#so the ring would have to probably be rather simple | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bunny-jpeg · 8 months ago

Text

lust is a loaded hand gun

max verstappen

cw: smut/pwp, ferrari!reader, baby fever, seduction, cowgirl position, alcohol/drinking, breeding, the reader wants to have a baby and chooses to have it with max, max is not aware

this bunny runs on comments & reblogs! feed the rabbit!

part 2: love is a kick to the stomach

this sounded stupid. but you wanted a baby. and while that was an easy task for most women, you knew that there was something impersonal about picking from a catalogue. reading profiles felt weird, like you were looking for a used car rather than the biological other half of your child. even if you'd raise them without a father, you'd rather have a night of passion than an awkward doctor's visit.

charles leaned back in his seat and asked, "why don't you and i just make one." he shrugged his shoulders. he considered himself close to you. you had been teammates for a little over two seasons and prior to that you knew each other. he didn't mind being the one to help you bring a child into the world, "i can be his uncle and he'd never know."

but, as close as you were to your teammate. you had other drivers in mind.

you made a face, "no offense, charles. but it would feel like doing it with my brother." being teammates meant you two knew too much about one another. you worked well as teammates and rivals because you were more like siblings. while you appreciated the offer, you felt it was weird.

charles asked, relaxed in his seat, "why are you doing this anyway? isn't there a million ways for you to have a child."

you shrugged, "i want to be a mom, i don't know. leave my seat behind to another woman and let her make all the history. i'm honestly tired. i've reached the peak and now." you sighed, "i want something else. i've got enough money to retire and let my future child retire before they're born." you crossed your arms, "i don't want to be doing this shit until i'm forty and just degrade in the skills department. end on a high note." while it was not an insult to other driver's on the grid. you felt bad that they never got to really be parents due to the schedules.

"so you need to seduce a driver to make that happen."

you nodded, out of the corner of your eye you spotted the driver you had your eye on. while you eyed the man crossing your path, your voice got softer, "and i think i know just the driver."

charles looked over to the direction you were looking at. he noticed who was walking by and he looked back to you, shoulders dropped, "max. you're going to seduce and have a child with max?"

you looked back to charles and shrugged, "why not? what's not to like?" max wasn't a perfect man, sometimes you wondered about the mechanics of his brain. but, you knew your child with him would lay waste to the track in the future.

"i can name a few. do you want them alphabetically or severity of it?" charles asked.

you gave him a look, "it wouldn't be hard to get him to sleep with me. you, me and the rest of the garage has seen how he looks at me. i mean who else do i have to choose from? either they're too old, they're rookies, or they have girlfriends. and i'm not getting a heel in the eye because i'm trying to have a baby."

charles rubbed the bridge of his nose, "i think you just like him."

you tensed up for a moment, "no. this is all just simple. scheming... nothing more. i don't expect to trap him with a child. he is free to live his life after i'm done with him."

charles found it hard to believe. not on your end, but max's. he had heard at sickeningly lengths about how max felt for you. it was probably the most eloquent the driver had ever been. if you got pregnant by him, he'd be getting a ring the next day. he sighed once more, "then have fun with the wold champion. i'd say to be safe, but i think being unsafe is the whole point of this."

you gave the once over of max in the near distance and smiled, "don't worry charles, you'll get all the details in the morning." which earned a groan from your teammate.

it started over a bottle of wine and ended in the motor home of red bull. you and max had gotten frisky over the evening. you wondered if anyone was selling the photos of you two in the back of the restaurant to tmz or some other trashy outlet. you had shared two bottles of wine over dinner. the benefit of being as wealthy as you were, you could throw the cash onto the table and giggle as you stumble out of your place.

you knew someone had a photo of max kissing you at the table to 'taste' the sauce that came with your meal. as if he couldn't take some from the plate.

but back in the motor home, you had dropped your purse by the door. in the dark of the place, you two were starting to get undressed. heels kicked to the wall, your bracelets set on the coffee table. your dress was on the floor by the bed, your bra over the lamp by the bed and your panties on the bed.

"i'm on top." you said as you kissed max's lips. he tasted like wine and fine dining. he tasted and smelled expensive. in all fairness he could be worth more than a micro nation. he was not an easy man to buy, but the currency of sex was in high demand. max wanted you, and you knew that because he got on his back without much argument.

you were both naked on the bed. the faint lights gleamed through the large windows as you rubbed up against max with no other lighting. you could see his face against the shadows of the night. his blue eyes were like gems and they pulled you in. whoever he ended up with would be very lucky.

but tonight you needed him. he was an important piece in your plan. you rubbed against him and with a little help, you sank down onto his cock. while cowgirl wasn't the best position to try and get pregnant, but it ensured that your plan would work. any position is a working one.

"you're beautiful."

"i know." you said as you rubbed yourself against him. you braced your hands on his strong chest. he was a handsome man, he was good at what he did and he was a winner. you knew anyone would be lucky to have him, but tonight was the perfect partner. you knew a child with him would be perfect.

you continued to rub up against him. the roll of your hips were methodical. this wasn't the first time you slept with a man. you moaned when max groped your breasts, massaged the flesh between those bear paws he called hands. soon you sank on his cock and shuddered, feeling the heat raise in your belly.

this was a mission, no time to get attached. you were both tipsy from the alcohol and the driver under you were more handsy than ever. you try not to feel the emotions that came with it. the feeling of being attached to someone you were having sex with. you batted charles' assumptions about your feelings for max out of your mind as you rode the dutch driver.

you were determined to get pregnant tonight. you measured it all down to a t, all you needed was for max not to get whiskey dick. you curved your back to get closer to him, your lips met his as you moved up and down. his cock was snug in your, but it went in almost perfect. the blunt head hit against the furthest parts of you. your heart hammered in your chest as you moved your hips.

you pushed hair out of your face before your braced your hands on his chest once more. he was very toned, you almost wanted to joke about what happened to his slightly kinder chocolate addiction. but that was neither here nor there.

"you feel so good." he grunted, "why haven't we done this before? fuck." he panted, he could feel the heat in his cheeks as you rode him. he had been with others before but being under you was a pleasure no money could buy. you were really good at it, knowing exactly how to make him feel good.

"good things take time." you panted, part of you wondered what would happen if you covered his mouth. you didn't need the dirty talk, this was a mission. if you wanted a casual friends with benefits, you'd try something online or another in the paddock. fucking max was a certainly that you'd get pregnant. it didn't have to be intimate or soft. it was a means to an end, and you'd get there no matter what.

the sounds of your fucking filled the room as you continued to move against him. you raked your nails down his chest, catching his nipples which made him moan. he was cute on his back, letting you take over. you wondered how deep his affection for you went.

you didn't want the emotional baggage of it all. tonight you were both drunk and having sex in the motor homes. it would be a one night stand before you two finished out the season. you could feel the heat across your back as you stared at him.

his eyes were closed and his mouth slightly open as he panted heavily. there was heat in his face and you felt something tug in your chest. he was beautiful, you hated to admit it. but max verstappen was a pretty boy.

he was already blissed out, his noises forced you by the movement of your hips. you licked your lips and without thinking, you left a mark on his collarbone. it was stupid, but it excited your further.

you continued to move against him. your breasts bounced with each move of your hips. you felt moans in the back of your throat and a hum in your soul. pleasure was close and it wasn't long before you really worked yourself onto his cock and finished.

the tightness around his cock made max's back arch a little bit. he could feel the heat in the back of his head. his heart pounded as he watched you continue to ride his cock. he panted heavily and soon climaxed as well. you made sure to get everything you could out. you kissed him once more before you stopped. when you pulled away you got off of his waist and laid down on the bed.

"wow." he said out of breath.

you didn't want to talk. instead you turned your head to kiss him on the lips to keep him quiet. there was no time for mushy romantic bedroom talk. you needed him to fall asleep before you could leave.

you tried to count down the seconds, placing kisses across his heated face. you reminded yourself that there would be some lucky enough to keep him for life.

when you pulled away from his lips after one last kiss, he curled up beside you and right then fell asleep. you stayed awake, when the heat cooled in your body. you hoped your mission was a success. the lust and the alcohol still made its rounds in your body. but you were lucid enough to find your clothes in the dark and slip out of the motor home before morning.

you'd never bring up the event to max, only briefly mentioning it to charles. you'd drive harder after that, in the end you'd secure a world championship. as you kissed the trophy and your country's national anthem played, you were already pregnant with your child.

your retirement was a shock to max. you could've easily decorated your home with many trophies over the next few years. but at the end of the 2024 season, you bowed out. you thanked fans and told them that it was a new chapter in your life. and then like that you fell off the face of the earth over the off-season.

max tried to find ways to contact you. where did you go? what happened? why leave at the height of it all? the more he thought about it, the more questions were raised in his head. he asked around the paddock, even going as far as to ask charles where you went. the other drive shrugged and told him that you moved back to your home country with a "little extra luggage". there were no social media posts. nothing. it nagged in the back of his brain for what felt like a lifetime. what happened to ferrari's princess?

it wasn't until almost three years later, max had claimed another world championship. it felt like these days he was riding high. he was still the best. but as he walked into the paddock to train for the upcoming season, he stopped in his tracks. he felt like he was splashed with cold water.

there you were, three years older with a glow to you. you were laughing with charles and lewis, you looked different but in a good way. you were in overalls and a ferrari shirt underneath. you were more curvy than you were when you were driving. and while you were still beautiful like the sun, pulling max in. what made his stomach drop was who was in your arms.

a young boy, with big curious eyes and round cheeks. he held onto you tightly, his small fists in the fabric of your shirt. he seemed curious about the track, but not scared of how big it all felt. while max would've assumed that you got married and had a child as a lot of people did. but that's not what had happened.

max knew right away at the first glance of your son. looking at him was like looking at max's childhood photos. even in features that matched your own, your son carried a lot of max in him. the itch in his brain after you fell off the earth all those years ago came back, this was where you went. the boy looked like him and if he was right about the boy's age then dates lined up. there was no question. max verstappen was your son's father. and when you noticed him staring. you simply smiled and gave him a wink, shifting the boy in your arms and pointing at the me. when your son smiled, max felt something in his gut. looking at you, holding your (his) son, made max feel like he was home. and all those feelings he had been carrying poured back into his head and heart. the same emotions that allowed you to bed him. <3

sequel: love is a kick to the stomach

1K notes · View notes

sqvishii · 1 year ago

Note

My personal headcanon is that the way Fae asks for their lover's hand in marriage is by weaving them a flower ring and proposing to them, they either cast a spell to not wilt or to change the flower ring regularly

So imagine the shock when you jokingly proposing to any of the diansomia boys with a flower ring

(This applies to qny of them, but i had silver in mind)

(Also just dumping my tjoughts here)

THIS IS SO CUTE I ☹☹

fuck ir this is so cutr im doing all of them

♡

• sebek zigvolt

both of you were walking in the garden, while he was talking about how great malleus is, you busied yourself with a flower ring

it was a bit simple to make, you wondered if your half fae boyfriend would like your little creation

while he was still talking, you went in front of him and presented him the ring, making him stop for a moment.

his reaction was priceless, just a blank stare with blown eyes once he realized what it was LMAOOO 😭

"HUMAN! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, PROPOSING TO ME WHILE WE ARE STILL SCHOOLING?!"

"sebek what."

turns out you didn't know a thing about fae stuff and all that, he calmed down and accepted the ring

.. silver saw him staring at the wall blankly with tears running down his eyes before looking out the window, revealing you messing around with ace

he was a bit sulky once he found out you didn't know a thing about fae culture and actually thought you were proposing 😭🙏

keeps the ring on, you can see his flustered face whenever he walks around and lilia is teasing him about it

♡

• silver vanrouge

as usual, silver was asleep in the garden. typical

while bored out of your mind, you decided to make a flower ring for your sleepy boyfriend so you can surprise it with him once he wakes up.

with your fingers delicately working on the flower and stickig it onto the ring, you felt silver wrapping his arms around you

his head resting on your shoulders as he asked what you were doing while he was still half asleep, his eyes widened a bit once seeing the object in your hands as you showed it to him.

"[name], are you sure you want to marry me? im not an ideal husband, but i can try to provide and such. if we were to have kids then-"

"silver wtf are you on about."

oh. yeah, you didn't know anything about fae customs.

he was taught about fae culture from lilia lolz, he embarrassingly hid his face from you as you put the ring on his gloved hand.

he wears it daily and often asks lilia to cast a spell on it whenever he sees it withering.

♡

• lilia vanrouge

while you were out somewhere, probably at sams shop, you saw a pretty looking flower ring.

thinking of lilia and how he would rather enjoy the small gift you bought for him, you purchased the said items alongside a few more.

walking back to the campus, you could only be fnaf jumpscared by lilia who popped up in front of you, upside down, like a bat.

recovering from your surprise, you quickly boop him on his nose, makig him laugh before standing up like an actual human being.

sitting down on the ground, you showed him everything you purchased. from antiques to books.

once you showed him the flower ring, his smile turned into a straight line as he stared at you.

it wouldn't be long until he smiled sadly, knowing you didn't know a thing that you just did.

"are you trying to propose? haha, in fae culture, we usually propose through flower rings."

"oh.. then, consider this as my promise to marry you!"

.. just like meleanor.

he could only laugh as he puts it on, did the shine in his eyes get larger?

he wears it wherever he goes, he hopes the day of your actual proposal is soon.

♡

• malleus draconia

you were staying in your dorm before you heard the knock, like, the knock. your boyfriend is here to take you out on a nightly stroll!!

grabbing your jacket, knowing it's a rather chilly night, you noticed the flower ring your made yesterday for him. bringing it with you, you opened the doors and saw him patiently waiting.

holding your hand in his, the moon shining its light down on the pavement the both of you stepped on, the both of you either talked or kept on walking in comfortable silence.

the next moment you brought on a new topic, you pulled out the ring, making him stop taking a few steps forward as he stood there in shock.

it wouldnt be long until fireflies decorated the area near you two, giving it a melodramatic scene as you stood there, utterly confused.

"i accept, man of child."

"malleus what do you mean 😦"

turns out you knew nothing, not even a shred of fae culture.

the fireflies would be gone and it would start raining LMAOOO

he thought you were serious, well, you were; about the whole ring thing, but he didn't think that,,,, ☹

very well then, he shall be content with the trinkets he has now.

having the ring on him, he gets all giddy now whenever he looks at it and never takes it off.

3K notes · View notes

megapteraurelia · 3 months ago

Text

neighbour!kuroo who gets a concerning call in the middle of work; your hysteric voice sounding high and tinny through the cellphone, in a way that had the palms of his hands sweating and his heart pumping blood faster than was probably healthy for his body.

"emergency," he throws out towards the secretary, not stopping his stride to the staircases, because even though he was high up in the building, he couldn't stand still while waiting on the elevator. he'd rather just up and move himself.

"okay, deep breaths, you got it, good, good," he took two steps down at once, jumping over the last ones, "what happened?"

"he won't give me my mail, kuroo. i'm still registered with his address, and i forgot, god, i'm so dumb—"

neighbour!kuroo who dislikes hearing you put yourself down immensely, whose heart aches at the fact that even after you had broken up with him, your ex boyfriend continued being a piece of shit. "that idiot ever heard of privacy of correspondence? that's an actual law. we can go to the police, you know?"

"i don't— i don't want to make this bigger, you know? or, i don't— what if he ends up getting mad—maybe, i don't know. i'm sorry."

"you don't have to be. i'll be there soon and then we'll get your mail back first, okay?"

"okay."

neighbour!kuroo who finds himself knocking on that dipshit's door, thinking that at some point even as simple a word as no will have to be understood, right?

because this time, he really, really is not going to stop hammering it into that thick head until your ex learned his lesson. because if he gets another call like that for any reason, he may have to make a call himself, to a certain police officer all the way in miyagi to ask if there's anything to be done to help move things along a bit quicker. because he may just risk being escorted to the police station himself.

because kuroo doesn't want to see you get hurt again. doesn't want to hear the panic in your voice, the hitches in your breath as you try to force oxygen into your lungs amongst the tears coating your voice thickly.

the idiot doesn't open. of course, he doesn't.

kuroo sighs, because man, this is some serious bullshit.

he knocks again, harder, knuckles ringing with the aftereffect of his force, "listen, man. that fuckass thing you're doing is not cute. do you know how creepy it is to hold mail hostage, of all things? i hope you get that it's pathetic. i mean i'm not sure what i expected of a boy your age and stature—"

the door ripped open because there's two things that are a constant in this life:

kuroo's hair defying all physical laws.

kuroo's incredible handsomeness, wit, sexiness, general awesomeness, complete— okay, yeah. just the fact that kuroo's really good at riling up people.

neighbour!kuroo who towers over your ex, who stems his hand against the door so that there's no way it could be shut again, who cuts your ex boyfriend off before he could prove himself to be dumber than bread loaf. though, that would be an insult to the bread, kuroo thinks and he'd laugh at himself if he wasn't so set on bringing your ex down a peg.

"where's her mail?" kuroo spits out, and then continues before he can get an answer: "i want it. now. because if you won't hand it over, i'll come in and collect it all myself, got it?"

the idiot scoffs, "yeah, right. i'mma jus' call the police on you—"

"sure, and then we can let them know how much of a stalker you've been, hm? don't worry, i won't leave anything out, i'm a great storyteller."

your ex exhales sharply, annoyed, eyes staring up into kuroo's and he holds the gaze, because if he doesn't, then he'll have lost.

by all means, kuroo isn't a sore loser, he really isn't, but this is not a game, and he's never backed down from a fight. isn't going to start now, either. his fingers turn white on the door frame.

neighbour!kuroo watches the retreating back of your ex boyfriend for a second, and finally allows himself to blink and clear the slight dryness coating his eyes. when he comes back, there was a small pile of letters in his hands, and kuroo makes it a point to grip the paper but not take it yet.

maybe one last hammering and the nail will sit, snug and tight.

"i know what you're doing, dude, and i'm telling you that it won't work. she's not alone." kuroo waits until an almost meek nod escapes your dipshit ex, before he pulls the mail out with a determined tug. and because he's got manners, he says, waving the letters: "thanks for these."

neighbour!kuroo who opens the door to his apartment and finds you closer than expected. he turns to the shut door, and back to your guilty shuffling with the dried smudged makeup stains, "eavesdropping, hm? couldn't help yourself?"

"shut up," you mutter but then you come closer, and kuroo's breath hitches ever so slightly, losing the attempted grin, because he can smell your perfume and he can feel your body's heat when you lay your head against his chest, right on his thumping heart.

"i'm sorry."

"what for?"

kuroo doesn't know what you mean, doesn't remember what you were even talking about, just— chin slightly dipped, eyes roving over your hair, begging that you can't hear the pace of his heart betraying the second time of the day sweat gathered on the palm of his hand. this time for a far more different reason.

"or no. not just that. sorry, and— i'm thankful."

voice soft and vibrating against his chest, his skin is burning from where you lifted your head to look at him. oh, he was going to burst.

"you could," he swallows and for a split second thinks whether he should just say it. he considers not to, but the expecting look in your eyes wins him over, "you could, hah maybe, put down this as your registered address. this apartment, i mean. here."

neighbour!kuroo who wonders if he should say the next words, but you beat him to it, "as home?"

"yeah."

kuroo was glad you're not leaning on his chest anymore, because his heart rate is going through the roof, but the downside is that he cannot look away from your face. lured in, a call to respond to: the soft curves of your features, the expression you wear that he doesn't know how to interpret. the way your lips open slightly, the slow blink of your eyelids, he wants to kiss you so badly. would you let him?

"the apartment viewing is tomorrow," you say, still standing so close, and your finger tips are brushing the cuffs of his sleeves.

he responds, "i know."

the silence draws out and it feels like there's things brewing outside his control. he doesn't know at what heat they're simmering, whether they would continue to cook if he turns it off because it's an electrical stove or if things are just going to snuff out because turns out that it's a gas stove after all. is it even seasoned well?

he just knows that there's things coming together, atoms upon atoms whirling around each other, bouncing off each other, brownian molecular movement in full swing. it's a simple equation in his mind: the acceleration of his heart and the heat of both your bodies inches away from each other, spurring things on.

neighbour!kuroo who looks at you, sees the hesitation in your eyes, the little turn of the corners of your mouth pointing down, and understands.

"it's alright. we'll go look at it tomorrow, yeah?"

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5

TAGLIST | @takes1 @origamipivo @sailanne

519 notes · View notes

ironcade · 1 month ago

Text

just some wedding/marriage thoughts i had bc i went to a friend's wedding today and now it's on the mind.

john strikes me as the kinda guy that would give you the wedding you want. all he cares about is the ring being on your finger and his last night tagged onto your first name. also? he's paying for it full stop. so you want something big and grand? all yours. want something simple and small? of course, anything for you love. he is a simple man and will bring any dream you had to life because you agreed to be his spouse. end of story. marriage for him absolutely is about the need to know you are utterly his in every way. he is confident your heart is his, but what is better than the world knowing that you are his too?

simon would need to be convinced to have a traditional ceremony. i personally feel like he is like hit or miss on marriage in general. his parents marriage really set a prior precedence for his opinion and belief on the subject. however, his love for you outweighs anything else and it seems only fair to ensure that legally you are covered should anything happen to him in the field. he will inevitably do whatever it is you want, but his preference would be like courthouse wedding-esque where you sign the certificate and do dinner or something with those that matter. probably would be open to taking your last name, given the man that gave him his was a right piece of work.

kyle is the man that wants a simple wedding, attended by the family and the closet people to you two. he wants to see you in a beautiful dress / gorgeous suit, glowing and beaming with happiness. not the type to want something big or extravagant. a hopeless romantic at heart and probably has some thoughts about certain aspects because he has thought about it at least once (way more than once.) generally speaking, he does want to marry you. for him, it's about the vows and promise of forever. he utterly loves and adores you and thus wants to commit to that.

johnny?? well of course he's having a grand wedding. maybe not grand in the sense that there are lots of people or everything is incredibly expensive, but rather in the merriment of it all. he has a large family who deserves to be included in the happiest day of his life (one of them anyways.) so he works with you to make sure it is a magical day and probably quite the party. the wedding is a celebration of your love and it will be treated as such! marriage was inevitable for johnny. he is like kyle in that marriage is something he has thought about and it's absolutely something he wants. not a hopeless romantic but... a feral romantic. he just loves you and wants to show you in every single way he can!!! including spousing you up!!!!

328 notes · View notes

misayani · 6 months ago

Note

fluff with se-mi? :3

CHERRY-SH MY LOVE ! — SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... se-mi / player 380 x fem reader

◜eversince you started working at Ice Creampies, the famous ice cream parlor downtown, you've seen the same woman everyday. you started to get concerned about her health, won't eating ice cream everyday give you diabetes?

𔗨 author's note — this is my best attempt in writing something sweet, enjoy ! <3 [lowercase intended]

— fluff

the first time you saw her was on the second day of your work, july 4th. your lips form into a polite smile as you greeted the woman. you observed her, seeing her wonderful taste in fashion. she wore a black leather jacket with a black tee underneath and some slightly large pants. you also noticed the amount of rings she had on each hand, the black choker around her neck, and of course, the piercings on her pretty face.

she looks similar to that one anime chick. you thought. nana something- osaku? osaki? osaka?

"hi. i would like to get cherry ice cream on a medium sized co—" she cut herself off as she finally locked eyes with you. she probably didn't even hear you greet her earlier since she was too busy patting her pockets.

"hi."

you blinked at her, "hi." you smiled before she opens her mouth and then closes it again. you saw her glance at your name tag then letting out a small cough.

"new here?"

you pause before answering, "yeah." you thought that maybe she was a regular customer, considering how she caught on to the fact you were a new worker.

"right. um, cherry ice cream on a medium sized cone please." she nods to you as she hands the exact amount for the ice cream before you could even serve it to her— okay maybe i'm right, regular customer. you took the payment from her before you excused yourself to serve her the ice cream.

who in their right minds would be willing to swallow cherry ice cream. eugh.

you scrunch your face up as you scoop out the cold cream, not being a big fan of cherries. holding the finished scooped ice cream, you walk back to the counter and see the rather attractive woman waiting patiently— elbows rested slightly on the counter with the both of her palms supporting her face.

she notices you come back and you handed her ice cream with a side note of 'enjoy. have a nice day.' she simply nods to acknowldge you before glancing at you one last time, and then walking out the ice cream parlor.

second time she walked in was july 5th. this time, actually greeting you back with a small smile. she ordered the same thing, cherry ice cream, and handed you the payment. minutes later, you came back with her ice cream, keeping it away from you as possible. you couldn't stand the smell of cherry.

your heart flutters as the woman chuckles— "hell, why do you look so disgusted with it"

you pressed your lips together as you handed her the ice cream, "just not a big fan of cherries."

"why not?"

"they make me dizzy. i mean- the smell at least."

"cherries make you dizzy?" she raises her eyebrows at you while she licks her ice cream. you check her out, today she's wearing a simple long sleeved white polo, with the sleeves cuffed up to her elbows and two buttons undone and some casual denim pants.

"done checking me out?" you snap your gaze back to hers. her lips formed into a smug smile as she licks her lips.

"wasn't checking you out." you retort. she just chuckles as if she doesn't believe you and started to head to the exit.

she pauses, before turning to the counter, "i didn't mind. thank you for this." she says as she waves the slightly melting ice cream in her hand and then she walks out the parlor, leaving you behind the counter face palming out of embarrassment.

following days passed with her walking in the store and buying the same thing everytime, not noticing the glances and the flirty smiles she was giving you. sometimes she'd tell you some flirty remarks and then always quick to leave the store after.

"you have a boyfriend?" it was your 6th time serving her ice cream. your face heats up at the sudden question as she stares at you waiting for an answer.

soon enough, you'd come up with something a bit bolder than usual.

"why? wanted to ask me out?" the words slipped from your mouth confidently. her eyes twinkle in amusement as she grins,

"maybe."

butterflies swarm in your stomach as you feel blood rush to your cheeks. your lips part, hesitating for a moment, before telling her: "i'm not interested in men. so, no."

she bites her lower lip, a grin threatening to form on her face. you notice her cheeks turn into a light shade of pink before she grabs something from her back pocket then handing it to you. she bites down on her melting ice cream in anticipation, observing your face for any reactions.

it's a folded paper. confused, you accepted it and unfolded the small piece of paper. a smile spreads across your face as you see what's inside: her number and a 'call me sometime;)' written messily under.

you look up to her, who was staring at you with hopeful eyes. you shoot her a warm smile, nodding before tucking away the note in your jean's pocket.

"i will." the both of you were staring at each other before her lips finally form into a smile and you couldn't help but giggle like a high-schooler who just got asked out.

"okay, sometime." she nods while smiling, "sometime." you agree as she makes her way to the exit. "oh your ice cream is melting!" you exclaim, seeing the cherry liquid drip down her fingers. she looks at her hand, surprising herself as if she didn't even noticed— "oh shit, yeah. it's fine, i'll handle it."

she glances at you one last time before saying, "thank you for this." and then walks out the store leaving you with a more-than-happy feeling inside you.

a few days passed and every single one of them was her visiting the store. she finally told you her name, se-mi—which was funny, her number came first before she even introduced herself to you. but nonetheless, you both started texting each other days ago, either continuing the unfinished conversation from the store earlier or just her being talkative and you rolling your eyes at her antics and smiling dumbly at your phone screen.

july 19th, 18:00. it was the end of your shift, finally, you thought. you greet your co workers goodbye as you walk out the store with an excited expression.

se-mi had asked to take you out on a date once your shift ended. here you are: wearing a casual dress that ended just above your knees, which you wore throughout your shift, walking down the steps before you were met with se-mi patiently waiting and leaning back on her motorcycle.

good god, how can this woman be more attractive?

she notices you walking closer towards her as her lips immediately form into a smile.

"hi." she softly greets

you smile, "hi." you shyly say as you finally reach her. she carefully hands you a helmet as you laugh, taking it from her. she shots you a confused look, "how many girls you asked out before have worn this helmet?" you say while chuckling.

she looks at you as if she was offended before she rolls her eyes playfully, "i just bought that yesterday. and no else will use it but you and only you." she remarks.

you smile, "i'm kidding babe, where are we off to anyways?" you say, wearing the helmet which by the way, smelled amazing.

she suddenly coughs, you notice the tips of her ears turning pink. she distracts herself, grabbing something from the tote bag she brought. "it- it won't be a secret anymore if i tell you." she cleared her throat before handing a blanket to you.

"wrap that around your waist."

aw. she cared enough to bring a cover for your dress.

she hops on her motorcycle before slightly tilting it sidewards so you'd get on easier. she waits as you finish wrapping the blanket around your waist before you hopped on.

"hold on tight, i'm gonna go fast." she warns before the two of you ride off to the night, the wind rushing past and the city lights blurring into streaks of color.

that night, she took you stargazing. the comfortable blanket on the grass, the both of you seated, and two tubs of ice cream for the both of you— cherry flavored for her, and strawberry for you. still, you didn't let her pass, you told se-mi about how you absolutely despised cherries as her laugh surrounds the both of you and into the peaceful surrounding.

@misayani

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #se-mi x reader #୭ ୨♡୧ ৎ misa writes ...

537 notes · View notes

delirious-donna · 7 months ago

Text

Kento finds your journal and vows to return it, but not before he accidentally sneaks a peek… or, the time he read that you wanted to climb him like a tree.

Oh fuck - no! No no no. Please don’t have read it. I’ll do all my weekend chores rather than playing videogames and I’ll even unpack that final box that has been sitting in the spare room if you’ll do me this one solid favour.

pairing: Nanami Kento x female reader

tw: embarrassing situations, teacher Kento and teacher reader, thigh riding, use of pet names (darling and sweetheart), dirty talk, Kento being more forward than usual, rewrite of an old story (it’s better now, promise), brief appearance of Satoru

The notebook caught his eye; magenta in colour, clearly well-thumbed and definitely not meant to be here, in the teacher’s lounge. He rolled his neck against the uncomfortably lumpy couch until the cracking noise of stiff joints popping made him wince.

With a resigned grunt, Kento sat forward and glanced at his watch.

His next class was due to begin in ten minutes and if he were honest, he felt rather unmotivated to inspire the next generation on this particular day, a feeling that was becoming painfully regular. Fixing the knot of his tie, which he had loosened upon entering the lounge, he lamented on how every day seemed to bleed into each other.

It had been so stiflingly long since anything new or of interest had occurred and he was starting to feel drained from the mundane, walking through each day like a zombie. Heaven help him, it was a frighteningly familiar feeling.

On his way towards the door, he picked up the offending notebook that was stuck between the couch cushions and glanced at it curiously. Your name was emblazoned on the front cover, written in glittery silver ink. Nanami passed a finger over the lettering, his lips tilting into a thin smile at how irreverent it appeared.

He knew you were a few years younger than he was, that you had only become a teacher at the start of this academic year after a sudden change in career, and to say you were a little shy would be a gross understatement. Kento could probably count the times you had spoken to him on one hand, and each one had been a rushed experience, as if you couldn’t wait to retreat from his presence–was he really that intimidating?

At that rather depressing thought, he resumed walking, intent on delivering your notebook before arriving at his own classroom to greet his darling little bastards charges for the afternoon lecture.

Of course, things would never be that simple, nor straightforward when you worked alongside Satoru Gojo.

The white-haired whirlwind hurtled into him as soon as he ventured into the hall. A barking laugh bounced off the walls as Gojo clapped him heartily on the back and effectively knocked the notebook from his grasp to flutter to the floor.

“Ah, Nanami-san, just the man I was looking for,” he thundered. “Could you do your bestest friend in the whole world a favour?”

“If you are referring to yourself with that sentiment, Gojo, then the answer is of course, no.”

Satoru pouted, Kento grimaced.

Celestial blue eyes peered over the rim of his round sunglasses whilst Kento bent to retrieve the book that had tumbled out of his hands and was now spread open at his feet. His eyes narrowed on the hastily scrawled text that he couldn’t quite make out, but… that was his name that he was staring at.

He was aware that Satoru was still talking, the man would continue to ramble away to himself forever, but Kento held his hand aloft to cease the incessant drone.

A strange, but not unpleasant heat coursed through his veins, and something he hadn’t felt in the longest time stirred in his chest. The wild thump of his heart drowned out his pesky colleague’s yammering as he was finally able to read the line of text that referred to him. A sentence that you had hastily scrawled and then ringed again and again with a fluffy cloud border.

Why does Nanami-san have to be so goddamn big and sexy? What I wouldn’t give to climb him like a tree…

He was sure that he could feel the warmth spread up his neck, his collar suddenly too tight, and his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed the runny saliva pooling inside his mouth.

It would be a lie to say he hadn’t admired you, although always from afar. He knew he wasn’t the most social of men, a sentiment his annoying friend constantly reminded him of. Added to the fact that Kento had been sure you were terrified of him, and he had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable, he kept his distance and his daydreaming to himself and the privacy of his bedroom and shower.

Only now, did he wonder if that discomfort had been something else entirely…

“Will you do it?” Satoru asked, shaking his arms with his long spindly fingers and offering a wide cocky smile.

“I wasn’t listening, and no. I’m going to be busy,” he replied, brushing his fellow teacher’s hand from his forearms and pushing past him to his classroom.

He could care less for the deflated look that the snowy-haired menace threw over his shoulder, there were more important matters on his mind and a knowing smirk curved his lips. The smirk was mirrored by the very man he gave his back to, and that was just fine in his book.

No longer did he detour to return the notebook. Oh no--he’d deliver it back to you safe and sound once the day was over and everyone else had cleared out.

It had been a long day. A tiring one too, and the prospect of spending your precious evening hours behind your desk marking exams and writing assignment commentary was unwelcome.

As if the universe could hear your lament, they sent you a curve ball you could never see coming…

A determined knock shook you from your thoughts. The pen in your hand fell to the desk at the same moment you leaned back in your chair, inviting your unexpected visitor to enter.

Your mouth ran dry as the very man you least expected to be calling in on you, walked inside. Least expected but most wanted, secretly, of course. There was no way you were earning yourself a reputation for flirting with your colleagues, even if he was so painfully handsome it made you chew the insides of your cheeks every time you were in his presence. Not because you were shy, because you were a little, but because you didn’t trust what might come out of your mouth! Best to keep those thoughts inside your head where they were safe.

Kento turned to shut the door, the lock flicking silently into place so as to avoid any embarrassing interruptions, before he bowed his head in greeting.

“Nanami-san, what can I do for you?” you asked, impressed that you had managed to speak without tripping over your words. It was certainly an improvement on previous attempts.

It was near impossible not to admire him as he stood near the back of the class. The collar of his azure dress shirt had been loosened, the tie askew as if he had been pulling at them both with insistent fingers. Fingers that were currently drumming against the taut muscles of his forearms. There was something about a man with his sleeves rolled to the elbows that never failed to send you into a feral kind of heat, and right now was no different.

Why did he have to look so downright tantalising? Why did your thighs have to clench together like you were some horny beast in an actual heat?

The aloof expression, the way that he seemed to caress you with his hazel eyes and the simple pleasure of how big he was. At the end of the day, you were no better than an animal, and you animal brain was saying that big was good. Big would rock your world given the chance.

“I found something that belongs to you and thought I should return it,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Oh? That’s kind of you, what is it?”

You wondered what he could have found, mentally scanning your memory of something you might have misplaced or been looking for. Standing, you took two steps forward but froze in place at the sight of your personal notebook held in his large hand. Surely your heart had seized in your chest, it certainly felt like it had.

Your eyes widened, looking from the notebook to his face and back again. For a second you thought your silent pleas had been answered, but when had life ever been so benevolent to you before? Kento winked almost imperceptibly, and you wished that a sink hole would form beneath your feet to save you from this mortification.

Heat rose to your cheeks in rushing waves. You swayed unsteadily on the spot with your hand outstretched for the book, desperate for some distance but needing the offending item back in your possession.

Kento chuckled and the deep baritone rumble felt as if the sound resonated within your own body. It stroked at you with exploratory phantom touches although he hadn’t moved. Your every muscle tightened whilst you waited for him to hand over the notebook that held some of your wildest fantasies.

When he held it over his head instead of depositing it into your awaiting sweaty paws, you swore it felt like the air was sucked from the room. It seemed like he had read a very specific piece of information, and you would die of embarrassment.

“I suggest…” he drawled almost lazily. “That if you want it back, you best climb me for it.”

“You—you weren’t meant to read that,” you whispered, staring into the depths of the floor.

A pair of sturdy but unassuming boots came into view. You frowned, surprised.

Two fingers fit beneath your chin and raised your head up to meet his gaze. There was a prominent frown between his eyes that hadn’t been there seconds prior, and you couldn’t help but admire his sharply angular face even if you were doing your best to look anywhere but into his eyes.

“I apologise… perhaps that was a bit too forward. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, but you see... I’ve thought about you a lot and not just because I found your notebook? Journal? Doesn’t matter.” Kento exhaled through his nose, jaw tightening. “You think I’m big? I don’t see it myself, but then I was never my best critic.”

You nodded in affirmation, where was the point in denying it now? His eyes softened, crinkles forming in the outer corners whilst his thumb lightly grazed your jaw. Roasted coffee grounds and notes of sandalwood invaded your nose as his head bent lower, towards your ear.

“Then I will repeat myself only once, sweetheart, climb me if you want it back.”

And so, you did.

You climbed him like a feral little animal.

You reached the offending notebook and hurled it to the floor without a second thought. His laughter was warm and the most boisterous you had heard from him. It made you follow through with your impulse to hook your arms around his strong neck, fingers curling into the rough undercut at his nape. Your legs were quick to follow, circling his waist until your entire front rocked into the wall of muscles that was his body.

“Tell me, what else have you put in that saucy little journal about me, hm?”

“You didn’t read it all?” you asked, almost shocked at his level of restraint if it were true.

Kento shook his head, and you believed him. He wasn’t one for lying. “I wanted to hear them from your mouth.”

“Oh… that’s… mm. Anyone ever told you that you’re as perfect as a fictional man, preferably one created by a woman? Don’t answer that,” you clamoured, pressing your hand across his mouth as it stretched open to reply.

“There’s—uh—this one thing.” You nudged the tip of his nose with yours, moving to speak directly into his ear.

Kento’s breath caught in his throat as you whispered about getting off on his thigh, his hold at your waist, which has stayed appropriate until then, tightened and moved towards your backside—squeezing.

With you still attached to him like a koala, he seated himself on the edge of your desk, lowering you until you were spread over one of his incredibly thick thighs. Your skirt bunched around your middle to accommodate the position as his expansive palms wandered your sides, pawing at your hips and palming your ass with a groan.

In no time at all he was dragging you along the length of his thigh. Your underwear was ruined by this point, your clit throbbed from the friction, the seam of yours and his clothing catching you in deliciously new ways and you still hadn’t kissed him.

You remedied this terrible oversight with enthusiasm, delighting when he startled at your forwardness before he melted, shoulders sagging. It was everything and more. No fantasy could live up to the reality. Kento kissed softly, thoroughly. Whilst he continued to lead the rhythm of your body as you rode his thigh, he was more than happy to let you lead here.

His mouth was surprisingly hot for a man who always seemed to remain cool and composed, a deep groan rumbled in his throat when you curled around his tongue and sucked on the warm, wet muscle. The warmly spiced scent and taste of Kento filled your lungs and evaporated any sense of reason you might have had about making out with a fellow teacher in your classroom. It didn’t matter. Only this mattered.

“Feel good?” he asked as you parted for much-needed air. His rough fingers gripped into the fat of your behind, reaching beneath the hem of your skirt to bunch the cotton of your underwear until he was forcing the material between your slick pussy lips.

You nodded enthusiastically, drawing his lower lip into your mouth and sucking on the tender flesh in earnest. Kento was manhandling you in a way that would make any staunch feminist blanch, but it was exactly what you wanted, exactly what you needed.

“You’re making a mess on me, darling.”

“So, I’m you’re darling, am I?” You quipped back despite sounding out of breath. He was right about the mess, there was an embarrassingly long wet streak on his tailored slacks from being manipulated along his thigh. You were fucking yourself against the strong muscles that flexed beneath you and leaving the evidence for anyone to see.

“I think I’d like that,” he admitted with a hum, planting kisses to your neck and collarbone.

Your orgasm was coming in fast; the combination of the friction against your clenching cunt, the large palms gripping into your ass as if he owned it and his delicious mouth teasing your skin was speeding you towards the finish line in haste. His admittance that he might like some kind of relationship with you was the final nail in your coffin, so to speak.

“Nanami-san!”

Blond hair fell into your vision, urgent lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to your cleavage and the swell of your breasts. His tongue flickered at your flesh, warming you up before sucking possessive purple bruises that would be hard to explain later.

“Kento,” he breathed against your collarbone, “call me Kento, my darling.”

Gods, could he be any more perfect? It was as if he knew exactly what to do and say to set you off like a firecracker!

You shrieked in surprise when Kento lifted you like you weighed nothing—you most definitely did not weigh nothing. He held you tight as he turned your body so your back was flush with his chest, rearranging you over his broad thigh once more but this time you could feel the prod of his prominent erection at the outside of your hip. It was thick and imposing, distracting but only in that you wondered what it would look like, feel like—in your hand and stretching your walls.

“Go on, be a good girl and get yourself off on my thigh,” he cooed, nipping at your earlobe.

Kento grabbed at your breasts, squeezing the doughy mounds between his fingers whilst you rode his thigh to completion, pinching you through lace and chiffon. The orgasm that hit was staggering; it stole the air from your lungs, the equilibrium of your body and the sight from your eyes.

White lights pulsed behind your eyelids as you gushed like a surging waterfall over his trousers, ruining your underwear and skirt in the process. It would be embarrassing if it wasn't for the primal-sound growl that emanated from his chest. The almost bestial sounding war cry that made you shiver whilst you floated back down from ecstasy.

“Atta girl. There it is. Mhm, so good for me. So receptive. Can I take you home?” Kento asked, his voice thick and strained with unspoken emotion. “Cause I think it’s my turn now, and I can't wait to see how goddamn perfect you’re gonna look taking my cock.”

You smiled, drunk on the bliss. “Sure thing, big boy, but let’s not make this our get together story for the grandkids, yeah?”

You were so glad he found your notebook, even if you had no idea that it was Satoru Gojo that you needed to thank in the first place...

#delirious writes #nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #nanami smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #kento x reader #kento smut #jujutsu kaisen smut

472 notes · View notes

thef1diary · 1 year ago

Text

Little Big Fan | Three

— Little Big Race

Series Masterlist

wc: 2.4k

Usually, you had a hard time waking your daughter up, and unfortunately she got that habit from you. It was something your mother laughed at a lot whenever you told her about it. She would always say, "you were a troublesome child so now you have a troublesome child but she's cuter."

Today was a different story, Isabella was the one waking you up. "Mama, mama, mama, wake up, we have to see Maxy race today!" She jumped up and down on the bed even though you've tried to tell her not to.

Groaning, you peeked out the blanket to see the biggest toothy smile on your daughter's face and it should've been enough to wake you up. You looked over and saw the time, it was way too early for her to be this energetic. You still have no idea how she musters up so much energy in her little body.

"Bella, qualifying is seven hours away, let's sleep a little longer?" You asked and easily wrapped your arms around your little one. Covering her in the blanket, you hoped to at least get another hour of sleep.

It took her less than two minutes to fall back asleep in her mother's arms. That habit, was from her father who never had an issue of being unable to sleep quickly.

The hour passed by rather quickly, and this time Isabella woke up as soon as she felt you getting off the bed. The giddy excitement was still there and rightfully so but it was a little calmer than an hour ago.

Since you only had to order room service instead of cooking breakfast, the morning was a lot less stressful for you. As soon as Isabella was finished eating breakfast, she ran to her little suitcase and took out her outfit for the day.

Once you helped her change, your little girl was decked in a blue dress with red glittery clips in her hair according to her wishes, her reason being, "Maxy always wears red and blue."

Soon enough, you two were enroute towards the track. You had gotten your passes when you first checked in at the hotel because Max had dropped them off before you arrived.

It was simple enough finding your way towards the entrance, but it was a whole different story after. There were so many people, albeit less than outside, and they all looked like they knew where they were going.

Holding Isabella's hand tightly, you continued walking in hopes to figure out where you're supposed to go. "Where's Max, mama?" Your daughter asked but you didn't have an exact answer.

"Hopefully somewhere around here, angel." You contemplated calling him, unsure whether or not he'd be busy. But then again, if he is then he won't pickup so there was no harm in trying.

Keeping your gaze on Isabella, you called him. After two rings, he picked up, "Hi, I was just about to call you, are you here?" You could hear him panting on the other end as if he ran to pick up your call, but you decided not to comment on it.

"Yeah, I don't know exactly where we are though," He laughed on the other end, "it's okay, just describe the area and I'll come find you."

You did as he instructed and Max was walking towards you within three minutes. However, he was not alone, there was another man in different coloured teamwear walking next to him.

Isabella's smile grew when she spotted Max but since you were holding her hand, she couldn't run towards him. Max crouched down and held his hand up so Isabella could give him a high-five.

The man standing next to him the same, and Isabella was mesmerized, gasping, "Daniel Ricciardo." She probably butchered the pronunciation of his surname but he didn't seem to mind.

Max shook his head, "no, Isabella, he's Daniel Avocado." The comment made Daniel burst out laughing, and you couldn't help but join in.

The sound of your laugh directed Max's gaze towards you and once it was on you, it was stuck there. Even when Daniel nudged him and asked, "introductions?"

A few seconds passed by without Max saying anything so to save him from further embarrassment, Daniel decided to take the liberty of introductions. Once you introduced yourself to him, Daniel had a knowing smile on his face.

"So you're the one who's daughter ran away because of Max," he chuckled while your cheeks grew red in embarrassment, "unfortunately yes, how did you hear about that?" You asked, having an idea that Max probably told him.

But the answer Daniel gave you was surprising, "I've heard the story around ten times so far since someone keeps bringing you up in conversations."

Max's eyes widened but you laughed, "is that so? Well Isabella hasn't stopped talking about Max either."

You and Daniel collectively looked at Isabella who was still starstruck by not one but two drivers, the shock of being in the paddock finally catching up to her. Then the two of you looked at Max, who was also unusually quiet according to Daniel, and burst out laughing once again.

"Looks like both of them had too much to say and now it's not enough," Daniel commented and you agreed with a nod. "Your daughter is adorable by the way," he added to fill the silence and nudged Max harshly when you looked at her.

"How about I show you around?" Max finally found his words, and you looked at him skeptically, "I don't want to take up your time if you have something else to do."

"I've got some time, plus it would be very unfair if you came all the way here and I didn't spend time with you and Isabella." Max didn't wait for a response from you, instead turning his gaze towards your little one, "right?"

Isabella gave him a sharp nod, and you couldn't help but smile as you saw the two interact. "Alright then, lead the way."

It took him thirty minutes to show you around the paddock, but he mainly focused on the RedBull Energy Center, as that was where all the driver's guests could relax and enjoy some team catered meals.

Isabella asked him all sorts of questions, and Max even stopped for an extra minute to grab some noise cancelling earmuffs for her little ears.

Your eyes widened when he placed them on her head, mentally cursing at the fact that out of all the things you could've forgotten, it was the headphones. Once again, before you could hide your expression, Max noticed it and muttered, "it's okay, that's why we have them here."

He explained that since it was his home grand prix—something you didn't know until he mentioned it—most of the fans were rooting for him.

Then, Max was approached by someone from his team, telling him that he was needed back in the garage. The rest of the day passed by quite fast. You watched qualifying from the hospitality as per Max's suggestions.

As the session continued, you slowly understood some of the terminology, but it would still take a few more races to fully understand what is going on. On the other hand, Isabella clapped happily every time Max's RedBull passed by, and you even joined her after a few times.

—

It is race day. You and Isabella were back in the paddock and this time you had figured out where to go. You were proud of yourself for navigating the area after only being shown around once. You reached later than you hoped due to the traffic, but fortunately, there was still a while before the race began.

Max had told you to meet him near the garages and when you neared them, you could see him speaking expressively to a small group of people. Based on their outfits, you knew they were drivers. The only one you remembered other than Max was Daniel, as you've met him yesterday.

"Mama, walk faster," your daughter urged, her pace fastened as soon as she spotted Max, tugging you along. You were glad that she didn't leave your hand.

"Maxy!" Your daughter cheered as soon as she was in hearing range of the drivers. They all collectively turned towards the noise, Max's face lighting up as soon as his gaze landed on you two.

"Isabella!" Max cheered with the same amount of energy, and you let go of your daughter's hand so she could run up to him.

He greeted you as well, taking a step closer to you and with a sheepish smile on his face he spoke, "I got something for her." Max said quietly enough so Isabella didn't hear him, since he wanted your approval first before he revealed his surprise.

You nodded, encouraging him and with a big smile he placed a cap on Isabella's head, surprising her. She took it off to look at it and when she saw his driver's number on the cap, she gasped.

Then, she placed it back on her head and turned to look at you, "mama, look!" You chuckled, "very nice, what do you say, angel?"

Isabella didn't think twice before hugging him, "thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Max held out another cap for you, and before you could say anything he added, "I need everyone to know who you're cheering for." Deciding to tease him you responded, "what if I want to cheer for Daniel?"

You saw his smile drop, making you break out into a smile to let him know you were just joking. You pointed to the number on the cap, "number 1 driver, yeah,” you stated, the implication of him being the number one driver both literally and figuratively was heard loud and clear.

"Mama," Isabella grabbed your attention, pointing at the driver in a red suit that you've yet to be introduced to. "Lightning McQueen," she added, making the group of drivers around you laugh at her words.

Charles pointed at himself, "me?" he looked at you for an answer and you nodded, "yeah, can you really blame her though, you're all decked out in red."

As if you were lying, he looked down and then shrugged, "fair."

Isabella was content with being the center of attention between the drivers that you now know the names of; Charles, Lando, Alex, and George.

Max pulled you aside. "I wanted to ask you this yesterday but we didn't have time. Do you think Isabella would like it if I let her sit inside my car?"

Your mouth quite literally dropped open, and you had to blink a few times as if it would make you understand his words better. "Huh?" is all that left your mouth.

"My car? Is she going to like it?" He asked again and you nodded, "she would love that, are you even allowed to do that?"

He chuckled at your question, "it's my car, I think I can do anything I want with it."

Before he could turn around to speak to Isabella, you reached for his hand to stop him, "Max, you have no idea how much this would mean to her." He nodded in understanding, "make sure to take lots of pictures."

You heard her squeal in excitement as soon as Max asked the question, watching her eagerly nod. You followed them into the garage, heart warming at how Max held Isabella's hand the entire time.

With the way Isabella hasn't stopped smiling, you would think her smile was permanently stuck on her face. You took loads of pictures, a few even with Max's helmet on her head that was way too big for her.

Even the team principal, Christian Horner, stopped for a moment to look at the joy on both Isabella and Max's face. It would make one think that it was Max’s first time around a F1 car as well.

By the time the race started, Isabella's energy had significantly drained, but she remained awake for the entirety of the race. Watching the race from the garage unlocked a different joy on her face, and she would cheer when Max came into the pits for fresher tyres.

As soon as her eyes drooped, something would occur in the race that would cause her to brighten up again. Max barely had to overtake as he started off in pole position, only needing to pass the other drivers after coming out of the pitlane.

Just like Isabella, your eyes didn't waver away from the race despite how fast your heart was beating due to nervousness about the drivers' speeds.

You knew they were the best of the best, very professional, but ever since you've gotten to know them personally, you couldn't help but worry for them. Especially Max.

Turns out, you didn't have to worry too much as Max crossed the finish line first, winning the race in front of his home crowd.

Everything after that was a blur. You just remember Christian leading you towards the crowd underneath the podium, ensuring that no one had the audacity to push or shove you. Isabella was safely in your arms, watching the celebrations with wide but sleepy eyes.

As soon as she saw the trophy being handed to Max, she rested her head on your shoulder and was out like a light.

Once the champagne was sprayed, you made your way through the crowd, walking towards the exit. Your daughter was sound asleep and you didn't want the noise waking her up and disturbing her much needed rest.

Other than the one extra hour of rest in the morning, she hadn't taken any naps since she was mesmerized by everything around her. Now, since it was all over, all you focused on was getting back to the hotel.

As soon as Isabella was comfortably in bed, you decided to take a shower to wash away all the built up and dried sweat. While you were busy, your phone rang with two calls, both from Max, that were inevitably sent to voicemail.

After your shower, you ordered some food and turned on the tv in the other room. Around fifteen minutes went by before there was a knock on your door. Thinking it was room service with your dinner, you opened it without checking who it really was.

Max was stood on the other side, changed out of his race suit but still in a Redbull polo.

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added or removed) @xjval @mrsmaybank13 @cherry-piee @urfavnoirette @solphin @burningcupcakefire @nessacarty1 @dreamsarebig @omgsuperstarg @fanficweasley @redbullgirly @llando4norris @minskzy @wonnou @randomgirlnumber13 @dark-night-sky-99 @chanshintien @leilanixx @gisellesprettylies @peachiicherries @monsieurbacteria6 @67-angelofthelordme-67 @arian-directioner @loliaa @distancedss @bache3 @morenofilm @sachaa-ff @lighttsoutlewis @teamnovalak @casperlikej @lexiecamposv @sadg3

#little big fan fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #thef1diary fic #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen fic

2K notes · View notes

wakebymoonsleepbysun · 1 month ago

Text

Untitled Mr. Ring-a-Ding x Reader - Chapter 1

EDIT: Now on ao3, new chapters will be added there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65905306/chapters/169777987

Oh boy me and my poor impulse control again. I do plan on continuing this but it'll be more of a side project until I finish one of the fics I'm actively posting on ao3 atm. But have it anyway, cuz why not.

Reader will be gender-neutral, but a lot of Ring-a-Ding's nicknames will lean to what a lot of people would consider feminine. Doll, Sweetiepie, etc, and the word pretty will probably be used in later chapters. I mean all of this CAN be gender-neutral but if it's not your cup of tea please handle with care. :) Chapter 1 - Palazzo

The light of creation…

Lux had been everything, and yet nothing. It had lasted an eternity, yet had been over in a second. Eventually, he meets the fate that all immortal gods meet after achieving their machinations.

Boredom.

Boredom, boredom, boredom. The one true enemy of all immortals. Sure, sometimes they’ll play dead or sulk in some other realm for a time and let the mortals think they’ve won. Sometimes their power is so depleted it’s even necessary to do so, but those are temporary setbacks. In reality, the only real threat to those with infinite time is running out of things to fill it with.

So what to do?

He’ll have to start small, obviously. Nothing that would be worth recording, nothing that would become legend. Little more than a warm up--a simple dalliance.

He’ll start at the last place he’d been, in the only form he’s ever taken. The familiar is simple and as good a starting point as any for his little excursion.

Slowly, he gathers himself, pulling himself back to a singular point in space and time--where and when the Palazzo next plays the Mr. Ring-a-Ding reel.

Back to Miami, back to the Palazzo…and back to being Mr. Ring-a-Ding.

Cleaning out the projection booth isn’t supposed to be part of your job. Yet here you are, sweeping the dirt and grime that’s piled up after 73 years of the theater being abandoned. At least it’s winter, and a fairly cool winter at that, making the inside of the unairconditioned theater “muggy” rather than “unbearably hot and stuffy”.

The power itself is on, so there’s some lighting, though the majority of the light bulbs have long since burned out, leaving the place fairly dark, especially now that the sun has set.

You’ve been told to try to salvage whatever old equipment or “antiques” you might find. Your boss has even offered to split any proceeds 70/30 in your favor--your his “magnanimous” way of compensating you for the extra responsibilities.

Never mind that hauling the equipment, restoring it, and finding a buyer would probably be a part-time job in and of itself…one which, like your current job, won’t pay much, especially after the split.

But you can’t turn up your nose at it, either. So you go through the old books, papers, and machinery that lay scattered on the floors and shelves. Whatever antiques may have been worth anything probably are too ruined to sell at this point. The massive hole in the side of the building from the film closet exploding all those years ago had never been repaired, so the theater hadn’t exactly been shielded from the elements. Even the door to the projection room had eventually rotted and fallen away, leaving the room open to critters and even more dirt and leaves and detritus carried in by the wind.

You guess the projectors themselves are the only thing in the room that may be worth the effort of hauling anywhere but the dumpster. But they’re so covered in dirt and grime you can’t imagine that any of the interior mechanisms could possibly work.

…Do collectors of antique projectors even care if said projectors actually work? You suppose you’ll have to research that later. In any case, you’re sure anything worth anything would have been stolen by looters long ago.

So far you’ve been more focused on clearing away the obvious trash to clear a path to the projectors. Sweeping dirt, mud, and leaves off the floor, then clearing the broken bits of wood from the rotted shelves and what you guess used to be some kind of desk. Finally, there’s space to stand alongside the projectors so you can look them over.

They’re covered in grime, of course, but as you begin to wipe that away, you see they actually look to be in decent shape beneath it all. No sign of rusting or warping on the metal casing, which is surprising. You’d half expected the old things to go to pieces as soon as you’d touched them, but it seems--like a lot of old tech--they’re built fairly sturdy.

Though that doesn’t mean their inner workings are still operational, you remind yourself.

As you move to the second projector, your brow knits as you notice something.

There’s still a roll of film loaded into it. That’s not so surprising on its own--from what you’ve heard this place had been abandoned pretty hastily back in the 50s--but what is odd is just how pristine the celluloid looks.

The bits you’d found scattered about while cleaning had been dirty, crumpled and curled from age, and trying to load it into a projector would have just made it fall apart.

But the roll in the projector now looks brand new. You adjust your glasses, leaning close and squinting. It looks like a cartoon, but the images are too small and the room too dim for you to tell much more than that.

An old reel like this might be worth something if it’s still playable. Maybe it’s even a piece of lost media? Though you doubt you’d be so lucky. You push your glasses back into place, trying to find the mechanism to unload the reel. Your hand brushes a switch on the back of the machine, and despite you barely touching it, the projector suddenly springs to life.

The light flickers on and you hear the familiar whirring and clicking of the old film projector starting up.

You glance to the theater below, where an odd image is displayed on the tattered remains of the movie screen.

Some kind of cartoon character, a blue-skinned bug with a pig-like nose and straw boater hat, grinning widely. The title card which follows reads: “Mr. Ring-a-Ding Goes to Town!”

Not a character or show you’re familiar with, and you like to think you’re pretty versed in old cartoons.

“Oh it’s such a beautiful day! I think I’ll go to town! Yes sirree!” the titular character says as he strolls down the road with the sort of jauntiness that can only be captured by old rubber hose animations.

You only watch for a moment before turning your gaze back to the projector. As much as you’re curious about this old cartoon you’ve found, you don’t want to risk potentially damaging the film. So you’d rather get the reel out and back into its case before something goes wrong.

You have no idea how you even turned the projector on. After a moment of searching, you find a labeled ON/OFF switch and press it.

Nothing happens. The film keeps rolling.

“...What did I just turn off, then?” you mumble to yourself. After a moment of searching, your eyes happen to drift back to the screen, and you do a double take.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding is gone. The camera’s just holding on an empty shot, showing only the pathway and the sign pointing to town. It looks like the show’s been paused, but the film’s still rolling.

Why had the cartoon hung on this long shot of the background? Some kind of joke you’d missed the setup for?

As you’re staring, the projector abruptly switches off…despite the reel not having ended. You glance sharply at it, wincing. It’d be just your luck if you find a working pre-1950’s projector and film reel only to immediately break it…

Before you can think too much on that, though, you hear a rustle of fabric from the theater, and peering through the darkness, you see the heavy curtains that cover the screen are being pulled shut.

“Hello?” you call out. No answer.

You quickly leave the projection room, jogging down the short hallway and entering the back of the theater. “Hello?” you call again. “Brent? Brent, is that you?” you ask, guessing--and hoping-- your boss had come by to check on your progress for some reason.

You keep your gaze on the closed curtain, slowly walking down the stairs of the center aisle towards it. The few lights that are on are mostly towards the back, leaving the front of the theater fairly dark.

You’re just reaching the third row of seats and getting ready to call out again when the curtains suddenly fly open.

“TADAAAA!!!” shouts none other than Mr. Ring-a-Ding himself.

You scream, scrambling back, your heel catching on one of the steps and causing you to fall on hard on your rear.

Ring-a-Ding laughs, though it’s not a particularly mean-spirited laugh. “Whoopsie daisy! That’s why we don’t walk backwards on stairs!” he says with a teasing wink.

“W-W-Who are you?” you stammer out, your eyes wide.

He smirks. “Glad you asked, my dear!” A jaunty tune begins playing out of nowhere, and Mr. Ring-a-Ding begins a lively dance. “I’m Mr. Ring-a-Ding, I’ll make your heart bells sing!”

Your mouth hangs open even further as you simply stare at him, agape, as he sings. And sings. And sings. For well over a minute, which may not be that long as songs go but is certainly a long time for him to sing and dance unprompted while you can only stare on in shock.

“I’m Mr. Ring-a-Diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!” he belts out the last line, taking off his hat and spreading his arms wide.

You can’t even begin to muster a response.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding chuckles, placing his hat back on his head. “Y’know, usually I get interrupted before I finish the song,” he says.

You make a vague, strangled noise that sounds like a distant, “Uh-huh…?”

He lets half a beat pass before shaking his head, his grin never leaving his face. “Yannow, this is usually the part where you’d introduce yourself. Buuuuut if you ain’t got a song prepared you can just say your name.”

After a brief hesitation, you manage to stammer out your name. Your eyes haven’t gotten any less wide, and you haven’t been able to stop staring at the cartoon man before you.

“Who…are you?” you ask again.

He quirks a brow, smirking playfully. “Oh come now! I just sang about that for a full minute and a full thirty-six seconds! Don’t tell me ya need all that repeated?” he teases.

“Erm--ah, no…” you say. You lean forward, managing to pull yourself to your feet and begin slowly walking towards him.

He seems unphased, grinning up at you innocently as you approach. You stop when you reach the bottom step, standing in front of the stage…barely an arm’s length from the odd creature atop it.

“You’re…a cartoon…”

“Yes indeedy-do!” he chirps.

“D-Did…you just…come out of that film?”

He smirks, waggling a finger at you. “Don’t make me laugh!”

You blink. “Is…that a funny question?” you ask blankly.

“Don’t make me laugh!” he repeats.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I must be going insane.” Not exactly a surprising result, given what Brent has been putting you through, but you hadn’t expected it to manifest quite like this.

“Naaah!” he says with a flick of his wrist. “You seem perfectly sane to me. I’m perfectly real, after all!” he says cheerfully.

You can’t help but let out a weak chuckle at that, shaking your head. “Yeah, that’s just what a hallucination would say…”

Mr. Ring-a-Ding snorts. “Well, alright, doll…ya got me there. Buuuut…is it not also what a real cartoon brought to life would say?”

One corner of your mouth ticks upward in the faintest hint of a smile. “You uh…you got me there,” you say, borrowing his phrasing.

His grin actually seems more genuine for a moment, a bit more warm than his somewhat teasing smirk.

“You’re…really real, then?” you ask. Slowly you reach out towards him with one hand.

He raises a brow, and for the first time his smile falters. Only for a moment, though. His grin returns as he lightly pushes your hand aside with one finger. “Not sure what I can say to that that ain’t already been said,” he chuckles.

“F-Fair…” you say, taking the hint and lowering your hand. Him moving your hand aside has already proven that he’s solid…or that your hallucination includes touch in addition to sight and sound.

He steps forward, hopping down from the stage. You take a step back, watching as he walks around you and up the stairs.

“Well this place has sure seen better days, huh?” he says, looking up at the deteriorating building. His gaze pauses on the hole in the ceiling. A blue tarp is pulled tightly over it, keeping out some of the elements until the construction crew arrives to patch it.

“Heh. Not in my lifetime,” you say wryly.

“Oh no?” he asks casually, turning to glance back at you.

“It’s been closed for over 70 years now,” you say.

“Oh?” he asks again, continuing to walk up the stairs, his gaze turned upwards as he takes in the state of the theater. “Don’t suppose you know why?”

If you weren’t so flustered, you may have noticed the lack of surprise in his tone…maybe even the underlying coyness. But as it is, you simply take the question at face value.

“A fire in the film closet caused an explosion. That’s why there’s that hole up there,” you say, nodding towards the tarp.

He follows your gaze, humming in thought. “Oh, is that all?” he asks, glancing at you sideways.

This time you do notice the coyness in his tone, but you think he’s simply trying to be funny.

“I think there was some other drama around it,” you say. “I did a bit of research before coming out here…but it’s hard to tell what’s true and what’s just urban legends these days. But it sounds like there was some kind of hostage situation, and that’s what led to the explosion. No casualties though, from the sounds of it.”

Mr. Ring-a-ding chuckles. “Well, that’s a relief!” he says, managing to sound genuine, though not particularly invested. “And where’s good ol’ Mr. Pye these days?”

“Who?” you ask blankly, following him up the stairs towards the projection booth.

“Reginald Pye. The projectionist,” he says simply, not bothering to glance back at you.

“The--?” You cut yourself off. “Uh, abandoned theaters don’t have projectionists,” you say, with a weak laugh…not thinking about why he may be asking after the former employee.

He stops, spinning on his heel to face you. “Well of course they don’t, you silly billy!” he says, waggling his finger at you. “That’s why I asked where he is, because he’s obviously not here!”

You open your mouth to speak, then quickly close it again, your brow knitting in sympathy. “I-It’s…been 70 years…”

Mr. Ring-a-Ding cants his head, grinning up at you. “So you’ve said,” he says blithely, clearly having no idea why the point bore repeating.

…Does he really have no idea?

“How…old was he? Mr. Pye?”

“Dunno. Kinda old I guess. Why?” he asks. He doesn’t seem to be understanding the significance of your questions.

You find yourself wondering if a living cartoon even knows what death is. You chew your lip, shifting uncomfortably.

“What’sa matter, sweetie pie? Cat got your tongue?” he asks playfully.

You sigh, rubbing your arm as you finally meet his gaze. “Seventy years is…a long time for humans. I-It’s…rare for humans to live past a hundred. A hundred-twenty at most.”

His smile freezes in place as he stares at you in silence for a moment before simply saying, “Ah.”

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say quietly. You crouch down in front of him and are about to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, when he steps back, waving a hand.

“Don’t make me laugh!” he says, a bit more forcefully than he’d said it before.

You pull back, your eyes widening at the seemingly heartless response. Mr. Ring-a-Ding turns on his heel and resumes his march up the stairs while you slowly get to your feet, stunned.

Is he really that callous, or does he just…not understand the situation? You have no idea what kind of show Mr. Ring-a-Ding had been. Many cartoons from that time never mentioned death, and the ones that did…well, they had a fairly…irreverent attitude about it. So it’s not much of a stretch to imagine a 1930’s cartoon brought to life, would be wholly unequipped to deal with it.

…No more a stretch than “1930’s cartoon brought to life” is to begin with, anyway.

He’s nearly at the top of the stairs by the time you begin trotting after him.

Lux leaves you behind without a second thought, making his way into the projection booth. The two projectors are still there, a bit dirty but otherwise the same as he remembers them. Objects wielded by the gods tended to withstand the passage of time remarkably well, after all.

Objects…but not mortals. Not humans. The difference between a year and century is nothing to a god…but apparently it’s everything to a human.

Lux has no heart, but he feels an unpleasant sensation in a place very similar.

He doesn’t like it.

He wanders over to the pile of rubbish and broken wood that had once been Reginald’s desk. Of course, there’s nothing of significance there. Not anymore. Reginald would have taken any pictures of himself or Helen when he’d left. Lux knows that much.

Lux is aware of you entering the room behind him, but doesn’t pay you any mind as he moves to the projection window, hopping up onto the edge of one of the projectors to look out the small window into the theater. Where he’d spent so long watching Reginald and Helen dancing together.

There’d been something compelling about it. Almost more compelling than light itself. Lux had never understood his own fascination with it, but also hadn’t really cared to think too much on it.

As he’s staring down at the empty house, you finally speak.

“Was he…a friend of yours? Mr. Pye?” you ask gently.

Lux tears his gaze away from the window to look at you curiously. He’s not sure how to answer. Gods aren’t friends with mortals. They’re barely friends with each other most of the time. Pye had been a disciple, a minion, a servant.

Yet Lux doesn’t want to speak any of those words aloud. He tells himself it’s because you’d react poorly to them. While he’s not convinced he has any use for you, he’s not so unconvinced that he wants to drive you off over something trivial.

So, he dips his head in a nod, returning his gaze to the ruined theater. “Something like that,” he says, his voice flatter and more gravely than the upbeat, chipper tone he’d used before.

“I-I’m…sorry,” you say again. “D’you…have anywhere to go?”

“Don’t need to go anywhere,” he says shortly. Maybe he should have just endured the boredom for another millennium or two to recover his strength…then maybe he could muster the power to do something actually interesting. He assumes the conversation is over and is almost ready to simply return to light when you speak again.

“Well, you can’t stay here!”

Lux’s eyes flash yellow for the briefest of seconds and he turns sharply to face you, incredulous at your impudence. A human, a mere human, not even a particularly powerful one, telling a god where he can and can’t go?!

He’s about to banish you into celluloid for your insolence when he processes your expression.

Your brow is upturned, your eyes filled with worry as you clutch your hands together fretfully.

It hadn’t been an order. You’re not demanding he leave. You’re worried what’ll happen if he stays.

It occurs to Lux that his entrance hadn’t been as grand this time. A silly little fellow popping out from behind a curtain--not a giant creature emerging from the screen before banishing fifteen people to film.

You have no idea what he is. Well, that had been true of all the humans back then, too, but they had at least understood he was an immeasurably powerful being--something to be feared.

But you don’t think that. You clearly think he’s far more helpless than he is. Do you even realize he’s immortal? Surely not, if you’re fretting about him squatting in some old building. Do you imagine that he’s capable of being hungry? Sick? Cold? Like some feeble little mortal?

Most gods would be insulted at such a notion and would be quick to put you in your place…but Lux finds the idea…interesting. A mortal who doesn’t fear him. Who asks nothing of him. Who thinks he needs them.

That last part is particularly amusing to Lux…He supposes he had been in the mood for a bit of a dalliance, and it seems one has presented itself.

His irate expression softens, and turns his brow up in a tired, melancholy expression. “But…I got nowhere else to go.”

Lux makes sure not to lay it on too thick. He’d made that mistake with the Doctor, though he hadn’t really expected to be able to fool a Time Lord for all that long regardless. So he hadn’t exactly bothered to bring his A game to that bit of deception.

You move to stand beside him, leaning against the wall beside the window. “Well…maybe, you could stay with me?”

The surprise on his face isn’t entirely feigned. That had been easier than he’d thought…Not that he needs to stay with you, or anywhere in particular of course. The grin that spreads across his face is also mostly genuine.

“Oh, gee willikers! You’d let me do that?” he says, keeping his tone suitably modest as his smile turns ever so slightly shy.

“Well, I don’t want to leave you alone in an abandoned theater all night…” you say with a small smile. You frown, tapping your chin in thought. “Though I don’t know how I’m going to get you back to my apartment without anyone seeing you…”

Lux chuckles. “Mmm, I can draw quite a crowd,” he agrees with a wink.

“Yes, I’d imagine,” you laugh, glad he at least understands the potential consequences of just taking off down the street on his own. “Hm, what time is it, anyway? Maybe the streets won’t be too crowded…” you muse.

You pull some kind of electronic device out of your pocket, pushing a button on the side of it. Suddenly the room is lit up with a blinding white light.

“Gah!” you yelp, covering your eyes and touching something on the screen to dim the glow. “Sorry about that, didn’t mean to flashbang you,” you say to him with a sheepish chuckle.

Lux is hardly phased of course, but he can tell by your rapid blinking that you’ve utterly destroyed the night vision you’d been building up in the darkened theater. “Quite alright! Seems you got the worst of it,” he says good-naturedly. “But what is that, exactly?” he asks, leaning forward.

“Oh, it’s my--Well, it’s called a phone but it’s…probably much different than any phones you’d’ve seen in the fifties,” you say, holding it out for him to look at.

“Hmm…” he hums. He places his hands on either side of the phone, turning the screen towards himself slightly to examine it. He knows more or less what it is, of course. While he’s not familiar with this exact bit of tech, many, many civilizations have similar devices. Glowing, lit up screens or holograms, connecting everyone to everywhere, millenia’s worth of information at the push of a button.

Well, maybe not millenia on this one. Not yet. It’s still fairly primitive as far as most displays go, and he doubts the signal could even reach the Earth’s moon, much less another galaxy.

Though he’s glad for your unintentional reminder that someone who only knows the Earth of 70 years ago ought to be impressed by this clunky old tech.

“Oh goodness!” he gasps eagerly, doing a suitable job of pretending this is by far the most advanced piece of tech he’d ever seen. “My my my, what a tiny little screen!” he says. He pokes part of the screen, pretending to be startled when one of your apps opens.

“It even plays videos,” you say, tapping the YouTube app and letting a random video from the recommended list autoplay.

“Golly, how clever!” he pretends to marvel. “Say, that gives me an idea…”

It doesn’t, really, but it presents a good segue to the idea he’d had the moment you pulled out the device.

While you hold the phone, he presses one of his hands against the screen. Even at his small size, his hand is still bigger than the screen, but as he pushes his hand flattens and shrinks, becoming an image on the screen.

Your eyes widen in surprise as he leans forward, and soon all of him has disappeared into the phone.

He grins at your sputtering noise of shock. Humans are always so stunned at the most innocuous things.

You turn the phone around, and see him standing in front of your app icons and desktop background, which is a stylized picture of a starry night sky, complete with blue and purple nebula-clouds.

“Mind clearing a bit of space, honey?” he asks, leaning against the edge of the screen and pointing behind him with his thumb.

“Oh, s-sure, hang on,” you say. You swipe the screen slowly, making sure moving the desktop icons doesn’t fling him offscreen as well. Once you’re sure it won’t, you swipe past a few screens until you’re at a blank page on your desktop.

“Much obliged!” he says, tipping his hat. He turns around, whistling appreciatively at the background. “Shame to be blocking this lovely view!”

“Heh…right…” you say. “A-Are you um…sure you’re okay in there?”

“Of course!”

“My apartment’s about a half hour walk away, is that alright?”

“Certainly! Take all the time ya need!” he says, sitting down at the bottom of the screen, turning away to look up at the stars.

“Right,” you say, carefully setting the phone down so you can sling your backpack over your shoulders. You carefully pick up the phone, moving it carefully as if you’re balancing something delicate atop the screen. “I’m not gonna jostle you too much moving around, am I?”

Lux has to resist the urge to scoff and roll his eyes. Just how fragile do you think he is? Though at the same time…it’s not exactly difficult to pretend he’s moved by your concern as he turns around, flashing a brash grin.

“Aw shucks, sweetie pie!” he says, waving a hand. “I’m tougher than I look! I can handle myself just fine, even on a little screen like this!” he declares, puffing out his chest proudly.

You laugh, and he’s a bit surprised at the warmth in it. “Alright then. Just uh…let me know if it’s too bumpy, alright?”

“Sure thing!” he says, turning back to face the starry background, ending the conversation for now.

You don’t mind the quiet walk. It gives you time to process.

A living cartoon. He just came out of the theater screen, then put himself into your phone, and now he’s crashing at your place for a yet-to-be-determined amount of time.

Your curiosity at how he can even exist and how he works has been quickly overshadowed by worries about his mental state. You suspect he’s grieving his friend, even if he’s reluctant to show it. He’s from the 50’s after all--not exactly a time rife with emotional vulnerability, especially in men.

From what you’ve pieced together, he’s a living cartoon who had been friends with the theater’s projectionist in the 50’s. Somehow after the theater was abandoned he’d…gone dormant? Or something? You’re not sure how that works yet but what you are sure of is that the poor guy has been essentially flung forward 70 years into a world he likely no longer recognizes.

You reach your apartment building and climb up the stairs to your studio apartment. “It’s a bit cramped…” you warn him.

“I’m sure I can make do,” he says easily. “Two-dimensional characters don’t take up much space, after all,” he winks.

“I suppose,” you say, locking the door behind you. “You can come out--”

You’ve barely finished the sentence when he pushes against the screen, his whole upper half emerging almost instantly, bringing his face so close that your noses almost touch as he grins widely at you.

You squeak in surprise, your cheeks burning as you drop the phone. To your relief, he hops out the rest of the way before it hits the ground, gracefully floating to the floor while your phone thuds on the rug next to him.

“A-Are you alright?” you say in alarm, kneeling in front of him.

Mr. Ring-a-Ding steps back with a sheepish chuckle, picking up your phone for you. “Oh, perfectly fine! Didn’t mean ta startle ya!” he says playfully. He checks over your phone, whistling in surprise at the weight of your heavy phone case. “This thing’s got some heft! Why’s it armored up like it’s going to war?” he asks as he passes it back to you.

You grin wryly at him. “In case someone jumps out at me.”

He raises his brows, his smirk showing some appreciation for the quip.

You get to your feet, flipping on the main light. As promised, it is indeed cramped. An unmade twin bed is shoved into one corner, and across from it is a small flatscreen TV atop a stand, positioned in a way that one would either have to lay on their side to watch TV or sit atop the bed with their back against the wall.

The kitchen takes up half of another wall, being little more than a fridge, sink, some cabinets, and less than a foot of actual counter space. A microwave sits on a small, rickety shelf next to the fridge.

A decent chunk of the floor is covered in old newspapers, atop which sit an easel splotched with paint. A small table holds some paints and brushes, but the easel itself is empty.

“You a painter?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

“Trying to be,” you say as you set your backpack down beside the bed.

“Trying?” he repeats with a quirked brow.

“Well, I mean, I paint, so I am a painter I suppose, but…not…really making money off it yet.”

“Ah. ‘Fraid I can’t help you there,” Mr. Ring-a-Ding says, turning out his empty pockets. A moth flies out of one of them and disappears behind him and he grins sheepishly up at you.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself over it,” you say easily, waving a hand. “I…do sort of have a job lined up. At the theater. I’ll be painting a few murals in the lobby.”

“Yeah?” he asks, intrigued. “If ya don’t mind me saying so, honey, it’s gonna take more than a fresh coat of paint to get that place back in shape.”

Your laugh is a bit cynical as you shake your head. “Oh, trust me, Ring-a-Ding, I’m well aware. The builders and cleaning crews are running behind, so the boss--my dad’s friend’s son--is giving me some money to do what I can to get things moving while we wait. And I kinda need the money, so…” you trail off, shrugging.

“I see,” he says, stroking his chin in thought.

“A-Anyway, do you…need anything? D’you eat, or…or need me to set up a bed for you somewhere?”

He chuckles sheepishly. “Well…the truth is, I don’t need food. Or sleep,” he admits.

That possibility had occurred to you on the walk home. That perhaps staying in the theater wouldn’t be as detrimental to him as you’d initially feared…though it doesn’t make you regret your invitation. Surely he’d still be lonely? Maybe even scared…at the very least you’d like to think your apartment is still an improvement over a busted up old theater.

…Though perhaps you’re just flattering yourself.

“So what do you do all night, if not sleep?” you ask.

“Watch movies. What else would ya do in a theater all night?”

“True…” you say with a weak chuckle.

“But I think my first night back, I’ll be just fine hanging out at the window.”

“Oh,” you say, surprised. You’d been about to try to set him up with your laptop, but maybe that’ll be an endeavor for another time, when you have more time to explain it to him. “In that case…I think I’ll get ready for bed, if that’s alright?”

“Certainly, sweetheart!” he says easily.

As you go to get changed, Lux perches on the console table below the small window, looking out it. The stars are barely visible--humans have apparently entered the phase of their development where they haven’t a clue how to manage light pollution.

Though that doesn’t bother Lux all that much. The glow of the neon signs and street lamps is light too, and at the moment he’s not overly picky.

He smiles softly to himself, replaying your words in his mind. If that’s okay. Why wouldn’t it be? As far as you’re aware, he’s harmless. Maybe even fragile. Yet you still ask his permission for something as innocuous as getting ready for bed.

You’re certainly interesting. Though perhaps not very sharp. Your boss is clearly taking you for some kind of ride. Lux isn’t a trickster god, but he doesn’t have to be to see that you’re being duped.

Maybe he can help you out with that. Not out of any sense of justice or loyalty to you, of course. Gods don’t need food but they can rarely turn down a hearty serving of comeuppance.

As far as idle dalliances go, you might just be a good one.

#mr ring a ding #mr. ring-a-ding #lux imperator #lux x reader #mr ring a ding x reader #ring a ding x reader #x reader #canon x reader #oh god i'm just realizing how huge doctor who is compared to what i usually write for #eeep #maybe i'll be safe in the lux/ringading corner :x

151 notes · View notes

eden-falls · 4 months ago

Text

the manwhores of the realm. i mean fellowship of the ring

design notes under cut!! this is the product of a lot of work and i planned to design EVERYONE but i got tired and this is a good stopping point. for now.

expect more sansûkh gigolas soon. what a genuinely phenomenal piece of writing

gandalf:

• just an unassuming scruffy old guy. nothing weird going on here definitely not a minor god wandering around kidnapping hobbits for quests

• the staff was inspired by a shepherd's crook which felt appropriate considering his role

• i did also design gandalf the white but i dont like that one as much so if it ever comes up i'll go back to it

the hobbits:

• tails!! the length indicates age which is why pippin's is the shortest

• frodo's outfit is inspired by welsh traditional clothing (i am welsh) while merry and pip are kinda more general edwardian style and sam more medieval aligned based on a particular vintage costume design i dug up

• pippin's pockets are endless and hold many mysteries! he ties his hair like that to look taller

aragorn:

• to be honest. still not sure about him. i think the green is a mistake when putting him next to legolas and i sort of think the elves of rivendell go for deeper blues and purples, but my reasoning for the green was like... nature and camouflage? this one is still subject to change colour wise

• i didn't forget arwen's necklace he just wears it under the jacket

• yah theres not really any real life inspo. the cut of the jacket is viking i think but it's like 90% made up

• the books say he is the tallest so i let that hold true. however. know i am not happy about it and will probably continue to draw legolas the tallest otherwise

boromir

• first and foremost black hair. idgaf thats what the books say and in this regard i like canon more so

• i didnt wanna just do black and white gondorian colours so i played about with saturation a bit

• i moved the tree from the shirt area to his belt buckle only because i have made the shirt too complex to properly display it

• a little inspired by traditional turkish wear! i don't have much reasoning its just how i imagine minas tirith style clothing

legolas:

• hes a WOOD ELF he is GREEN 💚

• always has a stray leaf in his hair its literally in the name

• he has scabbards for his daggers on the back of his belt

• silver metal details rather than golden like the others

• like pippin's pockets nobody knows how deep his little bag actually is. he probably puts bugs in it or something

• his bow is pretty simple. i like to think he made it himself or maybe tauriel if we r considering her canon

• hair defies physics slightly

gimli

• high ponytail gimli truther it's just GOOD

• as is usually headcanoned, there's an overwhelming viking influence here. i felt however that horns on the helmet would be too much (and historically inaccurate if thats something that matters)

• jewel tones! i think he has an appreciation for aesthetics like this. nice patterning as well

• i added leather armour here but i probably won't draw it very often because why would he wear armour to smooch legolas. it's just so i can be consistent when i DO draw it honestly

#lotr #the fellowship of the ring #gandalf #frodo #aragorn #boromir #legolas #gimli #gigolas #samfro #merry brandybuck #pippin took #the hobbit #lord of the rings #lotr fanart #character design

204 notes · View notes

bluessmutifyplaylist · 1 year ago

Note

You wanted the yandere sebek request for your smut blog and ill shall deliver.

Go feral to with this picture to bestie do what you want 😊.

I’m just a small town girl… Living in my delulu world~

Warnings: AFAB Reader that goes by she/her pronouns, oral (reader receiving), breeding(?), creampie, future family mentioned, dom!Sebek, CONSENSUAL (reader’s a bit delulu), Sebek loves you more than Malleus

Sebek Zigvolt

As much as he loathed to admit it, he needed you. He had grown to need you more than he needed the validation from Malleus. You had become his whole world, and you had no idea what that meant for you. He breathed for you.

It started off simple enough. He would leave sweet poems at your door or on your desk. As Eliza Hamilton once said, he built you palaces and cathedrals out of paragraphs. However, he never signed it with anything that told his identity to you. Instead, he signed it as ‘Your Secret Admirer’. It drove you crazy, but you drove him crazy. It was only fair that he should have the same effect on you that you did him.

But, with each poem, its contents got darker and darker. It got more obsessive. Despite this, you didn’t find yourself scared. You found yourself wanting to meet this person, wanting to hold them in your arms as you assured them that they were yours as you were theirs. You hadn’t even met them, but your heart fluttered upon the thought of someone being so dedicated to you.

Maybe you’ve read too many dark romance books, but your heart is no longer with you. It belonged to your secret admirer.

With each passing day, you tried to make guesses as to who leaves the poems everywhere where only you would be able to find them. It couldn’t be Ace or Deuce. As much as you loved them as friends, they couldn’t write a poem if it meant saving their own lives. You ruled out Epel and Jack as well, as they were often too busy.

This left one man, and you have caught him staring at you a few times. Sebek Zigvolt. He called you ‘human’ every single time he wanted to address you, but you couldn’t help but want your secret admirer to be him. You wanted him to be your knight in shining armor, but with a not-so-shining obsession over you.

Everything changed when you got another letter. However, it was not from your not-so-secret secret admirer. It was from a student in your potionology class who had taken interest in you. You had not informed anyone of your admirer, but you knew that he probably already knew about this. After all, the seal had been broken.

You were going to meet up with the student, so accept his confession. Before you were able to exit the classroom, you felt yourself being tugged back by your bag. You turned to see a rather angry Sebek, and you let out a gasp.

“Don’t go with that impudent boy,” He said, venom laced in his voice. “He does not deserve you.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, Your Secret Admirer. I wanted to remain secret, but it seems as though you truly wanted me to reveal myself. You truly wanted me to make you know that you are mine.”

“Oh, but I know already,” You dropped your bag and turned your body fully to him, letting you know that you weren’t scared. “I am yours, as you are mine.”

Cupping your face in his hands, he looked down at you with a still-angry look on his face.

“Then why are you insistent upon meeting up with this man?”

“Because I needed to be sure that you were my secret admirer. If you loved me, you would have swooped in and saved me from being with a man I didn’t love. While I put myself in that position, I knew you would be my knight in shining armor.”

With a flushed face, he asked, “Does this mean you accept my affections and my obsessive desire to court you?”

“I do.”

~~~~~~~~

Slipping the ring onto your finger, he dipped you down into a kiss at the altar. Applause erupted from thousands of people, happy to see one of the highest generals in the Briar Valley military be wed to the love of his life. If only they knew the darker happenings behind the scenes. If only they knew how truly obsessed with you he was. If only they knew the amount of deaths were on his hands because of you.

You knew, but that did not stop you from running into his arms time and time again. That did not stop you from courting him, accepting his proposal, planning your wedding, and marrying him. He was your captor, but you had no issue with that. It could be that you needed professional help, but you couldn’t help but give him your heart and your body.

That night, as he princess-carried you over the door’s threshold of your new home, all bets of decency were off. He was the reason why there was a tradition of why the groom cannot see the bride before the wedding: he would have tore off your wedding dress and claimed you in the room you were getting ready in.

Fortunately for yourself and your guests, he was refrained from doing so by order of Malleus Draconia.

Once you reached what you both deemed your bedroom, he put you down and immediately started kissing you with a passion you had never seen him with before. Who needed air in their lungs anyway? You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him back, letting him hold up your weight after running out of breath.

“From now on, you are to depend on me and only me, do you hear? Just like you are now depending on me to keep you upright. I will be your provider, as well as the provider for our family,” He pulled away, and you smiled at what he said.

“Family?” You asked.

“If that is what my wife also desires,” He smiled back, waiting for your response.

A few moments passed between the two of you as you thought about it. Then, you nodded.

“Let me properly step out of the dress, though. I want it to be able to be worn by our daughter or daughter-in-law.” With that, he reluctantly zipped down the dress gently, leaving you in a lingerie set that you wore underneath.

You looked ravishing.

He picked you up once again, helping you out of the dress and laying you on the edge of the bed. At the end of the night, you realized that was the only gentle thing that your husband did for you, aside from the aftercare.

Kissing you once again, he made quick work of your bra and started kissing your neck. Moaning, you moved your head to the side to allow him easier access. He actually bit your neck, his fangs leaving their mark, making you hiss in a mix of pain and pleasure. He eventually let go, trailing his kisses further and further down.

Your husband was obsessed with everything about you, and he wanted to make sure that you knew that. He worshiped every part of you, even more so than Malleus. He praised the ground you walked upon.

It didn’t take him a while to tear off your panties, but you didn’t feel exposed. Instead, you felt as though it were an intimate moment. Sure, you both weren’t virgins, as there were times where temptations got the better of you. However, you always had protection. This time, you didn’t.

He started to go down on you, devouring your pussy like it was his first meal in years. He also started taking off his tuxedo. Once his shoulders were bare, he hiked your legs onto them. Your hips were raised off of the bed as he stood up, and he was relentless with his tongue, which made you have your first orgasm of the night. He then took the chance to take his pants and boxers.

Every time you saw it, his size always managed to surprise you. However, it was hard to be anything but euphoric as he physically removed himself from your core. You could tell that it pained him, but to finally see him with his juices on your face and licking his lips almost made you cum alone.

“Are you ready, darling?” He asked, starting to position his cock against your soaked pussy, a combination of your juices and his saliva acting as lube.

“Please, Seb,” You begged, and your eyes rolled back as he sheathed himself fully inside of you. He leaned forward, making your thighs press against your chest. Pressing another kiss on your lips, he pulled his dick all the way out before entering once again.

You were so warm, and inside of you, he felt like he was home. You were now officially his, and that ring on your finger proved it. He could feel the ring on his scalp as you grasped his hair to pull him into another kiss.

Pulling away to get some air, the look in your eyes was sincere. In fact, there were tears falling.

“I love you, Sebek Zigvolt,” You uttered between moans, letting your second orgasm wash over you.

The words surprised him, despite them being in your vows just a few hours ago. It felt different, with his dick inside of his wife… his wife. He knew you meant those words, even as your face contorted in pleasure.

His thrusts quickened their pace, not losing the rhythm established, until thick, hot ropes of cum were emptied into your awaiting cunt. You both knew that this would not be the last time this night, and that it was merely the introduction of a passionate time in each other’s embrace.

“I love you, too, Y/N Zigvolt.”

2K notes · View notes

boothillssugarmomma · 1 year ago

Note

sunday likes shiny stuff bc ravens likes shiny stuff, its just an idea

I love that idea! Birds all like shiny stuff so I could see him sneaking away with your jewelry and trinkets!

🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀🎀

Shiny Treasures

(Sunday x Fem!Reader)

cw-: lying Sunday, fluff, embarrassed boy, nervous boy 🤭

🎀 authorsnote: I literally was supposed to post this three weeks ago I'm so sorry 😭

please don't steal my work!

🎀Taglist🎀HSR Master List🎀 Other Lists🎀

Sunday had...a certain fondness for shiny things...a rather childish and unanticipated flaw to his character, really. No matter how small, insignificant or worthless they were.

Perhaps it had something to do with the halovians' innate desire for attention and glory, that would explain it. Or maybe it was because he was like a bird. But whatever the case, he was rather drawn to the gleam of precious gems and glittery accessories.

He sometimes tries to snatch your jewelry, thinking that you wouldn't notice, but fails miserably and you find that adorable.

"Hey hon do you know where that necklace I was wearing yesterday went?" You hum, peeking into his office.

Your boyfriend is hard at work, staring at some papers with concentration as he writes on them.

Sunday looked at you through the corner of his eye. His eyes looked a bit panicked before he started to concentrate on his papers again, but at this moment, he was just pretending.

"No, I don't...why my love?"

He answered with a simple reply. He thought that might work, right?

"Oh really?" You smile as you lean against the doorway. "I was going to wear it to that event we need to go to tonight."

Sunday stayed silent. And for some reason, his face started to redden a bit.

He knew that you weren't a fool. Why did he even think that you didn't know he stole your jewelry? Sunday sighed.

"Fine."

He opened his left drawer to carefully pick up your necklace and hold it out to you. Blushing as he looks away.

You snicker walking forward to lean down and kiss his forehead. "I know you like shiny things baby...but try to work on it?" Your voice soothes his embarrassment a bit.

Sunday looks at you, his face going even redder when you kissed his forehead.

"Mhm...I will...sorry"

He answered softly. He definitely didn't want to admit that he had an unhealthy obsession with shiny things, but he knew you already learned his secret anyways.

"Now...do you know where my rings are?" You glance into his eyes, yours have a hint of amusement while his are just plain panic.

"N-No..."

Sunday looked away. You knew he was lying again. He was bad at it, and he knew that you probably knew he was acting. You couldn't help but find that adorable.

"You must have placed them in our room...maybe on the nightstand!" He stammers a bit with his lie.

This wasn't like him and he hated it, the lying was killing him even if it couldn't be helped. He knew you weren't mad, you were amused, you loved his obsessions. But he still felt out of control with himself.

"Okkk..." You hum before kissing his nose. "So if I were to...check my nightstand in an hour...would they be back?" Your eyes narrow playfully as they gaze into his.

He blushed again. He really wasn't good at lying. Especially to you...his lovely girlfriend.

"Y-yes."

He replied. Sunday still found it quite difficult to look at you in the eyes while he was embarrassed like this. Why did he even steal them in the first place?

"Alright my little dove..." You smile softly, walking to the door before stopping and looking over your shoulder. "Oh and I wanted to tell you that I hung the suit you'll be wearing up on your door for when you get ready."

"T-Thank you, darling."

Sunday sighed of relief. He thought that you were going to keep asking him for jewelry back, reminding him of his little habit for the rest of the day. Sunday stood and followed to the door to grab his suit.

He quickly decided to give you a kiss on the cheek as a way to apologize for his silly behaviour.

"Let me know when you want me to help tie your tie. I'll be in our room." You smile before walking down the corridor out of his sight.

"Mhm, will do."

Sunday let out a heavy breath. Now that you're out of his sight, he has time to collect himself. He can't stop thinking about the feeling of your skin on his lips.

His thoughts always go crazy when you're around.

After he starts to prepare himself for the event, reading over his speech, making quick changes. He finally slips his suit on before glancing into his office mirror and remembering his tie.

He walks down the corridor where you had walked a bit previously into your shared room.

Glancing in he notices you sitting at your vanity, clearly doing your last preparations as well. His eyes soften as he watches you, his beautiful dove.

Finally he cleared his throat and spoke. "Hey, darling? Do you mind helping out a bit?" Holding the tie up he blushes embarrassed.

"Hmm?" You hum looking over your shoulder and glance at his undone tie. A warm laugh escapes your lips before you nod. "Cmere honey."

He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your back. He looked at your neck, and decided to give a little peck to it. He then hid his face in your shoulders.

"I don't know why, but I feel quite embarrassed right now. I mean I should be able to do my own tie..." Sunday sighs softly. "Please Help me out, will you darling...?" He asked softly, his hot breath against your neck.

"Of course my love..." You hum, making quick work to turn around and start tying his tie.

His eyes catch a glint of light out of the corner of them. Glancing to your vanity he notices a pair of sparkly diamond earrings, ones he bought for you no doubt.

He caught himself looking at the earrings. But he was just so tempted to take them right now, but decided to try to restrain himself.

Sunday waited patiently for you to tie his tie. He found this kind of bonding with you wholesome...if only he wasn't thinking about those damned earrings.

He couldn't handle it anymore, so when you were distracted he used his arm length to his advantage and swiped the earrings, putting them in his pocket.

Sunday felt a sense of guilt, stealing your earrings, but he also felt satisfied. He had to act normal now, and hope you didn't notice he pocketed your earrings.

"All done!" You smile brightly as you turn to the mirror to show him. "God you look so handsome..."

His blush returns, even though he's used to your compliments...he can't ever get used to the notion that you're his. "Thank you, darling. You look absolutely stunning yourself."

He said, and gave you a smile. He wrapped his arm around you and kissed your hair lightly.

You both stand there for a few minutes, gazing at the mirror and at each other. But eventually the silence had to be broken.

"Ok! Go grab your speech and we can head out!" You smile patting his chest. He nods softly before you watch him walk to the door.

Sunday was obviously trying to rush out of the room, with a sense of panic in his mind that maybe you somehow noticed the earrings he just swiped.

"Oh and Sunday?"

His body tenses as he places a hand on the doorway. He gulps a bit before turning to you. "Y-Yes honey?"

"Earrings please." You snicker before holding your hand out. Eyes amused instead of angry.

"You noticed...?"

He asked, looking at your hand nervously. He slowly reached for his pocket and took out the earrings, reaching to hand them to you while looking away. He was as red as a flame spawn...

"It's hard not to when you bumped my waist with your hand while trying to reach for them..." You roll your eyes playfully.

He looks down at the ground, his wings drooping a bit. You gently cup his face and tilt his head upwards a bit.

"I could never get mad at my cute little dove..." You kiss his cheek. "Its kinda cute..."

"Heh...you mean that?"

He let out a sigh of relief. At least you didn't get mad at him for stealing your jewelry. He still had a hint of curiosity in his eyes though, wondering just how much jewelry you had.

Instead of asking he just gave you a small peck on the nose.

"My little Halovian..." You chuckle softly. "Such a jewelry snatcher." Walking to the front door, slipping your heels on. "Is your sister also like this?"

"Oh believe me...hah, she's worse."

"...remind me to never bring jewelry around her."

"Noted, my dear."

🎀End🎀

#honkai star rail #honkai sr #hsr #fanfic #honkai star rail smut #sunday x you #sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sunday fanfic #sunday #sunday x y/n #sunday smut #sunday fanart #sunday fans

606 notes · View notes

prythiansprincess · 5 months ago

Text

CHAPTER ONE | TSOFAS.

pairing: azriel x reader.

word count: 3,056.

author's note: surprise! it feels strange to be writing for azriel again after such a long break, but here I am returning to my roots. this series has been sitting in my drafts for a year and now i've finally got it fully fleshed out. let's just pray to the cauldron that I actually get the motivation to finish it all the way through.

♫ dark matter - rivals. nav. series. moodboard.

Every mission required you to play a part.

Over the years, you have worn many faces. The thief. The seductress. The assassin. The dagger in the dark that no one ever saw coming.

Tonight you were a tavern wench from the Western Isles, eager to attract the attention of a nobleman who hailed from one of the oldest families in the Night Court. Given his societal standing, his voice of dissent against Rhysand and Feyre’s rule and rumored sympathies towards Hybern’s cause had not gone unnoticed. Certainly not by you nor the High Lord and High Lady themselves.

For Rhysand to send you out to personally deal with the lordling meant that the situation required your level of skill and discretion. The High Lord usually preferred to keep you close to home so you could monitor any potential threats in Velaris, but this pesky little lord had caused enough trouble to warrant your involvement.

For centuries, you had served the Night Court well. Even before Rhysand assumed power, you moved in the shadows like a phantom, setting matters straight when threats arose and making sure your beloved city was safe.

At present, the threat before you took the shape of a High Fae male, who in all honesty, had a rather lofty opinion of himself. You could tell he was unseasoned and unblooded from the way he carried himself, moving with the ease of someone who had never seen the toils of war and strife. The lordling likely lived in the luxury of grandiose balls and palaces filled with servants tending to his beck and call. No was not a word in his vocabulary.

He had a pretty face and a cruel mouth, those gray eyes of his raking over your figure with unabashed scrutiny. The dark veil covering your face reveals a sliver of your amber eyes, concealing your identity and drawing him into the mysterious aura you perfectly crafted with ease.

You had dealt with his type a thousand times over. Males who looked at you like a challenge, a prize to chase after and inevitably conquer before tossing you to the side for the next pretty little thing that crossed their path. Little did he know that once you set your sights on him, his fate was as good as sealed.

Judging from the finery of his clothes and the gold rings adorning his fingers, this one was a rich little lordling, probably the heir of some cranky old bastard who would have known better than to engage with someone like you. It was glaringly obvious that the male had never learned how to spot an enemy, so he didn’t know any better when he sidled up next to you, completely unaware of the blades concealed underneath the simple cotton dress you were wearing.

A small smile graced your lips, playing the part of the shy and demure maiden who was unfamiliar with being approached by handsome lords.

Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent underneath it.

“What does a lord have to do to get a pint around here?” He greeted with a smirk as he slammed down his empty glass. You didn’t miss the way his oily gaze lingered on the swell of your breasts peeking out from your tight corset.

“It’s on the house, my lord,” you said sweetly while you poured ale from the flagon in your hands, filling his glass with amber liquid.

The lordling threw the drink back in one gulp and slammed his hand down on the wooden table with a loud smack. From the far end of the tavern, his companions hooted and hollered at his little performance.

In the three days that you’ve been tracking him, they’ve never left his side. Two of them were his personal guards — trained soldiers who you would’ve liked to toy with if you had the time, but unfortunately your schedule wouldn’t allow for deviations no matter how much you would thoroughly enjoy carving those traitors up. Instead, you settled for incapacitating both males for the rest of the evening. The rest of the lordling’s company was inconsequential, too busy gambling and pulling females into their laps to take note of you.

“What about you? Are you on the house as well?”

Your fingers itched to reach for the twin blades sheathed on your hips, but you resisted the urge and offered a smile instead. “I’m afraid not.”

He grabbed your wrist, pressing his lips close to the shell of your ear. The heady scent of ale was heavy on his breath. “Don’t you want to know what it feels like to lie with a nobleman? I promise I’ll treat you like a lady.”

You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, surveying the boisterous crowd in what appeared like self-consciousness, but in reality you were assessing whether or not you would be able to slip out with your mark without anyone noticing.

“But what will your companions think?”

The lordling chuckled. “They think whatever I pay them to think.” His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “But you need not worry, I have a room all to myself upstairs.”

With one last look at the crowd, you lured the male right into your trap. Pushing those golden curls out of his eyes, your fingers traced the outline of his lips. “In that case, lead the way.”

Compared to the boisterous tavern downstairs, the dark room he ushered you into was quiet and intimate. Clothes were strewn all over the wooden floors and his sheets were unmade. Moonlight streamed in through the glass windowpane, leaving half the room shrouded in night. The male wasted no time and pressed you against the closed door, his eager mouth nipping at your neck impatiently. His hands sidled up your spine, deft fingers tugging at the veil tied behind your head.

You caught him by the wrist, preventing him from untying the fabric before pushing him towards the bed. “Not so fast, my lord. I need you to savor this.”

Dark, lustful eyes drank you in as you crawled across the mattress, straddling the male and effectively trapping him in a vulnerable position. You lifted his arms over his head, tutting your disapproval as he tried to reach for you. He was so drunk with desire that he didn't even question the rope you pulled out from beneath your skirts.

“Be patient and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

He inhaled sharply, his body thrumming with anticipation beneath you. “You’re no lady, are you?”

At his words, you unleashed a glimpse of your true self as your lips curved into a seductive grin. “You have no idea.”

You tied his hands to the bedpost, twisting the rope into a secure knot. Slowly, you unbuttoned his shirt, trailing your fingers down the hard muscles of his chest. The male shivered at your touch, bringing a smile to your lips. He was making this way too easy.

“I’ve been watching you for days.” You discarded his shirt to the side, making your way down to unbuckle his belt. The bandolier of knives secured around his waist fell to the floor with a soft thud. “You never go anywhere without one of your sentries. You’ve made it very hard for a girl like me to get you alone, my lord.”

“I’m here now,” he responded in a low voice. The fog of lust dancing in those sharp gray eyes clouded his vision.

“Indeed you are. I’ve been waiting a very long time to get you all to myself, Lord Covington.”

At the sound of his name, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I never told you my name.”

You laughed mockingly. “No, but I know exactly who you are. Declan Covington, heir apparent to the Western Isles. An avid supporter of Hybern’s cause. A loyalist through and through, hiding in plain sight. Your family provided the gold for weapons and supplies to our friends in the West, did they not?”

He bucked underneath you, pulling at his bound hands. “Who the hell are you?”

“A friend of the High Lord and High Lady,” you said with a devilish grin. The sharp edge of your blade gleamed against the moonlight as you traced his torso with it. “Rhysand sends his regards.”

Panic set in his features. “Whatever he’s paying you, I can double it. My family has great fortune. We have connections. Name your price and it’s done.”

This was always your least favorite part. The bargaining, the pleading. It was all so tedious.

“You couldn’t afford me if you tried.” Your fingers threaded through his golden hair as you tugged his head backwards. “What you will give me is the name of every family who helped support Hybern’s cause.”

“Over my dead body,” he said defiantly.

“I can arrange that, my lord.” Shifting your hips on his lap, you examined his face. You almost felt sorry for him. He looked so young and naive. The lordling didn’t stand a chance against you. “Though I’d hate to waste such a pretty face. Give me their names and I’ll grant you a swift death.”

Anger came next. He spit in your face, which only made you throw your head back in laughter. You always liked the feisty ones. Watching the fight go out of their eyes brought you a sick rush of power.

“My father will hear about this! He’ll drag your lifeless corpse through our lands and gift your head to me on a golden platter.”

As far as hateful vitriol goes, the little lordling was rather creative, but neither he nor his father could stop what was about to happen. These males were all the same. They never recognized the danger you posed until it was too late. It was a weakness that brought you great pleasure to exploit.

“I’m afraid your daddy won’t be able to get you out of this one, Lord Covington.”

Deciding his fate, you untied the veil and let it fall to your lap. His eyes widened in fear and for the first time since he laid eyes on you, the severity of his situation settled into the worried lines on his pretty face. A silhouette of fire materialized from your body as you unleashed the beast within. Your true form was a nightmare personified, murderous and bloodthirsty, composed of the fury and vengeance that you tried so hard to restrain. Tonight, you loosened the reins to give her what she wanted.

Mine, she whispered as fiery tendrils caressed the lordling’s pretty face. The victims who saw her never lived to tell the tale.

“You’re her,” he breathed, his voice full of trepidation. “The fire priestess. I thought you were a myth.”

The crimson slash of your smile served as confirmation. “I’m no one and I will stay that way even after you’re long gone.”

Lord Covington narrowed his eyes. “You weren’t always, were you? You’re the exiled priestess of the Autumn Court. Lady Thorne.”

Kill, your transfiguration hissed. She hated that name and so did you.

Silence fell upon the room. Whatever pity you might have felt for him vanished at the mention of the girl you used to be. The one who died the minute you crossed the Autumn Court’s borders.

“Like you said, I’m no lady.”

You pressed your blade into his cheek and crimson droplets dribbled down the front of his chest. The male shivered as you licked away the blood, savoring the sweet taste of his fear. With crimson dripping from your lips, you opened your mouth and sang. The lordling fell into a daze, his silver eyes clouding over with fog as your voice wrenched through his mental defenses. With a jolt, you invaded his thoughts and drew out his deepest fears.

Everyone was afraid of something. This little lordling’s weakness was snakes. The spell of the song took hold, making him see what you wanted him to see. Serpents appeared all over Lord Covington’s body, crawling through his arms, tangling in his limbs, and twisting around his neck until he was gasping for air. The illusion was plucked from his own personal version of hell.

A nightmare, that’s what you were.

The veil of the illusion slipped, swallowed by the living flame of your true form. Whatever fear the serpents invoked paled in comparison to what he felt as he looked upon the monstrosity of the reality before him. A creature of fury, a demon of vengeance.

Lord Covington screamed and begged for his life, but the ward you cast in the room swallowed the sound. No one was coming for help.

Just then, a pulse of magic thrummed against your wards. You stopped singing and reigned in your flames. Your true form hesitantly retreated into the darkest pits of your heart, rattling against the cage you kept her in. Even as the flames receded, you could still hear the echo of malice. The small taste of blood wasn’t enough.

It was never enough. Someone was going to pay for the disruption.

Out of instinct, the dagger in your hand sliced through the air. Without missing a beat, the male who materialized out of the darkness caught the blade with precision. He hurled the blade back at you swiftly, making you twist in an uncomfortable angle to snatch it out of the air.

Glowing hazel eyes appraised you with scrutiny as the familiar silhouette of wings darkened the room, belonging to the tall and lean figure of the warrior standing before you. Cold, beautiful, and utterly lethal, Azriel flashed you a smile that chilled your bones.

The shadowsinger briefly took in the male squirming beneath you. With a voice like cold death, Azriel’s drawl made your skin crawl with irritation. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to play with your food?”

Your head whipped in his direction. “What the hell are you doing here?”

The Illyrian warrior moved in a shroud of darkness, shadows twisting across the dark leathers adorning his powerful form. The blue siphons on his armor glowed brightly, bathing the dark room with a soft cobalt light. Azriel paused at the edge of the bed, leaning against the wooden bedpost with a bemused smirk.

“It’s nice to see you too, princess.”

The nickname grated your nerves. In fact, everything about Azriel had the same effect. He seemed to have a special talent for getting under your skin.

“Bite me, shadowsinger.”

Whatever sarcastic remark was dancing on the tip of his tongue was interrupted by the male pinned between your thighs. Distracted by your hatred for the spymaster, you nearly forgot that he was even in the room. Freed from the spell of your song, he returned to consciousness and thrashed underneath you.

Lord Covington released an ear-splitting scream that ravaged his throat. His silver eyes flickered to the shadowsinger, fear and trepidation undulating from him in violent waves.

“Please,” the lordling pleaded. “Please, get it away from me. Kill me if you must, but please don’t leave me with her — don’t leave me with it —”

“For Cauldron’s sake.”

You drove the hilt of your dagger against the lordling’s forehead and he fell slack, mouth hanging open with unspoken pleas. Rising from the bed, you marched towards Azriel and shoved an accusatory finger at his chest. The action failed to even startle the shadowsinger. If anything, the cock of his head displayed nothing but amusement.

“Why are you here?”

“I need you to come with me, Thorne.” You paused for explanation, but none came. Azriel only stared at you as though his vague words were enough to make you drop the mission and go traipsing off with him to the Cauldron knew where.

You waved your blade in the direction of the unconscious male. “What about him?”

“What about him?”

The glare you directed at the shadowsinger would’ve sent lesser males to run off with their tails between their legs, but the Azriel only repaid you with equal venom. Needless to say, the dislike was mutual.

Without warning, Azriel disappeared into a shroud of darkness and the void of his shadows swallowed the lordling along with him. He reappeared a moment later with his arms crossed. The red and golden membrane of his wings shimmered at his back, blocking the only source of light in the room.

You balled your hands into closed fists. “Where did you take him?”

“The dungeons.”

“You had no right! I’ve been tracking him for days. He’s mine.”

You shoved at his chest again, but Azriel was immovable. His gaze dipped down to your shoulders and you realize with a start that the laces of your corset had come undone, leaving your collar bones exposed. The bloodstone necklace that you never took off peeked out from the swell of your breasts. The shadowsinger’s eyes lingered for a split second before his unrelenting stare flickered back up to your face.

“There’s other pressing matters at hand. We need to meet the others.”

You fumed with anger. You’ve been working on your mark for days and now thanks to Azriel, you wouldn’t even get to reap the benefits of the hunt.

“I don’t answer to you, shadowsinger. Rhysand sent me here for a reason and I don’t intend on coming home empty handed.” You screamed in his face and though you’ve always been on the taller side, you barely reached Azriel’s shoulder. He had the nerve to blink as though you were merely conversing about the weather. “Now return the lordling at once or you and I will have a very unpleasant discussion with the High Lord.”

You blanched as he closed the gap between you, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. His voice was smooth and steady, washing over you like shadows given form.

“Who do you think sent me here?”

Your mouth fell slack as the shadowsinger held your gaze. You hated it when Azriel looked at you like that. Like you were some sort of puzzle that he was on the verge of deciphering.

One of his shadows darted towards you, but before it could touch your cheek, Azriel took a step back. Without a second glance, the shadowsinger held out a scarred hand in your direction.

“Come, princess. The High Lord has need of you.”

₊˚⊹♡ thank you for reading. as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated. feel free to drop an ask too — i’d love to yap & chat with you all.

#azriel #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel fluff #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar

186 notes · View notes

red-doll-face · 1 month ago

Text

OKAy so thank you to everyone who has stuck around and waited for me to come back from my personal hell that is getting a bachelor's degree while having a job!!! 😳😳😳😳🥺🥺🥺💓💓💓💓🫶🫶🫶 I hope all of you have been doing well and I wanted to thank all of the people who checked in on me while I was gone to make sure I was ok @emerald-ranch and @frillydolle love you guysss s oooo much OMG. and of course everyone who was happy to see my little im not dead post you guys are the best @moonshapedbox @joelsprettyprincess @teenalien-xx I couldnt be more thankful for yall WAHHH 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 superr special thanks to kenny the wonderful @emerald-ranch for requesting a part two to this love you sm queen , anyway continuation of the proposal prompt from the talented @zae-heeyyy EXCITED TO RELEASE PT 2!!! part one

Tags: established relationship, wedding without any super traditional elements, I feel that the gang wouldnt really do the whole nine yards lowkey. Arthur being a major weenie. pre black water and also SMUT 🔥🔥🔥!! writing about my dream which is marrying arthur and then getting railed ASAP. so penetrative sex, fingering, vvvverry romantic and sweet and fluffy🤭🤭. Insinuated want of having kids btw ok BYE

Arthur celebrates his wedding the only way he knows how.

(High honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. Reader

“Ol’ man Morgan doin’ well for himself, eh? Think it’s time for a party, a proper one. I mean it, ya earned it,” Sean claps a hand on Arthur’s back, he turns to see the big showy grin on the younger man’s face, showing way too much teeth. Arthur knows Sean could probably care less that he is supposed to be celebrating a wedding.

“Need a good excuse to get drunk?”

“Mug as ugly as yours, you found a woman to take your hand,” Arthur feels his own expression pull into a scowl. “A young one, too!” Sean laughs heartily, hardly discouraged by Arthur’s harsh glare. He settles for shaking his head. “Goddamned miracle, it is,”

“Nah, a miracle would be you learning to shoot straight,” Sean mutters something about how even on his wedding night, Arthur couldn’t bear to part with the stick up his ass. It has a grin breaking over Arthur’s face.

The evening is shaping up to be more than a quiet night by the fire, perhaps a small melody from Dutch’s scratchy gramophone, blaring some such opera. Maybe, a bottle which you would take two sips of before leaving him to finish between a cigarette or three.

Hosea seems to have told everyone what you two went out for, there was some congratulations and the small group of which you are a part of, huddled around you, to marvel and pretend they had not already seen the ring on your left hand.

In all honesty, Arthur would rather be there on the banks of the river he proposed to you in, laying you out on his bedroll, peeling the wet cotton of your dress from your figure, feeling the cool dampness of your skin, your sweet laugh of ticklishness ringing gently in his ear.

You had been so beautiful, sitting in front of the fire he had made for you, to keep you warm as the dusk had drawn forth, stars beginning to glow in the blend of peachy yellow, soft orange. A woman such as you might have deserved the puffy and feathered pillows and mattresses of a fine hotel, lace curtains and four-poster bed. Velvet and silk.

But you looked right at home in the simple cotton of his blanket. There in the canvas of his tent, in the wilderness, the smell of summer grass in your hair. You drag him so close, your lips brush over his. You kiss air from him and he loves to feel the metallic chill of your ring on his skin. He realizes when you put your hands on the back of his neck how much he will grow to love the feeling for the rest of his life. You open for him to lick slow and easy, his attempt to keep from overwhelming you.

But he can’t think on it too much, lest he become overwhelmed by the picture of you in his mind.

Instead, he’s interrupted by Dutch, who nears him, smoking a big cigar.

“Hosea’s gone and told me you’re a married man now, Arthur. I thought I didn’t raise a fool but maybe,” he sighs, a sarcastic jest tilting his phrasing. Arthur smirks at the familiar tone between them. “Maybe, I did,” There's Dutch’s hand on his shoulder, while he guides him to face the entire camp. He calls you forth from where you had been talking to Jenny, as well as Lenny. You turn and walk towards them, and it's something like a dream of his. He can feel his lips turn up a little.

“Everyone, please. May I ask you all to congratulate,” he looks at you both, where you link arms with Arthur, your warmth at his side and he places his gaze on you. Even as everyone gathers round, the only thing he can bear to keep his eyes on is you. And you him, your pretty eyes bright with firelight. “This lovely couple. Outlaws and criminals we may be but I would keel over before I would fail to commemorate such a special occasion. I want there to be celebration. I want there to be revelry! My boy is married and there better be nothing but empty bottles around here by the end of the night. Now, somebody, play us a goddamn song!”

Dutch’s voice cracks a little but it’s a smile on his face too. Uncle starts up with little more than that and Sean is cheering, making most everyone join, perhaps not for your wedding but he could care less.

Then Davey is shoving a bottle of whiskey in his palm and Uncle plucks his banjo to a familiar tune. With you at his side, he speaks with Dutch, lingering for a while near his tent. Molly joins as well, almost to mirror the two of you. She brings forth a fan from her table, waving it towards her.

“Congratulations, Mr. Morgan. Mister and missus, now, I suppose,” Arthur nods, thanking her. He can’t deny that he does feel a spark of something in those words. He had imagined them before, people addressing you and him together. He hopes to hear it often now that you wear a band on your left ring finger, standing close to him, never too far from him.

“Yes, my dear, congratulations. I am sure Arthur is a happier man with you at his side. You know, this is all he wanted when he was a boy, he used- used to draw pictures of himself-” Dutch chuckles. You smirk and your fingers tighten on his hand. Arthur turns his head and rubs the back of his neck with his other hand.

“Dutch…”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes, he did. He may not look it but Arthur... I always wished that one day he might find someone that could put up with him and all of his bluster,” You near his side, ever so slightly wiggling into him. You nod, as if in agreement.

“He’s not so bad. I like his roguish charm. He’s certainly the pick of your litter,” you tease, giggling into your hand. He can feel some warmth crawl up his features.

“S’only a wonder cause’ I was brought up by a couple a degenerate criminals,”

“Try not to be an ungrateful little shit about it, Arthur. Now, go and have some fun with your wife instead of sitting here talking,” he hands Arthur a fresh cigar, expensive and nearly charcoal with fine age. “Consider it a wedding gift, of sorts. If you’ll excuse me,” Dutch retreats with Molly at his side. Arthur rolls his eyes, drinking from the bottle he was handed. It’s fairly cheap whiskey but it does the trick. A night of drinking wouldn’t be complete if you didn’t share his bottle, wincing at the taste.

“I really don’t know how any of you get past the first few mouthfuls of this,”

“Ain’t really ‘bout the taste, more about when you’ve had too much,”

“Right, it certainly makes them forget all about their troubles, doesn’t it?” you smile and point to where Uncle is singing with Sean and Karen, Javier sits nearby, laughing at the off key singing.

“Nothin’ could make me forget this particular brand of trouble,” he grins as you scoff at him. His hand is around your waist, obviously speaking of you. And sometimes you were trouble, teasing at him, tempting him. You were a sweet thing but you had your games you liked to play with him.

“I don’t cause nearly as much trouble as you,” you smile and poke his chest. His response is interrupted by a holler from near the campfire.

“Hold on now, it ain’t a weddin’ til’ the groom kisses the bride,” Karen smirks, just as bad as Sean. She’s staring right at you, where you gape at her. You quickly glance around at all the faces, watching you. A few words of agreement come from Tilly and Mary-Beth.

“I think she’s right, Arthur. You may kiss the bride, after all,” He turns to Hosea, who smiles very mischievously but Hosea has always had that inclination. Unlike him, you have no dark brimmed shadow to hide in.

“We all know, you two get up to a lot more than peckin’, what’s a little kiss,” Mac remarks, already slurring a little from his own drunkenness. Arthur rolls his eyes. But then you tug at his hand, facing him as too many eyes watch the both of you meet to the sound of whooping and whistles.

It lasts longer than he thought and before he knows really what all it is, he’s leaned a little too far into it. The wetness of your tongue on his and the heat of your breath on him. You part at what is barely appropriate with a coy little smile, impish glare in your eye. It’s far too personal for him to share but he’s a little drunk and you shelter yourself in his arms at Karen’s eager cheering, an ‘atta girl!’ among the loudest of the nonsense thrown around at your rather public show of affection.

You spend the evening dancing to a few of Javier’s sweeter songs, canciones por amantes, he says. Songs for lovers. And perhaps some lively dancing before you’re sat at the campfire, listening to nonsense stories and John poking fun of Arthur. It seems everyone has words of advice, though none are married and if they were they are no longer. Swanson makes a big show, drunkenly officiating but Arthur shoos him off.

The night goes on, at some point some couples feel the need to chase the coattails of Arthur’s so-called romantics, retreating to whatever semblance of privacy you can get in a camp like this. But you and Arthur find seclusion away from camp, watch the moon and the stars.

There’s a darkness in his eyes when he guides you to the back of a stationary wagon, the perfect spot to ruck up your skirt and feel around the slit in the bottom of your simple combination undergarment. The slow rocking of his fingers and your quiet pants and whines in his ear have his belt jingling and his buttons undone at the crotch for you, cottony billows of your skirt in his fingers. He doesn’t want to rush, you deserve his care and his time. But it’s your boots that knock into his backside, dragging him closer. His hands scramble for purchase, gripping hard at the crates and boxes at your back, at the dip in your spine as you arch into him.

Slick wet with pleasure, you fight between spreading wider obscenely for him and cinching your thighs at his waist and hips. The thick stretch of him between your legs has you whimpering for him, for more while he shushes you, sweet praises when you keep your syrupy moans in his ear; all for him to listen to. And it’s so hard for you when he touches that perfect place with every drive of his hips against you, stuffing you so full of him that you’re seeing more stars than you can already count. He knows what gets you damn near dizzy, begging for him to just keep touching there.

If anyone peeks in on you two, you don’t have half a mind to notice, everything that isn’t Arthur Morgan fades in the obscure dark of the chirp of crickets, the sound of rabbits in the brush, probably doing something quite similar. All that there is for you is Arthur and his expert skill in getting you to lose control, slumping back into the crate of supplies behind you. And that’s he likes you, struggling to register much of anything else but him. He’s half prideful at how he gets you like this and half effected himself, sweating in the summer heat, suspenders slipping off his strong shoulders. You watch as he adjusts his hat, so it doesn’t fall right to the ground. The noises, husky groans of his shoot straight down your spine like a bullet.

The metal of his belt clinks into the wood you sit on in a quick rhythm, he’s coaxing your button from its hood, just under the dainty flesh, he rubs quick circles, river blue eyes watching the pleasure consume you. “Christ, sweetheart, lemme see ya,” Your eyes glaze over and your jaw goes slack, keeping a desperate whine from waking every passed out drunk in the camp. Your blood is hot with pleasure, mind barely catching up with the overwhelming rush of perfection. His grumbled expletives have a different kind of drunken smile showing on you,

You're pleasantly limp and dazed when he gives a groaned “that’s it, good girl. C’mon, honey,” sticky spend drips out over your thigh. You smile when you see how hard it is for him to part from you, panting into your ear. But you whine when the wetness of him slides against your thigh as gathers you up in his arms. It’s a whine of complaint. He’s not sure if you don’t like the mess or if you’d rather have it spilling from deeper inside of you. He chuffs and shakes his head at your reaction.

“You barely became Mrs. Morgan,” and he’s quiet for a moment as he ambles back to your tent, the quiet crackle of fire and the leftover smell of spilled beer and whiskey soaked into the earth. He lays you down and you’re in his arms the second he can put you there. The small bed is little more than that but its comfort is welcome, sinking into it and into the warmth of Arthur. The dull throb in his lower back is a bitter reminder of how old he’s gotten but he dismisses that. He groans softly.

“Ain’t sure how soon you want that to be Momma,” you let an excited grin slip over you and then it warms into something softer at his almost hesitant tone. There’s a delicate past that lingers, whispers at the end of his words. These moments with you, he wishes they could just be about you and him but he appreciates the way you make room for him and all of the things he drags along. You know him. You touch your forehead to his temple, a gentle kiss in his honey brown hair.

“Whenever you want me to be.”

AHHHH 💕💕😭😭🤭🤭🥲🥲 thanks for reading... lowkey wanna write the alluded sex scene right after the proposal but idk we'll see 👀👀🤭🤭. as always comments are welcome pls let me know if i should quit writing forever jk jk but no like fr... 🥺🥺 anyway thanks so much!!!

#red writes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #red dead redemption 2 x reader #high honor arthur morgan #high honor arthur morgan x reader #x reader #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x fem reader

107 notes · View notes

temis-de-leon · 7 months ago

Text

He sees how you fell in love with your ex

Summary: Once more victims of their lack of prudence, the boys are cursed to experience horrible visions; that is, seeing first-hand how their lover, MC, fell in love with their ex.

Characters: present! Lucifer x gn!reader, past! gn!reader x gn!ex

Main Masterlist

C/W: the reader is said to be in college/early 20s during the memory, but no age is specified. Reader is betrothed to their tutor (not their teacher) and kisses them.

A/N: I spent four days trying to write a simple drabble for Barbatos and then I wrote this in two hours. I ain't fighting my mind anymore. Mammon was supposed to be in this one, but I think one post per character is good enough.

Lucifer – Similar, but so different

He feels the need to wonder if he has done anything specific to deserve this punishment.

Did he grab the wrong book? Lucifer doesn’t even remember being in the library to begin with. Was he cursed, perhaps? In that case, by whom? Whether it was his brothers, that damned sorcerer or an unknown brainless demon didn’t matter to him, because the uneasy frustration wouldn’t leave his chest regardless of his reasoning.

You are there, right in front of him, but deaf to his voice and unresponsive to his touch. Your skin holds no warmth either and trying to caress it feels useless, like grabbing an ordinary leather wallet.

Unfortunately, Lucifer is old and experienced enough to realize rather quickly that what he is seeing isn’t a simple vision or an imaginary scenario. He looks at your fingernails and can’t decide anything concrete about them; are they long or short? Painted or not?

Your surroundings are also blurry, and devoid of details. While it’s obvious the setting is a library, his acute sight can’t decipher any of the titles in the bookcases and the hallways don’t seem to have an end; rays of sun enter through the window, but only the blue skies are visible; and there’s not even a librarian to make you company in such a fine day.

It is a memory; a good one, judging by the dreamy feeling and the brightness of it.

He drops his head to study you one more time and unsuccessfully tries not to scowl in a sour manner when, despite being unable to see you as clearly as he would any other day, the golden shine of a ring catches his attention.

Simple and classy in its design, the significance of it holds a heavier weight than whatever material it is made of.

His tongue clicks in disapproval, already thinking of punishments that would fit the perpetrator’s audacity. How dare they? How dare they deprive him of you? How dare they show him this?

Lucifer looked around, unsure if he wanted to see what was inevitably coming next, although whatever magic threw him there probably had that exact intention. His body was glued to the seat, useless against his inhuman strength and his powers, and, as much as he tried to avert his eyes, he could do nothing but stare at you incessantly. Was he waiting for you to raise your head and recognize him? Gasp in horror before rushing to cure him with your own magic or even the most obvious true love kiss? He didn’t know, but he was absolutely sure he wanted you to know who he was, at the very least.

Of course, that was childlike hoping.

Your hair was styled differently and your face seemed younger and more innocent, obviously ignorant of anything beyond human life. Lucifer could guess when he was based on the context, but you had never talked about this specific stage of your life enough for him to exactly pinpoint.

Somewhere in between your college years, you had been betrothed to someone and later, evidently, single again. Since you weren’t keen on divulging every piece of your ex-partner and your previous relationship without apparent reason, he tried not to dwell on the topic unless the conversation begged for it, but it wasn’t like he was extremely interested either. No need to focus on the past when you both had the present going on and, having each other, who needed anyone else?

He felt the need to reconsider.

Although it was obvious you were trying to study, you seemed to give the ring more attention than anyone would ever do in any similar situation. Your sorrowful expression was a stark contrast against the gentle ambience of the room and the softness in which you were treating the piece of jewellery, the sad eyes and the frown distorting your face.

Lucifer tried to reach you again in hopes of offering comfort, but it was like he didn’t exist to you. While he knew it was due to the situation, he couldn’t help but pout and cross his arms over his chest, as if trying to hide his aching heart. It beat frantically and pathetically, wondering why would you reject him, and no amount of reasoning would calm it down.

A set of footsteps caught your attention.

He frowned miserably as you turned around, looked at the newcomer and then returned to your initial position with a quivering lip. The other person, whom he could only assume to be your ex, twisted their face in remorse and hurried to your side, sitting and rushing to hold your hand.

A part of him wanted to break the contact and instantly take you somewhere far away from there, from whoever was that person that had you in their arms before Lucifer even had the chance to meet you, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t do anything but watch as you looked at your ex-fiancé with hurt and a tinge of hope.

“I am so sorry, baby” they said in a whisper, even though no one else but him was around to hear the conversation. You two were close, faces mere inches away from each other, and he couldn’t do anything but watch it all. Each word cut Lucifer’s heart with the precision of a scalpel, but it was the tiny optimism in your expression what hurt the most. “I shouldn’t have talked to you that way; you didn’t deserve it. You studied, you tried, you failed and I snapped and you didn’t deserve it…”

“I wanted your support” you reminded them in a voice too small for you.

They didn’t look annoyed at the interruption, instead nodding in a humble motion.

“I know-“

“You aren’t my tutor anymore, you’re my partner”

“I know, I’m sorry”

Lucifer’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

He’d had similar conversations with you in the past where you had failed a task or hadn’t turned homework in when it was due and he had been clear in showing his disapproval, regardless of how happy you were in your relationship. Business and pleasure were separate for him and your success at RAD very clearly belonged to one of those categories. Sure, he didn’t get paid for each one of your victories; in fact, it was he who gave the reward on occasion, but ensuring the exchange program went correctly was related to his work with Lord Diavolo, not his feelings for you.

Although he enjoyed seeing you succeed very much.

“I’m very proud of you” said your ex with an honest expression, smiling before cupping your cheek to bring you closer and kiss you.

Lucifer could manage to look somewhere else for that one, but he still heard the noise. Your happy humming before another kiss.

He wondered briefly if the library had been empty in reality or if your feelings for your previous partner had made it seem as if there had been no one else but them in the room with you. Did he make you feel the same? Did he make you feel as if there was none but the two of you in the world?

Not wanting to see your delighted expression directed at another person, he looked at your fingers again, unfortunately finding theirs interlocked with yours. The shiny ring taunted him.

“You’ll get it next time; you’ll see”

“You think so?”

“I know so, baby”

And that made you laugh like a fool, which only made Lucifer’s mood worsen.

You only looked at him that way on certain occasions; mainly when he allowed them to happen or when he was too drunk to think about appearances. Sure, he loved you and he showed you so, but was that enough to make you forget about all the times he didn’t do it? Was it enough to mask his disappointed words or his arrogant behaviour? To drive your attention away from the fact that he never properly apologized for anything, even when it hurt you?

Why did you break up with this human? They clearly treated you well and you clearly loved them, so why? What made you see that someone who adored you so much wasn’t the right match for you?

There was no ring on your finger with his name on it, but you did have a pact. A pact with THE Lucifer Morningstar, which not many people had. He wasn’t lying when he said that you belonged to him.

…but did you really?

“I forgive you” you said.

A sickening feeling of hope made him immediately look at you, wishing those words were directed at him, but of course, they weren’t.

He watched as you got up and your partner helped you with your belongings, offering their arm before leading you out of the library. Lucifer wasn’t even sure if he wanted to follow, especially when you were looking at your fiancé with that much love in your eyes.

“Thank you for being here” you mumbled quietly against their lips, putting the last nail in Lucifer’s coffin.

Did you really belong to him?

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me x reader #obey me x gn!reader #obey me x gn!mc #obey me x gender neutral reader #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer x reader #om! lucifer #lucifer x mc #lucifer x reader #obey me writing #obey me headcanons #obey me drabble #obey me angst #obey me hurt/no comfort

324 notes · View notes