaction. “I’m not sure you deserve it.” He sputtered, barely finishing the sentence. His smirk grew placid as he continued. “But I’m gonna give it to you anyway.”

The sensations nearly made you both dumb, his words causing a borderline condescending chuckle to leave you. His arms anchored you to him, his hands planted against your shoulders. “So cocky.” You muttered as your heartbeats began to sync. A familiar tightening began in your cores. “You talk too much. Quiet.” The words fell between the wet squelches filling the air; the amount of precum he produced was mouthwatering. His very scent overwhelmed your senses. Your tail wrapped around his waist possessively. The action itself made the throbbing veins of his dick throb against your heat.

He was mostly quiet, just briefly. Profanities split between grunts as his eyes screwed shut in bliss. “Shit, haaa…! Mn, just for a little while.” His words are more like a challenge, his hips bucking upwards to punctuate his point home. “But I’ll make you moan just the same.” That wasn’t the response you hoped for; your head flopped against his shoulder as your jaw went slack. The faintest whimper left him as his tip just barely entered your warmth. Its width begged to stretch that pussy out, and both of your genitalia wept for one another. “I know how much you want it, so put that mouth to good use and make some noise.” It was your attempt at putting him in his place, only to yelp at your clit now throbbing from overstimulation.

“You know I feel good, but you seem to have me beat for making noise.” His lips found purchase against your neck once more, but not before a guttural sound rumbled in his throat. He knew you were playing with him, and he welcomed it. “You’re a minx, but I love that shit,” he muttered before placing a sloppy kiss against your lips. “Since you asked nicely, I’ll give you what you want.” He didn’t bother giving you time to respond; his teeth began to nip at the sensitive shell of your pierced ears. He began to sing, just as you wanted him to. He wasn’t much of a moaner, but god… His groans and grunts were enough to send butterflies welling up inside you. The sounds were deep, and he breathed heavily against you, his hips slowly faltering.

Pulling away from your ear, you two stared at one another. Ears twitching as it received each moan, and you two responded pornographically. Your face contorted with lust, shaking breaths grew into sputtering moans, your body writhed as your breasts grew sore from bouncing on him, and your legs tensed with effort to prolong the experience. Using him as leverage, you shifted yourself back to meet him. Both of your vocal cords went raw as he spoke. “Gonna cum,” he warned with a thick swallow. “Give it to me, baby. C’mon, please cum on me. Please…!” He couldn’t hold out much longer; you only managed to groan in response as your movements stiffened. Your head suddenly felt light as the impending orgasm wracked your brain. The final moan was silent. “I… I need to—… nnggh.” He mumbled barely coherently as his thrusts grew erratic, the wet squelching on your pussy like music to his ears. With a sudden primal hiss, he cried out as his climax smacked him. A flurry of harsh gasps erupted from his throat. His head fell back as he greedily guided you against him, his cum coating your thighs.

“Tsal oel,” you murmured, a soft compliment.

Jake let out a breathy chuckle in response. He didn’t need words—his expression said enough. Mischief danced in his eyes, already plotting against you in ways you wouldn’t expect, though your comfort remained his priority.

With his usual aftercare, he pulled you close, holding you against his chest as your breathing slowed. Your fingers reached for a soft, fuzzy leaf from the tree nearby, using it to begin cleaning yourself. Concern flickered across his features.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

His gaze lingered on the marks left on your skin, the scent of sex still clinging to your body like a second skin. The fluids smeared across the leaves carried a sweet, salty tang. Curiosity took you, and your fingers dipped into it, tasting the familiar essence without thinking.

“We should make more soon,” you murmured, turning to face him.

He was already staring.

Back to the beginning.

MasterList ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

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pookalicious-hq · 9 months ago

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kunigami rensuke with a cute hyper fem gf...

now playing: tell me by fifty fifty

you tie bows all over his things; on his water bottle, cleats, even in his hair sometimes (he never takes them off).

Kunigami reached into his bag, pulling out his cleats and tossing them aside without a second thought. Stretching always came first in his routine. His muscles flexed as he bent down, the familiar routine calming his mind as he focused on the upcoming practice. But when he straightened up and glanced at his cleats again, something stood out.

A small, baby pink ribbon had been tied neatly onto his laces. Two perfectly formed bows, delicate and unmistakable, sat right at the top. Kunigami blinked, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he recognized the handiwork immediately.

It was you.

His girlfriend, always leaving your subtle touches—on his things, in his life. You found joy in these small gestures, and somehow, they never failed to brighten his day. The bows weren’t just ribbons; they were little reminders of your affection, woven into his routine in the softest, quietest way.

With a quiet chuckle, he slipped the cleats on, ribbons and all. He could already imagine the teasing he’d get from his teammates, but it didn’t bother him. If anything, the bows felt like a badge of honour.

They were pretty fashionable, if he did say so himself.

you drop him off at practice in your pink beetle convertible that he barely fits in.

In your car, the rule was set in stone: Kunigami was only allowed to queue up music from your driving playlist. Today (his personal favourite), Tell Me by Fifty Fifty played through the speakers, and you were singing along, completely engrossed in your own atmosphere. The bedazzled steering wheel shimmered in the sunlight, its light bouncing off the pink disco ball hanging from your mirror. The reflections danced around the car, lighting up your smile as she belted out the lyrics.

Kunigami watched you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. He was used to this by now—the bright, pink car, the music filling the small space, even the tight squeeze as he tried to get comfortable in the passenger seat. It was all part of your mornings together, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

As they reached the field, you pulled to a stop, still humming the last notes of the song. Kunigami unfolded himself from the car with ease, with a quick kiss to his cheek, you gave a cheerful goodbye and drove off.

He turned, ready for practice, but Otoya’s voice broke through his thoughts.

“Kunigami... were you just in a Barbie car?”

Kunigami paused, raising an eyebrow. “Barbie car?”

“Yeah!” Isagi pointed to where her car had just been. “Which toy store did you steal it from?”

Bachira jogged over, grinning. “It’s got the heart wheel rims and everything! I didn’t know you rolled like that.”

Kunigami blinked, glancing back down the road. It was just your car to him—pink, sure, and decked out with shiny accessories, but it never crossed his mind as anything more than that.

With a shrug, he turned back to his teammates. “Belongs to my girlfriend. It works.”

Isagi shook his head, chuckling. “You’re down bad, man.”

Kunigami just smiled, unfazed. It didn’t matter what they thought—those mornings were his favourite part of the day.

you always gets him to do tiktoks, they go viral for the trend where they tied a bow around his bicep and you squished your face between.

"Babe, hold still, please."

He was about 99% certain he had been completely still this whole time, but if you asked for it, he'd do nothing to deny you. Kunigami glanced down at you kneeling beside him on their velvet pink couch, a pink silk ribbon in your hand. Your focus was intense, your brows furrowed in concentration as you tied the ribbon around his bicep.

“Are you sure this is necessary?” he chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “I’m not sure a bow suits my vibe.”

You paused, looking up at him with wide, sparkling eyes. “Of course it does! You’ll look adorable.”

“Right, adorable,” he replied, trying to suppress a grin. “Just remember I’m a soccer player, not a model.”

“Mm, you're right, too bulky. Though you do have the tiny waist for it,” you teased, giving the bow a final tug before stepping back to admire your handiwork. “ M'kay perfect.”

A slight blush dusted his cheeks as you found your way into his lap, positioning your head in the crook of his elbow. He couldn’t help but laugh, his heart warming at how effortlessly you could make him smile.

“Okay, ready?” you asked, her voice muffled as she shifted her phone into place. Right before the audio—some Lana Del Rey song—started playing, Kunigami began to flex his bicep. A surprised yet embarrassed laugh escaped your lips, a rosy blush dusting your cheeks.

If Kunigami was being completely honest, he wished she had suggested this trend sooner. The sight of your bright smile, the way your eyes sparkled with delight, sent his heart racing. It was as if the world faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of happiness. Not to mention, the way you looked at him filled him with an exhilarating boost of confidence.

“Three, two, one—” you called, voice brimming with excitement as the music filled the air, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket.

He held his flex, muscles taut and ready, as you leaned in, playfully squishing your face between his arm and the pink bow. The silly intimacy of the moment made him chuckle, a warm glow of affection spreading through him.

From his perspective, he could only see a portion of his hair in the frame, while the rest of the screen was dominated by your blushing face, framed perfectly against his (MASSIVE) bicep. The contrast was hilarious, and for a split second, he wondered how this had turned into a moment worth capturing.

“Wait. Why is this hot?” you blurted out, laughter bubbling from your chest. You looked up at him, cheeks still rosy, and you both burst into fits of giggles.

a/n: i love this man sm, lmk if you have any other characters you wan me to do this with, send the archetype along with the paring <3

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #kunigami x reader #kunigami rensuke x reader #blue lock #bllk

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chic-a-gigot · 7 months ago

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L'Art et la mode, no. 49, vol. 15, 8 décembre 1894, Paris. Toilettes d'hiver. Dessin de G. de Billy. Bibliothèque nationale de France

Toquet de velours miroir turquoise drapé et noué devant avec un coulant de vieux strass. Grand nœud de satin noir sur la calotte. Plumes et crosse noires fixées de côté en panache. Touffes de violettes de Parme au-dessus des oreilles.

Turquoise mirror velvet toquet draped and tied in front with a flow of old rhinestones. Large black satin bow on the crown. Black feathers and crosier fixed on the side in a plume. Tufts of Parma violets above the ears.

—

Robe en drap vanille. Blouse flottante en breitschwantz serrée à la taille par une ceinture de velours pensée à boucle de vieil argent. Revers coquilles pareils sur le haut des manches. Collier de velours pensée.

Dress in vanilla cloth. Floating blouse in breitschwantz tightened at the waist by a velvet belt with an old silver buckle. Similar shell lapels on the upper sleeves. Velvet collar.

—

Robe en velours crocodile bleu de France, garnie de renard bleu. Manches de drap blanc ornées d’appliques de velours bleu. Manchon de renard bleu.

Dress in blue crocodile velvet from France, trimmed with blue fox. Sleeves in white cloth decorated with blue velvet appliques. Sleeve in blue fox.

—

Robe en velvetine châtaigne perforée sur transparent de satin bleu lavande, garnie dans le bas a’une petite ruche en velours découpé. Corsage découpé en bandes à la taille s’ouvrant sur un coulissé de satin lavande. Col de zibeline avec queues, fixé sur les épaules par deux touffes de pavots.

Dress in perforated chestnut velvet on transparent lavender blue satin, trimmed at the bottom with a small ruffle in cut velvet. Bodice cut into bands at the waist opening onto a lavender satin drawstring. Sable collar with tails, fixed on the shoulders by two tufts of poppies.

—

Robe en drap satin banane, ourlée de vison. Veste Louis XIII en velours miroir feuille morte. Gilet de moire crème orné d’un volant de point d'Angleterre. Chapeau feutre avec boucle ancienne et panache de plumes.

Dress in banana satin cloth, hemmed with mink. Louis XIII jacket in dead leaf mirror velvet. Cream moire waistcoat decorated with a point d'Angleterre flounce. Felt hat with antique buckle and feather plume.

#L'Art et la mode #19th century #1890s #1894 #on this day #December 8 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #corsage #hat #gigot #Modèles de chez #G. de Billy

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nevernonline · 2 years ago

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✧.* just for one night; yjh

for jeonghan's birthday he teased the gift he wanted wrapped in a pretty bow this time was you. little did he know that his joke would turn into his favorite present.

𐦍 paring: jeonghan x reader.

𐦍 genre: romance, bad humor, fluff, "friendly" date.

𐦍 warnings: drinking, s3xy times, swearing, smut, minors dni, reader has female genitalia.

𐦍 word count: 2.0k

𐦍 content: non-idol characters, food/drink, cursing, slightly- suggestive, pet names, afab! reader.

𐦍 note: I meant to post this on 1004 but.. maybe forgot to queue it LMAO. this wasn't intended to go this way and I don't rlly write smut often (or read it often tbh) so pls all my baddies who read and write smut give me feedback. (pls) lolol. anyway!! enjoy kk. ily.

It was that time again, time to find a gift for a friend who had nearly everything. Scouring around shops and market places, trying to find something special that had any meaning to the two of you. Sure, you could buy a lux gift or a fancy dinner, but that was basic and well beyond the things Jeonghan had given you.

You scroll back through texts and posts over the last few birthdays you had spend celebrating him, stumbling across a photo that gave you a good idea. You were sitting on his lap as he blew out his birthday candle. After that wish was put into the universe you recall his lips coming so close to your ear his lips were almost making contact with your pierced lobes.

“All I want next year is you wrapped in a pretty bow.”

Maybe he wouldn’t remember that wish, but you did. It was silly and stupid, but your friend did always know what he wanted and wasn’t shy to ask for it.

You sprinted to the stationary store in order to find a big pink bow in under thirty minutes, so you could make it back to your apartment where Jeonghan was meeting you before his big night out with all of his friends. The options were endless, a sea of glitter, metallic, curling, satin, but you decided to be simple, just a large bound pink ribbon.

After an overwhelming time spent pondering over pink fabric, you made it home with ten minutes to spare. Lacing yourself up from your sneakers, to your hair, your bag, even a dainty piece wrapped around your neck as a finishing touch just as the doorbell rang, you told him to open up where he found you laced in pink, wearing a black dress, holding a cupcake flame ablaze.

“Happy Birthday, Hannie.”

A smile creeped in as he came close to blow his candle out looking at the pink adorned ribbon tied all over you, he remembered.

“My present I presume?”

His fingers pointed towards you, again smiling from ear to ear like he couldn’t believe you remembered his wish.

“Think I’d forget?”

“You tend to forget your own name while drinking, so yes. I love it.”

Jeonghan’s hands reached to run his hands over the ribbon in your hair, pausing before he touched the one on your neck.

“So this means you’re mine for the night?”

“Your wish is my command, birthday boy. Should we go?”

“You know when I wished for you to be my present, I meant much more than you wearing bows right?”

You huffed, watching his eyes still on your neck.

“I did. I really will oblige any wish, as long as it’s legal and safe.”

“No promises, babe. Let’s go.”

Walking hand in hand into Jeonghan’s not so surprise party was not out of the norm for you, you’ve always been the type of friend that clung to close, even for your own comfort. Something seemed to linger in the air around you as a pair.

“Mind getting me a cocktail? I’m going to go say hi to the guys and thank them.”

“Again, here to please. Vodka Cran or G&T?”

“Gin, please.”

With a small salute as a send off you walked into a line behind three other partygoers in line.

“Y/n? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in pink before?”

The voice was Joshua’s coming from behind you. He wrapped his right arm around your shoulders in a half hug greeting you hello.

“Really? Well, it's for Jeonghan’s gift. Last year he wished that I gift him myself, so here I am adorned in pink ribbon.”

“You really took him up on that? You are one good friend.”

“I know that you're thinking it's probably a mistake, you’re right.”

“Na, he’d never hurt you or let anyone else. He likes you far too much.”

Your eyes rolled now facing the bartender and placing the matching drink order before turning back to Joshua.

“Come find me later okay? I need a Shua Hong dance for my payment for being Jeonghan’s bitch for the night.”

“It's the least I can do.”

Hours passed by just as quickly as alcohol entered your system, you haven’t left the side of your male counterpart for hours, he wouldn’t let you slide away other than grabbing more drinks or running to the ladies room.

Your buzz is far more prominent now. Jeonghan’s hands slid to the lower half of your body, resting between your bare skin and the hem of your dress and your heart followed along to the beat of the edm music playing over the club loudspeakers.

“Dance with me, pretty?”

His eyes burning a hole into your head, you obliged, grabbing him by the hand and pulling him into the center of the purple lights and faux fog.

Jeonghan’s hands found a comfortable spot resting on your hips as you twisted around placing your back onto his chest, grinding slowly to the song.

This proximity between you has never existed, while you’re touchy or clingy the feeling from the warmth of his pants's friction on your upper thighs made you feel differently about your so called friend.

Thoughts swirled in your brain as you turned back to be face to face with his plump lips and siren like eyes. A hand, that same hand that was resting comfortably on your lower half snaked its way up to your neck, the ribbon placed there was now further from your skin as his fingers laced their way under it.

“You want to know what else I wished for?”

You opened your mouth to speak, no words formed other than some incoherent ones that sounded like soft moaning.

“I wished that you’d be my present forever, not just for the night. I can’t let anybody else get this gift.”

Your hands reached from the nape of his neck to the side of his face, trying to give him a clue that you wanted him as badly as he wanted you.

“Come home with me?”

He placed a small peck onto your cheek, nearing the site of your lips that so badly wanted to feel the crash of his on them.

The whole ride back in your taxi, your hands rubbed up his thigh. He knew you looked nervous, but also that you would tell him if anything made you uncomfortable.

Truth be told he was nervous too. This was a line he never thought would be crossed. Jeonghan knew for years that he wanted you and only you for that matter, but he waited for the perfect moment to be put in your hands.

Saying a quick thank you to your driver, you basically sprinted into his place, not even having a second to throw your jacket and bag down at his front door before you had your back against his white walls in the dark.

The sense of urgency to kiss you was obvious. A near feral feeling. He tasted like cherries and gin as he kissed you quickly, helping you out of your outerwear and pulling you into his apartment that was only lit by the beautiful view of the city below.

“Help me?”

Your voice came out as a whimper, turning your back to him as an indication you needed help out of your dress.

His cold hands wrapped around the zipper of your dress running a finger down your spine as it unzipped.

“Wow.”

His confidence suddenly washing away as he looked at your semi naked body only wearing a matching pink slip dress to the color of your bows and a pair of matching panties below.

“Dressed up for me too?”

“Nope. Just like to match.”

The ‘P’ of your nope popped onto his face and a devious smile appeared.

“Don’t be bad, gifts shouldn’t talk back to their owner.”

His hands found his way to the place they didn’t seem to leave all night, your hips as he placed you down onto his fresh sheets.

“Sorry, Hannie.”

“It’s okay, just be a good girl."

You nodded as he began kissing you starting at your lips and followed a trail all the way down to your sternum.

“You know the best part about gifts is opening them.”

Jeonghan’s fingers now wrapped around the waistband of your underwear as he slowly pulled them down below your knees, around your ankles and onto the floor.

A pause from kissing came as his pointer and middle finger entered into your mouth and prompted you to spit on them so he could rub circles onto your clit before entering another space he had never been to before. His first finger came in slowly penetrating you softly, when he saw you getting needy his second entered and the beats became more rapid as he used his tumb to rub circles around your much more sensitive sweet spot.

Your moaning became louder, reminding him of your voice yelling over the sound of the music in the club as you reached your first orgasm of the night.

Sitting up now watching as Jeonghan places the same two fingers that were inside of you into his mouth, savoring every last drop of the finish you had because of him, you crawled onto you knees now prompting him for some pleasure.

Undoing the button and zipper of his pants, letting him and his cock catch their breath before going down on him. You placed soft kisses along the pale skin of his stomach, making sure to nip his skin in between as you make your way down his torso. Just as you reach the waistband of his boxers, a hand comes to cup the hard thing lying beneath.

“Wanted me that bad huh?”

Jeonghan, now dethroned from his previous position of power, just groaned as a beg to have your mouth wrapped around his pulsing cock.

“I’ve wanted you forever.”

Hearing his breathless moans you released your hands from his cock and finished unwrapping yourself for him, leaving that small pink ribbon tied around your neck, before going back down to kiss your lips at the tip of his dick.

As your hands and mouth worked their way around in unison all over his engorged flesh, it takes only a few minutes for him to fill the dirty mouth that was teasing him just before.

“Didn’t take you for such a lightweight, Yoon.”

“Shut the fuck up and please get on top of me.”

Your legs came to straddle around his still sensitive cock as you teased your entrance.

“Someone’s so needy.”

“Someone is supposed to be doing far less talking and far more fucking.”

His arms pulled you down fearlessly so your lips could fall back into place and also so he could shut you up while you finally let him inside of you.

“Fuck, I didn’t expect you to be so tight.”

Jeonghan knew he wouldn’t last long being inside of you, not because you were tight, but because of the way he felt about you and how much he dreamed about watching your breasts bouncing as they hovered over his face while he fucked you.

“I- Uh, Fuck.”

“You what, pretty? Can’t handle me? Can't it last long? Want me to fill you up as you ride me?”

“Yes, yes, all of it. Please, Hannie.’"

As his hips pounded their way onto yours, both of you running out of stamina maybe due to the alcohol or maybe the adrenaline reached your climax near the same time.

“Can you come inside me, please?”

You were practically begging him to mark you and since you looked so pretty he couldn’t say no to you.

With the two of you now finished, his cock still inside of you. Jeonghan placed soft kisses on your lips.

“I don’t want this to stop.”

His hands came to untie the pink fabric now slightly wet from your shared bodily fluids.

“Me either. I love you, you know?”

You lifted your body off of him, now under his covers with your hands placed on his chest.

“I love you too, Happy Birthday.”

“Be my present forever, okay?”

“Okay, handsome.”

And with another year gone, Jeonghan finally got the birthday present he truly wanted. You.

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space-blue · 1 year ago

Text

Distant cousins of the jungle's stingbat, the aptly named stunbat (Tsealìm in Na'vi) is a native of the Txepìva volcanic plains that hunts by diving from great heights and colliding with their prey head-first, stunning them.

Their head is blunt, with a threefold crest reminiscent of the great leonopterix's dual one, but significantly more ossified. Their neck is thick and muscular, to help support the structure, but also to weather the high velocity impacts.

The hands, small and with fused fingers in jungle stingbats, are much larger here, and used to catch stunned prey falling from the sky, or pick them off the ground as they swoop down. It also allows stunbats to eat on the fly, as it were, as the plains' chaotic environment doesn't always provide them with safe perching opportunities.

Stunbats have short, prehensile neural queues that retract under thick, keratinous neck frills. The extra mobility of this limb allows them to make quick connections while in mid-air, front to back, back to back, or belly to belly, the latter being the more commonly seen one, accompanied by a stabilising "handshake".

The stunbat's vision is excellent. Early research by Eyris Makri with the Tuin clan of the Txepìva showed that their domesticated stunbats were able to spot prey up to 4 miles away, seeing clearly at ten times the distance of their Na'vi handlers. Their primary eyes show a high concentration of foveas, giving them enough focus to clearly distinguish prey moving against the complex backdrop of the plains and lava fields.

Although the stunbat's barbed tail has lost most of its poisonous sting, it is still used in defence against larger predators. Their best defence, however, remains a Na'vi bow.

It is hard to tell exactly when domestication started, though the olo'eyktan of the Tau'un clan claims one of his ancestors was the first to tame a stunbat. We're told this happened during the "Time of Long Nights", but dating that event is equally complicated. Current estimations are a minimum of two millenia.

During that time, the stunbat's range remained tied to the volcanic plains of the Txepìva clans, although the species has been observed by Serafiina Hukkala as far out as Mons St. Helen. One must note that the stunbat is unlike our previous study case of the Viperhound, which are bred for various purposes. Interviews with Txepìva hunters (Makri et al.) suggest that their relationship to the Na'vi is similar to that of cats and humans, with multiple domestication events, beneficial to both species. Na'vi led breeding appears to be very incidental, as stunbats tend to fly off to find mates in the wild, rather than mating among their clan's flock.

This species is significantly larger than their forest cousins.

The most common uses of stunbats are for scouting and hunting. While hunting of small game is extremely similar to what humans once achieved with eagles, stunbats also take part in hunting expeditions for large prey.

They are used to follow the movements of herds, but also to help separate young calves from their mothers, or the weak and wounded, by dive bombing them (Hukkala et al.) They understand complex orders, communicate with clicks and shrieks, and will come to hang on the queue or harness of their paired Txepìva to share more detailed visuals through Tsaheylu.

This is also how they are used for scouting. Serafiina Hukkala postulated that the stunbats' mated pair lifestyle influenced Txepìva culture by making the act of scouting a couple's task. Scouting, we must remind the reader, is a lot more crucial to the Txepìva, who have no qualms waging war against each other for the domination of water sources and fertile land. Raiding parties, while not frequent, are a banal part of life on the plains. Even small children learning to work with stunbats will be sent on sentry duties, often on the back of a Lenonin Hound.

The reason mated pairs of stunbats are favoured is because of their long flight range and their ability to connect together in mid-air. This means one side of the couple can move far ahead, and report back to their partner, already extended to the edge of their range. A couple of scouting stunbats effectively covers double the range a single hunter would.

Stunbats are occasionally used to communicate with similar techniques. While one half of a pair can be sent to deliver a message to another tribe, the other remains with their clan (often brooding). The homing individual (whichever has best endurance, as both sexes feed and brood chicks at will) can find its way back to them even if the clan is on the move. More research is needed on their communication capabilities.

When travelling or staying in temporary camps, stunbats are housed in loose baskets designed to let them hang onto the side. These carriers are custom made by every clan and come in many forms and sizes. Brooding stunbats are carried, either by a Na'vi who will fashion straps to turn the basket into a backpack, or tied to the back of Leonin Hounds.

In more permanent camps, the Texpiva craft treillis to give them places to hang from. Serafiina Hukkala reported a clan that arranged dried branches and material for firewood as perches, while Eyris Makri stayed with a couple who fashioned fake branches at the top of their tents, like rafters. Both heard reports of clans that house their stunbats along with their livestock, but the practice seemed frowned upon.

The bond between Na'vi and Tsealìm needs further study. It isn't as exclusive as with an ikran, but much more complex than with direhorses. Stunbats bond strongly with a small family node, and more weakly with the extended family and friend group. Tsaheylu is typically only done with their main Na'vi hunters, although the stunbat can be introduced and passed down to children.

Emergency tsaheylu was witnessed twice by Makri, when a scout had urgent reports and the stunbat was sent ahead. Connection was made with the clan's tsahìk, who had a habit of bonding with every newborn stunbat. The practice, we were told, can be controversial.

Hunter depicted without ornaments, to highlight the process of Tsaheylu.

Some clans craft harnesses for hunters to better carry and support their stunbats, while others prefer natural body-to-body contact. The folding or tying of the neural queue to allow for better access to the kuru/tendrils seems universal among all interviewed hunters and scouts. Different styles were observed and will be presented in our published notebooks, after our paper on the use of stunbats in skirmishes and outright warfare, as the Txepìva practice it.

Part II of @straydaddy (art and design) and @bluedaddysgirl (lore concept + final art entry) in-world collaborative study, "Introduction to the Txepiva clans, their nomadic pastoralism and niche selective breeding practices in species of stingbats and viperwolves". On twitter we are Knarme and Bluedaddysgirl

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steamingstewchunks · 3 months ago

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I feel like Bumblebee would get babu Sari a little bee onesie

So they could match

Oh yes he does, he so so does it, makes sure the others can see how she makes the little grabby hands for it.

It's a competition to see which one of their colors/themes she likes the best when they all go out together so she has "interact with the outside world" time.

Each and every time, they hit up a clothing store, never to get anything for themselves no, they can just make any outfit they want with their holoforms, it's all for SARI, and DOMINANCE within their group.

Who is the favorite? whos colors does she love the most? Who gets her the best stuff?

It's as one does when a baby chooses something uniquely you, I know me and my family flaunt the superiority when the baby chooses one of us over the other (lesser) choice, ((the not me choice)), so within the store, Bumblebee is the most obvious. I mean, he's already got the yellow, she already loves yellow, so automatically he's got majority points! She just needs the stripes!

Queue a very young looking boy(teen? Man? Eh, the cashier doesn't care) slamming his hands down on the counter talking about "every bumblebee or bee related piece of clothing you got", staring at them like they don't get paid fifteen dollars an hour.

Meanwhile prowls trying looking at the golden bracelets, and maybe that tacky little onesie that says "mamas gurl" in gold letters on the back, but it's main color is... Pink. Pink and gold. Even in his holoform he doesn't think he can pull that off without looking like Patricia. She rocked the pink and gold jewelry like it made her queen of the world. He put the onesie back, no way was she going to have Sari resemble Patricia of all people. Maybe they can get matching bows, Sari likes to mess with the one on her collar when walking around.

She picks out a little black bow and ties it to one of her pigtails. Prowl will take it off when they need to pay for it. It matches with the glasses they share.

Bulkhead is just as obvious as Bee, but less so with the competition part. He goes, surprisingly enough, with what she already has in her closet. Hes trying to make complete outfits, he likes to match his own with Saris, little green shoes with a yellow dress and green jacket? He's wearing a yellow undershirt and shorts, a green letterman Jacket, and a pair of sneakers cuz they are comfy and basic and versatile. No, Bee, he won't wear Crocs, fundamentally, they're not as versatile as he needs sports mode be damned

Ratchet is really good at it, necessities like bibs and socks, they have his colors. I haven't really noticed but on non gendered stuff for babies, red and white are actually very common colors. So long as the red is an accent and not a main color. (And not Elmo.) He doesn't brag about how much she really really loves the doctor toy set he got her a few weeks ago, he does grin smugly at Optimus when his thing is set aside for a few moments to play doctor with grandpa Ratchet though.

The prime, well, Optimus doesn't know how to go about it. The one thing they've got in the whole "favorite" category would have to be the red little truck that she loves to carry around everywhere. He made it, actually. The kid in their favorite store, Miko, was making something at the counter one day, needles thread, little beads and stuffing, the whole shebang.

He would have asked about it if Sari wasn't cranky-- nap time was something nobody tried to put off when it came to it So instead, he set her down with Ratchet a block or two away, asked if he could watch her while he.... Investigated something.

"sure kid, I'm not doing much here anyways, might take the stasis nap with her."

Holoform active, Optimus speeds back to the shop, worried that maybe she wasn't there or he missed it or-

"What are you doing back here? Need something else, Ori?" It takes him an embarrassingly long time (and a bit of money(little sweets are going to be in the candy jar for MONTHS)) for him to muster up the courage to ask about it.

He comes back to a snoozing Ratchet and Sleepy Sari, just sitting near them as he fiddles with the soft, hopefully well made plush in his hands. It wasn't good, not by a long shot, his holoforms digits had plenty of holes in them from how much he'd accidentally poked himself, luckily covered by bright neon and patterned bandages. Hesitantly, he placed the plushie next to Sari, just nervous and worried, in a way, that she just wouldn't like it.

Nothing can compare to how relieved he felt when her little eyes opened, tiny slivers of red and white seeing what he made, and latching on immediately, holding onto it the same way she would hold him while being carried.

Each and every time he saw her with the toy truck, which lasted way, wayy longer than most others, his spark sang with joy.

The fact that it looked like his alt-mode was simply a plus, to her loving something he made so soso much, and he kept on learning to sew. For when it might finally tear, or break.

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year ago

Text

The Moon's Lies (2)

Summary: Kylo Ren x named!Reader. It was never going to be black or white, Light or Dark, friend or foe. Who wouldn't let the galaxy burn to keep their loved ones safe?

Warnings: 18+, unspoken threat of bodily harm, twisted morals, Kylo Ren being himself, vehicle wreck

Masterlist

Canon Divergence Notes: There is no Rey. Finn is the destined Jedi, and he leaves the scar on Ren’s face during the climactic fight on Starkiller Base. The only original canon kept after TFA is the destined Jedi (Finn) leaving to find Luke and Snoke pushing Kylo Ren to the breaking point, continuing the student-kills-the-master cycle. Summary: No Rey. Finn is training to be a Jedi. Kylo Ren takes the throne from Snoke.

A/N: All hail the new alpha/beta reader! Three cheers for @aralezinspace! And thank you all for the support so far. <3 You make my galaxy spin.

Years ticked by with battles fought, secrets found, and the rise of a new Supreme Leader to the throne of the First Order. Matters of life and death. To some.

Dyrrine judged the political upheaval like the weather. Rarely dangerous, but often an inconvenience. She couldn’t control it, and she worried more about sheltering her family from the rain than forming opinions about it.

At the moment, however, as mud sucked her boots down to the ankle and cold drops rode the wind to blast under her hood, she felt a lot of ways about the rain. Literally and figuratively.

Of course her responsibilities took her to Dantooine during the rainy season. And, of course, the First Order had no interest in accommodating the long line waiting for permits and passes.

Most of the year, Dantooine was lovely. Dry. Fairly temperate. Dyrrine would’ve enjoyed being off the ship and soaking in some sunshine while the rusty wheels of bureaucracy slowly groaned along. Instead, she dreamed of hot cups of tea and kept her hands stuffed deep in her wide sleeves as the queue inched forward, bowing under the storm’s onslaught. There were so many people still ahead of her, and she could barely see the service window through the downpour.

Good thing she’d reserved a seat on the next morning’s shuttle. She’d never make the evening flight. If things didn’t pick up, she might not reach the end of the line before the offices closed. Then she could do this all again at ass’o’clock in the morning, standing in a fresh downpour in day-old clothes without even the marginal warmth of the sun. What fun.

Off to the right, the depot’s primary doors slid open, spilling light into the miserable, sludgy afternoon. Stormtroopers in gleaming white armor stomped out, far too many for a patrol, and the eyes of every civilian turned their way. No one dared watch openly, but they peeped, and shrank, and waited. The ‘troopers formed two lines, facing each other to create a kind of path between the depot and the small collection of shuttles and TIEs left outside the hangar.

No wonder the administration was doing such a spectacular job that day. They had a VIP to entertain.

Dyrrine looked down at her feet, trying to work them free of the muck as the Adarian in front of her inched forward by half a pace. She had her priorities; keeping her place in line without losing a shoe was higher on her list than some First Order crony with extra polish on his boots.

One foot popped free with a noise like a belch, confirming Dyrrine’s belief the planet was trying to eat her. The second foot came loose by inches, and she was so consumed with keeping her balance she didn’t register the growing chill until the source stood in the open doorway.

Foot free, a step forward, and sinking into a new swatch of muck, she felt the menacing aura of a wildly powerful Force user. One didn’t need to be Force sensitive necessarily for animal instincts to register a threat, especially when said threat just loved to make a scene, to infect the very air with fear so every lesser creature would stay bowed low – where they belonged. She glanced back to the main entrance as the towering figure in black started down the ‘trooper-lined path, and her blood turned to ice.

She didn’t know his face – not this one, anyway. Last time they’d met, he’d hidden behind a chrome scowl, but his lightsaber was unmistakable, and kriffing hell if she didn’t remember that. It swung from his belt, bulky cross guard hilt on full display. The faint burn it once left along her neck took a week to heal, and this time there was no one to call him away before he introduced her to the blade properly. He was no one’s attack dog anymore. He’d slipped the chain and brutalized the fool holding the leash.

Kylo Ren. The new Supreme Leader.

The downpour suddenly didn’t feel like enough. Blinking away drops clinging to her lashes, she prayed for a flood, for the water to fall in sheets to curtain her from view, for the mud to gulp her down whole. Her gaze snapped back to the ground, hoping as she studied the trembling puddles that her spike of anxiety blended into the frightened crowd. What was one more terrified civilian in a sea of faces?

She resisted the urge to tug her hood lower. That would draw attention, tell anyone looking that she wanted to avoid being seen very, very badly. It took far too much attention to breathe, and she fought to release the mote of panic burning bright in her chest. No need to snuff it out. Just let it free. Like a firefly – still very real, but out and away from her thoughts. Drifting farther and farther, leaving a quiet void in its wake.

She was still. She was silent. She was invisible.

“I remember you.”

She was so kriffing screwed.

Drawn by the voice she would never have recognized without the helmet’s modulator, she looked between the shoulders of the nearest Stormtroopers to meet the Supreme Leader’s gaze. He towered over them, a wall of shadow behind their white armor. And there was no doubt he was speaking to her. He stepped forward, and the ‘troopers parted.

Too late to hide.

His presence crashed down like a wave, suffocating. Crushing.

She turned fully, facing him head-on as she reached deep to grasp the calm assurance that helped her through so many dangerous scrapes in the past.

“We never finished our conversation.” A playful edge sharpened his words, and she hunted through the flickers of expression that slipped past his guard. He wasn’t quite the same beast she met before. This time he was all confidence, secure in his position as the head of the First Order, free to stop, to take the time to pull her apart just for fun. His eyes traced her from dripping head to sodden feet, coming to stop on her pendant. “And you’re still wearing your protection charm. I thought you were going to leave it behind next time.”

With a dim smile that was entirely polite and not at all pleased, she repeated the short bow she’d offered on their first meeting, eyes dipping with her knees as she proved her respect. But she didn’t try to cower. When she rose, she resumed eye contact, letting her expression go placid in the face of her worst nightmare.

“Apologies.” Her voice came strong and steady. It didn’t even shake from the chill. “But as you said, we never finished our conversation, and I never heard whether it was offensive or just surprising.”

Humility, sometimes seasoned with feigned stupidity, could get a civilian far with the First Order. Sometimes officers appreciated the break from the usual hysterics of oppressed locals fighting for rights they no longer possessed. Sometimes a neutral attitude just made her forgettable, which was always the best outcome.

Unfortunately, she’d made a much deeper impression than she’d realized in this case, and she knew he wouldn’t let her fade into the mist like a ghost a second time. Even in the dreary weather, his eyes practically sparkled.

“We should fix that.”

She bowed again – quickly – and without looking away.

“It would be an honor, but I wouldn’t dare take any more of your valuable time, Supreme Leader.”

It was as close to begging as someone could get without yielding, and she knew she’d failed by the quirk of his lips.

“Then you can honor me aboard my shuttle.” He moved on, not in the least encumbered by the mud holding the rest of the planet hostage. “Bring her.”

Two ‘troopers who’d been following in his wake stepped up, but she moved. Springing forward as lithely as she could given her footing, she passed into the hall of white armored bodies of her own volition. It flummoxed the guards, and she offered a simple nod and smile as she continued after their leader. He hadn’t said to arrest her. Or bind her. Not even seize her. She still had some room to work, and so long as the ‘troopers didn’t know whether or not she was a prisoner, she could keep dancing.

So, she kept just ahead of the guards and well back from Kylo Ren, wading through Dantooine’s hateful sendoff to the waiting command shuttle.

The Supreme Leader’s thunderous steps echoed back down the ramp as she entered the hollow of the ship, following muddy tracks across the pristine floors. It felt like sacrilege. Like truth. The honest filth of the First Order’s dominion, and the inevitable tide beyond all illusions of control. Beneath her careful tranquility, a smug spark of emotion kindled. Not even the great First Order could stay polished in the face of a good storm.

But the spark faded as the Stormtroopers marched up after her, and the ramp groaned shut.

The ship was cold. A dead cold. Black with flashes of white and red lights that chilled her worse than the rain. She wondered if anyone in the Order – voluntarily or compelled – ever really saw their ships and bases as home. Something always seemed to draw them back, but she was willing to bet it was the blaster in the arms of the soldier beside them over duty or desire.

The passenger compartment opened directly into the cockpit, where four flight staff were prepping the shuttle for takeoff. There was only one other chair she could spy, and she knew better than to claim it. Guest or prisoner, she shouldn’t sit until her host offered, and she seriously doubted he would.

Leaning over the pilot and copilot, the Supreme Leader rattled off orders, checking his people’s work before it was even complete.

Was he a pilot, too? She knew that flavor of backseat driving. It was why they banned so many temporary residents from the Kuma Lisa’s cockpit. Once you’d had a ship’s controls in hand, most people struggled to accept them in someone else’s.

Ren’s low voice carried through the small space, disinterested in keeping secrets from the damned. “Set course for Ord Trasi. We’ll rendezvous as planned with the Steadfast.”

She closed her eyes and took a beat to breathe through the bubble of panic at the planet’s name. None of this was planned. He didn’t know she’d been on her way back for a rendezvous of her own. If she was careful, she’d remain the only one in danger. They’d know something was wrong when she didn’t return in the morning…

And right now, she needed to open her eyes and play the game. Or she’d never get to wade through a muddy queue ever again. She’d never touch solid ground, feel the rain on her face, or swear at a too-hot sun if she met her end on a damned star destroyer. Or on this shuttle, for that matter.

She got a reign on her fear and looked back to the cockpit just as Ren turned. His black ensemble maintained his regal air even with wet hair sticking to his forehead and ten inches of mud climbing his boots. His cape was no less ominous for the messy streaks on its hem as it flowed behind his long, determined stride. She doubted she’d weathered the rain so well. But that might work in her favor. Anything, given the right approach, could work in one’s favor. It was just a matter of strategy.

The ship lifted off from the mud, hard rain streaking down the viewport like it could drive them back to ground, and Kylo Ren left his flight staff to handle the voyage. While the craft was spacious for a shuttle, it was far from a cruiser, and he closed the distance like shadows rushing in after a light switched off. She held her ground. Waited like a good little subject until his boots came within inches of hers.

She knew this tactic.

Men like him loomed over their prey for one of two reasons. He wanted a fight, or he wanted a trembling victim to torture. He was waiting to see which she’d offer.

She’d deny him both. If it came back to bite her in the ass, at least she’d die satisfied with her decision.

He’d kill her in a heartbeat if she tried to fight – unarmed, trapped on his ship, surrounded by his lackeys. If she served up the fear he craved, he’d wring it out of her until she ran dry, and then she’d be just as dead and twice as grateful to expire.

With the board set against her, she must change the rules.

The ship’s low rumbling beneath her feet reminded her she was already in the belly of the beast, and she must be very clever to climb back out again.

“Who are you?” For all his casual intimidation, he didn’t hide the curiosity in his voice, and his anger didn’t singe the air like it did once upon a time on a planet far, far away.

He recognized a game when he saw one, and the moment he was humoring her. Or at least humoring himself.

She didn’t bow, though she dipped her eyes for the fraction of a second it took her to gather air for an answer. There was a fine line between a silly little stranger and an annoying fool. Too much bobbing would look anxious, anyway. But she held his eyes as she replied.

“Dyrrine Bairdne, sir.”

“And you’re from Lethe.” His eyes traced the strands of beads around her neck, the rings on her fingers, and bracelets on her wrists.

Slowly, mindful of the many guns and deadlier things on display, she raised her hands and lifted her hood. The Supreme Leader’s attention swung to the ornaments woven through her hair, and he scoffed.

“I see you’ve added more armor.” He stared her dead in the eye, daring her. “Expecting to meet a monster?”

She let her nebulous serenity grow warm. A blast from a cheap, old heater on a bitter winter night. Hardly the sun’s rays. But it wasn’t like he wanted that.

“Not at all, Supreme Leader.” She touched the longest strand of beads, keeping his focus on the Selenubis. “I’m training to be the next Naine of my family. Carrier of a thousand wishes, which is what these – ” She lifted a handful of necklaces, letting them rattle to draw both eye and ear. “ – represent.”

He plucked one from her grip, and his eyebrows furrowed. A frown bent his mouth as he rolled the smooth grey stones between gloved fingertips. He studied them like they had a secret script he might decipher in the fluid lines weaving over the face of each sphere.

“Take them off.”

She blinked, masking a busy mind with a face full of surprise. “Sir? They are offensive, then.”

“They’re a nuisance.” Though he didn’t let go of her jewelry, he did return his attention to her face. The amusement had waned. He wanted through her defenses.

Twisting his grip, he dragged her off-balance, and she jerked half a step forward.

Lips by her ear, he repeated, “Take them off.”

With his hulking shoulders out of the way, she could see through the viewport again. At some point, as she bantered for her life, they’d jumped to hyperspace. If he ran her through, right here, at least she’d have a familiar view.

The instant she pulled the faintest comfort from the thought, the ship was spat out of hyperspace, and a planet filled the view.

“Sir,” the flight officer called. “We’ve reached Ord Trasi. On route to rendezvous with the Steadfast now.”

The ship must be hiding on the far side of the planet, away from the hyperspace lanes.

Ren shoved her away, and the two ‘troopers stepped up to flank her. While his intentions were still far from clear, she wasn’t the honored kind of guest. She caught herself before her guards had an excuse to put hands on her, and as the Supreme Leader stomped back to oversee the last leg of their journey, she folded her shaking hands back inside her wet sleeves.

She seized the opportunity to breathe. Still alive. Still in one piece. And another distraction had bought her another precious few minutes. What she’d do with that time she had no idea, but she had it anyway.

Three TIE fighters wheeled into view, streaking past in perfect formation. The first sign of a larger First Order presence.

“I didn’t order an honor guard,” the Supreme Leader snapped. “Order them back to the ship.”

Oh, he was definitely a pilot. He was practically twitching. Too much protection must insult his ego, especially when he wasn’t behind the controls.

The flight officer leaned into the comms and relayed the command, but the TIEs did not disperse. They roared past again, moving behind the shuttle, and she swore she could feel Kylo Ren’s oppressive attention physically lift from her to this new problem.

Doubtless, Ren had something to say. More orders. A good threat or three. But before he could express his wrath beyond the creaking of his glove around his fist, a series of blasts rocked the transport.

Alarms wailed, and the flight crew began shouting updates and alerts as every standing passenger – apart from Ren – lurched into the wall. Beyond the racket from the cockpit, she could hear the wheeze of a dying engine somewhere below.

Kriff.

“Where are our shields?” Ren demanded.

Frantically switching toggles, the pilot shouted over the cacophony. “The readout shows they’re online, sir, but the damage suggests – ”

“Sabotage.” The Supreme Leader all but spat the word.

Shrieking by for another pass, the TIEs sent a hail of green laser fire over the shuttle, and she listened to the hull groan. The wall under her face was warm, and she carefully worked her way to a line of emergency grip points above. She clung on for dear life, looping her arm through and preparing for the worst.

She would not go down with the ship.

And the ship was definitely going down. Hazy clouds blurred the stars, the dark of space fading into atmospheric blue as they lost altitude.

“Sir, we’ve lost too much power. The planet’s gravity is – ”

“Supreme Leader, they’re coming about! Brace for - !”

The side of the shuttle exploded.

The angle of the blast sent debris spearing into the cockpit, and from the corner of her eye she saw an arc of wet crimson splash across the view screen. Now entirely out of control, the ship rolled, and the two stormtroopers tumbled boots-over-helmet through the hole that used to be the other half of the passenger compartment. Their voice modulators warped their screams as they fell.

She screamed, too, lifted off her feet, thrown into wall-ceiling-floor in a dizzying cycle. Her belly leapt into her throat as the engine heaved its last breath and the craft dropped into freefall.

Smoke and sparks filled the air. She couldn’t see what had happened to the flight crew or their dread leader, but no one was doing anything to slow their descent. If there was sabotage though, who was to say the shields were the only system affected? Even if they were conscious, Ren was the only one with the power to do anything at this point.

Well. Not only Ren.

Moving from grip to grip, she worked her way closer to the damaged half of the ship. She needed perspective. She had to see what she was doing.

A blur of green and brown appeared between flashes of blue, and she cursed. All her wonderful protective charms kept flying up to smack in her face, tangle in her hair, and obscure her view. She had a choice to make, and she needed to make it quickly.

Regardless of whether or not Kylo Ren survived, she wasn’t ready to die, certainly not like this. So she’d just have to take her chances.

Letting go of her precious handhold with one hand, she set to work, tugging and tearing the necklaces from her throat. She ripped the rings off with her teeth, and half the bracelets snapped as she jerked them free.

Her senses blossomed, expanding beyond her skin, beyond her sight. She felt the distance between the ship and the planet below, teaming with life, and another dim pulse somewhere onboard. Another survivor. She’d worry about that later. She’d save herself first.

Reaching into the flow of energy and motion that kept the galaxy turning, she pulled. Just as she’d found the grip inside the ship to keep stable, she grappled with air currents, gravity, and space to stabilize the shattered craft’s descent.

It had been a long, long time since she’d tried anything on this scale, and it tore through her the way too much exercise ripped fragile muscles. Something wet dripped down her neck as the spinning slowed. They were still dropping too fast, and she pushed down at the planet until her ears rang with the effort.

Gradually, painfully, she took control of the fall.

This wouldn’t be a pretty landing.

But they just might survive it.

#kylo ren x female reader #kylo ren x original character #kylo ren x oc #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fanfiction #ben solo x reader #ben solo x oc #fic: the moon's lies

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poppystheories · 11 months ago

Text

The official English of Lavi's scene is...probably not very good, from what I can tell. Which is understandable, this whole scene is tough. The official and fan translations say completely opposite things at several points, and I'm not sure which of them get it right.

So instead of getting too caught up on the exact wording of each translation, we're gonna go with vibes and context and stuff.

There's a big focus on how the Bookmen aren't supposed to give their heart, aka become personally invested, to anything, and how pointing this out hurts Lavi. Dream!Junior says these plain old facts like they'll make Lavi feel sorry for himself, and they do.

This scene has been analyzed by plenty of people before, but what I take from this dialogue is: Lavi actually isn't happy being a Bookman, huh? He is miserable and pities himself this lifestyle he was raised in; just laying out the reality of how he's supposed to live is enough to hurt him. He recognizes how empty and lonely and condescending the whole Bookman philosophy is, but can only say "I know...!". He actively thinks this whole deal sucks ass and still accepts it, and can't imagine living any other way.

Does Lavi know the previous Junior bowed out? Or rather, gave his "heart" away? Does he even realize that's an option?

Meanwhile, Allen's fight also involves the matter of the heart, but for him, rather than his heart being his weakness, it's undoubtedly his strength!

Lavi and Allen make for good foils. Neither of them have a "real" name, or home, and both hide behind constructed personas to keep the world at a distance, but on the inside they're completely different. Allen's identity was stolen from him, while Lavi threw his away. Both of their masters have ties to the 14th and know far more about the past and the war than they share with their students.

This post has been sitting in my queue for about two months and previously read:

"Considering Bookman Juniors are named after the record they're recording, and that the previous and current Juniors are working on the same record of the Holy War, just from opposite sides, it's likely the previous Junior's name was also "Lavi" just like the previous Allen's name was "Allen". "

Which is now completely confirmed.

There's a matching set of each of our protagonists in both past and future. Just like there was a past "Lavi" and past "Allen", there was a past Kanda too. Essentially, every character in DGM has a "past" counterpart, whether an actual version of themselves or a narrative substitute, ie the previous generation of Noah and the current, or Anita and her mother. Of our four major characters so far, only the Lenalee analog for the past is still missing.

This is also one of the reasons I thought for so many years that the previous Bookman Jr and Past!Allen couldn't possibly be the same person, but until this year, if I pointed that out any DGM reader interested in theories would have laughed me right out the door...

#reread #lavi #allen #bookman

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mxgalodon · 4 months ago

Note

*A little bag of heart-shaped handmade chocolates sits on your desk with a single pink rose tied into the bow. A little note hangs from the ribbon.*

Happy Valentine's Day, Don! This is a little tradition of mine: friendship chocolate! I hope your date goes well!!

❤️💙

[Standing up to stretch after spending a little too much time on the floor with Scuttlebutt, Megalo Don purred and smiled as Erik scratched his chin. As he instinctively turned his head to give Erik a better angle to scratch from, the bag on his desk caught his eye.]

[Queue a good ten minutes of Megalo Don lamenting about not noticing several gifts left to him by his friends, and his heart once again consoling him and calling him overdramatic. He could return the favor at a later time.]

[They would, of course, immediately begin squabbling over Erik stealing one of the chocolates and bolting away to eat it.]

#closed #fortnite tumblrverse #megalo don replies #Tumblrverse Valentines

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aftershocked · 1 year ago

Note

would love to see number 10 🥺🙏

(And if you’re up to it, here’s some others that caught my eye: 18, 35, 49, 54)

so. i was going to wait and answer these all at once but the first prompt came out to 1,487 words. so.

Valvert - #10, hair/caressing/braiding; 1.5k, rated G leaning briefly on T:

“Oh, let me get that, my dear.”

One of Valjean’s large hands reaches forward to cover Javert’s own, still pinching a bit of ribbon between his fingertips.

Javert huffs soundlessly as he passes the ribbon to Valjean without complaint, lowering his arms and settling more comfortably onto the small upholstered stool they keep next to the little desk in their bedroom.

He is already dressed for a brisk, wintry day, despite the few scant rays of dawn just now peeking past their curtains—still nervous, even now, whenever he accompanies Valjean to visit Cosette and her husband and their children. He cuts a handsome figure to Valjean’s eyes, wrapped in warm trousers and pleated woolen shirtsleeves, layered with the embroidered waistcoat that Valjean had gifted him the previous Christmas, its back panel a deep navy satin that hugs Javert’s waist with a delicately knotted bow.

Valjean forces his eyes away from the cinched fabric to note where the folded heap of Javert’s cravat yet lies on top of the desk, and beside it the simple, battered wooden hairbrush that was one of the few items Javert had brought with him to the Rue de l’Homme Armé all those years ago. His long waterfall of hair has been neatly brushed, and now needs only to be tied back into its customary queue; of late it is more grey than black, fanning out from his temples to fall in interlocking layers of iron and silver and gunmetal down nearly to Javert’s mid-back.

Valjean gently gathers the silky cascade of loose hair into his hand, stomach fluttering at the simple pleasure of his callused skin snagging on the thin strands—impossibly soft to the touch, and smelling faintly of the lavender and rosemary of their little bottle of hair oil.

He cannot resist sinking his fingers into where the hair grows thick at the other man’s nape, nails lightly scraping over Javert’s skull as he tugs a little more firmly at the hair clutched in his palm, the better to keep it straight and tidy for Javert’s queue—but a smile tugs at his lips at the quiet gasp Javert makes in response; the way Javert’s head tips back to follow the movement of Valjean’s hands in his hair.

“Do you have a second riband?” Valjean asks, enjoying the luxurious weight of Javert’s hair within his hand. His other rests at the juncture of Javert’s neck and shoulder, the heat of Javert’s skin seeping slowly through the material of his collar, Javert’s pulse strong and steady against Valjean’s palm. The impressive bristle of his whiskers brushes Valjean’s fingertips, and he looses a shuddering, indulgent exhale as Valjean’s thumb begins to rub in tiny, aimless circles; catching on the wisps of hair there, relaxing muscles that are always too tense, even so early in the morning.

“Another one?” Javert replies, bemused; even as he tilts his head into the tempting caress of Valjean’s fingertips, heedless of the way the angle pulls a lock of hair free of Valjean’s hold to tumble down his back, and Valjean ducks his head to press a kiss to the crown of Javert’s head.

“Perfect,” he says, withdrawing his hand from Javert’s throat to pull at the escaped hair. “I needed to separate it anyway; it’s been too long since I got to braid your hair for you.”

“It’s only been a few days, you old con,” Javert says, voice rasping faintly at the edges, shivering at each new touch of Valjean’s hand along his neck, the hinge of his jaw.

“Exactly,” Valjean agrees, “Nearly an eternity.”

He parts the thick layers of hair into sections, still running his hands through the glinting tangle shaded as mercury and coal and stardust. If Valjean could put a color to the glimmering constellations the other man will speak so fondly of—in that spare, gruff way of his whenever it is a matter of any importance to him—surely it would be here, in Valjean’s hands, coiled sleek and gleaming between each stout finger.

He carefully pulls and twists the familiar river of Javert’s hair into an orderly, uniform plait; resisting the urge to dither too long with the soft strands between his fingers, knowing it will only result in lopsided loops and frayed, frizzing ends. And while Valjean would hardly mind starting right back over from the beginning, Javert would likely insist on doing it himself the second time, for the sake of efficiency.

And so Valjean applies himself to the task as scrupulously as he knows the other man would do himself, the well-known rhythm soothing and intimate and over entirely too quickly by Valjean’s reckoning; the finished braid slipping easily from his hold to thump softly against Javert’s back.

“I don’t suppose you could grow your hair out longer still,” Valjean says, not entirely sure himself if he means it in jest. “I do so love to brush and braid it for you.”

The other man turns his head to look up at Valjean over one broad shoulder, his thin lips pulled down into a considering moue, his brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I would have no strong objections,” Javert says, his voice now steadied to its usual deep and resonant baritone. “Though it seems impractical. But you already know you may brush or braid it as often as you wish, whatever the length of my hair.”

“If I were to do this as often as I wished, I would need to be the one brushing out your hair morning and night,” Valjean replies, grinning in earnest now. He allows himself to tug gently at the tail of Javert’s plait, thinking ahead to the evening, when they prepare themselves for bed:

Javert changed from this more formal attire into his long, ruffed nightshirt, stockings yet in place in deference to the cold night; loosing the ribbons in his hair and fastidiously unwinding the individual strands until they fall in snaking waves down his back, enticing Valjean’s fingertips.

Valjean would want to trail his hands through the curls left by the braid; clasping messy handfuls in his work-roughened palms as he hauls Javert around to meet the other man’s mouth with his own, fingers buried in hair the color of quicksilver and glimmering to match the starlight falling through their bedroom window.

He would want to lace his fingers through the jumbled tresses falling around Javert’s shoulders and pull the other man closer to him, pressed chest to hip to thigh before walking Javert to their bed, slowly lowering the other man to lie beneath him on the plush duvet, Valjean’s hands still pulling at Javert’s hair as it spilled across the bedding, and—

“—jean,” Javert says. He sounds very much like this is not the first time in the past few minutes that he has called Valjean’s name. “Jean.”

Valjean blinks. The sunlight peeping through their curtains looks, perhaps, brighter than he last recalls. It is still early in the morning, with a long day yet ahead of them; and Javert’s expression has drifted somewhere between fondness and an amused exasperation as he says, “Are you still tired? It’s early yet, you could nap for a while longer…”

“No, no,” Valjean waves the suggestion away, cheeks heating as he determinedly sets aside his wandering thoughts and their decidedly inopportune nature; it will do him no good to keep thinking that way, with a trip to the Pontmercy-Gillenormand househould and a half-dozen errands ahead of them before nightfall—and any potential reenactment of his imaginings. “I’m not tired at all; I simply was a bit lost in thought, planning out our day.”

He pauses, and adds, with an attempt at nonchalance he knows will not fool Javert for even a moment: “But I may take you up on your earlier suggestion, if you will permit me to brush your hair out tonight.”

An eyebrow creeps up Javert’s forehead, deepening the creases cut across it by time and age and experience, and the ghost of a smirk plays around the corners of his mouth as he replies with a knowing, “Indeed?”

He tosses his head, braid swinging over his shoulder as he faces forward once more, picking up the cravat lying on the desk before him to loop it around his neck. The cravat had been a gift from Valjean as well, to match the waistcoat—and Javert slips it beneath the rope of his braid and edges of his collar, to fasten it expertly at the hollow of his throat. Once complete, his hands pull away from his neck, and he swallows; the elegant knot of the cravat bobbing in time with the motion.

Javert glances at Valjean from the corner of one eye, where a single coil of hair has been missed by Valjean’s handiwork; now lying tucked against the crow’s feet that deepen when Javert smiles. He murmurs: “As I said; whatever you wish, my Jean.”

#thank u for the ask emily #here’s to the remaining fills being shorter…#‘i’ll just write 200 word drabbles.’ she said. ‘it will be short and quick and easy.’ she said.#ask game #demon4dilfs #afs.txt #my stuff #fanfic #les miserables

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