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ellecdc · 7 months

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My love!! I have an idea for fic (only if you want to of course) james potter x reader where james is obsessed with reader’s tits and after a minor couple arguments james was still sulking and reader wants him to be the first one to talk to her so she wear very revealing clothes to tease him and he give in.

It doesn’t have to be a smut, just teasing and fluff!

hahaha awe this is so funny - the best part is, it would so work!!! Thanks for requesting 🫶

James Potter x fem!reader

CW: mention of boobs/tits/love of tits - no smut, joke about dying from suffocation on account of boobies

You were being petty; both of you were. In fact, the two of you seemed to be working overtime just to stay mad at each other at this point.

You can’t even really remember what you had argued about in the first place that caused this rift between you and James; all you knew was that you were not going to be the first to apologize.

It had been a few days since the big blow up that saw James uncharacteristically stern and firm in his words and left you feeling horribly defensive in response. Words were said, feelings were hurt, and now you were here.

Here being this awkward quasi-polite energy in your few measly interactions as you tried to co-exist in the same flat.

He made dinner one night - shrimp korma and a side of homemade naan - and you may have been mad, but you weren’t a jerk, so you thanked him for it.

You had been cleaning the flat one day and started a load of wash. You had more than enough room for more clothes, and not doing James’ wash just for the sake of it wasn’t worth the extra hit to your water bill (which wasn’t an issue, but old habits die hard in your case), so you threw his in too. And once it was washed and dried, well, you figured you might as well fold it and put it away for him.

He had to begrudgingly thank you for that as well.

So now it was the weekend, and the two of you were clearly dying to update each other on your weeks. You couldn’t help but admit that you really missed James. You missed chatting with him, you missed laughing with him, you missed venting to him, and you missing cuddling with him.

There were other things you missed but... that was neither here nor there.

All this to say, the feud needed to end.

But you were steadfast in your stance that you were not going to break first.

The idea came to you yesterday morning when James returned from his run sans shirt and muscles glistening with sweat in a way that actually had your mouth watering like some kind of deranged off-brand Pavlov experiment. The worst part was that James had noticed you ogling him and walked away to shower (alone, the bastard) with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

No matter, this just served to give you your brilliant master plan to win him back.

You had something James adored... two things, as a matter of fact.

Anyone who knows James Potter knows that James is a certified Boob Guy™. More specifically, James Potter loved your tits. You had two assets free to use in this battle, and you weren’t going to let that advantage go to waste.

The weather, it seemed, supported your master plan and was finally warm and sunny enough to break out some of your more... revealing clothing. Today’s ensemble consisted of a particularly low neckline and tight-fitting tank top. You gathered a book and a bottle of water as you walked towards the back door for the terrace. James, being completely unable to break his good mannerdness even in the face of petty feuds, jumped up to get the door for you when he noticed that your hands were full.

You made a point to use your elbows to encourage the girls a little closer together as he approached, causing him to stumble in his steps as his eyes strayed from his destination.

“Thanks, Jamie.” You murmured quietly, making sure a cool sense of indifference still coloured your tone. That seemed to shake James from his reverie as he looked up at you, a look of regret seeming to cross his face briefly at not being able to do what he would normally opt to in this situation (i.e., shove his face between them and die due to suffocation).

“’Course.” He offered instead of saying “oh my god I love your boobies” and cleared his throat, closing the door gently behind you as you made your way to a lounge chair.

You knew James wouldn’t have gotten far, so you read a few pages before deciding to step up this little ruse.

You slipped your tank top off to display your torso, boobs only supported by a thin bandeau wrapping around your chest. You poured a little water into your hair and then onto your chest to cool off when you heard a solid thunk on the panned glass of your back door.

When you turned to look, you saw James’ retreating form and the tell-tale imprint of his forehead against the window where he had been standing previously.

Though you knew you made an impact today, James seemed resolute in his sulking. No matter, tomorrow was a brand-new day.

Being a brand-new day, your morning outfit was a pair of joggers that you rolled the waist band a few times to expose more abdomen paired with a cropped top that was probably a touch too cropped to begin with, let alone paired with your currently braless state.

You could have sworn you heard James try (and fail) to suppress a groan as you entered the kitchen. You hid a smirk as you offered him a faint ‘morning’ and began readying yourself a cup of tea.

Apparently, James’ self-restraint snapped when you stood on your tip-toes to reach the honey on the second shelf of your cupboard; the action of you raising your arm causing your shirt to also lift sinfully.

“Angel.” He keened, causing you to turn your (what you hoped to look like an) innocent expression on him.

“Yes, Jamie?”

He groaned again and stood from the breakfast table, taking slow, cautious steps towards you. “I’m so sorry, love I... I hate that I let us go this long upset with each other.”

Your mouth pinched to the side as you spread your arms – inviting James into your embrace which he was all too eager to accept. “I’m sorry too, bubs. I’ve been immature.”

He half-chuckled half-groaned into your shoulder as the two of you relished in the feel of being in the other’s arms.

“You are a cheeky little minx, torturing me like this.” He muttered.

“Like what?”

James scoffed and pulled back to look at you incredulously, but any mirth in his face was completely curtailed by the fondness oozing from his warm brown eyes.

“Oh, I’ve missed you.” He said as he bent his knees to be at eye level with your tits before he shoved his face right between them.

You rolled your eyes though he couldn’t see it, asking “who? Me or my tits?”

He was quiet for a moment as he thought about his answer. “Both?” He said, voice muffled from his place in your chest.

“I’ll allow it on account of your withdrawal.” You conceded.

Note to self: all future arguments can be solved by flashing a little under-boob.

#ask elle #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #ellecdc fics

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 2 months

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The Bear (Anders Lassen x F! Reader)

Request from @wunder-blunder: I'm (VERY) interested in Anders Lassen (The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare) x female reader, I really enjoyed your fic Living for Later (a part 2 for that would be awesome)! So, if you're still interested/reading, my idea is that the group (Anders, Gus, etc.) go to a bar after they get out of confinement at the end of the movie, and that's where Anders and the female reader meet. The female reader (very understandably) can't stop staring at Anders so he walks over to ask why she's staring. The female reader will say how she's just shocked that anyone would let a bear into a bar (Anders is the bear), flirty banter happens and eventually leads to much more explicit things.

Pairing: Anders Lassen x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, minors do not interact. 18 + ONLY. Oral M & F receiving, language, thigh riding, p in v, happy ending.

Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare Masterlist

"Taste that, Gentlemen," Gus holds up his pint, "the taste of freedom." They click their glasses together, beer sloshing over the side and landing on the bar top before they tip back the pints.

"Damn, I don't think anything could taste better," Freddy sighs, looking at his glass like a lover.

Anders smiles to himself, "I can think of something." His eyes scan across the room, his back casually leaning against the bar.

"Naughty boy, Lassen," Apple laughs, taking another sip and glancing around at the lack of women in the pub. "But it doesn't look like you're going to have much luck around here."

"Would you like another?" Anders turns slowly, his heartbeat quickening when he sees you there behind the bar, the other bartender giving you a smile and a pat on the back as he heads out. "Jesus," you whistle, "I didn't know we let bears in here."

"What?" Anders sits straighter looking around for the threat.

You giggle, "I meant you," you point at him, "you look like a fuckin' bear. What did you do to get a body like that? Bench press cars?"

His cheeks turn pink and he coughs, adjusting his glasses, "I-well I."

"Steamin' Jesus," Apple chuckles, "she's got you tongue-tied Lassen!"

You give the one called Lassen a playful wink before pouring him another pint and placing it before him. "This one's on the house, didn't mean to embarrass ya in front of your friends."

"It's no trouble," he turns and speaks at his friends between clenched teeth, "they seem to have lost their manners in prison."

"Prison?" you stand straighter looking between the patrons, "you lot just got out of prison?" They nod sheepishly, "what the hell for?"

"That's classified," the one with the dark black facial hair and curls speaks up. "But we were found innocent and released today."

"So you're not raging murderous psychopaths?" you ask, refilling their glasses and wiping down the bar from the previous spill.

"Only when it comes to Nazis," you look at the Bear and feel a smile pull at your lips.

"Well, that's just fine then."

The rest of the night passes quickly, you make conversation with the other patrons, fix drinks, and try not the spend the entire time drooling over the beast of a man seated at your ber. While all of those things go well, the latter is hard to accomplish. It probably isn't helpful that you can feel his eyes follow you around the room.

And when your eyes meet, it's fucking electric. He's so big, he barely fits on the chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up leave little to the imagination and it makes your seriously want to know if he's that big, everywhere.

"Last call, gents," you ring the bell, seeing a handful of regulars come up for a final pint or to settle their bill.

You move about the room, starting the closing tasks for the evening, tossing goodbyes over your shoulder until the chime of the door is silenced. But when you look up your breath catches at seeing one lone patron remaining.

"We're closed," your voice comes out breathy, and you clear your throat. He's silent, watching you like he has all night, and you feel your assessment of him as a bear was accurate. He's an animal alright, and he's hungry.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asks, crossing his arms across him onto the bar top, and resting his chin on his hands. "Say the word, and I will go."

The words slip out before you can process, "No," he smiles, "I don't want you to leave."

He nods, before straightening, "what do we need to do to go?"

"Oh," you quickly lift your hands, shaking your head, "no, you just sit there, I can finish by myself."

He stands and your eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. Fuck, he is a giant, towering over you. You didn't get to grasp how tall he was when he sat at the bar all evening and your panties drench just thinking of how big he is. The thought from earlier comes back with a vengeance and you gulp, your eyes traveling down his body.

"See something you like?" He holds out his arms and turns for you, smirking when he catches your eyes, "are you just going to look, darling?"

"No," you swallow, shaking your head, and moving to stand before him. Tentatively you reach a hand out towards his chest, gasping when he grabs your wrist and pulls you into his orbit. His chest is solid muscle beneath your palm, and you move across his chest towards his arm, tongue coming out to lick your lips.

He groans, and your eyes snap to his, but his arm on your lips, "can I kiss you?" he asks, his hand coming to rest on your chin, his thumb pulling down your bottom lip before you bend your head and take it into your mouth. Tongue swirling around his digit, sucking it between your lips before letting go with a pop.

"Knulla," he mumbles under his breath.

"Kiss me Bear," you command and he wastes not a moment. His arms wrapping around your waist and hoisting you into his arms before your ass lands on the bar top. He nestles his body between your thighs, spreading them far to make room for his large form.

"Tell me you want this," he's so close, and you feel a little drunk having him so close. "Tell me," you pulls you towards the edge of the counter, your soaking through your panties, skirt bunched around him, "that you want me to fuck you. That you'll let me take you home and do everything I've been dreaming to do to you all night."

The sound of your heart beating is so deafening you can guarantee he can hear it. "Yes," you whimper, begging him with your body to put you out of your misery and kiss you.

"Then," he takes a step back, lowering your skirts, "what do we need to do to leave?"

You huff, crossing your arms and withering on the bar top, desperate for any kind of friction. The Bear misses nothing though and quickly steps forward, pulling you off the counter and to your feet. "None of that," he chastises playfully, "the only thing getting you off tonight will be me."

"Hmph," you step out of his arms, crossing your own across your chest. "You won't even kiss me, how do I know it's even worth letting you take me home?"

"I see," he nods, "the little barn needs a taste."

You don't get a chance to ask about the meaning of the word before he has you pinned to the wall, his knee slotted between your skirts and his mouth hot on your own. It's like an inferno, his mouth moving with your own in a complicated waltz only you two knowing the steps. When he lifts his knee, and presses it to your cunt, you gasp, his tongue sliding into your mouth and tangling with your own.

You are lost to everything but him, and when he raises his boot to his toes and rolls his leg up and down you quickly grasp onto his shoulders, his forehead pressed to your own. You close your eyes and rock your hips, being held completely off the ground by his tree trunk of a thigh.

"That's it," he praises, holding onto your hips and helping you move back and forth on his thigh. "Your bear is hungry," he latches his lips onto your neck when your head drops back against the wall. "Hmm," he groans, sucking and leaving bites along your neck, "I want you to cum," he whispers in your ear, sucking your earlobe between his lips. "Then I'm gonna take you home and lick that pretty pussy clean until you make a mess all over my face, again."

The combination of the filth rolling off his tongue and the strong thigh beneath you, working together with his hands on your waist is all too much. You grab him around the neck with one arm and the other hand is on his arm and you pull yourself up and down with a small cry and a whimper of his name as you fall apart beneath his skilled fingers.

Your breath is loud in the silence of the pub and you both still as he slowly lowers you to the ground. The legs you stand on are wobbly and he quickly reaches out an arm to steady you. "Are you alright, my darling?" he asks softly, running a hand over your face, and smiling when you nod. "You were so beautiful," he marvels, "if that's how gorgeous you look cumming on my thigh. You will rival the gods when you cum on my cock."

"Lassen," you whimper his name and he closes his eyes and controls his breathing.

"Please, call me Anders," he begs, slowly opening his eyes and taking a step back, "what do we need to do to finish?"

"Nothing," you shake your head, turning to reach over the bar for your purse, "I'm opening the bar tomorrow at 11, I'll come in early and finish it."

"We should finish it now," he argues gently, holding up a hand to interrupt you, "trust me."

"Why?"

"Because I don't think you're going to make it in tomorrow." You eyes widen and you go to ask the question when he offers the answer, "you'll be lucky to walk tomorrow when I'm through with you."

The two of you make quick work of the closing tasks and after making a quick call to your boss about covering for the next day you both finally leave the pub. The London air is chilly and you pull your threadbare coat tighter around your body, locking the door behind you. A couple passes when you turn and you sigh looking at the womans fine coat and gloves, a girl could dream.

A heavy weight drops across your shoulders, the scent of tobacco and leather heady as you snuggle into the warmth. "Let's get you home," Anders, reaches an arm around you and you turn towards home. If it wasn't for the spend dripping down your thighs, you'd think it was just an evening stroll between a couple. You'd always wish you had a man to meet you after work and walk you home. Someone to make sure you made it home safe.

With Anders arms around you, you could almost pretend. You walked in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier simmering as your pace quickened when your apartment came into view. You took the steps two at a time, and before long you stood before the door.

You shrug off his coat and hand it to him before reaching into your purse for your keys. The room is dark and you move around the room, turning on lamps and hanging up your coat. The deadbolt is deafening and when you turn to look towards the door, your jaw drops.

The whole thing happens in slow motion, his eyes on you the whole time. He’s wearing suspenders and he lowers each side till their hanging at his waist. His hands are slow, methodical, as he unbuttons each button of his shirt. Your own hands mirroring his actions as you slip the buttons of your shirt in time with each of his. He tugs the shirt off and your mouth waters. His chest is a canvas of scars, and for a second he looks unsure as you step forward, hand reaching out to trace the long one across his abdomen.

“How did that happen?” you ask, whispering. He tells you everything, your hand tracing each and every scar before going over them with your lips.

When you’ve finished tracing your tongue across the last scar, a bullet he received two years ago protecting a child does he find his voice. “You’re not disgusted?”

“My handsome Bear,” you cradle his face, “these scars are the canvas of your life. The life you’ve fought so hard to live. I could never be disgusted.”

He lets out a shallow breath before nodding, “Thank you.”

“No,” you hold a finger to his lips, “no thank you are necessary. It is I who should be thanking you.” You trace your hand down his abdomen and reach for his belt, holding his gaze when you begin to open his pants and lower the zipper, dropping to your knees and licking your lips as you work the pants down his legs.

His cock is magnificent, and you are pleased to know he really is that large, everywhere. “Fuck,” you mumble, wondering for a moment how you’ll even manage to get him in your mouth let alone your pussy. He’s silent, watching you and he steps out of his pants, tossing them and his shoes into the corner and standing before you completely naked.

You reach for his cock and give it a tentative stroke, your hand not even encompassing half his size, mouth salivating at the dribble of pre-cum pooling at the end. You stick out your tongue and lick the end of his cock, moaning softly at the salty taste. “Fan, gör det igen älskling,” he moans head dropping back and you feel encouraged by the broken way he just sounded.

Your jaw strains from the stretch but you manage to slide about half of him down your throat before you hit the back. Your panties drip onto the floor, when you pull him back out and in, lubricating the rest so your hands can slide in time with your mouth. You want to touch your pussy so bad, it’s throbbing but his moans of pleasure are enough to get you off. He leans down, putting one of his hands on your head and guiding you deeper, gagging on his cock.

Anders looks down, his mouth dropped open on a moan, watching the saliva drip down your chin and splash like raindrops on your exposed breasts. He wants to lick them, open his mouth wide and suck each gorgeous globe between his lips, teasing your nipple with his tongue. But right now he’s lost to the way you look at him. Tears streaming down your chin as you attempt to take him deeper and deeper with each thrust of his hips, he’s so fucking close and he wants to cum inside your mouth, watch your mouth fill with the white creamy cum and see your throat bob as your swallow down his load.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warns, holding your head still and listening to your gag as he cums down your throat with a loud groan of your name. It’s as beautiful as he thought when he pulls out and watches you gasp, hands on his thighs as you try to catch your breath, his cum all over your lips until you lick them clean with a grin.

Anders reaches a hand out, pulling you up and quickly disposing of the rest of your clothes. He doesn’t bother with your bra straps, the fabric ripping and tossed in the corner before he’s tossing you over his shoulder and heading for the bedroom. You let out a loud squeal but he silences you when he fondles your ass, giving it a sharp slap.

He tries three doors before he finds the bedroom, and tosses you onto the bed - tits bouncing with the force. “Spread your legs for me, darling,” he drops to his knees and crawls up the bed, nestling himself between your thighs. “Let me see that messy cunt.” He lifts one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder, spreading you wide, and running a thick finger between your folds. “Hmm,” he hums happily, spreading your wetness all over your folds.

Anders leans forward and you reach down, grabbing his hair with one hand, the other quickly reaching behind you for the pillow when he licks at your clit. Almost like a kitten licking a bowl of milk, he hums, the vibrations traveling up your body and you wither, groaning when he lifts his other arm and rests it across your stomach keeping you still.

That’s when everything changes. Gone is the kitten and the bear comes out to play. He devours you, his nose dragging through your slit and he tongue following, playing with your clit like the expert marksman you assume he is.

“Anders,” you try to rock your hips and he lets up with his grip, letting you ride his face.

He pulls up for air, watching mesmerized as your hips lift trying to follow his mouth. You halt when he spits on your pussy, the sound lewd and loud your leg rising as he lifts one of his arms and puts it between you. You arch off the bed on a gasp when he slides two of his thick fingers inside you.

You grasp the arm at your waist in an iron grip, moving your hips up and down. He curls his fingers and you see stars. “Fuck!” He leans down, sucking your clit back into his mouth and moving his tongue back and forth. The slight stubble leaves a delicious burn that aches. “I’m gonna-“ you pant, struggling to get the words out before you feel the pressure build and explode soaking his fingers. He doesn’t lose momentum, riding your high out until you’re pushing his face away.

He crawls up your body and rests his body gently on your own. He rests his head on your chest, like he did on his arms back at the bar, grinning.

“You look quite pleased with yourself,” you run your fingers through his hair, his head tilting to rest more into your hand.

“I am,” he smiles, “to have a beautiful woman fall apart on my tongue is a blissful thing.”

“You must have had many women to have such skill.” The idea leaves a sour feeling in your stomach and your hand falls back to your chest but he quickly moves his head beneath your hand to encourage your touch.

“I haven’t,” his words surprise you and you meet his eyes to see them already upon you. “Been with many women that is. Just two.” You’re unsure if you believe him, but he places a kiss between your breasts and moves up your body to gently kiss your lips. His cock grows hard against your belly with each swipe of his tongue against your own. “I want to see you cum again,” he whispers against your lips.

“Then fuck me-“ the words die on your tongue when he lifts your legs and presses them into your stomach, his cock brushing through your folds.

“As you wish,” he grins, pressing just the head inside you. You gasp, tossing your head back as he works himself deeper and deeper inside you with each thrust of his hips.

“Oh god,” you moan, his thumb working your clit as he finally fits himself all the way inside you.

His chuckle has your eyes snapping open to look at him with a tilt of your head and he gives you a wink, “Not god, darling, just me.”

“You assho-” he rocks his hips, pulling back all the way before slamming back in again. You can’t breathe, each stroke of his enormous cock punching the oxygen from your lungs.

You close your eyes, lost in the sensations he brings out, each snap of his hips fills you deeper and deeper, and you’re sure you can feel him poking out of your stomach. The room is otherwise silent besides your panting breath, incoherent mumblings of his name, and the lewd sounds of his cock pumping into your soaked pussy.

“Look at me,” Anders, nudges his head against your own and you slowly open your eyes. “There you are,” he praises, kissing you deeply, “keep your eyes on me, I want to see you cum.”

“An-Anders,” you hold onto both his arms and look between you, seeing him disappear inside you with each movement of his massive body. The pressure in your belly builds like a volcano bound to explode and he sees it, moving his hips quicker and chasing your release with his own.

“Cum for me, darling,” he commands, his accent strong, “cum now.” You obey, arching your chest up into him and letting out a loud moan, squeezing around his cock so tight. “Shit,” he groans, flooding you with his release. It’s hot and thick and you can feel it drip down your thighs, leaving them sticky.

He stays buried deep inside you, his massive arms on either side of your head keeping himself upright so he does not crush you. You want to feel his weight on you, feel him keep you there with his body, never let you go. But eventually, he does, but not before kisses are pressed over every inch of your face. He may be a bear in appearance; a fierce fighter that could tear your limb from limb with little thought. But inside hes nothing but a teddy bear, a lover, someone you could easily get attached too.

“Wheres the bathroom?” he asks, sitting up, his eyes fixed on where he’s left a mess licking his lips. You point to the door in the corner and he reluctantly rises. God, he’s a fucking sight, all hard lines and muscles, and with each step away you want to shout for him to return.

He returns quickly with a clothe, wiping you clean and collapsing back into bed. Tugging you into his arms, sleep quickly finds you, his arm rubbing up and down your back and humming a soft swedish lullaby.

By the time you awaken the clock reads 1 pm and the bed is long cold. No note, no sign he was even there besides the two wet towels hanging in the bathroom. You hate how dissapointed you feel at his absence but the ache between your legs from the six additional orgasms since the night before remind you that even if you wished too you couldn’t have gone again. He had to leave eventually.

The shower works out some of the kinks in your muscles but you still move slowly throughout the flat, trying to muster the strength to go into work that evening. While your boss had been accepting of missing the opening shift at the pub you couldn’t get out of closing tonight.

The pub is loud when you arrive and you smile at the other bartender before jumping into the fray and starting to take orders. The night moves quickly luckily despite your melancholy mood, several of the regulars pick up on it; cracking jokes in the hopes of alleviating some of the sadness.

From behind you notice another seat fill at the bar and go to turn, “What can I get-” the words evaporate on your tongue—a great bear of a man filling the bar stool before you. You look at one another, the pub continuing around you like it didn’t know your world was slowly tilting on its axis.

“You,” he puts his arms on the bar top and smiles at you, “I would like to have you.”

“You did,” you cross your arms over your chest, “you left without a word.”

He lifts a bag from the floor and puts it on top of the counter, “I needed to go grab this.”

He’s piqued your curiosity and knows it, grinning like a schoolboy as you uncross your arms and move closer, to pull the bag down and look inside. The contents are ordinary, clothes and an extra pair of shoes, a shaving kit, several knives, and guns. “I don’t understand,” you glance up at him and catch the quick hint of vulnerability.

He clears his throat, “I went to grab my things. So I could come back home.”

“Home?” you feel a tightness in your throat, “and where might that be?”

“I already told you, darling. You. You, are my home.”

“We hardly know one another,” the first tear slips down your cheek and he stands leaning over the bar to brush it away. “You could be a madman for all I know, a brute, a beast.”

He holds a hand to his chest, mock offense clear on his face, “I am no such thing. I am a lover, not a fighter. You raise a brow at him, pulling out the large hunting knife from his bag and he grins sheepishly, “Okay, I am a bit of a fighter.”

You stare at him, him watching with bated breath for you to decide if he’s worth this effort. But you know you already decided when you turned around and saw him there. “You’re paying half the rent,” he beams, nodding happily, “and doing the washing and dishes. I won’t be a little housewife doing all the work while you sit around and drink.”

“I can cook,” he stands, coming around the bar, the other patrons watching him curiously, looking between the two of you. “I’m very handy around the house,” he wraps his arms around your waist, your hands falling naturally to his chest. “I make the bed, clean up after myself, and will be your own personal guard dog, darling, no one will ever hurt you. I promise.”

He leans down to kiss you but you pull back, watching the little crease between his brows deepen in confusion. “I don’t want a guard dog,” you whisper to his conspiritorily, “I want a bear.”

His laugh is loud and booming before he nods, “yes, my love, I’ll be your bear.” When he finally presses his lips to yours, the bar erupts in cheers, and for the first time in the long time, you’re exactly where you want to be.

#the ministry of ungentlemanly warfare #Anders Lassen x Reader #Anders Lassen x Female Reader #Autumn Writes #Female Reader

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algae-tm · 4 months

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KILL BILL P.10

Charles Leclerc x ex! Reader, Oscar Piastri x Reader

Author’s note : So I don’t write narrative or rather I don’t write fanfic narrative, but there’s so much I want to say in this fic that feels clunky putting in like a text message. So here y’all go. I’m not 100% satisfied with the Oscar bit but also I started writing at 2 and it’s now 3:30 am so I’m gunna go to bed and then probably write some more in the coming days, do not worry we will get more in depth Oscar lore! - Algae 🌱

••••

Despite almost being 20 years old, Charles had been just a boy when you met him. A boy with a chip on his shoulder and the world at his feet—a dangerous combination that should’ve sent you running but had the opposite effect. When you first saw him, you could practically see the gears turning in his head. He paid you no attention, probably didn’t even realise you were loitering on the outskirts of his garage, watching the mechanics run around in a dazed frenzy, but you were enthralled by him.

He stood steadfastly in front of his car, with a pinched look adorning his face, forehead creased, and eyebrows drawn together. Anyone else would’ve written him off as confused, overwhelmed, not fit to have signed a contract saying he’d be battling in F1 alongside the greats—they still wrote him off as an emotionally unstable boy. But even before you had ever spoken to him, you understood what hardly anyone else did. You understood that, while Charles Leclerc was still a boy, he was more calculating than confused. And in the years of knowing him that followed, as you’d watched him progress to f1, as you’d watched him win races, that statement would prove to be true time and time again.

As the memories of your early encounters with Charles flooded your mind, you couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. He had been so young, so full of ambition and determination. You had admired him from afar, drawn to his intensity and drive to succeed. Despite the chaos of the racing world swirling around him, he had always seemed to have a clear vision of where he was going.

But somewhere along the way, things had changed. The pressures of fame and success had taken their toll, turning him into a shell of the boy you’d met. The boy with the fire in his eyes had become a man weighed down by expectations and responsibilities. And in the process, he had pushed you away, convinced that you didn't understand the sacrifices he had to make. Convinced that he held you captive in a life you weren’t ready to lead.

Charles may have told you some bullshit excuse about children and the future but you had always been able to see through him and despite this separation nothing had changed. From the arguments in the months leading to the breakup you knew he was putting an unnecessary amount of pressure on himself, putting all his hopes and aspirations on Ferrari, despite how often that had proven to be a mistake. Yes, the stupid misunderstanding of your future together was a large part of the reason you broke up, but you had a incessant feeling that Charles had felt trapped in his life, in his racing, and had attributed that trapped feeling to you.

You did not want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. You didn’t want to forgive him. You were going to forgive him. Those were the thoughts that plagued your mind on the 8 hour flight from JFK to Nice, and as you drove down to Monaco you couldn’t help but think about your parents. You had grown up with parents who had no business staying together, yet just couldn’t leave each others orbits. And no matter how much you cursed this dynamic as a child, you were worried that it was something you were bound to repeat. As you pulled in to the hotel you had decided to meet Charles at - nice neutral territory, you realised even if you didn’t get back together, you were going to forgive him. And it would be the easiest thing you had ever done. You checked in. Getting the key from the concierge as they told you someone had already checked in earlier.

You spotted him immediately. He was sitting at a small table near the window, a glass of something amber in front of him. He looked up as you approached, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. There he was, the man you had loved for so long, the man who had been your everything. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. You sat down opposite him, your heart in your throat.

"Charlie," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Hi," he replied, his eyes searching yours. "You look good."

"Thanks. You too."

There was an awkward silence, both of you unsure of how to begin. Finally, Charles took a deep breath. "I'm glad you came," he said. "I wasn't sure if you would."

"I needed to see you," you admitted. "I needed to know if... if there's still something here."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. "I've missed you," he said quietly. "It's been strange, not having you around."

"I've missed you too," you replied, your voice cracking slightly. "But I don't know if missing each other is enough."

Charles looked down at his glass, his fingers tracing the rim. "I know," he said softly. "I've been thinking a lot about us, about what went wrong. And I realise now that I wasn't fair to you. I was so focused on my career, that I had built a different reality in my head, and that I didn't see what it was doing to us. I'm sorry."

His words hit you hard, the sincerity in his voice bringing tears to your eyes. "I'm sorry too," you said. He opened his mouth to speak, probably to say you had nothing to be sorry for, but you continued, eyes downcast "I wasn't always patient, I didn’t like that I couldn’t get a read on you. I just - I wanted us to be happy.”

"I wanted that too," he said, finally looking up at you. "And maybe we can be, but we need to be honest with each other. We need to figure out what we really want."

You nodded, wiping away a tear. "I don't know if I can go back to how things were," you said. "It hurt too much."

Charles reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "I don't want to go back," he said. "I want to move forward. I want us to be better."

His touch was familiar, comforting, but it also reminded you of the pain you had endured. You pulled your hand away gently, needing to keep some distance. "I'm seeing someone else," you said, the words hanging heavy in the air.

Charles looked taken aback, his eyes widening slightly. "Oscar," he said, more a statement than a question, “so you’re actually seeing him?”

You nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. "It’s still new, fuck it’s really new, and it wasn't planned," you said quickly. "It just... happened. After we broke up, he was there for me. He wanted me, and it started off as this petty way to make you jealous but I feel something more for him."

Charles was silent for a moment, processing this new information. "Do you love him?" he asked finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"No," you admitted. You could practically feel a weight lift of Charles’ shoulders "I do care about him. A lot."

He nodded slowly, his expression pained. "I understand," he said. "I can't expect you to wait for me, to put your life on hold. But I still love you, and I think we could have a future together, if we both want it."

He held out his hand to you, and maybe you were going to regret it in the future but you took it.

INSTA

carlossainz55 posted on his story

(Image 1 caption : summer with friends. Image 2 caption : reunited )

seen by yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 2,344,234 others

User31 : brother what?

Used42 : oh my god please tell me they’re back together!!!

charles_leclerc : y/n isn’t going to like this. delete it now for your health

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yourusername : delete this now

carlossainz55 has deleted his story

••••

You hadn’t been ignoring Oscar, okay maybe you had just slightly. But spending the short break with Charles was, okay you don’t know what it was. You were confused. Really fucking confused. Being around Charles had encompassed you, like it always did. The week and a bit you had spent with him was a whirlwind of emotions. You spent time with Charles, talking about everything and nothing, rediscovering the things that had brought you together in the first place. You laughed together, reminisced about the good times, and shared your hopes and fears. It was comforting, but it also made you realise how much you had both changed.

But Oscar Piastri was something new. Not just new something novel, he brought fresh perspectives, and the way he made you feel was so different from how you felt with Charles, and something in you said you had to give him a chance. So you guess you had been ignoring him, but only due to the fear that he’d want answers you wouldn’t be able to give. The weeks after your ‘not date’ had been filled with constant phone calls, and texts, and despite the constant feeling to remind him that you weren’t dating you both knew that wasn’t true, you both knew there was something there. So you couldn’t blame Oscar for his eagerness, in fact you relished in it, you knew Oscar was playing it up to make you laugh, make you open up more and it was working. He deserved much better than you.

••••

TAGLIST

@forevercaffeinated-lee

@callsignwidow

@a-beaverhausen

@emryb

@c0deincrazy

@dontworryaboutitokie

@c-losur3

@chuxk-lerclerk

@silkenthusiasts

@ietss

@sp1rl

#charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #charles leclerc x black!reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one smau #f1 #oscar piastri social media au #oscar piastri smau #oscar piastri fanfic

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nc-vb · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐙𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐔𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐬, oo. 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐳𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐫

Time is not prejudiced. It gives and takes as the ordinance of life sees fit. Time begets loss and fear, but it also spawns warmth. After centuries worth of time having passed for you, you learn that time also sires impatience, and does not wait for a lost soul to find their way. Time carries on, and flows likes the current of a river. Ironically, so, too, does blood.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • jing yuan x reader, blade x reader, dan heng & reader (no pronouns used this chapter)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 • 18+ (mdni), no explicit smut but suggestive & insinuative; partially beta'ed.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 • can be read as a gn!stand-alone fic! • extended lifespan reader; reader is the records’ master for the Seat of Divine Foresight; allusions to ptsd. • this chapter is introductory and is meant to be vague toward the true plot... the real story begins in the official first chapter. • this originally had a different title, "it ain't the heat, it's the humility" before being reformatted for the series.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 • seat of divine foresight npcs, yanqing

𝐰𝐜 3.1k

zephyr -> a soft, gentle breeze.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬' 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 • 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

It didn’t matter where you’d tried taking refuge. Your apartment, or your friends’; the streets of the Luofu, or the various fountains littering them; the Exalting Sanctum’s new little dessert parlour with the delicious ice treats, or the sparse number of trees along the way to it. Shelter is far and few, you’d been quick to learn, and none of them with enough of the protection you’d been hoping to find since two days ago when the heatwave began.

It’s hot. Too hot. Too hot for your thoughts to thread themselves into proper sentences whilst on auto-pilot. No, it takes your entire conscious focus for you to even complain about the heat, and even that works up a sweat. It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting, you remind yourself as another thick bead of sweat rolls down your neck and into your shirt. So gross. No matter how many cool showers you’d taken that only had your water bill racking up in dues, no matter how popsicles you’d indulged in, or how many times you’d stared at one of the public fountains in longing and wished it could be a public pool, instead, there’d still been no means to an end when it’d came to such brutal weather.

In your many decades of life, you don’t recall it ever being this hot aboard the Xianzhou Luofu. Perhaps the Sky-Faring Commission might have a little historical insight on record temperatures, but putting your curiosity aside, looking into something like that to try and distract yourself from the current temperature? The thought exhausts you.

This only leaves you with one other option, one you’ve left as your absolute last resort, one you know will free you from the pain and suffering plaguing the Luofu and instead, tethering you to another kind of pain— returning to your post within the walls of the Seat of Divine Foresight, where the cooling system had shut down due to overheating. When it did, you conveniently disappeared without a word. Now that it’s fixed, really, you have no excuse to not return to your post.

It’s just unfortunate that it’d dawned on you two days later, the fact that you never told anyone there, including the Arbiter-General you worked directly alongside. You didn’t tell him, either, that you’d abruptly chosen to go absent without any official leave taken on account of the weather.

How does he do it? Those thick, tight clothes, that heavy armour, his thick, heavy hair— in this heat? He must have been suffering, too, you realize much too late. And I left my post and all of my work for him to… Crap.

Your pace quickens, your agility proving surprisingly capable today as you weave in and out and around the crowds littering the Exalting Sanctum until you’re finally able to break into a run. Why is it so busy today?! Why are they all out in the sun?! Are they insane?! Have they all collectively been struck by mara?! Go find shade or shelter! Maniacs! Get out of my way!!

“Chiyan!” you shout from the other end of the dock, not only startling the messenger of the Divine Foresight, but the patrons passing behind you.

Chiyan huffs, shaking his helmeted head at you as you approach.

“And here I thought you’d quit,” he dares to muse during your heat-inspired bad mood.

Nearly gasping now, you tug at the neck of your shirt to puff air down it. “I do not have the energy to tell you off right now, so move it.”

“Yeah, I bet I can guess why. You look…” He just shakes his head again. “Anyway. You’ve got great timing.”

“T-The cooling system is working again, right? That was true?”

“Should’ve placed money on that bet,” he grumbles. “That’s right. The Seat of Divine Foresight is back to its former, air-conditioned glory.” He steps aside. “Please, after you. Go on— go enjoy working in comfort, and out of this heat.”

You nod once, extremely curt with the gesture, and without guilt when you speak your farewell.

“Yeah. I will. See ya.”

For decades, you’ve said this, sworn this, but after the hell you’d gone through over the past fourty-eight hours, you now promise to never complain about the colder seasons, nor take for granted the refreshing chill they brought aboard the Luofu. You can simply throw more layers on then, but in the summer? Not like I can peel off my skin to cool down.

The noise of relief you make upon the doors of the Seat of Divine Foresight shutting behind you is loud, borderline obnoxious, and, if your coworkers were any kind of honest about it, downright pornographic. They quickly avert their eyes and return to their work and their conversations before you can catch their stares.

The difference between the temperature of this room versus even the hallway leading to it is painfully staggering. It seems like they’ve chosen to completely divert the path of the cooling system to the main chamber, you note, glancing up and around you. It’s probably only until they can fix the entire system, but it looks like even the employees of the smaller offices are working here today.

To your disappointment, so is the General. And it’s your bad fortune that it isn’t his usual hologram self.

Despite being on the complete other end of the room, he notices you right away, and the two of you lock gazes. His conversation with Qingzu ends with an abrupt raise of his hand and a brief apology— she bows away, descending the staircase to join Yong Hai and Yong Nian.

I suppose it’s time to play it on thick, you think, before clearing your throat with a harsh cough.

“General,” you call out in exasperation, voice echoing across the hall as you exaggeratedly stagger past the guards with a wave of greeting. “Generaaaaal.” They bow in return, a little too low to be considered a normal sign of respect for someone in your modest position, until you hear a snicker slip out from under one of their helmets and realize they’d been trying to hold in and hide their laughter. You pause, lips parting as if to speak, but you keep in character.

“General Jing Yuaaaaaan.”

From his spot atop the helm, Jing Yuan smiles small and sweet at your dramatic, child-like display put on just for him— the fact that the rest of the chamber gets to experience it for themselves today makes them lucky, as there are only two instances where you, the Divine Foresight’s - normally - dutiful records’ master would display yourself like this. The first instance is just this— you’ve done something wrong and at the very least, you know what it is and are now hoping that sucking up to the boss will help you work it out. The second instance? The circumstances aren’t so different. But it takes place in the privacy of your shared abode, instead of his office.

Your trudging across the floor of the massive strategy-slash-starchess board is squeaky, the soles of your shoes catching on the smooth tiling until you reach the General.

“General Jing Yuan,” you whine, still bothering to salute to him. “It’s hot.”

He chuckles, tucking his arms behind his back as he moves to descend the staircase closest to you to reach you.

“I figured that could be the only explanation behind your sudden disappearing act,” he says, still smiling. “Two whole days you were gone! Imagine my surprise when it’d been Qingzu to tell me of your absence and not you.”

You, you easily infer of him, My partner. Not just my subordinate.

You’ve heard from other outworlders and their testimonies that relationships between mortals in comparison to relationships between those with extended lifespans greatly differ. The flow of time is easily the heaviest hitter— average mortal lifespans range between eighty to one-hundred years old. As life expectancy goes for most those aboard the Xianzhou Luofu, each calendar days’ time differs, too— mortals, Foxians, and those native Xianzhou all have different clocks that tick within them.

Being on the "older" side of the spectrum of age immortality, you tend to fall into dissimilar habits, as opposed to the ones your aging friends do, such as forgetting to send a message back to someone, or informing them of an absence?

Unfortunately, this is why the Arbiter-General still smiles at you, why his response had been just barely teetering on passive aggressive. You know you haven’t heard anything bad from him yet, that the only reason you’ve yet to be chastised as a repeat offender is because the room remains full of other Divine Foresight employees. To the General, you aren’t just one of his most trusted allies. You’re also his lover. And to not know where and not hear from his lover even once within fourty-eight hours after existing together for so many years, you realize that you’d be agonizing over it, too.

Immediately, the act drops, your eyes widening down at your feet.

Oh, god. That’s definitely so much worse than me not saying anything as his subordinate.

“Jing Yuan.” Lip pinched between your teeth, you look to him and muster as much of an apologetic look as you can. “I’m sorry.”

A dark eyebrow raises at you inquisitively. “For?”

You bite back a huff—you already know what for. So, you decide to list everything but what he wants to hear.

“For disappearing without a word to anyone. For not requesting time off first. For not finishing my duties before leaving. For abandoning my post for two days.” To hide the smirk that’d begun to twitch onto your face at the sight of his expression growing more and more stolid, you bow your head, similar to the guards at the entrance to the chamber. “I’m sorry, General.”

He hums, and not thoughtfully. Strangely, you no longer feel his eyes on the back of your head, and by the time you raise it to find out why, you see him stalking back up to the helm.

His timing couldn’t be more perfect when a loud, mechanical groan suddenly sounds throughout the room.

“Ah!” Jing Yuan exclaims, seemingly agreeing with your wordless sentiment— he peers down at you where you stand steeping in your petulance. “The second stage of the cooling system must have kicked in. Friends,” he calls across the hall. “I do believe you should be able to return to your original chambers now; no need to linger and loiter around here any longer. In fact, how about you all take an extra break today? Starting now. A gift, on account of this weather, of course.”

Thanks and bows of appreciation are quick to be thrown to the helm where the Arbiter-General stands; unfortunately for you, your coworkers have never been ones to stare a gift horse in the mouth, and flee out the doors as quickly as they’d earlier arrived. Maybe you had no trouble playing with the General, but they’d wanted no part whatsoever in it— the look Qingzu throws over her should at you as the last person to leave confirms this.

Ah. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so petty, after all.

The sound finally settles into a dull hum, barely noticeable over the doors to the chamber slamming shut.

“Those were a lot of apologies,” Jing Yuan points out. Looking to the helm, you find him wearing a perfect poker face. “Are you sure you didn’t miss a couple?”

You sigh at him, hands on your hips now.

“You already know that I did, and you know that I did it on purpose, too.”

He matches your attitude with the crossing of his arms.

“And?”

“… and I’m sorry if I made you worry by not telling you where I’d gone,” you mumble.

“What was that, dear?”

Your cheeks burn. “I’m sorry if I made you worry. I didn’t mean to not tell you. I know that with this whole… Stellaron thing, you might’ve been busy. I didn’t want to distract you by telling you I wasn’t feeling well.”

“______. I’d want to know if you got even a paper cut.”

You can’t help yourself when a laugh bubbles up and out of your throat.

“We both agreed that we wouldn’t let things like this affect how we perform our duties, right? This is a perfect instance of that agreement; I asked you to set these boundaries with me for a reason.”

“Reporting on our well-being is much different than perhaps sending the other a picture of what we ate for lunch.” He scratches at his chin. “Although, I did want to send you what I had for mine today. I would have liked to have shared it with you.”

“Jing Yuan…” Quickly, you clamber up the steps to stand before him. “I love you with every fibre of my being. I promise not to do something so thoughtless like this again, but please… I need you to properly honour our agreement. I don’t want to have to afford anymore missteps in this lifetime. Not after… no… I-I can’t. Never again.”

To either side of your face, the General’s hands rise, claiming them in his cool palms. You sigh, your own coming up to hold them to you.

“You were on the front lines for a long time, ______,” Jing Yuan reminds you. “Even before the incident. And when we live as long as we do, the memories won’t simply fade away with time.

“I understand how you feel, exactly how you feel. And when I say to you what I am about to say, please know that I don’t wish to diminish or dismiss those feelings, either.” He thumbs your cheeks, pulling you closer into him, lips ghosting the crease between your brows and smoothing it down with his affection. “Even when I don’t hear from you, you are always on my mind. And for as long as we’ve been together, that has never changed. If you ever find yourself burdened by those feelings, I wish to share the load with you. Paper cuts and all.”

“Even over something as silly as my impromptu two day vacation…?”

“Fu Xuan did mention there’d been a nice breeze over at the Divination Commission, last I spoke to her. If only my love didn’t forget about me in their search for some shade… Surely, I could have invented some reason to send you over there…”

“Ah, so a guilt trip and not a work trip, then, huh?”

“No, not at all.” You shoot a playfully disapproving glance to the man. For a moment, he simply stares back, his one unshielded eye sparkling with obvious mischief. Little warning is given when he steps toward you again, hands reclaiming their rightful place at your waist. Fingers curl into the loops securing your belt and tug your hips to meet his.

Your cheeks instantly heat at the contact, at the knowing glance he dares to send you at such close range.

“You know,” he says, breath fanning your face. “We could always try building up a different kind of sweat— you know. To take your mind off the heat.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t give you a chance to answer, instead sliding his one hand from your side to curl beneath your right ass cheek and hoist you up into the air. Instinctively, you’d raised your legs to curl around his middle as he’d turned to carry you toward his seat. If this is my punishment, I accept it gratefully and gracefully, you think, almost dizzyingly.

“That break you sent the others on was more for you than it was for them, wasn’t it?” you ask him, hand curled around his neck as he lowers you onto the cushion. Without missing a beat and with a single hand, Jing Yuan’s fingers are deft to remove your belt and unbutton your trousers.

“Naturally, they assume their “dozing general” merely wants to take another nap…” He taps your thigh, encouraging the lift of your bottom. You shift your weight into your palms and rise, and he removes your pants to rest around your ankles. “… or that I’ll be reprimanding you.”

“I suppose it’s a relief that they’re aware you don’t pick favourites around here. Well, the exception being Yanqing. He’s everyone’s favourite, after all.”

“Not yours, I’d hope?”

“Definitely mine.”

“And why not me?” Still hovering above you, he bends over to nose at your throat— you shudder, unable to stop yourself. “Considering how I have you… and how I’m about to have you. Tell me that I’m not your favourite?”

You scoff lightly at him, even when he presses kisses deep into your throat, strong against your jawline, and gently against your lips.

“W-With how long you insist on teasing me like this…? W-Who likes a hot dinner served cold—” you’re cut off by his tongue prodding against your lips; you part them, eagerly, hungrily, the joke about eating somehow making the craving to have him have you even stronger, more obnoxious the more he makes you wait.

He is barely gentle now, showing little restraint in how his tongue plunders the inside of your mouth. Jing Yuan is a giver and a taker, of pleasure and of oxygen— your gasps are sharp, not being given a chance to breathe, a chance to win whatever battle he’d entered with you. “Jing Yu—” the butterflies that swim in the pit of your stomach are traitorous in his repetition; they know how good he makes you feel, strictly in the way he takes your breath away with each kiss, each suckle and swirl of his tongue around yours, each stroke of his calloused hands sliding to grip the fat of your thighs, and they make you weaker and weaker with each ministration.

With a final swipe of his wet muscle across your spit-soaked and kiss-numbed lips, he draws away, eyes lidded and panting.

“G-General Jing Yuan,” you rasp almost chidingly. Your hand is quick to brace him away from you; he chuckles at your weak attempt, instead returning it to where it once kept you entirely upright. You huff, every inch of your skin flaming and dewy with a thin layer of sweat. I just finally cooled down, too…

“You’re going to need that there,” he tells you, rising to his full height. He tugs on his own trousers to give them a generous amount of slack before kneeling down before you, nestled between your already shaking thighs. “We still have twenty minutes, after all. You’d better get comfortable.”

#jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x yn #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan #honkai star rail #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan smut #jing yuan fluff #blade x reader #blade x yn #blade x y/n #✦ nc-vb.#✦ the zenith unto animus.

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hwaslayer · 9 months

Text

crimson (cs) | one shot teaser.

—summary: life has always revolved around the club, the money, the clients— that is, until a first-time experience changes everything for san, for you; causing lines to be blurred, boundaries that are crossed. he didn’t think he’d get wrapped around your finger, falling deep into your spell. after all, he did become your number one client.

—pairing: choi san x stripper!reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, nightclub au | smut, angst

—general warnings: protected/unprotected sex, cussing/mature language, nightclub/stripper club scene, lap dances, pole dancing, alcohol consumption, intoxication, more detailed warnings will be listed on release.

—release: DEC 30 @ 7:30 pm PT; find full fic here

—on rotation: agora hills - doja cat | anywhere - 112 | all night long - thuy & lil kev | IT's you - wooyoung, san & yeosang

“You know my name?” He says, hands comfortably coming up your body, giving your breasts a squeeze. His hand runs up your neck, to your jaw— gently forcing you to keep eye contact with him as you continue to dance on him. He’s entranced by you that he doesn’t really know what else to say, or how to react. But god, do you feel amazing on him. That body, too? Heavenly.

“Your friends have been yelling it all night.” You stand and straddle him in the opposite direction, legs wrapped around his torso as you lean forward and bounce on his dick a little more. San can’t help but run his hands down your ass, giving it a good squeeze before you come back up and pry yourself off of him to head to the pole in front of him.

“Fair enough. What’s your name then, beautiful?” You look at him, ignoring the question at first. But, San feels a little different than your usual customers, feels a bit more personal even though you don’t know anything about him nor does he know anything about you. It’s the way that he looks at you, focused on your face, your every move. It’s the way that it’s a room full of dancers and he’s stuck on you. Most men are in the club to fill a void; seeking for quick satisfaction, something that’ll eventually blow over until the next visit. But, it’s nothing more than that. You are nothing more than a dancer, nothing more than a face on stage— someone who collects their bills and runs.

But to San, you feel different.

Before you look into him too deeply, you quickly snap out of it and begin to twirl around the pole, doing your usual routine when you’re in the VIP booth. You fall into a split, hand coming down from the pole, down to your body.

San follows.

“My name?” You repeat, and San nods.

“Is that not a normal question here?”

“No one ever gives out their real names here.” You chuckle.

“Then, what’s your stage name?” Time passes when you’re dancing. Usually, you give them 30 mins tops, 45 mins if they keep sending big bills your way. But, you never try to spend more than that with the same person. Not in this community. With the hundreds San’s friend handed you, you would’ve stopped at 15 minutes if this were anyone else.

You’re closing in 20– probably will be 30 when you blink— but you don’t really wanna stop giving San this attention. He’s attractive, fitting his button-up and slacks in all the right places. He has black short hair, a few strands draping over his forehead, a pretty Rolex sitting on his wrist. You think he could handle you if you gave him the chance, and the thought is enough to make your brain short-circuit.

“Crimson.” He smirks, running his finger across his bottom lip while he continues to watch you bounce your ass on the stage. He thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on— the bodysuit doing your body wonders as it makes his mind wander to the unknown.

To what you would look like naked, to have you underneath him, to have you calling his name.

He’s been glued to you from the start and he’s not sure what kind of spell you have him under, but he wants more.

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ckret2 · 3 months

Text

The way I see it, I've got two potential promising avenues:

I can work the word "goldilocks" into a pun, like "Goldilocked Up" or something—that's a dumb title but it shows you what I mean. That would also help the title fit Gravity Falls naming conventions, they LOVE pun titles, and I'm always happy to make the fic feel a little more canon-ish.

(Shoutout 2 the asker who sent "Under Goldilock And Key," I don't think it quite feels enough like the fic i'm writing but You've Got The Spirit)

So, with a pun, that opens up any phrase that includes the word "lock" or "gold" to be riffed off of ("Fool's Goldilocks," "Goldilocked and Loaded," etc etc y'all know how to make puns.) Considering doors that can't be opened are a big thing in the fic, there's SOME kind of potential with (goldi)locks and doors

OR, i can make an allusion to the Goldilocks principle—the idea that for something to work (in biology, in economics, in psychology, lots of fields), conditions have to be "just right" in between two possible extremes. The most prominent use of the Goldilocks principle is the Goldilocks Zone, which is the narrow criteria for earthlike planets that can support life (not too hot, not too cold; not too big, not to small, etc). I think i can work something with that, BUT i'd need to find a way to thematically work it into the fic. I think it's possible. Something something portal project, something something goldilocks zone of possible universes he can target?

(Plus, @thedemonsurfer pointed out that Bill being in the shack is sort of a Goldilocks zone for his redemption arc: not secure enough that he can default to all his usual defense mechanisms but not so insecure that he's constantly lashing out. Which is brilliant, I'd been trying to find some way to slap the goldilocks principle onto his current situation but couldn't figure out what two extremes he was in between.)

If I wanna go with a Goldilocks principle/Goldilocks Zone allusion, I've got a whole lot of fic left to write, I have time to make it seem like an actual theme I did on purpose. If I can find a way to tie it into the repeated Plato's Cave+Flatland+cosmic horror allusions I'm using, I've struck gold lmfao. (Something something a safe midpoint between the darkness of ignorance and the blinding light of full madness-inducing knowledge?)

My mind's spat out the idea "Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone," I don't think I'm sold on it yet.

Song allusion's to a guy trying to act carefree and chill in a vacation town as he gradually realizes he's the source of his own problems, which is true of the story and is gonna be even more true once he has enough freedom to properly pretend he's carefree and chill; Bill is a fan of margaritas; he definitely feels like he's wasting away; it mixes quirky fun summer vacationy vibes with subjects of cosmic significance; it firmly avoids the Goldilocks fairy tale OR calling Bill "Goldilocks, which is great; and it definitely don't sound like any other fic titles out there.

But on the other hand it's longer than I'd prefer; it's gonna be harder to remember for anyone who DOESN'T know the song allusion, plus anyone who doesn't know the allusion won't have any idea what the title means; I literally forgot until I checked 15 minutes ago that the line is "wasting away again in margaritaville" instead of just "wasting away in margaritaville" and apparently there's common confusion about whether it's "wasting" or "wasted," so there's multiple avenues via which it would be really easy to get the title wrong.

But like, it's a B- title. In spite of its logistical flaws, I actually like the sound of it. I think it's moving in the right direction. Leaning on the "Goldilocks zone" concept has potential.

#bill goldilocks cipher

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f1nalboys · 1 year

Text

Come Inside - Chad Meeks-Martin

Chad Meeks-Martin x Fem!AFAB!Reader

hi guys. this is the fic that was giving me a massive amount of brain rot today!!! i dreamt this (yeah im lucky i know thank you) and havent been able to stop thinking about it since <3 shout out to tatianna (@castieltrash1) for reading it and doing some editing for me, she is the loml and u all need to follow her NEOW! (in fact, she has a charlie from scream 4 fic in the works and its DELICIOUS.) anyways hope u all enjoy this :3

WORD COUNT: 5384 (I KNOW TRUST ME)

WARNINGS: nsfw, first time sex, dub-con except not really?, chad begs to fuck the reader, male manipulator core, 'just the tip' turns into the full thing, unprotected sex, oral (afab and amab recieving,) dirty talk, praise, slight body worship, slight corruption, slight convincing so again, dub con to be safe, high/drunk sex, reader is more high than chad but neither are drunk but they drank if that makes sense, friends to lovers, im just in love with him you guys! reader wears a dress, chad calls reader good girl and pretty girl. actually proofread bc tati is a saving grace angel lady. <3

You feel him before you hear him. You’re at the bar, nursing your first drink of the night, trying to ignore the dull thud the music was giving you when suddenly there’s a large hand placed on the small of your back. “Can I get another beer?” Chad asks the bartender and you feel yourself relax at the sound of his voice, goosebumps rising on the exposed flesh of your arms as his thumb absentmindedly runs up and down. “Hey.” He tilts his head at you a bit. “Nice earrings.”

“Hi. I could say the same to you.” You look up at him and grin, matching his own wide and easy smile. Chad’s standing right beside you, toned body pressed against yours and you don’t know if it’s on purpose or just due to the crowd. “You having fun?” you ask as the bartender hands him the beer bottle. Chad takes a sip from it, looking down at you, grinning against the glass when he notices you watching the way his lips curve against the opening.

It was no secret in the group that you had a crush on Chad. It was hard not to have one on him; he was kind, funny, handsome as hell, and he always seemed to know just the right thing to say. “Now I am,” he teases and you roll your eyes, turning away from him to hide your grin. Just like that. “I’m getting fuckin’ bored though. Too many people. How about you? You find any lucky guys, Y/N?”

“Lucky guys?”

“You know, to take home?” He wiggles his eyebrows for added effect when you look back up at him. “I’m trying to ask if you’re gonna fuck someone tonight.” You nearly choke on your drink and he laughs, deep in his chest, and his hand which was still on your back begins to rub soothing circles. His hands are rough and calloused from his time playing football and they’re so big, with long thick fingers, and suddenly you’re shaking your head in an attempt to get the image of him using them on you, wherever he sees fit, out of your mind. “I take that as a no, then?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Yeah, no, not fucking anyone tonight,” you say, taking another sip of your drink and sighing. “And now my drink’s empty, the music here is too god damn loud, and you’re right, there’s too many fucking people here!” Shaking your head, you dig into the small clutch you had with you, fishing out a few dollar bills and placing them on the bar counter. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“Can I walk you home?” Chad asks, finally removing his hand from your back as you slide out of the bar stool. Your eyebrows narrow in confusion. You had one drink, were the furthest from being drunk you had been in your entire college career, in fact, and you only lived five minutes down the road. “C’mon,” he says, shrugging his broad shoulders and flashing you that fucking smile that always made your knees weak. “It’s late, I just wanna make sure you get home alright.”

You pretend to think on it, letting out a small ‘hmm’ noise as you tap a finger to your chin. “Fine, but you have to come inside and sober up a bit before you leave.” Chad’s smile doesn’t go away at your request. In fact, it seems to grow. He takes out his wallet and places a few bills beside yours, grabbing the bartender's attention and letting them know you both had paid off your tabs before holding his arm out for you to grab. You do so with a shy smile, trying to ignore the feeling of him under your fingertips, or how close you were to him, or how he kept looking down at you with a smile, or even how his eyes kept darting to your lips. Everything he did seemed to be a deliberate attempt to get you worked up and it always fucking worked.

He leads you out of the club with ease and before you know it you’re out on the New York street. “Which way?” he asks and you nod to the right, following beside him at a slow pace. It was a nice night, a cool breeze helping to offset the hot air that had permeated the city during the day, and the lights and noises of the city still awake helped set you at ease. “You really weren’t having fun in there, were you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because we got out here and you relaxed like you had just gotten out of a fight or flight situation.” He laughs and you smile at the sound. Chad was always grinning, always smiling, but he had been through some tough shit. You used to wonder how he was able to keep this positive attitude but then decided to let it go and try not to dwell on it too much.

“It was just… too much, you know? Lots of people, lights, that music-”

“I just think you’re old.” You elbow him in the side and he grins. “You are! You sound like my mom.” Chad sniffles and places his free hand on his back, slowing down to an almost complete stop, speaking with a crotchety old-lady voice. “Back in my day, we went to the sock hop! We were pulled by a horse and buggy, not these cars! Your music is too loud, Chady-kins, turn it down!”

You both fall into a fit of laughter, picking back up the original pace you had set. “Chady-kins? Oh, I’m so stealing that.” He shakes his head at you and you giggle, leaning further into his grip. “I mean it! And I’m telling your mom you called her old.”

You stop walking, finally outside of your apartment building. “Too far,” he says, his smile dropping ever so slightly when you let go of his arm in favor of typing in your door code. “Am I still invited in?” he asks and you look over at him. He’s leaning against the old brick building, the lights of the restaurant across the street bouncing off of his skin and his smile and his eyes and you’re nodding, face burning hot. “Yeah?” His voice is deeper than it was just a moment before and it makes you swallow heavily.

All you can do is nod.

“Good. M’glad. You know I’m not drunk though, right?” he says as you two walk into your apartment building. He lets you go first, leading the way, but you can feel his eyes on your ass each time you move. You not-so-subtly sway your hips as you walk and you swear you hear him suck in a breath. “Only had a beer and a half before we left, so, no real need to sober up.”

“I’m not drunk either. You can still hang out for a bit, though, if you want?” He hums in agreement and then you’re at your apartment, digging through your purse for your keys. “It’s a little messy in here,” you say sheepishly as you open the door, revealing the mess you had left behind in your attempt at getting ready to go out. Chad just laughs, kicking his shoes off at the door and locking it behind him. “I couldn’t figure out what to wear.”

Your heels are finally off and you hurry around, picking up the pile of clothes you had left on your bed and floor, shoving them in your closet and hamper. “Well I’d say you landed on something good,” Chad says from the kitchen, his voice muffled as he bends down and peers into your fridge. “Because you look fucking hot.” You squeak out a thank you and busy yourself at your desk, fixing up the few items you had left out and trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“What are you doing?” you ask, poking your head over and seeing Chad in the living room. He turns around and holds up the ashtray you had left on your coffee table, an unsmoked blunt still on it. “You wanna smoke?” you ask and he nods. “Go ahead. You want something to drink?”

“Water’s fine. You’re not gonna smoke with me?”

“I don’t know,” you say, passing by him as you head into the kitchen to grab two water bottles for the both of you. “I get sorta… weird when I smoke.”

“Weird? Weird how?” Chad asks and you hear the sound of your lighter sparking as he sits back on your small couch with a groan. “Do you, like, talk about conspiracies or some shit? Because I’ve smoked with Mindy before and it’s either that or her talking about whatever girl she’s in love with that day.” You chuckle, face heating up as you turn around and see him on the couch. He’s sitting with his legs spread and you realize instantly how well-fitted his jeans are, tight around his thighs. His head is back on the couch looking up, eyes closed as he takes another hit. Smoke plumes around him in a lazy rolling fog.

You nudge him with the bottle and he takes it with a thank you. Sitting down beside him, you tuck your legs up, knees pressed against his thigh. God, his thigh. You look away from them, opening up your own bottle of water and taking a few slow sips, the image of you riding his thigh, his hands on your hips, building in your mind.

“So? How weird is weird?” Chad questions, holding the blunt out to you. You consider it for a second, eyes flicking between it and his face which was turned towards you. You couldn’t tell Chad that the ‘weird’ you got was different from what he was imagining. You didn’t spout off conspiracies about the government, or get paranoid. You got horny, and being around him would only make that ‘weirdness’ worse. The days alone when you would smoke, you’d find yourself in bed, hand between your legs, moaning his name. “C’mon.”

It’s all the encouragement you need and you pluck it from his fingers and settle back into the faux leather of your couch. “There you go,” he says, taking the time to let his eyes drag down your body while you’re taking a hit.

The dress you wore fit you great, tight against your body, the color complimenting your skin tone. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of you since he saw you tonight from across the bar, nursing his drink for ten minutes before Mindy had shoved him towards you, telling him that if he didn’t make a move on you she would on his behalf. And now here he was, smoking with you, so close on the couch that he could practically feel your pulse under his skin. He wanted you so badly and everything that came with it, the good and the bad.

The two of you pass the blunt back and forth a few times, talking about nothing in between, but you were being affected far more than Chad was. “Are you even inhaling?” you ask with a giggle, passing it back to Chad. He rolls his eyes, taking a large hit in order to prove that he was. “Alright, alright. Show off,” you mutter, blinking heavily. “How come it’s hitting me harder than you?” you whine, shaking your head when he offers the blunt back to you. “I can barely even think straight. M’all… fuzzy.”

“I’m cooler than you, duh,” Chad says with ease, taking a hit and waiting for your laughter to die down before blowing the smoke into your face. You let him, blinking, pupils wide. He thinks you look pretty normally, but he thinks you look beautiful like this. He leans over and places the roach onto the ashtray, sighing as he leans back, his left hand resting on your thigh. You swallow heavily, your vision fuzzy. Your dress had ridden up quite a bit now and his hand was so warm against your flesh. He’s looking at you with such an intense look it has you squirming, face hot when he laughs at you. “I wanna kiss you.”

You blink, sure you misheard him. “What?”

“I wanna kiss you. Like,” he laughs, shaking his head slightly. His brown eyes seemed to sparkle in the lamplight, the whites of his eyes red, pupils blown out. “So fucking bad.” His other hand, the one that had been resting on his thigh, comes up and he places it on your cheek. His thumb runs along your cheek, catching the corner of your mouth. His touch is gentle but everything is so intense still, your skin feeling like it’s on fire, burning against his own. “Can I? Please?”

You nod, closing your eyes when he grins and leans in. The kiss is slow, each movement of his lips done with a purpose. His hand drags from your cheek to the base of your neck, pushing you into his kiss, his touch, just a bit more. You follow his lead with ease, mind too hazy to try and take over.

He pulls away for a moment to catch his breath, staring into your eyes. “Fuck,” he mutters and he’s kissing you again, harder this time, sloppy. His tongue is slipping inside your mouth and you let out a soft moan, his hand on your thigh dragging upwards, pushing past the fabric. “So fucking hot,” He mutters against your lips, and then you can feel the top of his fingers brush against your underwear, right over your hips, and you’re pushing his hand away gently. “What? You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m okay.” He’s still looking at you, hands dropping to his sides, and he looks worried. You can tell he’s wracking his brain for what he did, if he had gone too far somehow. “I’m a virgin.” You blurt it out and squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed. When you had felt his fingers up your skirt it had hit you that if it continued he’d be touching you, that you want him to touch you, but that you weren’t sure if he’d want to.

“So?” Your eyes pop open. Chad is staring at you with a kind smile, dimple evident on his cheek, and you feel your face heat up. “I mean, I’m okay with it if you are, you know?” His hand’s on your leg again, fingers dragging up and down your thigh slowly. “Are you nervous about it?”

“I didn’t know if you’d be alright with it.”

“Well, I am. Besides, wouldn’t it be good to lose it to me?”

“What do you mean?”

Chad’s smile grows and he leans in, lips close to yours. You close your eyes, waiting for him to kiss you. “You know me, right?” You hum. You want him to kiss you again. “You trust me too, right?” Another hum and this time you're leaning in a little bit, a whine stuck in your throat when he pulls away. “Then you should know that I’d make you feel good. I’d take my time when I touch you,” His hand is up your dress again and your body jerks involuntarily into his touch. “That I’d take good care of you and your virgin pussy.”

He brushes his fingers up your inner thigh and your legs spread instantly, giving him room. He grins at the sight of you, eyes closed, disheveled, breathing hard, legs spread and hand gripping his forearm. “Please?” you ask and then he’s kissing you, finally, and his fingers are brushing against your clothed clit. You keen into his touch, whining into his lips, but he doesn’t stop.

His fingers begin to rub slow circles against you, a good amount of pressure, and it feels so different from when you touch yourself thinking of him. Maybe it’s the weed, maybe it’s the fact that this is happening, but everything is almost too much. You’re surrounded by him in every way possible, his very being filling your own body, replacing your own needs. All you want is for him to feel good, for him to moan, for him to gasp at each press of your hand against him, for him to be begging for more without even realizing he’s doing it.

You want to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel.

“More?” Chad asks, parroting your own words back to you with a smile, taking his lips away from your own, his fingers speeding up. His nose is brushing against your neck before he’s kissing it, biting down against your pulse gently, soothing it with his tongue. “Bet you’re close aren’t you, Y/N?” His voice is right there in your ear, breath hot against your skin, but you can barely focus on that. “C’mon, be good for me and cum, okay? Please? Fuck, need you to cum so bad, baby.”

“Gonna-” Is all you get out before he’s biting down onto your neck again and pressing down hard onto your clit and then you’re cumming, nails digging into his arm, a moan stuck in your throat. “F-fuck, Chad, shit!” His fingers don’t slow down for a second but he’s moving off of you, pushing your dress up your body and pulling your underwear down in one fell swoop.

He shoves your legs apart and you take a second to catch your breath, looking down at him as he slides down the length of the couch. His eyes are glued to your pussy, fingers swiping through your folds and popping them into his mouth with a groan. “Taste so fucking good, so sweet,” he says, prodding at your hole with his middle finger, looking up at you. “Can I taste you?”

You nod, heart hammering out of your chest, and watch as he leans in, breathing in deep, eyes fluttering closed. As his tongue flicks over your clit he pushes his finger inside you slowly, just to the first knuckle, and your hip bucks at the intrusion, forcing his thick finger deeper inside you.

“Relax, it’s okay,” he soothes, watching your eyes squeeze at the feeling. His fingers were thick, stretching you out with just one, and his tongue kept moving, swirling around your clit and sending shockwaves up your body. You try to focus on relaxing your body and when he feels you do so he pushes his finger in all the way. “There you go, good girl,” he coos, spitting onto his finger as he begins to pump it inside you.

Chad is moving slowly, finger pumping in and out at a snail's pace, tongue moving even slower somehow. It almost hurts how slow he’s going and you know it’s to prepare you, to make you want him more than you already did. He wanted you drunk on his touch. “Faster,” you gasp and you can feel him laugh against you. “More, please, Chad?” You feel another finger press at your hole and you could cry, your body begging for more.

The stretch is only a little painful, his tongue helping to soothe the ache. You can feel the knot in your stomach growing with each quickening pump of his finger, each swirl of his tongue, and you swear you see stars when he scissors his fingers inside you. One of your hands grabs onto his head, pulling his head in closer to your cunt, hips rocking up to meet his fingers and tongue, grinding against him.

You cum without warning, your cry caught in your throat when he pushes in a third finger. It was too much. Your brain was still fuzzy from smoking and everything he was doing to you was heightened. You could feel every taste bud on his tongue as he flicked it against your clit, every groove in his fingers as they pumped inside you.

“Ok, ok, too much,” you get out and he stops, finally pulling away from you. His fingers are coated in your cum and you watch through heavy-lidded eyes as he sucks on one of his fingers, groaning at the taste of you, before holding his other two fingers out for you. They press against your lips and your mouth parts, tongue sticking out, and you wrap your lips around them as he pushes them inside.

“Don’t you taste good?” he asks with a grin, leaning over you, his free hand resting on the arm of the couch beside your head. You hum, swirling your tongue around his digits. Your hands begin to fiddle with his belt, tugging at it, and he grins. “Wanna suck my cock, that it?” You nod, his fingers still inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. “Yeah, I bet you do. Bet you’ve thought all about my cock inside your pretty mouth haven’t you? Fuck, you’re so pretty, you know that?”

You grin, running your hand down his face, mimicking what he had done to you earlier, thumb brushing against the corner of his lips.“You’re pretty,” you say, compliment muffled by his fingers in your mouth, and he gives you a soft laugh, his head falling to hide his grin. He finally pulls his fingers out of your mouth, a small string of saliva connecting them to your lips. “Wanna touch you,” you whine, going back to working on his belt.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he says, leaning back and shoving his jeans down. He leans backward on the couch, jeans tossed onto the floor, his cock straining against his underwear. You’re practically salivating by the time you are leaning over him, placing soft kisses over the fabric of his underwear, looking up at him through your lashes. “Hey, I didn’t tease you,” he says with a sigh, eyelids heavy with lust at the feeling. He had been hard since he kissed you and the taste of you was still lingering on his tongue and he swears it‘s fucking him up more than the weed did.

You finally tug at his underwear, pulling them down just enough to pull his cock out. He grabs your wrist, turning your hand palm up and spitting in it, giving you a wink before leaning back, arms behind his head as he enjoys the show. “I’ve never…” you say, suddenly nervous. It was clear to you that Chad had experience in this regard with how easily he had made you cum and you were beginning to worry that you were in over your head, too nervous and inexperienced and high to make sure you did alright.

“That’s alright,” he says, giving you a soft smile, one that instantly quells your anxiety. “Just take your time with it, okay? There’s plenty of time for me to teach you, okay, pretty girl?” You nod, wrapping your spit-slick hand around his cock and he hisses, head tilting back as you begin to stroke him. You start off slow, tightening your grip at the base of his cock and loosening it when you get to the top, swiping your thumb over the tip. “Fu-uck,” he says, tripping over his words with a laugh and a thick swallow. “You sure you’ve never done this before? Feels fucking amazing, Y/N.”

Leaning down, you keep your eyes on him as you lick over the tip of his cock, collecting the bead of precum there and swallowing it. He groans and you can feel him throb under your hand. You flatten your tongue and lick from the base of his cock up to the tip, following the prominent vein he had, and his hips buck at the feeling. This is exactly how you wanted him; his eyebrows scrunched together, eyes struggling to stay open at the feeling of you, him fucking into your fist with an eagerness he couldn’t control. You were making him feel good and fuck, it went straight to your cunt.

You don’t try to take all of him in your mouth. It was like he said; there would be plenty of time for him to train your throat, just like he had always dreamt of. You keep your hand on him, moving at the same pace, and you take the tip of his cock in your mouth, swallowing around it. He was big, bigger than any toy you had used before at the very least, and when you take him a bit further down he bucks his hips, plunging his cock down your throat. You gag and pull off of him and he’s apologizing.

“Sh-shit, sorry! Sorry, Y/N, just, fuck, your throat felt so good, couldn’t help it. C’mere.” He pulls you in for a kiss and you know he’s sorry but even if he wasn’t you wouldn’t care. It hits you then, while his tongue is down your throat and his hand is cupping your cheek, that you’d let him do anything to you and that you’d thank him for it. “Can I fuck you?” he asks, pulling away from your lips and resting his forehead on yours.

“I don’t know…” you start, chewing on your bottom lip. “You’re big… it’s gonna hurt.”

“How about just the tip, then? If you want more we’ll keep going, if not, that’s fine.” You ponder the offer for a second. He told you he’d take care of you, that he’d take his time, make sure it felt good for you. “Don’t you trust me, baby?” You do trust him. You know him, just like he said. You nod and he smiles. “Good girl. Okay, let's go to the bed, yeah? I’ll get you out of this sexy fucking dress and I’ll make sure you feel good, alright baby?”

He helps you stand and keeps kissing you, unzipping your dress as he moves you through the apartment, pulling your straps down. The dress is pulled off of you a second before your knees hit the back of the bed and you’re both falling onto it, giggling. “Hi,” you say, hands on his shoulders. He grins.

“Hi.” Chad stands, pulling his shirt off and tugging his underwear off, tossing both somewhere behind him. You both take a moment to stare at the other, nervous giggles leaving your lips. You had dreamt of this moment dozens of times before, had cum to it just as often, and now it was happening and it was somehow better than what you had ever thought up. “Look at you,” he says, hands dragging up your legs to your chest and back down again. He’s slotted in between your legs and you whine, wrapping one leg around him and pulling him in closer. “Use your words.”

It’s the first time he was really telling you to do something and you swallow heavily. “Please, Chad, can you?”

“Can I what?”

“Can you fuck me? Please? I want you to take my virginity so badly, I need it, please? I’ve thought about it so much, wanted it for so long.” You’re whining now, begging, and you swear you can feel the tears begin to fill your eyes. He’s smiling down at you and his eyes are so dark you’re not sure how much of his iris is left. Your legs spread for him when he nods and you watch with bated breath as he grabs ahold of his cock, spitting on it, before swiping up your slit.

He groans at the feeling. “So wet, baby. Bet your pussy will let me just slide right in.” He pushes the head of his cock in slowly and you gasp, tears filling your eyes at the stretch. It felt good but it hurt and you can feel him rocking his hips ever so slightly, pulling out and pushing back in, never going too far inside you. His hands are on your thighs, digging into your flesh, and you’re overwhelmed again.

The two of you stay like this a moment, the head of his cock pushed inside, your cunt clenching around him desperately. When he leans down over you, resting his forearms beside your head, he pushes in just a bit more and you whimper at the feeling. Chad wipes a stray tear off of your cheek and kisses you, short soft kisses in an effort to distract you from the pain and him from the overwhelming urge to push all the way in.

“Can I move more?” he whispers against your lips and you shake your head a little, too fuzzy to really think about it. “Please?” he whines, nuzzling into your neck. “Don’t I feel good, baby? Doesn’t my cock feel good inside you?”

“It does-”

“It’ll feel even better all the way inside.” His voice sounds so desperate and now he’s rocking his hips further, plunging another inch inside you and you moan because he’s right, it does feel good. The burn and pain of the stretch have gone away, giving way to pleasure. You want more, you want him, you just don’t know how to say it. “Please, baby, fuck. Your cunt feels so good, so fucking tight and wet and fuckin’ perfect for me. Let me fuck you, god, I need it so bad. Don’t you trust me? You know I’ll take care of you, right?”

You nod, babble out some response close to ‘yes, please, more,’ and then he’s pushing all the way inside, hips snapping forwards. You yelp at the intrusion, caught off guard by how full you feel, and then he’s thanking you over and over and over again as he sets a brutal pace. Chad’s weight is fully on you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you even closer to him. He can’t get enough of your skin against his, of the noises you make, of the way your pussy clenches around him and pulls him in closer, milking his cock.

“Thank you, oh fuck, thank you, Y/N. Christ, so tight.” His voice is cracking, raising an octave as he begins to lose himself in the feeling of you around him. The pain of his thrusts is quickly overtaken by the pleasure and you’re moaning, wrapping your legs around his hips, driving him deeper inside you. You both could die happy like this. “So close, fuck, how am I so close already?” He’s talking more to himself than you at this point and that’s okay because you’re too focused on the building pleasure in your gut to care.

The position you’re in has his pelvis grinding against your clit with each thrust and you swear your mind melts just a little bit more each time he fucks into you. “Please, please, please,” you say and you’re not sure what you’re pleading for but all you know is you don’t want him to fucking stop. You’re right there on the edge, can feel it through your entire body, and then Chad is moaning your name loudly and you feel him cum inside you, hips flush against yours.

You cum at the feeling of him filling you and he whines, hips rocking as you pulse around him. He’s sensitive, his head swimming, and the two of you stay like that for a moment, his head in your neck and your arms and legs wrapped around him. “So good,” he finally says, pulling his head back to look at you, his eyebrows stitching together. “You okay? M’sorry, I got carried away, I didn’t even ask-”

“It’s alright,” you say, running your hands up and down his back. You can feel him shiver underneath your touch. “I liked it.”

“Yeah?” he teases, kissing you on the lips a few times, biting down on your bottom lip as he pulls back. “Wanna do it again?”

You gasp as his hips begin to move again, the squelch of your cunt and his cum being fucked back into you filling the room. “Y-you wanna go again? Already?” He nods, hand snaking down in between you two, pressing against your sensitive clit and grinning when you whine. “If you can handle it.” You nod despite not knowing if you could; he grins. “My good girl, right? Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you cum till you’re stupid. You’ll look so pretty when you’re dumb on my cock, won’t you?”

#f1nalboys masterlist #f1nalboys writing #f1nalboys works #scream #scream 5 #scream 6 #chad meeks martin #chad meeks martin x reader #chad meeks x reader #chad meeks martin x you #chad meeks martin x y/n #slashers #slasher fic #scream fic

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svltzmans · 1 year

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so hot you're hurting my feelings - h.m.

a/n: this was a request from a lovely anon :) i had a lot of fun writing it so i hope you all love it! i'm still pretty new to writing explicit content so bear with me!! (i'm also obsessed with naming my fics after songs, this one is by caroline polachek and i feel like it fits the bill)

pairing: hope mikaelson x fem!heretic! reader

warnings: smut (18+), dirty talk, lots of praise including use of "good girl"

"how the fuck did you do that?," y/n asks, exasperated. her girlfriend, hope, had just performed the most intricate spell she had ever seen.

"here, i'll teach you," hope responds, going through the spell again, step by step, explaining thoroughly to y/n.

"you're so cute when you get into explaining something, but i'm still so confused."

"come on, you're a tough girl. i'll go through it again. you do it with me this time."

so hope performed the spell again, slowly so y/n could follow suit.

the first few times y/n attempted the spell, she just couldn't get it quite right.

it was frustrating, sure, but hope was right. y/n was tough. she wasn't one to show much emotion outwardly.

but hope could read her well. they hadn't been dating long, but hope had put effort into learning her girlfriend's mannerisms.

"hey, it's okay. you're doing so good."

y/n can't help the warmth that starts in her stomach and only moves downwards at hope's words. hope's naturally sensual voice never helps.

"let's try one more time. ready?"

and they do. hope leads the way, performing the spell slowly at first but gaining speed at the final steps. y/n continues mirroring hope's actions, and it's clear that she's gotten the hang of it.

"lecutio," they both chant, as sparks generate in both of their hands.

"look at you go, y/n! i'm so proud of you. you did such a good job," hope praises, taking y/n's hand in her own.

the feeling in y/n's body returns stronger this time, and she can't help the furious blush that comes across her face. she finds herself hoping that her girlfriend couldn't tell how her words were affecting her.

y/n's favorite part of her week was the "history of magic" class she shared with hope. the pair would always sit side by side, both dilligently taking notes on the course content while also slyly exchanging looks of admiration once in a while.

"does anyone remember the year "icaeus" became officially recognized as a spell?," the instructor speaks, scanning the room for willing students prepared to answer his question.

y/n raises her hand, much to hope's enjoyment. she admires her girlfriend's academic confidence, especially because many people see her as guarded and overly intimidating.

"around 3000 B.C.," y/n answers, not even referencing her notes.

"that's correct, y/n. someone's been paying attention," the instructor says through a smile.

hope leans closer to y/n until she's just inches away from her face. "damn, my girlfriend is smart. great job, beautiful," she says, smiling mischievously.

y/n has to physically stifle a sinful noise, although she manages to play it off with a playful eyeroll directed at hope. confident that hope didn't notice her initial reaction, she continues listening to the lecture of the day.

a wickery match was in full swing, an even mix of witches, werewolves, and vampires all happily participating, including hope and y/n.

not only is y/n tough, but she is also quite strong. nobody else in the game could throw the ball quite as far as she could.

after being passed the ball by kaleb, y/n realized she only had one possible move; throw it all the way across the field to a completely unguarded mg.

she knows it's not going to be easy, but doesn't hesitate to use every muscle in her arm to get it as far as she can.

to everyone's shock, the ball reaches mg seemingly effortlessly.

"holy shit! y/l/n, that was amazing!," lizzie shouts, her enthusiasm for the game obvious.

embracing the attention, y/n graciously recieves high-fives from the fellow players.

hope wraps her arms around her from behind, squeezing her girlfriend in an affectionate hug.

"you did so good today, y/n. i'm so proud of you."

this time, y/n whines. she hopes its quiet enough that hope doesn't hear it, but with her werewolf hearing, she's sure she must have.

y/n lays in her bed, several pages deep in a new novel when she hears a knock at her door.

"come in!," she shouts, almost certain she won't be surprised by who is standing in the doorway.

"hey honey, whatcha reading?"

it's hope, closing the door behind her and plopping into bed alongside her girlfriend.

"just this new fantasy novel. you know, like castles and shit."

"sounds like fun, but i think i'm more interesting."

nodding in agreement, y/n puts a bookmark in her novel and puts it on her nightstand. she lays next to hope, gently putting her head on her chest.

"can i ask you a question?," hope speaks after a few seconds of silence.

"anything," y/n responds.

"is there anything i say that... you know, has a particular effect on you?"

"effect on me?"

"yeah, you know ... something i do that.. you like?"

"i don't know what you're talking about."

y/n is lying through her teeth, and they both know it.

"i just happened to notice, you know, a pattern of behavior."

"what kind of behavior?"

"just, you know, some blushing. extra blushing. maybe even some interesting noises."

"fuck, you heard that?"

"oh, so you do know what i'm talking about."

"no!"

hope knew y/n wouldn't stop denying her desire for praise, and she knew exactly how to force the truth out of her.

"here, let me try something," hope says, looking y/n directly in the eyes.

"okay?" y/n looks directly back, although she is confused by hope's response.

"you are such a good girl, y/n," hope slurs, her voice sultry.

before hope can even register what is happening, y/n's lips are on hers, passionately moving against them.

"so i guess i was right then, huh?," hope teases when the pair finally separates to breathe.

"shut up, mikaelson."

"lay down," hope responds, y/n happy to oblige.

"such a good girl you are, listening to me," hope teases, running her finger down y/n's still clothed torso.

"jesus hope, just take my clothes off already," y/n responds, growing impatient.

and hope does, stripping y/n naked in what feels like a matter of seconds.

"so beautiful, baby," hope coos, before pulling herself on top of y/n, straddling her.

hope's hands start to gently wander, grabbing hold of y/n anywhere she could.

"hope, please just touch me."

"i am touching you."

"you know what i mean."

"i really don't," hope continues to tease. "if you want something, you're gonna have to tell me, otherwise i'll just never know..."

"please just put your fingers inside me," y/n interrupts, her skin growing hot with desperation.

"ah, that's my good girl," hope responds, only adding to the pooling between y/n's legs.

hope lays between y/n's legs, admiring her naked form.

running a finger over y/n's inner thigh, hope studies the way her body responds, with gentle twitches and heavy breathing.

finally, hope gently pushes two fingers into y/n, still focusing on the way she responds.

y/n can't help but let out an obscene moan, finally receiving the feeling she'd been craving for so long.

hope adjusts to a steady pace, curling her fingers each time they're fully inside y/n's aching core.

"such a good girl, taking my fingers like this," hope praises, her voice raspy.

"fuck, hope. f-feels so good," y/n manages to respond, feeling the pleasure build in her stomach.

hope uses her thumb to rub tight circles on y/n's clit, enjoying the way her whines and moans only get louder.

she feels y/n start to squeeze around her fingers, knowing she's close.

"gonna cum for me, aren't you? so good baby," she coos, encouraging y/n to let go.

"god, hope...," y/n almost screams, giving up on holding back as her orgasm crashes over her in multiple waves.

hope talks her through her orgasm with gentle whispers of "that's it, beautiful. you did such a good job for me."

when y/n finally comes down from her high and catches her breath, hope pulls her back onto her chest to relax.

"so, a praise kink, huh?," hope jests, earning a gentle push from y/n.

a/n: it's 7am as i'm posting this 😭 it's already horny on this blog this early

(also why is the formatting on this so weird like some of it is double spaced and some not? how do i fix this help)

#hope mikaelson x reader #hope mikaelson #wlw #legacies x reader #legacies

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vroombeams · 15 days

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it's too much there's too much world < sounds like my cup of tea despite me knowing null abt it!! I'm curious!

ah yes landoscar long distance relationship au!

it's turning out to be one of those wips where i'm like. i'll hop in and pick at it every now and then but it makes me like pretty sad to write so it's a small-dose sitch?? it is essentially a love letter to internet friends and a hate letter to the concept of distance lmao

non-driver au, it's so early days that i've not really even sorted what anyone's doing outside of being hopeless and miserable?? but it's like. oscar is working [job] that he really isn't into and he's just having a bit of a slumpy year or two? sad and stagnating or whatever and he's thinking about quitting and looking for something else, but then he meets lando in some forum online and they hit it off, and oscar spends all of the time he can talking to lando, and it sort of like. renews his zest for life? and all the shitty sloggy things are more manageable because he's got this presence in his life now that makes things easier to look at

after they get into the relationship, also, lando does encourage oscar to find some other job that doesn't make him want to peel his skin off, but at that point oscar's already saving every penny and making mental plans to fly to the UK the second lando is okay with him coming to visit. so he doesn't want to start anything new and risk any hiccoughs in pay or also potentially not being able to take the time off he can with his current job etc etc

anyway the fic is of course set around the leadup to their first in-person meeting and then the in-person meeting itself and the two weeks oscar spends staying with lando and how uhhhh. that all goes

pretty big chunk of messy wip under the cut!!

The quality in the Discord window settles and he can see Lando’s face properly. The soft square of his jaw. The pink bow of his mouth, curling out and up into a smile that makes Oscar’s chest ache.

He hurts to look at, when it’s like this. When it’s late and Oscar’s had all day to think about how badly he wants him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Lando says. The curve of his mouth goes sheepish. Lando’s selfish, in his way. He expects Oscar to be there when he’s said he’ll be there. But he knows what he’s asking for. They both know all of their uneven parts that don’t quite fit, the pieces of their lives that they’re jamming together, GMT peg into AEST hole.

Oscar shakes his head and he smiles back and he doesn’t have to force that, at least. "No worries. Tell me about your day?”

And Lando’s good at talking, so he does. He tells Oscar about his day, and the job that he doesn’t love but that pays the bills, and about his best friend’s new girlfriend. Lando’s good at talking and Oscar’s good at listening, so that’s what they do. Lando's little late night podcast for an audience of one; Oscar's personal, nightly radio show that quite thoroughly unravels his heartstrings every time.

“Oscar,” Lando says. Oscar blinks. He’s pretty sure he hadn’t been falling asleep. He could probably repeat back whatever Lando’s just said to him.

“Yeah?”

Lando’s quiet for a second, so still that Oscar wonders for a second if his camera’s frozen.

“Less than a month,” Lando says, so quiet that Oscar’s ears twitch.

Oscar smiles. This one’s not forced either. This one he can’t help. It forces itself out instead of having to be pulled. Less than a month and he'll be getting on a plane with a bag packed for two weeks in London. Less than a month and he'll have Lando in front of him, real and in person.

“Yeah,” Oscar says. “I—yeah. I’m excited.”

It's not eloquent or enough but his voice cracks, comes unstuck on its way up. Little hands, desperate fingers, clawing at the insides of his cheeks where a smile wants to haul itself into something worse.

“Me too,” Lando says. Soft. That’s how Oscar knows he really means it. These are the moments; when Lando goes so soft and quiet. These are the moments that Oscar knows it’s real.

[whips open trenchcoat] hey buddy wanna buy a wip

#abt.fic #landoscar #wip clips

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theee-collector · 1 year

Text

Teen Wolf Librarian AUs

A collection of Sterek fics where one of them is a librarian (most play in a library themselves)

This is Lovecantrophy by orphan_account

12.1K | Sterek | Teen

In which Valentine's Day is closely approaching, and Derek is a disgruntled grad student who works at a library. He's hit a roadblock on his thesis, he's harboring a (not so secret) crush on Stiles, and he keeps receiving werewolf-themed gifts from a secret admirer. Basically, Derek is totally oblivious and angsty, Stiles does a lot of planning off-screen, and Erica and Scott are awesome friends who are awesome.

Unknowing First Date by gayderek

1.2k | Sterek | General

Derek doesn't share, but for some reason he lets the mystery boy sitting across from him borrow his headphones. Turns out that the Mystery Boy isn't mysterious at all. He's kind of annoying, but he's kind of cute too.

You're the piece that I just found out how to fit to by pseudofoucault333

23.2k | Sterek | Explicit

Stiles is known as the tattooed reference Librarian, the somewhat reluctant crush of most teenagers in Beacon Hills and the son of the Sheriff. Derek is the new Deputy in town who has a history of heartbreak. Will Stiles' persistence pay off to help him get Derek to trust him and will Derek finally admit to himself that not everyone looks at him and sees a pretty face?

Inside this place is warm by wolfcloaks

40k | Sterek | Explicit

Coming down; One love, two mouths Stiles Stilinski: -Senior at Berkley -Double majoring in Human Biology and Biomedical Engineering -Student Librarian -Closet Artist -Basket case extrodanaire -Hopelessly crushing on Derek Hale (read as: pining) Derek Hale: -Grad Student at Berkley -Philosophy Major -Dog enthusiast -Does not cry during The Notebook, fuck you,Laura -Is definitely not pining over the librarian with the cute moles -Would very much like to tell the librarian's curly haired boyfriend to fuck off Or Where Derek and Stiles are complete dweebs in love and jump to horribly inaccurate conclusions Or When your meet-cute turns into a bit of an (light) angst fest but it's all ok in the end

Hale's Library & Coffee Shop by scarlettletterr

3.8k | Sterek | Mature

College Student Stiles is looking for a place to work - so he can pay his bills - when his friend from class, Erica, mentions that her boss is looking for someone to help at Hale's Library and Coffee Shop. Stiles gets the job, along with a giant crush on his boss, Derek, that seems obvious to anyone but him.

Don’t Judge a Book by its Cover by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

6.1k | Sterek | General

“Hi,” Stiles said jovially with a bright smile. “How can I help you?” For a few seconds, hot, sexy guy said nothing. He just stared at Stiles like he’d never seen another human being before. Eventually, after a sufficiently long and awkward silence, hot, sexy guy had said, “I’m looking for a book.” “Sure thing!” Stiles had then waited. Because—he worked in the public library, so someone coming in asking for a book was normal, but only asking for a book with no other details was a little too vague. “Um, I’m gonna need you to be a little bit more specific,” he’d informed him. “Right.” Hot, sexy guy had looked flustered, some of his murderous aura dissipating.

Checking You Out by wherearethebreaks

7k | Sterek | General

Usually, the people who actually did come into the library used the computers. Usually, Derek could just sit at the small table behind the circulation desk and spread out his papers and get his homework done. But not that day. Oh no. No, some random guy just barged in, doors slamming loudly behind him, tripped over a display for some new books they'd gotten, and didn't sign in, (which, who doesn't know that you have to sign in during school hours?) all before running, running, into the non-fiction shelves. Who runs in the library? Who doesn't sign in? The librarian who usually had to deal with the rowdy and unruly teens that often wandered inside to talk loudly with their friends, was in the bathroom. Meaning, Derek was the one who was going to have to deal with this kid. Something he'd never really done before; therefore, didn't know how to deal with. "Uh, excuse me?" A.K.A: Derek is a library student aid and loves the peace and quiet, a quiet that is interrupted by a fellow student that Derek has to kindly deal with. To bad the guy's a total cutie that shows up the next day, and the one after that to ask him out.

You taste so bitter and so sweet by EmmisaryStilinski22

5.2k | Sterek | Not rated

Dear 402, Your two dogs woke me up every night this week at 4 am! Please silence your hounds from hell! Regards, 403

Dog Days of Summer by CarnalCoffeeBean

1.9k | Sterek | General

Beacon Hills, as it turns out, is actually boring as hell. Or, the one in which summer is boring, Derek accidentally becomes a library volunteer, Lydia and Erica get shit done, Stiles researches werewolves, and multiple people trip, stumble, and fall flat on their faces on their way towards something resembling love.

Special Collections by hannah_baker

16.4k | Sterek | Explicit

Stiles Stilinski is a senior in college working on his thesis. Derek Hale is the grumpy (though inhumanely attractive) special collections librarian. All they needed was a common interest to spark a friendship that becomes more than either of the bargained for.

Can I get Your (call) Number, baby by lielabell

4.9k | Sterek | Teen

Thing is, for the most part, Stiles's loves his job. He loves the quiet hush of the library, the way it smells like must and old books. He likes walking through the stacks, collecting books to be shelved. Likes sitting at the reference desk, hell, he even likes the fact that they still have a card catalog, even though no one ever uses it. Everything about the job is amazing. Except... Except for the music majors.

Stacking up by bravelittlesoldier

8.2k | Sterek | Teen

Stiles is working in the basement of the Library of Congress and is feeling his social skills quickly deteriorate. Then along comes a new librarian working at Circulation who is most definitely a male model. Maybe its time to start re-socializing.

Librarians Always Know What To Say by codarra

1.1k | Sterek | General

Derek comes into the library where Stiles works. A lot. Only he doesn't know Stiles' name. And he's fairly certain Stiles doesn't know Derek exists.

Baby, I'm yours by yodasyoyo

4k | Sterek | Teen

Honestly, Derek Hale didn’t think he could be surprised anymore at the things you see working behind the circulation desk of the university library. He thought he’d seen it all. There’s a guy that comes in on Thursdays that carries a kitten in his bag and thinks Derek doesn’t know. There’s another guy that comes in every other day or so to catch a nap in a secluded corner. And then there’s the couple that Derek’s had to kick out three times now for having sex in the stacks. There’s this one guy that has, by far, expanded Derek’s list of strange happenings in the library. He only knows the guy’s name because he has to come to Derek to check out his books and it shows up on the computer but it’s not actually anything Derek can pronounce so it doesn’t really help. Anyway, Unpronounceable-first-name Stilinski is always up to something.

#librarynerd by yodasyoyo

7.7k | Sterek | Teen

“I’ll likely get far more done in the group if I’m not distracted watching you with your pen--” “My--My pen?” “Pens. Drinking straws. Don’t act like you don’t know,” Derek says darkly. “You know.” ____________ In which Stiles follows Scott into his Spanish study group, takes one look at the hot nerd who runs it and then decides to stay... even though he doesn't actually speak Spanish.

Old you in the garbage(new you in display case) by dearericbittle (dutchmoxie)

13.5k | Sterek | Teen

Stiles is lonely and desperate and suffering from a crush on the grumpiest librarian. So what’s a boy to do but cook up a ridiculous plan to get himself dated and/or finally get laid before the holidays? He just wants his She’s All That moment, okay? He never expected that the plan would actually help him get the guy.

#sterek #teen wolf #rec list #tbr

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