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tumbleweed-run · 7 months

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To Distraction

(18+, Explicit)

Gale’s been busy the last tenday, to the point you’re wondering if he’s not bewitched. He’s spent most of his days and evening in his study face buried in some tome or another. When you’d asked him what caught his attention about two days into the obsession he’d tried to explain but had a fit of ‘idea’ mid explanation and wandered off.

He’s not being unkind. You still get kisses when he wakes and whenever you wander into the room to see he’s at least eating and drinking. He still crawls into bed for a few hours every night and holds you close. He tells you he loves you when you walk in and out of rooms. He just isn’t present it seems.

You love his focus and most of the time his drive to learn and understand all things magic. You understood this would happen, you’d seen it with the crown long before you’d ever set foot in Waterdeep. But you hadn’t realized just how much you’d miss him and his attentions.

You’d be lying if you didn’t admit you also missed those attentions as well.

In fact it’s been the entire tenday since the two of you were intimate. He barely sleeps as it is so propositioning him during the few hours your lying in bed together doesn’t seem the way to go. So you just haven’t been together in days.

The idea sparks one morning as you’re perusing the shelves of his study while he’s completely lost within a book, the tea you brought him going cold on the desk. You find a book there. Not some archaic tome filled with the words of scholars but a rather modern little novel. A bawdy one at that. You surreptitiously slip it from the shelves and into your pocket. Though reasonably you probably could have told him you were taking it and he still wouldn’t have realized what you were doing.

You spent much of the day reading Gale’s naughty little book of a lonely noblewoman and her black-hearted kidnapper turned seducer. It’s a raunchy book filled with explicit acts and does little to keep your mind from Gale. If anything, it makes the ache of missing him worse, well, it certainly makes the ache between your legs worse.

You’ve decided you’ve had enough. Gale is free to wrap himself up in whatever it is that’s caught his attention but not to the point he’s forgotten about you.

That night you ignore your normal bedclothes in favor of a rather sheer nightgown. One better suited to a new bride on her wedding night. You’d felt silly buying it not long after moving to the city but it had been so lovely you couldn’t resist. Now you realize you’d given yourself an uncommon weapon against the loneliness you were feeling.

When you slipped back into the study, Gale was writing something. He was surrounded by several candles to ward off the darkness of the evening, most of them close enough to pose a serious fire hazard to his clothes.

“Good evening, my love,” He says, still focused on his desk.

“Good evening,” you repeat, settling onto the little couch the two of you had dragged into the room.

Gale had wanted to make sure you could be comfortable in the room, give you a place to be when he was at the desk. It was a comfortable plush thing that was a dream to curl up on with a book or simply take a nap. More importantly, for tonight, Gale could see you from his desk.

You rest back against the arm for a while, legs stretched out in front of you, watching him. No matter your apprehension about the sheer number of candles, the light did suit him unfairly. Then again you found most light suited him.

You aren’t shy as you slowly begin dragging the hem of your nightgown up above your knees. Once it reaches your thighs you leave it rest, one hand continuing to trail upwards to your breast. You run a finger teasingly over a nipple coaxing it to hardness.

Relaxing further back, you allow your head to rest on the arm of the sofa, no longer able to see Gale. Or see if Gale sees you. Even if he doesn’t right now, he will seen.

You continue teasing your nipple, the hand on your thigh caressing gently. It’s not quite what you want.

You want a much larger hand gently cupping your breast. You want its fingers, calloused from both weapons and quills, to be the ones gently pinching your nipple. Instead, it’s your smaller fingers making you gasp out loud as you do just that.

Your other hand slowly makes its way up your thigh. You both do and don’t want to rush it, your toes curling into the soft cushion in agonizing anticipation. It feels a bit like torture to move so slowly but for every bit that this is for you it’s also for another reason.

You close your eyes to resist lifting your head to see if he’s looking now.

The thin fabric of your nightgown has been crumpled up to your waist. You draw up one knee and let the other fall open barely balanced on the sofa, baring yourself to the room. To him.

You take a breath, trying to relax further.

You slip a finger down in between your folds. You’re wet, you have been since finding that silly book. Or perhaps you have been for days because gods damnit why won't he touch you? Why has he somehow managed to ruin even touching yourself?

Another breath.

You imagine his hand, his fingers seeking out your clit to rub it in maddening little circles.

You’re letting free shy little moans. The confidence you had in your plan is still there but its hard to undo a lifetime of modesty.

It’s so easy to imagine it's him touching you while surrounded by so much of him. This room, even without Gale, would smell of him for years.

You let your other hand drift to your ignored nipple. It’s already so hard that the fabric over your breast is pulled taut. You’re barely conscious of the whimper that is pulled from you when you flick your thumb across it.

The fingers between your legs dip deeper, you press one inside of yourself. You can’t up but rock your hips into your hand, your one foot dropping to the floor to give you more room. You press your finger in as deep as the angle allows, moaning as the heel of your hand grinds into your clit.

It’s the whisper of fabric against your leg that get you to open your eyes.

Gale is standing above you. Eyes flicking between your hands as if he’s not really sure what he wants to watch the most. He’s looking at you with the same intensity with which you’ve seen him studying his books the last several days.

Finally, finally, that beautiful brain is focused on you.

He notices you watching him after a few moments.

You boldly hold his gaze as you slip a second finger into yourself, the soft slick sounds brazenly announcing how wet you are.

“Gale,” you whimper pinching your nipple.

He drops to his knees as if they’ve buckled out from under him at the sound of his name on your lips. You wince slightly for him.

His gaze finally settles between your legs. He’s frozen that way for a second just watching you fuck yourself with your fingers. But then he reaches out and grabs your wrist, stilling your movements.

“May I?” It’s more of a breath than a question.

You consider being cruel and denying him his request but in the end it’s your own selfish desire for him that wins over.

You slip your fingers out from between your thighs but before you can make any kind of decision Gale’s grip on your wrist guides them to his lips.

Without hesitation and without shame he sucks them into his mouth. You both moan when he does. You can’t move, can’t think, as you watch him greedily clean the wetness from your fingers.

Fuck, oh fuck.

You understand some things about men all of a sudden.

He works on your fingers long enough that surely the only thing that could be left on them is his own saliva. Only then does he let you pull them from his mouth.

He rests on hand on your knee and looks to you in silently pleading. As if there were any way you could possibly tell him no.

You nod weakly.

He positively dives into you with his mouth and the noise that comes out of yours is inhuman.

He works on your clit with his tongue like a man starved. As if he’s decided the only thing that could possibly sustain him were your moans. He grabs your hips and drags you further towards him forcing your one leg to drape over his shoulder.

You think you might die.

You’re certain you will when he presses one of those fingers you were fantasizing about early into you.

He’s near frenzied with how he fucks you with his mouth and fingers and yet no less skilled.

Somehow in your fog you realize he’s moaning, his body rocking ever so slightly. And you realize, he’s touching himself as he devours you.

It’s enough to push you over the edge.

Your back bows and you can’t help but tangle your hands in his hair, drawing him even closer, grinding against his tongue and fingers as the waves of your climax take you.

He stays there happily until you push him away, everything becoming too much all of a sudden.

You’re panting as you reach for him and when you drag him to you, you find he is too.

You kiss him until you no longer taste yourself. Until it’s just Gale on your tongue.

You reach down to grab him. Instead of finding him achingly hard he’s already beginning to soften.

You pull back and raise an eyebrow.

He clears his throat, a light pink color dusts his cheeks. “It’s ah, been a while,” he admits bashfully.

“Who’s fault is that?” You meant it as a tease but the tone is just a touch to heavy for that.

He has the decency to look properly chastised. You can see him mulling it over in his head before he abruptly stands tucking himself back into his pants.

He nods.

Then abruptly you’re lifted from the sofa. You squeak, arms flailing as you grab for his shoulders.

“Allow me to properly make my amends,” he says searching your eyes.

“I thought you just did?” You’re certain he did, even your imagination isn’t that good.

Perhaps it's the way a candle flame catches in his eyes, or maybe it’s a flicker of mischief. “I believe I have several days to make amends for.”

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x tav #gale x reader #i'm going to write this man going down 101 times and I still wont be over it

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thesassypadawan · 2 months

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Distracted (Master Anakin x PadawanFemReader)

Summary: During a sparring match with your master, you get just a little distracted.

Warnings: 18+, because all the lovely smut. Size difference, age gap (about 20 years), and Ani’s magic fingers. Padawan reader is of age.

Anakin ignited his lightsaber. “All right, padawan of mine, why don’t you show me what you got,” he said with a sly smirk.

“With pleasure, master,” you practically purred, igniting your own.

It was hours ago that Ani and you had started your friendly sparring match. You were both panting and sweating, you more so than him. And, despite the feeling of exhaustion setting in, you continued to dodge his attacks. Striking at every possible opportunity, even though your arms were growing heavy.

Pausing for a moment, you stared intensely into each other’s eyes. Sensing his own fatigue, you boldly go in for a feint attack. Thinking you would be able to finally finish him off and end this. “It’s over, old man!”

But Anakin being Anakin… With a powerful pull from the force, your saber was torn from your hand and sent sailing across the empty training room. Effectively catching you off guard and allowing him to easily pin you to the mat.

“Care to say that again?” He playfully scolded, a look of satisfaction on his handsome face. One of his big hands wrapped around your wrists, the other with a firm grip on your hip.

“Get off me,” you whined, wriggling beneath him. “You’re too heavy, you’re squishing me.”

Leaning down, he teasingly brushed his lips against yours. “Only when you address me properly, little one.”

You wanted to kiss him back so badly, but the chance to give him a taste of his own medicine was too great. And Ani always said that you should use every opening to your full advantage. “Fine,” you pouted. “Get off me…daddy.”

That certain spark flashed in his eyes. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” he chuckled, beginning to shift his weight off you. “Now, let’s go-”

With the combination of a swift movement of your limbs and a quick summoning of the force, you turned the tide. “Losing your touch?” You asked coyly, enjoying the sight of his large form sprawled out under you.

“You think so?” Anakin muttered, running his hands up and down your thighs. “Guess, I’ll just have to show you how wrong you are.” He emphasized his point by cupping and squeezing your breast tenderly.

A soft whimper escaped you as you felt the warmth build between your legs. Craving more, you began to slowly grind yourself against his very hard and very prominent bulge. “Daddy…”

“Naughty girl,” he groaned, rolling his hips upwards. “I should punish you for such behavior, but I think I’ll reward you instead.”

In an instant, you found yourself pinned once more. His organic hand resting on your needy pussy. Rubbing it gently, making you squirm and mewl desperately. “Please.”

“Don’t worry, baby.” He skillfully slipped his hand under your skirt and past your lacey underwear, fingers brushing against your clit. “I’m going to take real good care of you.”

Shivering at his touch, you let out a loud moan. That was quickly silenced with a searing kiss. “Sshhh, got to be quiet…don’t want the whole temple to hear you scream like that.”

Part of you really could care less. In fact, the very thought of someone discovering the two of you like this excited you even more. But you were daddy’s little girl, and you didn’t dare to disappoint. “Yes, daddy.”

“That’s my sweet baby,” Ani cooed, sliding a finger into your sopping cunt. “Unless…” He slowly began to pump in and out. “You do want everyone to know that you belong to me…”

Another thick digit and you were practically a writhing, hot mess. Gripping tightly to his broad shoulders, clawing at him frantically as you bit down on your lip.

“And only me,” he growled, the sound deep and husky. All the while curling his fingers teasingly against that wonderful spot deep inside of you. Trying to make you cry out as his pace quickened.

It was all so blissfully overwhelming and yet you still hungered for… “More,” you whispered, gazing up into his blue eyes pleadingly. “I need more.”

“More, huh?” He added a third finger, his thumb pressing down and rubbing small circles on your neglected nub. “All right, whatever my little girl wants…she gets.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes as you were so deliciously stretched. The burning ache made you clench around his digits, your release so painfully close. “Da-Daddy, m-may I…”

“Cum?” Anakin sped up more; his gloved hand covering your mouth, anticipating what would happen next. “Yes, you may…cum.”

Pounding hard into you one last time, he drove his fingers even deeper. Your back arched off the ground and your vison filled with stars. Your cries muffled as wave after wave of raw pleasure crashed over you.

Once your breathing returned to normal, he removed his hand from your mouth and his fingers from your warm pussy. Groaning as he licked them clean of your slick. “Come on, angel baby,” he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Let’s go finish this match in our quarters.”

“But, Skydaddy,” you huffed. “I want you right here…right now.”

Scooping you up off the ground, he effortlessly tucked you under one arm. While using the force to bring both sabers to his free hand. “Hey, now,” he swatted your butt with them. “None of that sassiness or else you’ll get a good spanking.”

Sometimes you forget how strong he really was. “Promise?” You giggled, smiling up at him.

A wide grin crossed Ani’s face and he gave you another swat. “Yeah…I promise.”

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thepaperpanda · 7 months

Text

Warnings: smut, aged-up Bakugo (21+ yo), fem!Reader, daddy kink, overstimulation, hair pulling, spanking, choking, face slapping, dirty talk, degradation

Synopsis: Bakugo returns home, seething with anger. To his surprise, he notices that his rage seem to ignite a spark of desire within you

Author: @doumadono

A/N: Welcome to the second day of Kinktober '23 Collaboration! I'm absolutely ecstatic to share this delightfully naughty piece of fiction with you, and I hope you find it thoroughly enjoyable! Today's prompt: overstimulation

💥Masterlist💥

From the early morning hours, you were glued to the TV screen as a massive battle unfolded in the city center involving a villain group. Each time the camera focused on Bakugo in the background, your boyfriend appeared not only frustrated and angry but seething with rage. It was evident that the cooperative action wasn't going as planned, and it was taking much more time than initially estimated.

The front door's lock emitted a beep as he pushed it open, his crimson eyes ablaze with dark fury. The door slammed shut behind him, the lock audibly clicking into place.

"Katsuki, I saw everything because…" The words faltered on your lips as he strode across the living room, his hand abruptly making contact with your cheek. A sharp sting spread across your skin, and a rush of desire coursed through you. His large hand effortlessly wrapped around your throat.

"What did you just call me?" His voice was nothing but a gravelly, almost a menacing growl, intensifying your shock and arousal. "You know better, fucking slut."

Oh, he was so exasperated.

“Sorry, daddy,” you squeaked out. Your soft whimper of desire elicited a wicked grin on Bakugo's face, and he pressed his lips firmly against yours. As your mouths met, a low, sensual moan escaped your lips, merging with his hungry kiss. His skilled tongue danced with yours, igniting a fiery passion between you. "I'll be good, I promise, daddy," you panted between gasps as he bit the soft flesh of your neck after breaking the passionate kiss. "I'll help you ease the anger, kay?"

"I know you fucking will," Bakugo growled, letting go of you as he swiftly took off his own shirt. "You're always a good little whore when daddy's angry," Bakugo taunted, a sly smirk crossing his face. "Now, strip for me."

You hurriedly shed your last pieces of clothing, slipping out of a snug pair of shorts and a tank top.

Bakugo's gaze bore into you, desire igniting his crimson irises, sending shivers of anticipation down your trembling fingers. As you stood there, completely exposed to him, his strong fingers returned to your head, gently guiding you over the edge of the couch. You pressed your face into the sheets, a faint blush of embarrassment warming your cheeks as the cool room air brushed against the dampness between your thighs that already managed to form.

"Well, well," Bakugo mused.

You detected a sly grin in his tone as his fingers lightly traced over the curve of your ass.

"Look at you, so aroused and eager. Does my anger really turn you on that much, dumbass? How pathetic. Aren't you a little, pathetic whore for daddy, hmm?"

All you could manage was a quivering gasp as he slid a broad finger along your drenched folds, teasing your sensitive clit. In an instant, his finger vanished, replaced by a sharp, stinging slap against your asscheek, eliciting a cry from your parted lips.

"Use your fucking words, you knucklehead. I asked you a fucking question."

"Yes, daddy," you moaned weakly as his hand struck your ass once more, the pleasurable sting sending shivers directly through your core. "You make me so wet, daddy…"

Bakugo chuckled, giving your ass a soothing caress before delivering another firm smack. "Tsch, you fucking whore. Did you think about my hard dick while watching me on TV, hmm? Are you such a dirty slut?" One of his hands slipped between your thighs and his calloused index finger rubbed fast circles over your clitoris.

"Yes, daddy!" Your voice quivered, ending with a small gasp as you heard the unmistakable sound of his belt buckle being undone while he was brushing his fingers against your vulnerable spot, making your thighs shiver.

“Oh fuck, princess," Bakugo emitted a low, primal growl as you sensed the mushroom tip of his rock-hard dick pressing against your slick entrance. “Just what daddy needs, fuck. You're so hot and wet, dumbass.” He slid inside you with ease, filling you immediately with his impressive, veiny length, each thrust threatening to split you in half. "You're nothing but a cumdump for daddy."

You were reduced to incoherent pleas beneath his rough assault; each buck of his hips driving him to penetrate you deeply, filling you immediately with his impressive, veiny length, each thrust threatening to split you in half. "Dear God, daddy! Oh! Ah!"

He wrapped your hair around his fist, jerking your head upwards as he thrust faster. "God, you're so fucking tight," Bakugo gasped, his words strained through clenched teeth. "Fuck. I can't believe your petite, little cunt can fit me so fucking well."

Your body clenched around his thick dick involuntarily as his words sent shivers down your spine. Fingers gripped the couch cushion desperately, seeking stability amidst the intensity of his rough pace. “Daddy…" You moaned weakly, the tightness in your core growing. Your slick walls quivered around him, eliciting a bestial groan as his hand moved from your scalp to your neck and pulled you flush against him. "Fuck, please!" Your voice was a keening mewl as you scratched weakly at his strong arms, your orgasm on the brink, your thighs shaking uncontrollably.

He chuckled lowly in your ear as his other hand snaked around you, two large fingers pressing firmly and massaging your swollen clit. "Yes," he moaned, "Come for daddy like a good little whore. Soak daddy's cock, princess. Show me what you've got."

As though waiting for Bakugo's permission, you surrendered with a shuddering cry. "Daddy!!!"

He continued to work you through the sensation, slamming his thick dick into you, his heavy balls slapping against your ass as his fingers played your clit expertly like an instrument.

You panted and moaned loudly for him, already feeling yourself approach your second orgasm quickly as he squeezed your throat softly.

“That’s daddy’s good little slut,” he growled in your ear, nibbling your earlobe as his thrusts increased furiously as you came again, soaking his hand, your pussy clenching around his cock convulsively. "My little, horny bitch in heat."

Once the high began to ebb, you whined softly, wiggling your hip, trying to free your clit from the overwhelming feeling of his calloused fingers pressed there.

“Tsch, slut," the smirk in Bakugo's voice was evident as he continued pounding inside you. “Daddy’s not at all done with you yet.”

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 4 months

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visiting König's humble abode

(MDNI, cw: talking about not wanting to have children)

the part before: sending him a naughty pic (nsfw)

The whole day long, there is this certain pep in my step. The knowledge that I did something a little dirty… the pics we sent back and forth… and the promise that I’m gonna see him again in just a few hours has me on cloud nine. My cheeriness caught on and one of my colleagues even asked me what had gotten into me, and I just shrugged it off, still not able to hide the grin that’s adorning my face.

When I get home from work, I pack a small bag of the bare minimum I need, in case this is a sleepover kind of situation – which I am kind of hoping for, not gonna lie, then I wait for him on the curb in front of the apartment complex again. Just like yesterday.

His car drives down the street and just seeing it, makes me grin from ear to ear again. It feels familiar by now, waiting for him to pick me up – even though this is just the third time. Today is a little bit different from yesterday. I don’t feel any of the tensity when he stops the car right in front of me. He looks like a dream, in the simple black shirt, that hugs his tattooed biceps just right, unintentionally showing them off when his arm reaches back behind the passenger seat, as he waits for me to enter.

A light blush creeps up my cheeks, when my mind comes back to what we did in the backseat. And then I also think about our long… conversation this morning. The pics of him. The…

My thoughts get pulled away when his face lights up in a smile, the seriousness vanishing as the corners of his mouth turn up. His brows not quite so furrowed anymore. The laughlines around his eyes highlighting the spark in them. Which makes the big scary looking guy not look scary at all. I realise that I’m mirroring his joyful expression – and yeah, the sex has been really fucking great so far, but more than that: I’m just happy to see him again.

I get in the car, greeting him with a simple “Hi”, leaning forward to give him a kiss while I drop my bag on the floor between my feet. He grabs me, his hand spanning across my throat, his thumb and pointer gently digging into my jaw. He pulls me into him, pressing his lips to mine, hot and heavy, his tongue stroking against mine, tasting me. His hold on me is still soft, but the way he just grabbed me… A hint of possessive. Needy. Almost desperate. And I answer his kiss with the same frenzy.

When he lets go of me, I’m panting and a little dizzy, it honestly could have been minutes or just seconds. I don’t think anybody ever kissed me like this. And I want him to do it all again. Preferably while he’s buried deep inside me.

“Hi.”, he says back, the corner of his mouth tipping up into a smirk. The hazy feeling dissipates and I recognize the band that’s playing on the car’s speakers.

“Oh, you finally listened to Sleep Token!”, I exclaim. It is one of the bands I told him to listen to because they have been consistently on the top of my list this last year.

“I did.”, he says, while he pulls out of the driveway.

“And how do you like them?”, I ask, a bit nosy.

He shrugs. “They’re nice and chill, I guess.” He smiles at me, a little sparkle of amusement in the corner of his eyes. “Although I have to say, I’m a bit surprised that you like ‘em so much, they’re much ‘softer’ than the stuff you usually listen to.” which has me giggling a little bit.

“That might be true.”, I chuckle. “I can’t explain it either, but the lyrics and everything just has me in a chokehold.”

The last beats of ‘Vore’ fade out and ‘Sugar’ starts playing, the sultry voice and the soft sounds filling the car and I grin to myself.

“You know what they jokingly call that genre?”, I ask him.

He shakes his head. “No, I don't.”

“Baby making metal.” The grin that adorns my cheeks is almost bigger than my face.

He shoots me a look, half amusement, half serious contemplation. “But what if you’re not making babies?”, he finally asks.

I furrow my brows, but my grin stays on, albeit not being as wide anymore. “Well, it’s supposed to be a joke, like tongue-in-cheek, you know because the music is all sensual and sexy. Like not actually making babies, you know, I wouldn’t even want t-”, I break off, biting my tongue.

Silence engulfs us for just a moment, a moment where we both seem to contemplate what to say now.

“I actually got a prescription for taking the pill.”, I tell him then. Called my gynecologist during lunchbreak and picked them up on my way home.

He whips his head in my direction, to look at me. “Why- but- I'm not gonna be on leave for that much longer, we-”, he stumbles through three possible answers at the same time.

“Don't worry about it, it was my decision.”, I explain, a lopsided grin on my face, because I maybe could have brought it up another way.

His eyes dart to me for another quick look. “I see. What made you uh- decide that?”, he wants to know, friendly curiosity in his voice.

“If something happens, like the condom breaks – which is a possibility –, we still have a failsafe. All the fun of ‘making babies’ without making actual babies.”, I joke, feeling a bit uneasy underneath the grin on my face, because talking about babies with the guy you just started sleeping with is… well, let’s just say, there are more comfortable subjects. But when my eyes are drawn to him again, seeing how relaxed he seems now, it puts me at ease as well.

He smiles at me again. “I can understand that.”, he says.

Another silence, the music still softly playing. The silences with him are not uncomfortable, I mean, they never have been so far, and there were quite some when we went to the concert in the beginning of the week. The moments when I thought I had already talked to much, even if he was content just listening to me, because he’s not a big talker.

So, I’m a bit surprised when he starts to speak again first.

“So… and you don’t have to answer, of course, if that’s too personal of a question. You don't want any children … ever?”, he asks, his soft voice bringing a lightness to the question.

“I don’t really want any ever, yeah.”, I answer assertively, shrugging at the same time. “Not in this life.”

I look to the side, at him. Thinking that he might say something along those lines of 'oh, you're gonna change your mind when you're older'. The same shit I always hear. ‘You’re still young, just wait a few years.’

But he doesn't. "I see.", is all he comments.

I’m still looking at him, not able to hide my surprise, but I don’t actually say anything.

"What? You're not gonna have me argue against that.", he mutters, and I can feel the moment of hesitation before he continues speaking: "I don't feel like my job is really compatible with a partner and family." and sighs and shrugs. "So, I came to terms with never having one quite some time ago." He turns to look at me. "I understand, as somebody who had a hard time explaining that to his own family, and I'm just a man."

I sigh as well. “Yeah, but it is what it is. It’s not their life after all.”

He smiles at me, the smile only barely reaching his eyes, something I’ve never seen from him before. “That’s right.”

I clasp my hand over his that’s holding the gearshift, caressing it for a bit. He lifts it and squeezes my fingers softly, a little reassuring gesture.

“We’re almost there.”, he says, smiling a little more relaxed again.

I knew he couldn't live too far away from me because he never takes long to get to my apartment. I’ve been watching the way he drove us, surprised when he took a few turns that lead to the outskirts of the city. And when he tells me that we’re there soon, I look out the window more intently, almost pressing my face up against the cool glass to see better, missing some light because of the darkening sky.

Little patches of forest, few fields in between, and a single road that passes his house. No neighbors in sight.

My jaw drops when I see it. It's not a big house by any means, but it has a facade that seems to be from the last century at least. Simple frescoes adorn the top of every single window, up until the round one right under the dark tiled roof. Ivy ranks up the whole right side of the grey painted walls.

I don't know what I expected. Same like with his car. Seeing the house now makes so much sense, but if you had asked me before, I probably would have guessed he had a modern, but simple three-room-apartment. Not a house with a white-picket-fence and a little garden, leading further into a small patch of green woodland.

He opens up the garage door with the push of a button and parks the car in there. I get out, not waiting for him to open the door for me, looking around all nosy. The garage has a little workshop and some gardening tools. Another set of tires for his car. And something else hidden away under some tarp. Wheels peaking out at the bottom that kind of look like they belong to … a bike?

I hear the cardoor shut and his steps when he approaches me. "That is the door that leads inside.", he tells me, gesturing in the direction. A grin adorns his face. "If you wanna take a look." And he knows my nosy ass enough to know, that I sure as shit want to.

I nod – more excited than I should be – and push through it, entering the main part of the house. I kick off my shoes, leaving them right there, beside the entrance door.

The corridor is plain white, a singular lamp lighting it up, a simple sidetable on the right side, a wall mounted rack with his jackets, although it’s half empty, and a rack for the shoes underneath.

I run by a kitchen, with white cabinets and grey marble worktops. A cooking island in the middle of the room. A big ass fridge, even though he lives alone. I guess it takes a lot of food to keep his physique up.

I head a little further down the hallway, until I reach the centerpiece of the house.

The living room surprisingly bright for all the dark furniture that’s placed inside. Curtains hang in front of the huge windows, pulled to the side, letting in lots of light and showing off the little garden outside. A door leads out to the patio.

A big black couch, with soft looking cushions. A simple end table and a lamp beside it.

A tiled fireplace on the one wall, stairs leading both upstairs and downstairs in the corner of the room.

But there is one thing that pulls my attention.

I’m completely mesmerized by the wall of books in front of me, spanning from one side to the other. I look at the whole shelf, every single row of books. In between, there is some open space with a TV hanging from the wall and quite a huge soundsystem on the wooden furniture. On the lower shelfs beneath, there is a plethora of vinyls, some seeming pretty old, others are obviously newer, and also CDs like the ones in his car.

I go back over the books, my fingers brushing over their backs as I read the titles and authors. Lots of classic horror and thrillers like ‘The Shining’, books in German that I can’t pronounce, even though I recognise the name Goethe, but also Sunzi’s ‘The Art of War’. Some books on philosophy and technical handbooks. But most of it is entertainment literature.

“I read a lot when I’m on leave.”, he explains, which makes me look back at him. He’s leaning in the door frame, a door frame he doesn’t even really fit in. The signature black jeans, a simple black shirt that hugs his biceps with the way he has his arms crossed in front of his chest. His hair hanging down to the side, the tips of it grazing over the tattooed skin, when he moves his head talking. My god, can he stop being this attractive?

“I can see that. I’m quite jealous of your collection, to be honest.”, I say.

“You can borrow any of them, if you’d like.”, he offers.

“Really?!”, I exclaim excitedly, already inspecting the rows for some fitting subjects, but my eyes dart back to him. Waiting for an answer.

He shrugs, but the little smile on his lips stays on. “Yes, I mean I have read most of them, I guess they deserve to be read by somebody else as well.” That little piece of information gives so much about him away. He lives here alone – at least staying here when he is on leave – and he must stay alone most of the time. With what I know now, that he hasn’t really been dating the last few years and that he doesn’t plan on having a partner… It feels so contradictory to the house that is too big for one person, even for a giant like him. What about his friends though? He surely got friends that come over from time to time, no?

I turn back to the books, a simple “Okay” on my lips, not knowing what else to say, the familiar feeling tensing up my shoulders, while I still search for some I’d actually want to read.

His eyes are on me the whole time, just watching, observing, what I’m doing. I can feel them on my backside, trailing down my whole body, and I’m a bit self-conscious that I only put on simple leggings and an oversized shirt, even though it’s a cute one. After my special outfit choice at the concert, I didn’t want to keep up any unrealistic expectations, and this is what I would have worn visiting somebody on any other Friday. It isn’t a date, technically, he just asked if he could “kidnap” me, so… I still hope, he thinks it’s cute.

I pull out books that sound interesting, some familiar, some not so much. Until I have a pile of them in my grasp, Jules Verne’s ‘Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas’ right at the top.

“I’ll read through them a bit later and then choose which to take with me, okay?”, I reassure myself with six books on my arm, looking at the big guy still only standing there.

“Sure, take whatever you like, Kleine.”, and the expression on his face lets me believe for just a second, that he might mean more than just his books. I ignore the tingle that rolls down my spine, as I set them down on the end table next to the couch.

My eyes find him again, darting to the stairs leading up. “So…” I sway from one foot to another, while a little bratty smile plays around the corners of my mouth. “You got a bedroom in your abode as well?”

His gaze darkens in an instant, the soft smile turning into that damned smirk that makes my knees weak, but there is also some reprimand in his look. He pushes himself off the doorframe, stalking closer with slow, big strides. “I do indeed have a bedroom.”, he answers, his voice a tad deeper than before.

I grin at him, feeling like red riding hood coaxing the big bad wolf. “You wanna show me ooor…?”, I continue. The tension between us flurries through the air, I can almost feel the moment of suspension prickling at my fingertips, before I dart away and he leaps forward, catching up to me in just two quick steps.

He grabs me, which makes me squeal and giggle, and throws me over his shoulder. I wriggle in his hold on me, playfully straining against his arm securing me there, but it’s futile anyways. “Stop it, Fräulein.”, he grunts, slapping my ass – once – with his other hand. I yelp again, but a bright grin stalks onto my lips as I tease him with a “Yes sir”, that earns me another spank.

next part: hanging off König's shoulder or more Stuff in the Masterlist ~

a/n: thanks for tuning into this plot part of the pwp - the other p will follow... uni in january is kicking my butt, so bear with me, the next five parts are already in the works - "just" need to finish them (will take more time)🫠 i might also post some more random scenes, that don't fit the plot right now - or possibly never - that are just sitting in my drafts and thanks for reading, as always <3 (it makes my day to see names coming back everytime c':)

#metalhead!könig #she likes the dark #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

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jamilelucato · 8 months

Text

possibility - fred weasley

pairing: fred weasley x slytherin!reader

(it can be read as a one-shot) (part 02 here!)

summary: Amidst the boredom, an unexpected connection sparks between (Y/N) and the charismatic mischief-maker, Fred Weasley.

note: They are in their last year at Hogwarts, so, for purposes, they are 18; besides, the whole canon of the book (it would've been Order of the Phoenix) is mostly nonexistent here.

the reader: can be interpreted as someone with ADHD; she loves literature and she has no friends.

words: 7580

Enjoy!

The lesson trudged on, dripping with tedium.

In truth, (y/n) quite liked Professor Flitwick. She had, in fact, eagerly accepted his invitation to become his assistant whenever the First Years graced his class. Being an assistant delighted her to no end. Yet, being a student, well, that was a different cauldron of bubbling potion altogether.

Today, Flitwick's lecture on Spellcasting and its perils was dragging on and on. As a sixth-year student, the curriculum seemed more intent on delving into existing knowledge than offering exciting novelties. While these topics might hold allure for a future Auror or the like, they were a one-way ticket to Boredomville for her.

Ever since (y/n) had decided upon her career path – a decision that seemed to have been brewed in the deepest recesses of her being – most of her classes had metamorphosed into a soporific ordeal. Hogwarts wasn't particularly renowned for its prowess in teaching language and literature, but that was precisely where her ambitions lay. A writer, a wordsmith, perhaps even an editor or a high school pedagogue. Anything that would let her commune with the magic of words, not the sort that burst from wands.

Now, she wasn't a woeful spell caster by any means. Professor Flitwick wouldn't have sought her assistance if she weren't a smart witch. But, her heart preferred the dance of ink on parchment over the intricacies of wand-waving, often rendering her classroom hours relatively inconsequential.

Seeking refuge from this stifling monotony, (y/n) allowed her gaze to wander. And in this sea of faces, her eyes collided with Fred Weasley – the school's most notorious ginger-haired mischief-maker. He was already watching her, a mask of effortless nonchalance draped over his face. He raised his brows at her, noticing she was staring back, and he did not look away. And so, they locked eyes, neither relinquishing the connection. It was not a duel of gazes; it was more like a shared secret, a silent agreement over how tedious the class was.

A minute passed in this silent communion until Fred graced her with a faint smile. The spell was broken, and her attention returned to her empty parchment. A quiet sigh fluttered like a long-forgotten page being turned, but it vanished into the air, unheard by all but her.

With pen in hand, she felt an almost magical compulsion to transcribe Flitwick's words onto her parchment. His voice, though droning before, now seemed less boring.

“To its nature, we shall survive it, but the opponent targetted... not so much,” the professor intoned, the words finally finding their mark within her consciousness. Cruel nature, indeed. “Well,” she mused, her back moulding into her chair as her quill danced across the parchment, “Every spell I remember does possess a hint of danger.”

At long last, her notes held substance, and her enthusiasm, while subdued, had been rekindled. Her gaze again drifted sideways to where Fred Weasley was, only to find he had shifted his focus – to his twin, George.

They sat side by side, mirror images of naughtiness. (y/n) sometimes forgot that they were identical twins because she was so used to having them around that they started to look apart. George's height had a mere smidgen of variance, while Fred's nose was a tad more prominent. Freckles played a symphony across their faces, arranging themselves differently – Fred’s were more concentrated around his forehead. Yet, at that moment, as (y/n) blinked through her confusion, she wondered if she'd mixed up their features. Had she glimpsed George's grin instead?

But then, as if choreographed by fate, Fred resumed his original posture and caught her looking. His lips curled into an unmistakable smirk. ��It's certainly Fred, then,” she thought, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, unwanted. She redirected her attention back to the good Professor Flitwick and his lesson, and weirdly enough, after all that gazing, she had regained her focus and was more ready to be a satisfactory student.

Amidst her studies, (y/n) was ensconced within the library's embrace.

This day bestowed upon the library an uncommon hush, a tranquillity that seemed to defy the norm. The librarian always managed to get the kids quiet, but she couldn't stop them from coming all at once when frenzied by the looming spectre of approaching exams.

However, an anomaly unfolded on that Friday afternoon, bestowing upon (y/n) the most unexpected gift – the library, in all its boundless expanse, was hers to claim. A rarity that, peculiarly, she found herself not enjoying. Amidst the solitude, her focus waned like a candle in a draft, flickering and unstable. Concentration eluded her, much like the fleeting caress of a dream upon waking. Reading, that intimate act of solitary exploration, seemed to have metamorphosed into a daunting endeavour. It was one thing to lose oneself in tales of princesses or the adventures of chiselled, sun-kissed heroes, but an entirely different ordeal to grapple with the intricate world of potion brewing.

For (y/n), the allure of fantasy books or any literary work was nothing short of enchanting, capable of whisking her away on wings of imagination. These volumes, she devoured with unbridled speed. Yet, a profound disinterest surged within her when it came to the theoretical tomes packed with knowledge mirroring the lectures she endured. If she were to be entirely frank, she might even admit a smidgen of disdain for these volumes.

So she would never take them to the dorms with her — she would much rather read them in the library, filled with other students. The presence of others functioned as a gentle but firm tether, binding her to the task at hand – reading, absorbing, and taking notes. The collective energy of focused minds bolstered her resolve.

Alas, a rather desolate air hung over the library's expanse on this day.

Thrice (y/n) had shifted her position, seeking companionship in proximity, only for her hopes to be dashed within thirty minutes. A sigh, tinged with resignation, escaped her lips, and in that crestfallen moment, a shock of crimson manifested in her field of vision. A pair of vibrant red-headed twins strode in. Nestled at the tables near the corridor's entrance, she watched them meander, their steps unhurried, eyes wandering. “Searching," her inner voice concluded. Certainly, the twins held a more potent allure than the secrets of cauldron cleaning or its ilk, a fact her current book seemed intent on imparting.

Though (y/n) watched from her vantage point, removed yet intrigued, the twins' presence would've caught anyone's attention had there been any other student around. As their gaze swept the expanse, (y/n)'s musings dipped into the realm of speculation, imagining the myriad thoughts dancing behind those crimson veils.

In a place where solitude was typically her archenemy, she now sat pondering the enigma of the Weasley twins, the allure of their presence momentarily overshadowing the dusty tomes that lay before her.

Fred and George stood at a distance, too far for (y/n) to gain a comprehensive view. Instead, they ambulated the space with a purpose that eluded onlookers – a relentless quest for something unbeknownst to her. As they wandered, their forms flickered in and out of her view, now one visible, then none, then both, and once more only one boy.

Fixated on the one nearer her, she strained her vision to discern. Could it be Fred? A question played a merry dance in her mind, teasing but refusing to commit to a definitive answer. His profile was turned towards the shelves, a curtain of red hair obscuring details. Besides, distinguishing the twins remained a daunting task without a survey of their noses.

Abruptly, a voice infiltrated her thoughts, causing her to startle in her seat, “You know we saw you, right?”

She swivelled around, only to be met by the missing twin positioned just behind her. Leaning over her chair's backrest, he inclined his head inquisitively, a solitary auburn eyebrow arching with playful curiosity. Witnessing her wide-eyed astonishment, the Weasley released a soft, subdued chuckle, a mischievous symphony woven into the sound. “If you want my brother's number, you can just ask,” he added.

So the one talking to her was Fred. She quickly glanced at his nose bridge, trying to see the intricated details left by a Quidditch match gone wrong, yet his voice functioned as the telltale sign. He audacity to issue such a provocative remark to a girl with whom they held only the most tenuous of connections – that could only be Fred's doing. Moreover, his tone carried a specific timbre distinct from George's. It was, for lack of a better word, smoother to her auditory senses. Not that George's voice was anything less than agreeable, but his was a quieter, more reserved resonance. She mused that her lack of familiarity with George's vocal cadence stemmed from his status as the quieter half of the duo, while Fred's unending stream of chatter had made his vocal imprint indelible in her ears.

A manufactured laugh escaped her lips, a tinkling facade, "Haha, Weasley. I don't want no one's number."

Fred inclined his head, a bemused glint in his eyes as if coaxing her to reveal more.

Nestled more comfortably in her chair, she raised her chin a fraction, a silent assertion that she was unreservedly facing the boy. This small shift seemed to foster a sense of openness between them.

"Studying is boring, so you guys looked like a distraction," she declared with a nonchalant shrug.

His voice dripped with theatrical incredulity, “We? A distraction?” Fred's lips curled into a playful smile, his head tilting as he leaned slightly away. He stood tall, towering over most, a fact he seemingly embraced with ease. Though his height wasn't sufficient to overshadow Ron (a surprise, really), it cast a considerable shadow over (y/n), particularly in her seated state. The disparity in stature unfolded in a tableau that her neck found almost physically taxing to endure.

With the book held closer to her chest, (y/n) drew a deep breath, her response tinged with a touch of exasperation, “Honestly, anything is a preferable pursuit than deciphering 'how to brew... a potion.'” Her fingers clutched the book, the page title a weighty secret she held close, refusing to vocalise it aloud.

An unexpected shift occurred as Fred commandeered the neighbouring chair, situating it with a proximity that nudged their personal space. “And weirdly enough," he said. Lowering himself into the seat, he offered a sly grin, his gaze steady upon her, “You always get good grades at Snape's classes.” A movement almost imperceptible – a twitch of the head, a hint of satisfaction – played upon his features.

(y/n) registered the proximity with an awareness that tickled her senses. The book, her veiled treasure, lay nestled in her grasp, poised for closure to deter prying eyes.

She shrugged, expecting him to forget what she held close, “I'm Slytherin, after all.”

“Ah,” Fred snapped his tongue in the roof of his mouth, a sound almost as if he had drunk something and was now satisfied.

Shifting her gaze quickly at George, she hoped he would come to her rescue and take his twin away.

“Not so fast,” Fred interjected, his large hand sweeping down to rest atop the book's cover. “What secrets are you hiding there?”

Her gaze flitted from his eyes to his hand, a growing wariness churning within her. Her fingers tensed around the book, futilely attempting to shield its contents. But deftly, the book was relinquished from her hold and into his.

His melodious voice breathed life into the words etched on the page, “Let's unravel this mystery... 'How to Brew a Love Potion,'” he read aloud, his playful and teasing tone. Amusement twinkled in his eyes as they danced up to meet hers. “Wow, (y/n), I'd never take you for one who needed a love potion.”

To match his wit, (y/n) maintained her playful gaze, a smirk curving her lips as her retort unfurled, “Oh, I don't know, Fred. Perhaps that's my secret to acing Snape's classes.”

Not even the weight of dark humour could ruffle Fred Weasley's composure. His smirk swelled, infused with a brew of mischief that danced in his eyes. “If that's the case, you're terrible at it. I distinctly recall a certain incident involving Snape's homework, and if memory serves, it nearly rendered you floundering.”

She averted her gaze, her attention shifting to the captured book still cradled within his hands, the prospect of regaining it receding into the distance.

“Thanks for the recall, top-tier student,” she quipped, a playful glint in her eyes. “Now, are you willing to tell me your secrets? What are you doing here, in the library?”

Fred's laughter danced like a secret melody, an intimate note that lingered in the air, his eyes shimmering with a clandestine glimmer. “What's life without a little mystery?” he joked, his voice a velvety caress.

She mirrored his stance, a symmetrical lean that brought them closer, the gap between their faces now an invitation. Their proximity wove a delicate tapestry between their banter and a realm of deeper connection. “Is that so?” she inquired, her words drawn out in a languid purr, the air heavy with a mingling of intrigue and allure.

He matched her pace without the need to ask. The dance of their words had woven a tapestry of amusement, their shared enjoyment eclipsing the pursuit of concrete answers. After all, Fred barely had learned a secret. He was smart enough to know (y/n)'s book had been opened on a random page.

“If I tell you why I'm here,” he mused; his gaze, which had been steadfastly locked onto her eyes, dared trace a path to her lips, “what will you give me in return?”

(y/n) thought herself very wicked when her answer came quickly, “A love potion?” she playfully suggested.

His smile faltered, his breathing taking on a deeper rhythm, a transformation she couldn't help but notice.

“I don't need that,” he purred, voice dipping lower, “however, you...”

An eye-roll framed her response, though she didn't retreat from his proximity.

“Weasley...” her voice began, her tone laden with a mix of exasperation and uncertainty, an attempt to convey a sentiment she was grappling to articulate.

“Fred,” he interjected, the word a soft murmur, his eyes holding hers earnestly. Noticing her bemusement, he continued with a gentle lilt, “Call me Fred.”

She processed his words, pondering the significance of calling him by his name instead of his surname – a departure from the collective label that often accompanied the Weasley clan around Hogwarts.

A nervous throat clearing preceded her tentative utterance, “Fred." She tested the name as if savouring the syllables as if she did not know it before.

Flirting was an uncharted territory for (y/n), a realm she now tiptoed into, fueled by trepidation and exhilaration.

“Lucian Flewchief's book.”

The words hung suspended, (y/n)'s brow furrowing as she sought to decipher their meaning. Was that Fred’s way of flirting back? Suggesting a book? (y/n) was puzzled. That was a new way of flirting she never knew of, but she hoped the book was some young adult fae fantasy.

Fred's perception of her confusion prompted him to lean back slightly, dissipating the cosy bubble they'd woven. He clarified, “That's our objective here – locating Lucian Flewchief's book."

Her understanding unfurled with an "oh" of realisation, the pieces clicking into place.

“We're also the reason behind the library's current solitude,” he continued, an impish glint in his eyes. “George and I orchestrated a bit of a distraction to ensure we could slip away without drawing any undue attention, Godric forbid, with a book in tow!”

So that explained why she was the only one lingering at the library. Though it made sense, it stirred a tinge of melancholy within her.

Curiosity nudged her to question further, her tone now coloured with intrigue. “Who is this guy? Flewchief? And why the necessity for secrecy around his book?” Her queries were genuine and earnest, though sadness crept into her voice as their playful exchange segued into a more sober dialogue.

Fred swayed his head before replying, “He's a master at pranks.”

An eyebrow arched in response, (y/n)'s curiosity unabated. While she may not have been an expert in the art of pranking, one would expect to have heard of such a renowned figure, right?

Observing her perplexity, Fred inhaled deeply before disclosing, his voice lowered almost to a whisper, “He's a muggle author.”

Recognition flashed across (y/n)'s face, though she remained silent. Yet, subtle shifts in her posture – a subtle sag of her shoulders, a slight tightening of her lips – betrayed a sentiment that did not escape Fred's notice. He understood the Slytherin disposition all too well; prejudices were not uncommon.

She unravelled a piece of herself with an unexpected candour, her words confounding Fred's expectations. Instead of disparaging comments or dismissing glances, she offered something else entirely.

“I want to be a writer for muggles,” she confessed, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “I like to write fantasy, you know. But that's not a genre for wizards; our reality often rivals the most fantastical of fiction. So, my focus turns toward the muggle readers.”

Though caught off guard by the revelation, Fred remained silent, feeling a surge of admiration for her. He hadn't anticipated such a response.

“I can help you find Flewchief's book,” she offered, swiftly transitioning past the exposure of her own secret, determined not to let her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I know this library well, particularly the section reserved for muggle authors. I presume you and George have little familiarity with the place.”

A crooked smile curled upon his lips in response. “Indeed,” he admitted with a chuckle, “you could even say 'no familiarity'; it's quite fitting.”

While (y/n) couldn't quite fathom how any student or individual could navigate life without venturing into the depths of a library, she empathized with their unfamiliarity. The muggle literature section was cloaked in segregation as if Hogwarts itself was disconcerted by such volumes.

Rising from her seat, she gathered her assortment of potion books. Truth be told, she harboured no illusions about accomplishing any meaningful research that afternoon. She left only one book behind – the one currently cradled in Fred's grasp.

“Are you coming or…?" Her voice hung in the air, a hint of playful theatricality accompanying her question.

Promptly, Fred sprang from his chair, the solitary book still in his possession. With (y/n) as his guide, they embarked on a journey through the library's labyrinthine aisles. Initially, they returned her stack of books to Madam Irma Pince, whose sole acknowledgement was a fleeting glance, her eyes flitting over the pile as it landed on her counter. Her gaze flickered momentarily as if recognition finally settled in at the sight of the redheaded companion beside (y/n).

“A Weasley," Madam Irma Pince declared, her observation stating the obvious. Fred, however, found himself grappling with an appropriate response. Ultimately, he opted for a shrug, his head tilting in acquiescence.

“I’m Fred,” he offered, his voice laced with a touch of formality. “But, you are absolutely correct, I am a Weasley."

It was abundantly clear that the librarian was well aware of which Weasley he was.

“Don’t tear my books apart,” she cautioned, her voice edged with warning. “And don’t you dare burn this place down.”

Fred's lips pressed into a tight line, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. He responded with a curt, “Noted."

(y/n) glanced up at Fred and then to the side, studying his expression. His tone left her somewhat perplexed – she couldn't discern if he was indulging in sarcastic provocation or if he held genuine offence at Madam Irma Pince's admonitions. She reflected that the torrent of criticisms from every adult figure must have been tiring. Yet, the twins hadn't acquired their notoriety by chance; their reputation as school pranksters was well-earned.

The three exchanged furtive glances before Madam Irma Pince averted her gaze to her counter. Her intentions, on the other side, remained veiled to (y/n). Fred possessed the capability to peek, but (y/n) held doubts about him exercising that prerogative.

Clearing her throat, (y/n) eased away from the librarian, and Fred followed suit.

“Take me to George,” she requested. Detecting Fred's immediate confusion, she elaborated, “So both of you can scour the shelves for the books. I can assist, but I'm not quite tall enough to reach all of the shelves.”

“Again," Fred inclined his head toward her, and at that moment, a subtle shift occurred, the playful dance of flirtation vanishing as swiftly as it had emerged, “Thank you for the assistance”. His expression was appreciative, genuine, a quiet acknowledgement of her assistance.

With a soft smile, she replied, “Don't mention it," her voice bearing a hushed quality, her gaze evading direct eye contact. “You’ll just own me one.”

He chuckled, “Uh, the unspoken possibilities.”

Indeed, Fred. Indeed.

It was a rather cold day.

But it was Saturday and Hogsmeade trip day, so (y/n) put on her thickest coat and decided to face the snow.

Her fellow housemates buzzed with excitement, eagerly anticipating the visit. Yet, for (y/n), this outing held a more sombre purpose – a pilgrimage to Honeydukes. While her friends were pursuing quills and ingredients, (y/n) sought only solace in candy. These past few days had been trying, and the kitchen house elves had quietly declared her persona non grata, etching “no longer welcomed" onto their secret walls. So she’d have to buy her own sweets from now on.

“Feeling hot today?” a voice chimed from behind (y/n).

She clutched herself, attempting to stave off the relentless cold. Hogsmeade always exuded a chill, but it seemed that nature was intent on pushing the mercury even lower today. Not even her trusty coat could entirely repel the biting wind.

The voice was familiar; she recognised it as belonging to Fred Weasley.

“Where’s your other half?” she asked, noticing George wasn’t around.

“At the school,” Fred replied, bridging the distance with a few long strides. Given the frigid weather, (y/n) moved slowly, rivalling the old ladies of Diagon Alley. “He's caught the flu.”

A chuckle escaped (y/n), though her amusement was laced with empathy. “After today, I might end up just as sick.”

Fred mirrored her laughter, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle. Then, shifting his gaze towards their right, his expression became more earnest. “Come on, let’s get you something warm. Tea?”

True to his suggestion, Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop loomed just a few steps away.

(y/n) scanned her surroundings, from Fred to the inviting facade of the shop, and for a fleeting moment, the idea appealed to her. But then, a mental alarm sounded – this place was renowned for romantic trysts, a haven for couples from their year. For a time, (y/n) had considered herself above such traditions. But as her sixteenth birthday came and went, and she remained unattached, she longed for the experience of a boy inviting her to tea. Now, at eighteen, it seemed more a fanciful dream than a tangible possibility.

So Fred was definitely not suggesting it as a date.

“I actually have to head to Honeydukes,” she replied, her features arranged in a grimace, and she gestured with her body towards the store at the far end of the bustling Hogsmeade street. “That's the only reason I'm still here.”

Fred bit his lip in thought. “How about we grab a tea to go, then?” he proposed, his determination unwavering. He peered down at her, shivering in the cold, taking in her petite frame. “In less than fifteen minutes, you'll be on your way back to Hogwarts.”

The notion of sipping on something piping hot was increasingly appealing.

“Promise?” she asked, her tone a touch childlike.

Fred extended his pinky finger, encased in a slightly faded red glove – likely a Weasley hand-me-down. Not that (y/n) considered herself entitled or wealthy, but it was common knowledge that the Weasleys weren't the richest in monetary terms. Yet, they were undeniably wealthy in children.

Her own pinky fingers remained nestled deep within her pockets, safe from the cold. Fred glanced down and chuckled.

“Come on.”

She sighed, “Fine, Weasley. But you're footing the bill,” and when she noticed he was about to playfully protest, she added, “You were the one who insisted, after all.”

They walked together, resembling a pair of penguins navigating the icy terrain. (y/n)’s hands, nestled within her coat pockets, were shielded from the biting cold, yet their elbows still grazed one another now and then as they strolled leisurely.

Fred gallantly held the door open, allowing her to enter the cosy shop, and she expressed her gratitude in a soft murmur. While he proceeded to the counter to place their order (when queried, (y/n) simply requested, “Any tea will do, as long as it's the hottest available"), she contemplated the peculiar friendship that had taken root between them.

She'd never been an opponent of Fred, or the Weasleys, or anyone within Gryffindor, as one might have assumed. However, their closeness was a relatively recent development. When confronted with one of the twins' pranks, (y/n) was often the first to laugh, captivated by the sheer audacity of their exploits. She believed magic should be harnessed for amusement, not as a weapon; consequently, she found their approach to their magical talents endearing.

Because of her laughter, Fred and George had never targeted her with their pranks. Their mischief was generally directed at Malfoy and his ilk. Occasionally, she'd return to her common room and find something amiss, but she understood it was their way of rebelling against the entirety of Slytherin and its values rather than a personal affront.

By her fifth year, (y/n) considered Fred and George her acquaintances. They exchanged nods in the classrooms and other shared spaces. Being in the same year, she had grown accustomed to their voices and learned to differentiate between them.

Moreover, the Weasley twins had a certain charisma that she couldn't deny. She had met Fred’s older brothers before, so their good looks were no surprise. She realised this charm extended to Fred as he approached with two cups of steaming tea.

His freckles had always been a distinctive feature she admired. Yet now, she also noticed the appeal of his height, his shoulders broad and strong, typical of a Beater. His hair appeared soft and straight, inviting her fingers to run through its fiery strands, although she knew better than to entertain such notions.

Strangely, it was his nose that intrigued her the most. It was the distinguishing feature that allowed her to differentiate between Fred and George. She found it more masculine and captivating than the rest of his features. Not to mention his chest, which had once tantalisingly revealed his abs through a sweaty Quidditch shirt during a match. The sport certainly worked wonders on bodies.

“Thank you,” she said before taking a sip. She freed her hands from her pockets only with the prospect of holding something scolding hot.

Fred observed her closely as she tasted the tea, noticing how her eyes momentarily closed in bliss and how her body seemed to uncoil, the tension in her shoulders dissipating.

“All right, off to Honeydukes I go," she declared, pivoting towards the Tea Shop's exit.

Fred followed her, hastening to hold the door open once more. A subtle blush dusted her cheeks, and she was relieved that the shop was still relatively empty. A couple occupied a dimly lit corner but seemed too concentrated on each other to notice Fred Weasley being nice to a Slytherin girl. So that’s saying a lot about how entertained that random teenage couple was.

As they stepped back into the brisk Hogsmeade air, (y/n) noticed that Fred was still at her side. She didn't voice any complaint, though. Ever since the day he had sought her help at the library, she had resigned herself to the idea that she might never get the opportunity to converse with Fred alone again. George was always around, and if not him, then someone else. And even though, if she tried, (y/n) could engage in conversation with the other twin or with a Gryffindor student, she would rather not.

In fact, it was rare to find someone she would like to engage in conversation with.

Fred was a… welcoming surprise.

“Uh," Fred's voice cut through the silence, which had settled between them as they enjoyed their tea, “can we make a quick stop here?"

They were passing by Zonko's Joke Shop, renowned for its extensive collection of prankster essentials. Of course, the shop would undoubtedly be on Fred's daily checklist. However, his request to pause at the store intrigued (y/n), given that she had never envisioned walking with him that day. Sure, he had treated her to tea, but that hardly counted as an expense, and she had mentioned her eagerness to return to Hogwarts promptly.

“It won't take long, I promise," he assured her, taking note of her delayed response. “Just add five more minutes to your wait. I'll escort you back, no worries."

(y/n) hesitated for a moment. “You really don't have to do that," she replied, taken aback by his gentlemanly offer.

“As if I'd let you make the journey alone."

She gazed at him in the wake of his response. “I'm a witch," she pointed out the obvious. “It's not like I can't handle a few dangers."

Fred cocked his head, a teasing remark on the tip of his tongue. “Can you defend yourself against the cold?"

She didn't respond; her answer would have been a resounding ‘no.'

“That's what I thought," he declared, a knowing smile dancing on his lips.

She arched an eyebrow, her free hand resting on her hip, her other still cradling her tea. “And what can you do to protect me from the cold?" she challenged Fred.

His smile grew, and he knew he had the perfect response. “Keep you from slipping on the icy ground."

Annoyed by his accuracy, she sighed loudly as they entered the joke shop.

The shop was bubbling with people: it was a living organism. (y/n) struggled to recall the last time she had set foot in this place. She had certainly visited the joke shop before, back in her third year when students were first allowed to venture into the village. Like her peers, she had eagerly explored every store without exception. However, as time passed, most of the shops had become familiar and somewhat ordinary to her. She only made the trip to Hogsmeade with a purpose now. Coming just for butterbeer seemed pointless, especially when she lacked the company of friends to sit with and share laughter.

So, following Fred Weasley as he browsed around the shop put her in a silent trance of observation and gaping. He moved confidently, searching for items and locating them quickly, with the same precision she'd demonstrated when she'd guided him through the library the other day. (y/n) followed at his heels, like a child following its guardian. In less than three minutes, they were already in line to pay.

“How do you know where everything is?" she asked, enjoying the moment of calm the checkout line offered. “I don't think gathering all that took you more than five minutes."

And it was indeed quite a haul. Fred's two hands cradled dozens of boxes and items like precious cargo in his lap. The teacup he had been carrying was now held securely by (y/n), ensuring that her hands were occupied with warm objects to fend off the cold.

Fred responded with a casual shrug to her question. “How do you know where all the books are in the library?" he countered.

“I don't know," she replied, her response unfiltered. “I guess I've just memorised it over time."

“Me too," he said, his eyes fixed on the shop as if watching his beloved. “Not to give reason to my fame at Hogwarts, but of course, my favourite shop has to be Zonko’s."

The line at the checkout stretched long, leaving (y/n) and Fred standing in contemplative silence, pondering the curious connection that seemed to be budding between them. Amid it all, (y/n)'s thoughts swelled like a bubbling potion. Were they friends now? Could she consider adding him to her list of friends for Christmas shopping? These questions lingered, but she found herself without a clear answer. It felt odd to directly ask such a thing; friends didn’t ask if they were friends. They either were or weren’t, organically becoming over time.

But despite the comfort she felt around Fred, she couldn't quite label it friendship. The issue, she concluded, was her own. She had a deficit of friends and now understood why: she wasn't wired for it. Friendship wasn't part of her programming. Fred, on the other hand, was a different breed. Friendship was his natural state, woven into his very essence. He exuded a friendly aura, even if many Slytherins would vehemently disagree.

She didn't need to wonder whether he considered her a friend. He most likely did. He never targeted her with pranks; he exchanged glances with her in class often and was currently offering to escort her back to school. Fred saw her as a friend.

But did she want that?

“What are you thinking?” he inquired, pulling her out of her contemplative reverie.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie,” he said, relaxing his shoulders. “I can see the smoke coming out of your ears like a cauldron.”

She had no clever reply, so she was content with wrinkling her forehead and lying. “I’m thinking about how quickly I will be able to get all the candy I want. Definitely not as quick as you, here.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Why?”

“I love candy and definitely know where everything is at the shop,” she explained, tilting her head unconsciously as she spoke. She explained, unconsciously tilting her head while talking. “But I have to gather enough to last until our next trip to Hogsmeade, and I'm not certain I can calculate that. I love chocolate, so one would assume I'd need to buy a lot to make it last. However, if I get too much, I'll eat more than I should. And trust me, I will eat everything I buy," she concluded with a hint of warning in her tone, as if she were issuing a threat rather than sharing a piece of information.

Fred swallowed hard, trying to wrap his head around her unique thought process. “Are you stockpiling sweets?"

She nodded, feeling a twinge of embarrassment.

“Well, if you do end up eating it all, I'll show you where to get more, you know, from the kitchen with the house elves," he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up as if he were secretly pleased with himself for sharing this tidbit.

“Oh, Weasley," she shook her head, dramatically feigning pitifulness. “I already know the secret passage to the kitchen. That's precisely why I have to stockpile chocolate in the first place. I've been painted as a criminal there for how many sweets I've pilfered."

He couldn't help but chuckle, though he kept it discreet.

“I can't believe it," Fred said with mock disbelief, then paused as if pondering again. “Well, actually, I can."

With the two cups of tea-to-go in her hands, she raised her shoulders in a half-shrug while raising her hands in tandem.

“So yeah," she concluded, “I have to stock up until the Professors allow us to come here again."

Staring at him, (y/n) couldn't help but think that Fred was on the verge of saying something. However, something must have caused him to change his mind, and he remained uncharacteristically silent. A few seconds later, he was called to the cashier to settle the bill for his items. (y/n) patiently waited behind him, casually sipping her tea.

When Fred returned to her side, the numerous small boxes he'd been clutching had been consolidated into just two cardboard bags, which he effortlessly carried in one hand. The two of them exited the joke shop, savouring the last remnants of their teas. By the time they reached Honeydukes, the cups had already been discreetly disposed of in the nearest bin.

“Have fun," he wished her warmly, courteously holding the door of the candy shop open for her to enter. (y/n) returned his friendly sentiment with a smile—precisely the sort of well-wishing one would expect before embarking on a shopping spree in a candy store.

Fred lingered in a quiet corner of the shop, surreptitiously observing as she gleefully navigated the aisles, carefully selecting her candies and placing them into a plastic basket a diligent store employee offered. She appeared far more animated here than he had ever seen her before—back in the library, she had come across as somewhat bored, and the same was true in their shared classes. While she undeniably held the status of a top student with excellent grades, Fred couldn't help but wonder why she seemed to lack the enthusiasm and focus he might have expected from someone of her academic calibre.

However, gathering her desired assortment of sweets took considerably longer than the five minutes Fred had initially anticipated. When he finally met up with her at the cashier, the man behind the counter handed over not one, not two, but three full bags of assorted candies and confections.

Fred couldn't help but jest, “Wow, someone's clearly outdone me."

“Mine's supposed to last longer," she retorted with a wry smile, determined to maintain her composure.

Fred's grin only broadened. "Will it, though?"

There was no malice behind his teasing; his natural inclination was to engage in playful banter, a habit he would have indulged with George, Ginny, or anyone else. If anything, he found himself enjoying the camaraderie that was forming between them, appreciating the quick-witted exchanges that characterised their interactions. And (y/n)'s response was predictable by now—a blend of half-anger and half-challenge that had come to define her expressions.

They left the candy store, their playful back-and-forth continuing as they walked, with Fred progressively leaning in closer with each exchange.

Fred's next question unintentionally left (y/n) feeling mortified as they approached the Three Broomsticks.

“Are you sure you don’t want a good, old butterbeer?” he asked. “It’s alright if you do. I won’t linger at your friends’ table; I’ll just drop you there and find Oliver Wood or someone else.” He said, using Oliver as an example, for he was the one name he remembered to have seen around the village.

It was weird, now that Fred had come to think of it, how he did not recall seeing one person from Hogwarts around Hogsmeade, even though he knew it was a crowded day there.

She had no friends to meet there or anywhere else. She cleared her throat, avoiding eye contact, “I don't have friends in there."

The proximity to the inn allowed them a clear view through the frosty windows, revealing the familiar faces of fellow students enjoying butterbeer.

“Why? Haven't they come to Hogsmeade?" Fred asked in surprise, momentarily distracted by the scene inside. “I swear that's Carmen Highland if my eyes aren't deceiving me," he remarked, gazing at the occupants within.

Lost in the sight of her former friends, Fred hadn't noticed that (y/n) was gradually distancing herself from him. She knew Carmen and recognised the other kids at her table — Andrea, Miniu, and Shenny. But they weren't friends anymore.

At least, not anymore.

“It is Carmen,” she reassured him, in case Fred would start considering he was indeed blind. “We’re just not friends, though.”

Fred finally snapped out of gazing through the cold glass window and returned his gaze to her.

“I distinctly remember all of you being quite lively at dinners and walking around classes," he said, furrowing his brows. “Unless Carmen has look-alikes I'm unaware of, I'm certain it's her. I've seen her during my Quidditch practices, competing for the pitch."

A smile tinged with embarrassment danced on (y/n)'s lips. She smiled not because she was pleased with the memories but because she was trying to conceal her inner gloom. “I used to walk with Carmen, and Miniu, and Andrea and Shenny. But that was way before.”

“No, I…”

“It was, Freddie,” she interrupted before he made her remember another memory. It was only because of her use of his nickname that he understood she wasn’t alright. “We were friends in the first year. Us and a bunch of other kids, so tight together because we were Slytherin, and we had to stick together because then we’d be victims of bullying from other houses.” Fred opened his mouth, but she continued, “Don’t deny it.”

Fred sighed and nodded.

“In our second year, the group started to shrink, and it ended up being just me and that table," she explained, her gaze distant, as if the memories were playing out before her eyes. "But I began to feel like I was there because I forced myself to be. I was being pushy. So when I stopped going, they didn't chase after me. That's when it became clear to me what our relationship was."

“What was it?" Fred inquired, genuinely perplexed, prompting (y/n) to wonder if he had ever experienced the abrupt end of a friendship.

“They weren't my friends," (y/n) stated matter-of-factly. “We didn't have a falling out or anything. I still greet them, and occasionally, we help each other with homework in the common room. But that's about it."

Fred pursed his lips thoughtfully, pondering the right words to respond with.

“Alright," he finally conceded. “I won't pry further," he said, his expression more serious now. “I can't quite fathom how a friendship could simply unravel like that, but it's clear it's not a cheerful matter. However, that doesn't mean you can't be with your other friends."

She rolled her eyes with exasperation and turned away from Fred and the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, her boots crunching softly in the freshly fallen snow.

“I don't have friends," she sighed, her breath visible in the crisp, wintry air. She could hear his footsteps, somehow always close behind.

Fred waited until he was walking right alongside her before he replied; his tone was soft and comforting. “You have me," he said, then hastily cleared his throat. “I mean, you have us. Me and George. I still owe you one from our library escapade."

“Consider it settled," she responded, her voice edged with a hint of exhaustion and her gaze averted. “You gave me a cup of tea, after all."

“That was just courtesy," Fred explained, his lips curving into a friendly smile, thinking their usual playful banter had resumed.

But (y/n) was weary, and it showed in her demeanour.

“Well, you're accompanying me back to the school," she tried again, her tone tinged with finality. “So consider that debt paid."

“Nah," he waved his free hand dismissively. “That's just me being a proper gentleman."

She rolled her eyes once more, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. “Fred..."

“We're friends, alright," he insisted, his tone gentle yet resolute, raising his voice slightly. “You have a friend... in me."

Without warning, (y/n) halted in her tracks, pivoting to face him fully, her expression a mixture of astonishment, incredulity, and a hint of amusement.

“Did you just quote a Muggle movie at me?" she asked, her voice showing disbelief.

“I’m sorry?”

“‘You have a friend in me’,” she repeated his words, this time adding a melody to her tone. “Did you quote the Toy Story song?”

“A toy story? Where is it?” he was genuinely confused, which led (y/n) to drop the subject since it was evident he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Never mind," she sighed, resuming her pace. “It's from a Muggle movie."

“And you've seen it?" Fred's stride matched hers again, his curiosity piqued.

“Unfortunately," she replied, her lips twisting in mild distaste. “I didn't quite enjoy it."

“Oh, why not?" Fred inquired with interest.

“It was... about friendship," she said, taking a moment to complete her sentence.

“I see," Fred mused, nodding thoughtfully as they walked towards the school, the snow beneath their feet offering a soft, comforting crunch with every step. “Perhaps I should watch it.”

“Yeah, why not,” she replied, not really wanting to participate in the conversation.

Fred knew when to shut up when he should, so they remained silent until the school entrance was visible.

“Uh, thank you,” (y/n) told him as they stopped in the middle of Hogwarts’ entrance corridor. It was a relatively empty hallway.

“See you around,” he nodded, and she bit her lip, turning her heels towards her House. “Friend,” Fred added a second later, only to see her turn her gaze over her shoulder.

“Bye, Weasley,” she said with a heavy breath out of resignation.

#fred weasley #fred and george #harry potter #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x slytherin reader #fred weasley smut #fred weasley fanfic

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betweenbreaths · 2 days

Text

doctor's orders (WIP)

Fandom: Love and Deepspace

Characters: Zayne x Reader

Summary: Zayne is surprisingly obedient as a patient when it’s your turn to play doctor.

Rating: E (M for this snippet though)

A/N: Posting this WIP first because I think it'll take me a while to write the full thing. :")

++++++

He’s terribly late.

It’s almost midnight now, almost 12 hours past the time he was supposed to have you over at his place for lunch and a home movie date. He had already prepared everything perfectly, from the food, to the table setting, to the extra blankets on the couch (only because you liked to snuggle). And then you had arrived right on time, and everything was going perfectly.

That is, until his work phone rang and he received an alert that one of his patients had to undergo surgery immediately.

You hadn’t looked fazed when he filled you in on the situation; after all, it was hardly the first time he had been whisked away from a date for unexpected work emergencies. You had told him before that you didn’t mind; saving lives came first and you’d have done the same if you were notified of wanderers in the area.

So he’d left promptly, promising to be back as soon as he could.

And now, twelve hours later, he has finally returned to the front door of his apartment, with a bouquet of flowers he’d picked up along the way as an apology. Zayne had texted you earlier to ask if you had already left, and you’d said that you would stay and wait for him, and that there was no hurry.

He sees your shoes still neatly placed outside, and yet another pang of guilt hits him. He just hopes you’re not too upset. He’ll have to make it up to you somehow.

As Zayne opens the door and steps in, he calls your name.

Silence. No response.

That… must be a bad sign. Either that, or you fell asleep somewhere. Certainly not in the living room, because there’s no trace of you other than the crumpled blankets and the remote control tossed to the corner of the couch.

He shrugs off his coat, leaving it on one of the chairs by the dining table and peers around, wondering where you’d gone. Instinctively he heads straight towards his bedroom — you might be taking a nap there.

He knocks lightly on the closed door before opening it carefully, slowly, in case he wakes you. Then he hears you call his name. The tone in your voice isn’t one of anger or disappointment.

In fact, it’s the opposite. You sound… mischievous, playful. Even a little naughty.

Almost like you’d planned something completely unexpected for him, and you’d been waiting for him to come in, like a predator waiting for prey to fall into its trap.

And when he steps in, Zayne all but forgets to breathe.

++++++

Leaving you alone in his apartment for twelve hours had left you with plenty of time to devise a surprise for your boyfriend. Your spark of inspiration came when you decided you’d do the poor man a favour and sort out his laundry for him since he can’t even afford the time to eat the lunch he’d so painstakingly prepared for that afternoon.

And when you came across the freshly washed spare doctor’s coat in the pile of clean clothes, you were immediately drawn to it like a moth to a flame. You ran your fingers over the thick, wrinkled fabric, a smile playing on your lips when you think about how far he’s come in his career.

And when you put it on, the scent of detergent and warmth enveloping you, an idea so brilliant, so devious, popped into your head.

After all, you’d already come over to his home already prepared with a new set of black lacy lingerie for him to tear off of you, and this coat would go perfectly with it.

The look on Zayne’s face when he steps into his bedroom and his eyes fall on you is absolutely delightful. You see a myriad of emotions flicker in his eyes: confusion, surprise, bewilderment…

And then his gaze becomes hungry. Sinful. Heat pools in your centre as his gaze falls on your body, examining every single inch of you. You can already tell from his dilated pupils that in his mind, he’s ravaging you, kissing you senseless and tasting every drop of you, and god you can already anticipate how rough he’s going to be with you when you let him have his way.

But first, you’re going to have some fun with this.

Zayne approaches the bed, each footstep almost echoing in your ears and mirroring your accelerating heartbeat and you prop yourself up on your elbows, clicking your tongue and shaking your head at the man.

“You’re late for your appointment, Zayne. I’m almost off my shift now.”

“I apologise. I was held up at work because of an emergency.”

“I wish you would prioritise your health the way you do with your work.”

Your lips curl into a knowing smile, and so does his, although his smile looks a little more defeated.

“Using my words against me now?”

“Maybe. But I don’t have time for small talk. I’m supposed to have a date with my boyfriend and he’s waiting for me at home, so let’s make this quick.”

Zayne cocks an eyebrow but says nothing as you sit up and tap the empty spot next to you on the bed.

“Lie down. We need to do a routine examination.”

Surprisingly, Zayne does as he’s told without protest. You feel the bed dip with his weight when he sits down, and you swallow nervously when he stares at you up close, eyes darting down towards your lips and raking down your figure. His gaze is smouldering and you feel your cheeks warm as the corner of his lips turn up.

“Like what you see?” you can’t resist the urge to ask.

“It would be more appropriate to ask your boyfriend that, Doctor.”

Right, right.

You clear your throat, trying to get back into the roleplay. With Zayne now lying comfortably on the bed, you scooch over, placing your hand over his chest.

“Checking for my pulse? Where’s your stethoscope?”

You roll your eyes at him. “I don’t need one to know that your heart is racing right now. Do you feel uncomfortable? Any chest pains?”

“Yes, it does hurt a little.”

“Where?” You experimentally press on his left pec. “Here?” You shift your hand downward slightly. “Or here?”

“No.” Zayne grabs your wrist then, and without warning, pulls you down with a hard tug. You lose your balance, falling straight towards him and you barely manage to stop yourself from giving him a headbutt when your left hand plants itself into the mattress right by his face.

In this position, you’re now mere inches away from his lips, and his piercing gaze doesn’t leave your eyes as he re-positions your right hand on his chest.

“Here.” You feel his strong heartbeat beneath your fingers, and the warmth of his breath fanning across your face. Just a little closer and you’ll be able to taste his lips and lose yourself in his passionate, fiery kisses.

He’s clearly thinking the same thing as you, eyes falling to your parted lips. He sucks in a sharp breath when your tongue wets your lips — a habit of yours when you’re nervous. And then you feel his free hand come up to rest on the nape of your neck to pull you in, closer and closer to him.

It’d be so tempting to just give up now, to let him have his way with you and to get that quality time and intimacy you’ve been craving all day now. In fact, you’ve been waiting a whole week for this, because lately Zayne has been too busy and today was the only day you could squeeze in a precious date with him.

But that’s also the reason why you want to enjoy this to the fullest. After all, it’s not often that Zayne is so indulgent with you in bed.

At the last second, you regain your senses and place your right hand over his mouth, putting an unceremonious halt to his attempt to kiss you. His lips graze the surface of your palm and that’s enough to make goosebumps rise on your arms.

“If your chest hurts, let’s take a closer look, shall we? I’ll need you to take your shirt off.”

#love and deepspace #zayne #lnds #lds #lnds zayne #zayne x reader #my writing #love and deepspace zayne

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jackles010378 · 3 months

Text

Intoxicating Pancakes

(Dean Winchester X you)

In honour of shrove Tuesday (pancake day) here in the UK, made me think of this little one shot about Dean, hope you enjoy 🥰

Dean was always a man of simple pleasures: his classic car, a good hunt, and, of course, a delicious breakfast. And there was one thing that always made his heart skip a beat - the sight of y/n in the kitchen, making her famous pancakes.

The bunker was always filled with the mouthwatering aroma of y/n's pancakes on Sunday mornings. There was something about the way she effortlessly mixed the batter, her hair falling loosely around her face as she hummed a soft tune. It was a sight that never failed to make Dean feel alive.

This particular Sunday was no different. As Dean walked into the kitchen, the heavenly scent wrapped around him like a warm embrace. He could barely contain his excitement as he saw y/n by the stovetop, carefully flipping pancakes with a grace that always amazed him.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean greeted, a contagious smile spreading across his face.

"Morning, Dean," y/n replied, her voice carrying a hint of mischief.

Dean's eyes flickered with curiosity but he brushed it off, too engrossed in the prospect of indulging in y/n's culinary masterpiece. He took a seat at the counter, his gaze fixated on her every move.

Y/n gracefully placed a stack of golden pancakes in front of him, she sat across from him with her own plate. As she ate, little droplets of sauce dripped down her chin. Dean's mind began to wander, conjuring up a mischievous thought. He watched as y/n reached up to wipe the sauce away with her thumb. Slowly sucking the sticky treat off her thumb, humming to herself, her movements and sounds fueling Dean's imagination.

Unbeknownst to y/n, her simple gesture had triggered a flood of naughty thoughts inside Dean's mind. Thoughts that strayed far beyond stacks of pancakes and ventured into a sultrier realm.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the kitchen felt charged with a different kind of energy. Dean cleared his throat, trying to shake off the wayward fantasies that threatened to consume him. He reminded himself to focus on the pancakes, on the breakfast he'd been eagerly anticipating all week.

But as Dean's eyes met y/n's, he couldn't ignore the subtle flirtation in her gaze. The sparks between them intensified, dancing in the air like playful fireflies. It was as if y/n had unknowingly picked up on Dean's thoughts and decided to play along.

Dean's heart raced as he saw y/n lean across the counter, her lips just inches away from his ear. Her voice was a low, seductive whisper that sent shivers down his spine.

"You know, Dean," she purred, "pancakes aren't the only thing I'm good at."

Dean's breath caught in his throat, his mind spinning with a medley of desire, anticipation, and a hint of confusion. But in that moment, none of it mattered. All that existed was the undeniable chemistry between them.

As the morning sun painted a golden hue across the bunker, Dean and y/n found themselves lost in a tantalizing dance of flirtation. Their connection grew stronger with each passing moment, the pancakes almost forgotten amidst the charged atmosphere.

With a newfound boldness, Dean reached out, gently tucking a strand of y/n's hair behind her ear. The spark between them ignited into a blazing fire, engulfing them both in a whirlwind of passion.

Hours later, as they lay tangled in each other's arms, the scent of pancakes still lingering in the air, Dean realized that sometimes the simplest pleasures in life could lead to the most unforgettable experiences.

From that day forward, pancakes would always stir within Dean a sense of excitement and a reminder of the intoxicating connection he shared with y/n. And whenever he caught a whiff of that delicious aroma, he couldn't help but smile, knowing that beneath the sweetness of those pancakes lay an everlasting flame of desire.

TAGLIST: @k-slla @cevansbaby-dove @kaleldobrev @janineb86 @deans-daydream @alternativeprincess94 @nescavaneck @angelbabyyy99

#jensen ackles #dean winchester #supernatural #jackles #jensen ross ackles #spn cast #deanwinchtser #jensen ackles gifs #dean x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic

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layla4567 · 1 year

Text

Imagine: A relaxing shower after training

Peter Maximoff x Female reader

Summary: You were practicing hand-to-hand fighting with Quicksilver, even though they both have superpowers, Professor Xavier insisted that we practice other forms of fighting just in case.

Warning: Smut, naked bodies, p in v, fingering

..............................................................................................................................

I don't know why the professor insisted on this, it's ridiculous-you thought-you could incinerate your opponent in a matter of seconds and it's almost impossible (if not impossible) for them to catch Peter with their super speed. Anyway, here we were.

You were wearing a black crop top and gray sports cloth pants and you had your hair tied up for comfort. You went to the training room, there were several tarps on the floor and Peter was waiting for you sitting on one of them

Peter saw you appear in your workout clothes and thought it made your figure stand out but he just scoffed and said

"You finally show up, I've been waiting for you for hours"-he stood up

Speedy (as you liked to call him) was wearing an army green short-sleeved T-shirt and baggy black training pants.

"Oh sorry-you said ironically- it's not my fault SOMEONE is running at the speed of light."

"You are forgiven precious, luckily I am compassionate with those who go to the rhythm of a snail"-he finished with a smirk

sparks began to emanate from your fingers as if you had all the fireworks in the palm of your hands while your gaze hardened

Peter's face turned pale, he was scared when you did that. That's why he knew he didn't have to make you angry

"Uhmm w-well how about we start training before you burn down the place?"

First both stretched a bit so as not to hurt their muscles and then the training began. You practiced with your fists dodging each other, Peter was tempted to use his super speed but held back because the rule was no super powers. You was throwing kicks and Peter barely dodged them.

Suddenly you took his right arm and with a stunt you wrapped your legs around his arm and threw him to the ground, with a hold you raised your hips slightly up so that Peter can't escape the hold.

He didn't expect that, so when he was lying on the floor, scared, he exclaimed

"Time out! I give up!!"

You loosened your legs on his arm and he stood up quickly, holding out his hand so you could get up.

"Since when did you learn to do that?"-Peter said still surprised but still smiling.

There are things you don't know about my Pet..-you said mysterious

"Meow the kitten knows how to defend herself"

"Shut up"

You rolled your eyes and went to your room to take a shower, you were tired and sweaty

You entered your room and prepared the clothes that you were going to use later. You put on your bed a jean and a red shirt. You grabbed a robe and began to undress, dropping your crop top and pants on the floor.

After that you went to the bathroom and opened the tap letting the water run. You made sure that the water is warm enough not to freeze you but not so hot it burns you. You put a hand under the rain while you felt the warm drops slip through your fingers. You waved your hand as soon as the water began to heat up, removed your robe and stepped into the shower.

Peter was running through the halls when he heard the sound of water running from the shower in your room. He was too tired to go to his room on the other side of the mansion and that's when a naughty idea crossed his mind, but he didn't want to be intrusive or bother you, but damn he liked you so much. He decided to sneak into your room thinking if what he was about to do was right or not.

Your door never had a key, at least not during the day, which is why Peter was able to get in easily. The boy saw your clothes lying on the floor and approached your bathroom door.

He knocked three times on the door

"Y/n! Are you there?"-But of course she's there, idiot, where would she be?

You were enjoying the water falling on your face when you felt the blows and the voice of Peter, you shuddered. What was Peter doing here? What did he want now?

"Uh yes Peter I'm here and In case you didn't notice, I'm taking a shower"

"Ye-yeah I know and that's the point I-Uhmm"-He was too nervous to speak

You started to get impatient and feel somewhat uncomfortable when you heard those words..

"Can I shower with you?"

A wave of modesty washed over you, you suddenly felt vulnerable. Showering with Peter? It was something you wouldn't have imagined. Clearly you liked the boy but this was something intimate. But a feeling of adrenaline began to rise through your belly and you didn't know why

Peter had his eyes tightly closed, regretting having exclaimed those words. He was starting to walk away when he heard you say

"Ok, you can come in"

Speedy couldn't believe it, shyly opened the door. He took off his clothes and piled them on the toilet seat. He slightly opened the shower curtain and entered with you closing his eyes

You were waiting for him face to face, the first thing you saw was Peter with his eyes closed so you laughed but then your eyes began to slowly go down to his torso. He had well worked pectorals, his white skin seemed soft and he was tempting you. You kept looking down until you reached her stomach, it looked like a Greek sculpture, and her small waist made you want to hug him and feel his skin in your hands.

You kept looking at his stomach until a thought quickly crossed your mind: Don't keep going down, don't keep going down! And you looked up and to the right blushing and covering your body with your arms

Can I open my eyes now? -When he heard you tell him "yes", he slowly opened one first and then the other and blushed

He looked away out of respect but he couldn't resist and he saw your body again, it was even more beautiful than he thought. You still looked down in embarrassment while covering your private parts. But thighs were still showing, and that's where Peter's eyes went. You had one leg in front of the other, resting your whole body on one of them, which made you look delicious. Peter looked at your hips, you weren't a supermodel but for him it was as if the gods themselves had sculpted you. Your rounded hips gave shape to your waist and accentuated it. Peter's pupils dilated.

Now Peter's eyes were on your shoulders, they ran through your body as if it were a manuscript and ended up on your collarbones to then look at your wet neck. He wanted so much to kiss it and feel the taste of your skin

Peter noticed that you were uncomfortable so he told you not to worry about what it was going to be like if he wasn't there. So he grabbed a sponge, a soap and began to rub his body without looking at you

Slowly you stopped covering your body with your arms and you thanked him with your eyes and turned your back to face the hot rain, it felt so good. You closed your eyes letting the water fall on your body and slide on your skin. The drops seemed to play a race along your legs. They started at your belly and slid down your hips. Meanwhile, Peter was concentrating on not looking at your butt as he rubbed his neck and back with the sponge.

The boy sneakily approached you a little closer to moisten the sponge. Since Peter was taller than you, you felt his warm breath near your ear, he was closer than he should have been. Suddenly and delicately you felt fine fingers pass through the sides of your hip. They slid from top to bottom following the drops of water as if he wanted to clean them. You felt a chill even though the water was hot

His touches were soft, he passed a hand around your waist caressing it slowly, his movements were delicate as if he were molding a sculpture.

"Peter.."-You said almost in a whisper to turn your head and look at him

He looked at you smiling mischievously. You decided to stick closer to his body as you tipped your head back and placed it on his shoulder near his neck to give him more space. Now that you was completely close to him, Peter dropped the sponge and placed both his hands on the sides of your waist. Another shiver ran through your body at the feel of his grip. Peter's hands, manly, went down from your waist to your hips and near the lower area of your belly, reaching your buttocks where he left a small pinch. You moaned but not in pain.

Peter's hands embraced you, they ran through your body as if he wanted to leave paint marks on it, you closed your eyes while your breathing quickened and your toes curled. His left hand went up to your breasts while the other went down to your privacy. First he caressed you on the outside while you didn't know where to hold on to keep from falling to your knees so you placed one hand behind his neck and your other hand grabbing Peter's wrist that was below.

When Peter inserted a finger into your intimate area, you let out a small moan while throwing your head back even more. You felt your lips throb and he liked that. He began to stimulate you by making circles with his finger on your clitoris, the rhythm varied, first they were slow and then fast.

"Oh my god Peter please..!"-you gasped pleadingly then bit your lips

You felt that you were about to cum and you didn't know if you could keep holding yourself back for longer

But Peter didn't give you rest, with your head thrown back he began to place wild, hungry kisses on your neck. The hand that was in your privacy came up and grabbed your jaw. Peter kissed every inch of your neck and jaw as if he were going to devour you, you did nothing but moan with pleasure and purr like a cat. Peter went down to your collarbones and left wet kisses

Tired of being the one receiving and not being able to touch his body, you turned around abruptly and your lips found him. You grabbed his face feeling needy and kissed him voraciously. His tongue explored yours while his hands cupped your ass. They both moan without taking off their mouths.

Peter grabbed your legs and you wrapped them around his hips as he pinned you against the damp shower wall. The sprinter reaffirmed his grip by placing his hands on your thighs and encircling them.

"Are you ready?"-he asked with his pulse racing

You nodded hastily and impatiently, there was no need to ask anything, you just wanted to have it inside of you now. You wrapped your arms around his neck and when you felt his hips loosen inside you, a surge of pleasant electricity ran through your body from head to toe and you opened your mouth in a silent moan. His thrusts were delicate at first but they increased in speed as Peter noticed that the first sensation of pain had disappeared and there was no risk of hurting you. Your body was hitting the wall at a considerable rate but you was enjoying it. Their bodies were drenched in sweat, and not just from the hot water. Your wet hair fell over your shoulders and chest while Peter's fell over his forehead almost covering his eyes. He rose and rose like the temperature, the mirror was fogged up while some of the water fell on Peter's back and torso

God looked so good with his broad back and the raindrops running down his shoulders, it made you feel more feverish. He looked like a maddened bull, his muscles tensed and concentrating on keeping up.

Suddenly Peter threw his head back with his eyes closed and panting he said

"I think I'm about to cum baby"

and said and done with a hoarse growl from Peter you felt the walls of your interior fill with something warm

But he wanted to continue a little more until you did the same so approaching your ear he whispered

"Come on, now cum for me please"-He begged for it like a wounded or helpless animal

Goddamn Maximoff

You closed your eyes and grabbed his hair tightly while our bodies moved frantically up and down like in a fast dance and when you couldn't take it anymore you felt your fluids shoot up.

Maximoff put you back on the ground gently, their bodies felt exhausted and your legs trembled slightly. You turned off the faucet while you two caught your breath and got out of the shower. Peter came out first and wrapped a towel around his hip and held out his hand to help you out as he put on the robe you had come in with.

You finished drying yourself in your room and getting dressed, You expected Peter to do the same but he hadn't brought his clothes. When you pointed it out to him, he ran out of your room even with his robe around his waist. When he ran through the corridors he left small puddles of water. You laughed imagining the poor fool slipping and falling (if Peter hadn't already).

.....

Professor X was walking through the corridors with his wheelchair when he saw a puddle of water in front of him

"How strange, where does this water come from?"

He saw that Hank was coming up behind him and asked him

"Do you happen to know why there are puddles of water all over the hallway?"

"No idea, maybe the janitor forgot to dry the floor"-Hank said casually.

..............................................................................................................................

I leave this and slowly walk away...

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gayoticevil · 2 years

Text

Work From Home | Micah Yujin 18+

This is an 18 + Fic DNI if underage.

MC is AFAB and uses they/them pronouns. Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink and under-desk assistance ;)

Micah really should have thought through when he was coming to visit you, after all you still had to work. Maybe he will learn his lesson, or not.

Cross-Posted to AO3.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40440939

There you are sitting at your desk, typing away trying to get through the day as fast as possible to go hang out with your boyfriend. Poor thing has been basically scratching at your door desperate for some attention, though it's his own damn fault since he decided to come visit you without checking your schedule.

“Aaaangellllll~,,,” you hear a muffled whine from behind your door. “I’m so bored, and lonely, and cooooollldddddddd… please are you sure I can't come cuddle while you're working?...”

You sigh, it sounds frustrated but god are you absolutely endeared by this boy. You finally hit enter and save your progress so far before putting yourself on a break and opening the door for your poor poor boyfriend.

“Micah Yujin…” you growl, though not making any attempt to hide the dumb grin on your face when you see him sitting beside the doorframe with his knees to his chest looking up at you. He looks so sweet, you run your hands through his hair, taking care not to tug too hard on any knots or tangles that may be present.

“Aw,,, Baby,,,” you cooed, squatting down beside him. “You should have thought this through better my little idiot-”

Your hand makes its way from the top of his head to his cheek.

“-but god i wish i could just be with you right now, unfortunately being a sugar baby isn't on the table for me right now.” You give him a kiss on the forehead and stand back up.

Micah sulked a little as you moved away from him, his golden eyes following your every move.

“I do have an idea though. I tell you what, if you behave for the rest of today i'll have a surprise for you tomorrow while i’m at work.”

He grins up at you, his sharp little canines poking at his lips. “But what if I want to be bad, Angel?” a glint of mischief shining through that tone of voice.

You raise an eyebrow at him “You? The Micah Yujin? Have a naughty streak? No way” You feign disbelief and start to cross the threshold back into your room. Before you're able to reach for the door he grabs your wrist.

“Uh well,,, what if i uhhh,,,” You can see the cogs whirring around in his pretty little head as he tries to think of some reason or way to be with you for the rest of your shift. You smile and wait for him “What if I grab some pillows and just draw with you beside your desk! I'll be quiet I promise and we can maybe chat between calls?”

“Hm,” You cock your head at him “you want to just sit on the floor beside me while i work?”

He nods furiously. He has a point, it's not like there's any reason why he can't sit in there while you work, you take the occasional call but as long as he behaves and isn't on camera during any meetings it's fine,,, right? Honestly you can't say no to that face either.

“Alright, but you better behave!” He laughs and grins, flashing those cute little canines again before rushing off, grabbing his ipad, some pillows and a blanket from your bedroom.

He settles down beside your desk, leaning up against the wall and bundled up in a blanket. You return back to work. As the hours pass by you feel him slowly inch closer and closer as he now leaning on your legs. You look down to see him doodling away at some more silly little emotes for the server.

‘,,,god you are so perfect,,,’ you say under your breath, slowly running your hands through his hair once again, your nails running circles over his head. You can feel him lean into the scritches and let out a little hum. “Does that mean I'm behaving then Angel?”

You can't help but laugh, he sounded so genuine. “You have been so good my little idiot,,, so good.” He looks up at you, his eyes poking out just above his yellow tinted glasses. You can see that spark of mischief come back again. “,,,Do I get a reward?~”

“Your reward is being allowed in here while i'm working, now don't spoil it~” you give him a quick peck on the head before turning back to your laptop. You hear him pout then shuffle a bit, not taking too much mind of how exactly he moved until you feel a soft chomp on your thigh.

“Micah!” you look down at him again, on his knees still softly biting down on you. “Micah please, im almost finished for the day” he grins up at you. “Okay, okay~ Ill behave,,,”

You start to get back into the swing of working again and maybe 20 mins pass until you hear micah move again, this time under your desk. You brush it off as him getting restless until you feel a hand on your knee moving it to the side and a soft kiss on your thigh. Instantly your cheeks flush red and you let out a gasp “Hey! What,,, What are you doing down there?”

You slide back in your chair just enough to see his grin and almost glowing yellow eyes from under your desk. “I, Angel, am getting my reward~” and he grabs the bottom of the chair pulling you back in towards him. “After all ive been sooooo good”

You feel his hands again on your thighs spreading your legs and leading a trail of kisses up further and further stopping right before he gets to the waistband of your pants, tugging on them and looking up at you expectantly. You can't help but to do exactly what he wants, you stand up from your chair, remove your pants for him. “Aww thank you Angel~ now sit back down.” and that you do.

He grabs your hips to get you to sit on the edge of your chair, you can't focus any longer so you exit all your work programs and shut your laptop in a hurry. Micah wastes no time in getting his reward, placing his lips on your clit, licking and rolling his tongue, making you gasp and moan under his touch. Sure the split and piercing look cool but god do they feel even better.

One of your hands grips the arm of the chair and the other makes its way back down to Micah's hair, tangling with your fingers. You feel him slip a digit into you and after a moment another, causing your grip on his hair to tighten and the moan that escapes micah almost makes him vibrate on you.

“God,,, this feels,,, fuck” you cant even get a decent sentance out but honestly thats all he needed, he knows hes doing great. He continues, getting messier and almost erratic with his movements against you. Your hips moving and rocking against him in the same rhythm, your back arched and your head all the way back. All you can do is moan out noises and heavy breaths.

Micah has pulled his head away just to look up at you, licking your juices from his lips and soaking in your perfect body. He continues with his fingers inside you, using his thumb to rub shapes on your clit as he becomes absolutely enamored with the way your chest rises as you gasp and breathe and the way your hips move and buck with his movements.

“God Angel,, looks like i'm not the only one enjoying my reward huh~” he teases you, a hand tracing its way up from your hip to your waist and under your shirt to your chest. “You look so good like this,,,” he can't help to be in love with every movement you make and god every noise drove him crazy.

“Ahh fuck,,, Micah,,, i’m-” He felt your walls squeeze around his fingers and your hips buck up towards him, lifting yourself off the chair, your legs quacking about to give out and thats when he gently moves his hand away from you. You let out a whine, it feels borderline pathetic but you don't care, you didn't want this to stop. “Aw did you think that was going to be the end of it? You’re sorely mistaken Angel~ I’m having way too much fun with this.” and with that the fingers that are slick with your juices make their way up to his mouth as he savors your flavor, never breaking eye contact with you, that yellow bearing right though your soul making your whole body feel like it’s on fire.

Through your heavy breaths you mutter objections to stopping before being whisked up in his arms and carried into your bedroom, he lays you down gently on the bed before straddling you. His arms framing your head and his knees beside your hips. You get incredibly flustered again, your blush betraying you as Micah lets out a laugh at your reaction.

“Aww Angel~ look at you~ soooo cute~” he leans down closer kissing your nose, then down to your cheek, the corner of your mouth, just under your jaw and down to your chest again. He moves his hands down to the hem of your shirt slightly lifting it before looking up at you as if hes asking permission. All you manage to do is squeak out a “mhm,,,” before he lifts it over your head and leaves it around your wrists, wrapping around and tucking it into itself. He leaves a hand on the makeshift cuff and uses the other hand to bring your chin up to look at him and plant a deep kiss in your lips, as his tongue meets yours you are greeted with a familiar taste and god you could get used to that.

You feel his hand leave your chin and make its way back down to your chest, massaging and fondling and feeling your heartbeat race.

Where his hips meet yours you can feel the twitch and heat from under his pants, you lift your leg up to nudge his crutch, trying your best to get him to keep going without using your words. “Oh! Eager are we Angel? Is this not enough for you anymore?~” God he’s teasing you again? He's going to pay for this,,, later. He leans back up from you, unbuckling his pants and tossing them to the side before lifting his shirt off too and throwing that off in the same direction.

“Is this better?~” he laughs while leaning back down to you. “Mhm,,, perfect” you say as all you can do is stare at his body, fuck hes rediculously hot,,, You let your now free hands follow their own mind and make their way to his hips and trace the form of his dick though his boxers, palming at it through the fabric before he lets out a breathy moan right into your ear. Holy shit that drove you insane, it's like something awoke in you and the moment Micah let his guard down you managed to flip the both of you so you were on top, straddling his hips, one hand on his hip and the other on his chest.

“Your turn babe~” and you made your way down to face his boxers, sliding your fingers over the hem before pulling them down to reveal his dick, twitching and already leaking pre-cum. He mutters something you don't hear clearly before you leave a gentle kiss on the tip before taking out a condom, sliding it over and then into your mouth, moving your tongue around and sucking. Letting your hand wrap around the base and moving with the bobbing of your head. His hands cover his mouth and dig into the sheets beside him before you look up and with a disapproving hum you release his cock from your mouth “uh uh~ i want to hear every noise you make babe, move that hand” and he did exactly what he was told, he was absolutely hypnotized by those words.

Back you went to wrap your mouth around his dick, sucking away and humming moans to match your boyfriend’s, his hands moved to your hair, his hips bucking to match your pace but thrusting deeper and deeper into your throat before you hear him speak up through the moans “fuck angel,,, im going to c- ah,,, wha,,,” and just as he did to you, you backed off looking up at him licking your lips. “Hm?~ what was that?” you grin up at him.

He whines “god angel pleaseeeee,,, why would you do this to meeeee?” his dick still twitching beside your head and a fierce red blush covering his face and ears. You sit up and crawl over him, your face meeting his and your hips hovering just above his. He lets his hands rest on your waist and his thumbs run circles on your sides. His touch sends shivers through your already hot body.

“Oh? Was that mean? You poor thing,,,” you cock your head, still grinning down at him “How could i make it up to you?”

“Ahh,,, fuck Angel,,,” you feel his dick twitching just below your pussy “i want you so bad,,,”

“Oh but you do have me. You need to be more specific”

“Goooood” he whines, almost growling “I want to fuck you so bad,,, Please Angel”

The way he's looking up at you, you can see how desperate he is just from the look in his eyes.

“Since you’ve been good~” you slowly guide his dick into your wet opening and lower your hips onto him, rocking slowly, taking your time to take in it all. You let out a few hummed moans and you feel both your hips move in almost perfect sync. Micah's voice has always been one of your favorite features of him and god did his moans and noises sound like heaven to you.

You quickened your pace on his hips as his hands trailed up from your waist back to your chest, palming and playing with them as you rocked on his dick, his hips bucking under yours. Your bounces match the pace he set. You can feel it welling up as you tighten around his cock and the look you share between each other you can both tell you’re both close. Both of you letting out moans and erratic breaths before you clench tighter around him and you can feel his hips buck one last time and the shiver of the orgasm you shared run though both your bodies.

As you both lay beside each other, basking in the afterglow you smile up to him. “You’re lucky you’re cute”

“Oh angel, that's not the only reason I'm lucky~” and he leans in to give you a sweet peck on the forehead.

The next day comes and Micah wakes up later in the afternoon. You have already started work for the day but he sneaks into the room.

“Good morning my little idiot~ what do you think?” he's a little confused until he looks over into the area that normally has your desk, the desk has moved to the middle of the room and there is a soft daybed with his ipad already on charge and plenty of stuffed toys and a huge plush green blanket.

“You can sit in here more often now~ though as much as it was a lot of fun we cant keep having what happened last night okay?” you swing around on your chair to face him and he almost jumps into your lap giving you the tightest hug “Awww Angel! Thank you soooooo much” he litters your face with kisses and grins at you

“I know I know, I'm the best. Now behave okay~”

#micah yujin #Error143 #error 143 #visual novel #otome #micah x reader #micah yuijin x reader #fanfiction

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sparkbeast20 · 7 months

Text

AAAHHHHH!!!!

censored pic of Mammon's H scene

#spark's naughty hour #what in “hell” is bad?#whb mammon #what in hell is bad #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 2 months

Note

hi i came across your post asking people to talk to you about karl heisenberg so i decided to send in an ask because i absolutely cannot be normal about that man in any way shape or form at all he rotates in my brain 24/7 and refuses to get out

plplsplspls list down some of your hcs for him :33

You and me both, you and me both, don't worry 🤝🏻 I have him living rent free up there since I put my eyes on him and now he won't leave, instead he's wreaking havoc where perfectly normal and content thoughts should be 😭

Thank you so much for sending the ask! 🫶🏻

Karl Heisenberg HCs under the cut since their NSFW 🔞 (gender neutral)

I'll write a SFW Head Canon post later!

🛠 So, what's the first thing that comes to mind when looking at Kar Heisenberg, hm? Yes, exactly: "Damn, Daddy!" but as mighty fine as this is, how about we flip that table upside down and consider Karl with a mommy kink? There is something about the thought of consensually slapping that mountain of a man around and calling him a bad and naughty boy that makes my brain rot so fast 🥴 Depending on how complex of a topic this wants to be fleshed out as, one can always sprinkle some trauma into the mix because both mommy and daddy issues can very much stem from painfully real places and I imagine that Karl as quite a lot of that.

🛠 I like to believe that Karl has a surreal amount of patience, nerves of steel, but only when it comes to a few things in particular. One of them being you propped up in his lap with his cock buried inside you up to the shaft, neither of you making any hectic movements as you cock-warm him while he welds together scraps of metal in his workshop. He can do that for hours if he feels like it, enjoying the engulfing warmth of your body whilst sparks fly through the somewhat damp air of the factory, strangely enough helps him concentrate and be precise for neither sparks nor hot metal to get anywhere close to you.

🛠 Dad-Bod. That's it. Send Tweet. No, but really, I'm drop dead serious about it and will die with my face pressed to that squishy soft belly pooch and my hands clasping at his glorious man-tits. You know what Dad-Bod Karl Heisenberg gets you? So much cuddle-material 😌 And in instances during which you don't peacefully fall asleep wrapped in his arms, he muffles your moans and whines with his chest, just shoving your face into the soft and warm skin.

🛠 In my brain, Karl is a giver. Sure, he might take you whenever the mood strikes, that simply cones with the package, but never without giving equal quantities of affection back. If he'd be out for one-sided sex, he could just as well shove his cock into one of his brainless creations. Karl would make you feel wanted and desired with every opportunity he'd get because he knows how it feels to be left behind, an outcast, and he'd never want you to feel this way especially not around him, ever.

🛠 Intoxication kink, my friends 🙏🏻 Okay, listen, as aforementioned, Kar is a giver and somewhere deep deep down he carries the need to care and nurture. Sometimes it's get so overwhelmingly much that he just has to take matters into his own hands, okay? Fucking you up nicely under his supervision so that you don't go off the rails too hard.

🛠 I believe Karl to be somewhat possessive and very physical about you. Hos fingers are always lingering, sometimes at your waist, sometimes ghosting over the round of your ass and other times lovingly clasping around your throat. Same goes for his lips and teeth. One could say that Lord Heisenberg has a hefty oral fixation that can't be soothed by cigars alone. He'd suck and nibble at your fingers and nipples without hesitation.

🛠 Last but not least, you know how it goes: Save a horse... 🤠

#tam rambles #asks are appreciated #asks are always open #karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenberg x reader #Karl Heisenberg x you #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil fanfiction

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sugar-petals · 1 year

Text

sub!huening kai smut a-z

hot femboy!hyuka x femdom!reader

words. 5.7k 🍓

read it on ao3

⛓ 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: 18+, dom/sub, inexperienced kai, toys, fetish clothing, degradation, anal + oral play, bondage, watersports, cum play, painslut kai in lingerie, slaps/spanking, past toxic hookups, orgasm control, sugar mommy!reader, impact play, thigh riding, choking

A/N: a steamy toast to the prettiest boy. ‘cause who could be better for a subby smut alphabet ♡

[ sub!idols m.list ]

a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Says thank you for getting ruined like the polite boy he is — that’s hot. Lying down eventually, Kai nuzzles his face underneath your chin so you can feel his long tickling lashes against your throat. Although he thinks he might come across as a little awkward and dreamy during aftercare, Hyuka nevertheless has the confidence and maturity to always ask of you precisely what he needs to calm himself down from an intense D/s session or regular sex. And what would that be? All the snuggles.

It often winds up as a two-hour afterglow of nothing but endless cuddling and a pinch of mumbled conversation as the cherry on top. The kisses are superficial or chaste, which is cute and feels good. Superficial doesn’t mean bad: Lips are perceptively tender, after all. They pick up on slow contact the very most. That’s how you spend minutes and minutes once your breathing has become shallow. He reassures that you topped him well. The comedown is kind and relaxed in spirit, generally. He loves you so much. Complimenting him back, you tell Kai that his dreamy side is your kind of thing and he shouldn’t worry. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Swoons for you constantly with a huge spark in his eyes. Couldn’t quite name one body part in particular when put on the spot, shrugging at the question with a confused eyebrow raise. He just likes everything about you. You look wholesome and effortlessly good to Kai: No thoughts, just love. If you were to guess for a sweet spot anyway — he has a thing for your shoulders, maybe? He likes to trace them absentmindedly pretty often. When you watch a movie, for instance. Or when you wait in line at your favorite bakery. Figures, from his tall goth bf perspective that’s the first thing he sees and feels during a back hug. And shoulders are easy to comfortably hold in any setting, private or public. He doesn’t fondle and get naughty: He’s a good boy, his comments about you are never rude.

You tell him how much you like his chic and sensual looks all the time yourself. Kai is so androgynous, a perfect balance of features. Another phone background every week, he just delivers the best selfies for his girlfriend like it’s Christmas. Knows you love his nose, plus the fingernails, his eyes, his natural hair color. Styled long and slightly wavy, of course. His most stunning hairdo, so satisfying to play with ad nauseam. You also like it when the stylists turn his face into living art, like with glossy make-up, lip tint, or super reflective eye shadow. When he shyly takes it off in the evening and washes his face, he glows just as much without it, and his cheeks are utterly kissable under the bathroom lights.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

A goner when you look him in the eye a certain possessive way, tugging on his gorgeous black leash. Oh, you both like that one a lot, and use it often. Kai adores, needs being bound and connected to you this way, and any position will do. He’s dripping hot when he reaches an emotional climax with his bangs in his eyes, fatigued, happy, collapsing. He shakes, he cries out, it really built up so much. You never know what you’re gonna get, too. A thick and precious leaking or a thin, silky fountain producing a translucent thread on his stomach.

He’s tried a fleshlight, but he prefers his good ole’ hands, still. Which… poses a bit of a problem. Since he knows how messy it could get on the pillows, or his plushies when he doesn’t hold still — please no, not the stuffed toys! — Hyuka takes great care, for instance, not to jerk off like crazy or not to slip out of you clumsily. He shoots it deep inside of you instead whenever you take the pill, and his creampies always feel like the very best. Towels everywhere, the messiness is under control.

Because he’s that guy, he’ll suck it all out when he’s done cumming. Hyuka doesn’t like to swallow and doesn’t expect you to, either, so he’ll rub his ejaculate into a towel, right off his tongue or cock, and dutifully cleans the rest. Admittedly, you’re obsessed with this idea and feel like it would be disgusting with any other one but Hyuka unsurprisingly. He could squirt his pretty cum inside of you all the time, you wouldn’t grow tired of how juicy and arousing it is. You praise him how he gives you lots, and sometimes choke him out when he cums to make it more intense.

d = dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Behind his charming ‚pretty lil‘ thing‘ façade that loves it when you put wayside flowers in his hair… lurks a raw and lusty painslut. He’s there for you to mess him up. Spanking, pinching nipples, slapping the cheeks, or chillingly cold ice cubes down his spine. Kai has a service sub in him, too. Recline and wait for your drink and meal, watch your boyfriend scrub the floor on his knees with a revealing organza skirt on. A peach or mermaid-colored one, paired with a waist harness that’s deliciously tight. As expected, he’s strong as fuck and will put his pretty body to good use. Who knew that the sweetest boy could be so naughty for a bit of pain.

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Was a little clueless in the first weeks and had to be introduced to everything that wasn’t vanilla. Learned quickly like the fantastic bottom he is, sub training is easy for him. Got impressed, too. By all the methods and techniques and toys and dynamics of femdom, amazed by the things that you could enjoy together. Because his height is quite something to work with, he liked to just starfish on his back and the habit remained. Kai has no interest in squashing you with his broad body — you prefer to be comfortable on top of him anyways. Kai listens carefully to any orders and moves in slow motion, the face tentative with questions when he wants to rearrange himself on the sheets or padded floor of your living room.

Shy as ever, he’d been too much of a scaredy cat to sleep around prior to that. He tried to have sex three times before crossing paths with you, winding up too nervous to feel like he could get it right with his respective partners. It was thrilling, awkward, strange, and overwhelming all at once. Confusing, and formulaic, too. A stoic atmosphere, pretend-rehearsed, unfocused, unlike what he imagined his first time. Kai expected chemistry and was hit with a ‚let’s get down to business and do it like everyone else‘ attitude instead. Unsettling, to say the least. It was a hotel room hurry fueled with blind obsession both times, and a spontaneous date gone bad a third time. A mismatch, he wasn’t in his element, he didn’t feel noticed at all, he left, it was discontinued. So, all in all, he had sex two times before. Kai tried his best and drew the conclusions, hoping not to dwell in blame.

Pleasing he loves to do, but an empty masturbation aid or sexbot he is not. Kai requires help and loving interaction. Fitting a condom was already a lot to handle, nor did he have any idea how to act except of course be nice. All three experiences kind of steamrolled across his self-worth and he was left to his own devices. Hence he wanted to be more deliberate with the right person in the future, whoever it may be, so he kept an open mind. Kai mostly imagined steamy get-togethers in his head since, avoiding to pursue another messy date just „to get it right“. He was looking for chemistry and was lucky. Your flirting has such a profound effect on him… Kai replays your words in his head for literal weeks. He’s glad he came across you who he can trust and look in the eye.

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

Wonderboy hasn’t got one yet as he enjoys almost all of the freaky stuff you try together. Perhaps it’s him on all fours, something like that. Doggy allows for you to get your gloves on and curl one or two fingers into him. Not more, three is the limit, he’s too tight (yep, that’s so sexy) and doesn’t want you to perform some kind of straining finger acrobatics just to hit his prostate. But as far as the position goes, the ass-up ones make sense for him. Beautiful back arch, by the way. Goes without saying, though. Almost every good femboy has one.

Kai is so responsive, god. You see his lovely fingers curl when you either hit the sweet spot or leave little spanks on his supple ass cheeks. When each side of his butt looks equally flushed, you move on to peel off your gloves and cool him down with slow, downward caresses on his spine until he gets goosebumps. Without that amount of TLC, it wouldn’t be worthwhile to him. Personal attention is so important in Hyuka’s world, you don’t even know. But don’t worry… guy’s not a selfish lover. He thanks his queen for spoiling him by using that one vibrator on your clit in a comfortable supine position right until you moan your orgasm into the crook of his neck.

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Goofy in a kind and doe-eyed way. Not forced, not overdone. A practical joke that’s completely harmless at best. Huening Kai is the immaculate eye candy and pleasant conversationalist incarnate when it comes to being your company. Whenever you lay down on his big chest, Hyuka can’t help but giggle at you treating his pecs like free pillows for naps. Sometimes, his belly, too, you know what’s good. Despite his love for smart pranks, he’s not exactly the craziest class clown, but he’s also not dead serious with you, so it’s a healthy middle for this one. He is genuine, and hey— nobody laughs at your jokes more than him. You’re the funniest, wildest person in the world to your angel babe.

h = hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Soft and clean. God, his skin is so nice. Kai doesn’t really want to shave all the time, so he just gets laser treatments once a month. The more precarious spots, waxing, usually, although he can master a close shave anyway. All of his beauty equipment he takes good care of, your boy is diligent with all the items’ maintenance daily. Neat freak Huening Kai? Who knew, and it’s fucking sexy. He smells so good out of the shower after dancing, you can’t lie, you do wanna fuck him immediately. Though, you give him a five-minute head start in the kitchen to eat some fruit to recharge. Can’t do the do with a hungry man, can you.

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect.)

Focused on you or busy losing his mind. It’s either or. He’s more cuddly than romantic in a classic sense, the type to lay his head on your lap. Kai believes he’s not mature enough to aim for digging up the deepest feelings, nor do you expect him to. To each their own, just snuggling suits him way better than champagne and rose petals. He believes it’s better to stay sober anyway, for sex especially, and buying lots of stuff to prepare for long-winded romance hours is simply planning overload. Verbal intimacy is more important, not censoring yourselves around each other.

Staying in the moment instead of throwing around money sounds better to Kai, as does sticking to squishing his plushies, and you agree. Being spontaneous and random date nights are more fun, not nerve-wracking like a big busy holiday plan, and sexier, anyway. He amps up the feels for birthdays and festivals like Chuseok, but the general sentiment is puppy love, not formal dinner. Besides the piano music, of course, he can provide that one. An evening in the snug warm bathtub with candles does sound like it, though. Playing with foam is always entertaining. And he looks so fucking adorable.

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Too carefree to tense up, too cute to be insatiable. He sees it as a lighthearted activity, though the way his body twists and bends is remarkable. How many pictures of it you have on your phone is something you lost track of. Although you have a lot of separate hobbies and interests, needless to say, he is a perfect muse for anything creative you do. And perfect to watch just because let’s be real, he’s so ethereal, who could do it like him.

Watching him get off is hot, yet fascinating at once. Especially in the mornings. Huening Kai’s cock is straight and beautifully thick, so it’s easy to wrap his big hand around loosely and deliver the most luscious of strokes. Whenever he can, your boyfriend is the type to thrive on a ruined or denied orgasm — he practices it on himself, too. That feeling of high and dry, frustrated, self-inflicted, he enjoys it like a nosy little voyeur. You have a lot of extremely explicit audios on your laptop because of all the moaning stuff he’s sending you, by the way.

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

Extreme humiliation. Degrading him with words is not enough, it has to embarrass him to the core. Underneath his gentle exterior, one finds a sub of steel who craves D/s that is all about the pretty crying and breathless, but equally beautiful whining. As if he could ever sound ugly, anyway. Kai is a gorgeously vocal sub that blooms under an expert hand knowing how to pull his hair right and tight while he’s getting kicked around on the floor. Not too hard. Just punishing and effective enough. On his handsome knees is where he knows he belongs. Who knew such a sweet guy would like to be handled like this.

His recent favorite debauchery is anal play rested on his back naked with a spreader bar — hell yes — between his ankles. Destroying his perfect little hole has got to be one of the most fun and rewarding things a domme can do. On top of getting his butt split in half with a set of silicone dildos, he dabbles in being a bit of a piss pig in his imagination, as in, aimed at his stomach in the bathtub. His inner pervert thinks it’s so warm and sexy to feel, though he’s careful to suggest it to you at all and will stay clear of mentioning it should you not enjoy a practice like this. After all, he’s the one who wants to be embarrassed, not you.

And a second notable kink (and a less graphic one, for that matter): Being your sugar baby. A little obsession of his, he admits he’s a bit of a goner for being treated by you. Though, judging by what he politely asks you to buy him, he’s not the greedy type. An ice cream here. A pizza there. A plushie, the other month. And chocolate bars, sometimes. It’s more about the gesture and returning the favor later — Kai is big on bringing home your favorite snacks or gets himself a new set of delicate white lingerie that has your jaw dropping.

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

The kitchen counter, particularly when a snowstorm or thunder rages outside. Spontaneous, post-work, and only when at least one surface is still clean. The two of you are messing around, lusty for one another in the evening. Although afterwards, both of your actual hunger isn’t forgotten. While the food still roasts in the oven, Huening Kai wraps himself around your torso for French kisses and making out like it’s no one’s business. You fucking love his body to the death. So up close, so soft. Let’s go, big boy. You love to feel him get hard inside while he leans his back against the fridge. You, grinding against his loins only with your socks and sweater still on. He can barely keep it together and needs you to guide his hands.

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Infatuation. It’s juvenile, unironically hormonal, full of amicable naiveté and big ideals: Fueled by the stuff he watched on TV growing up. He always wanted somebody who’d look out for him. Huening Kai fosters a special type of affection for you by baking and giving you sweets, his time, and sometimes, that entails his beautiful 6’0 of sexiness, too. That he’s considerate and a gift to your life is probably a pretty accurate way to put it, though.

Kai’s fluttering heart reaches quite some beats per minute whenever you stroll into the practice room after he’s done practicing late at night. So self-conscious, so shy in front of you and the other members — he’s a little typical, but that’s heart-melting. They don’t tease him, though, since he doesn’t like being put on a hot seat. Ever since they saw Kai holding his jacket over you while he got soaking wet during a heavy cold rain, they can see he’s dead serious about your relationship and wants nothing to ruin it.

The long greeting hugs that initially made the whole group jealous are now a cause for TXT going „awh“ whenever you comfort him, pick him up, or bring him a bag of take-out when he’s devastated. Or tired. Soobin calls you a real role model lately after observing you, he awards you his thumbs up 100%. They can see that Kai really loves you a lot and vice versa. Sometimes, Kai becomes exhausted from performing lots and has a motivation drop, so the members appreciate you babying him just like they do. Kai returning to his usual courteous, upbeat self is a reward on its own.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn-offs)

Blood. No rashes, gory lesions, cuts, lasting strokes, biting tongues, or heavy scratching. As inviting as his back is to run your nails across and down on, you thoroughly respect his wish. Despite his love for degradation, and this might sound like a contradiction, Kai rejects the more tormenting extremes of BDSM: You won’t walk in on him watching crazy porn congruently. Kai wants his skin unscathed and the marks of biting scarce, also extending the same idea to you. No brief and brutal poundings during all non-kink sex activity, he knows you don’t like it and never nourished any desire to just rip into you mercilessly himself. He’s a sweet lover, watching out for you as excessively as you are protective of your boyfriend yourself.

The whole shebang with, say knife play or cat-o-nine tails as an example, is chiefly meant for experienced, usually slightly older subs, anyway, requiring some more years under their harnessed belts. The same goes for the unfortunate hazard of internal wounds by accident, which wholly scares Kai and prompts him to do a lot of research. You always make sure to use lube on your gloves and dildos when you toy with his pretty mouth or anus, keeping the friction to a minimum. Chapstick is a must. Prep, too.

In the same vein, he doesn’t like whipping and bondage with coarse ropes instead of satin ribbons. The discomfort is too strong. His skin is sensitive and prefers a nice, gentle femdom-ish caress over harsh materials that need larger aftercare treatment all the way. Kai likes the aesthetics of hardcore, but he wouldn’t follow through. Long story short, he leaves the rugged stuff to the advanced couples, he doesn’t need a jagged whipping. Suave kisses preferred, and he likes the seduction part.

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Balanced preference. He’s as good at sucking up your clit as he is at throwing his head back while moaning the house down, your hands on his lap. Appreciates halfway sloppy oral with consistent movements and eats you out super slowly, too. Which has you at the edge of your seat every time, it won’t get boring. Since you could look at his face 24/7, it doesn’t matter which way you go because oral will always come with a fantastic view. He is skilled with timing and nuance after some practice and getting to know your reactions, but the main characteristic of his giving and receiving style is looking very spirited and into it. How dare he look this good between your legs especially. And his lips — wow.

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Medium, high and intense on the occasion, but not abrasively so. Kai doesn’t like to thrust so hard nor does he want to get fucked really violently. It would be the exact same if he had a male dom; hard sex is not your angel’s cup of tea. It’s like playing the piano: Prudence makes the better piece. In fact, going way too raw scares him a lot, and he lets you know two weeks into your relationship already. Communication: A+.

Glued together in bed under his favorite, fluffy lilac duvet, gyrating hip on hip, chest to chest: Sounds more like it. Frottage is kind of his thing, by the way. He is equally amazed by your body, thinks it’s incredible and mindblowing. Whenever you stay like that for a long time, it’s like a sauna for free. His sweat is amazing, too. It doesn’t really smell, and it’s more gradual rather than being runny. Kai is well-hydrated and decently athletic, making out is his calling.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Kai is the most touchable boyfriend on Earth, so having a quickie naturally just won’t do. Wasted opportunities, not enough tender love, too much chaos. Huening Kai hates a hit-and-run or wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am mindset as a whole. Hooking up college style has been on his no-go list way before you dated, reaffirmed by his not-so-perfect sexual experiences in various hotel rooms. Your chemistry is just too closely affectionate, too familiar and mutually intertwined to fuck the shit out of each other in a heartbeat. It has to be full of life, a loving embrace, between reading a book and making music.

Even if you possessively guide him to the next best corner by wrapping that sexy signature slim grey tie around your fist, your back and forth goes on far too long to count as a 4-minute romp. It mellows out every time. His opinion is, it’s alright to get carried away with sex, „and hey — it’s with you!“ — you like this kind of approach yourself, loving to build up on pleasure so your orgasms will be strong and passionate. Rather than being too goal-oriented, you love to trail off, get distracted by twirling his hair, licking his chest and arms, or using toys at random to test things out.

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Moderate to — sort of — high risk. But nothing that could result in any type of open injury. A bruise is fine, so are light hickeys, or a reasonably reddened butt. That lovely apple bottom of his, as you say every so often. He’s open to hard domination that involves a power imbalance, that’s no big deal. You are his queen, he worships you, snakes his body around you to kiss his your limbs from every angle. Do we smell a tinge of subby contortionism there? Yes, we do… He can do the splits, right. The possibilities.

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Going by some very apologetic-sounding text messages sent from work, Huening Kai thinks he’s lousy. Incomplete, in his words. He hates that he can peak within minutes flat when you go for the backshots, though you take it as a compliment. At the end of the day, you can make him feel good and get lots and lots of his cum. You can reward him, and you can make his face go ahegao… because that’s how. It’s fucking sexy to watch in a mirror. Kai always goes several extra miles so the foreplay balances it out. When he’s already done, he uses his hands and mouth to get you off. What’s not to like — your boyfriend might like lazy wake-up cuddles, but lazy with pleasing he’s not. You get your morning head almost ritually to the point where he needs to heat the breakfast and tea again.

Nevertheless, since he looks up to you more than you could ever know, he aspires to become more steady and stable like he says you are. Big aspirations, he wants to keep it up for more than 25 minutes. You tell your gem not to force his body to last or make it painful for himself to the point where it deducts from your mutual enjoyment. Kai experiments with the thought of using actual viagra at one point, but quickly realizes it doesn’t suit him. No cutting corners, no pills, no shenanigans.

Instead, he reminds himself that there are so many different ways to focus the pleasure on you. You riding his thigh and only brushing against his pretty cock with your palm every other minute does the trick. Especially when he keeps his briefs on, straining against the white cotton. It’s all consistent with how Kai views sex as per usual, not liking messy speeds. Edging and cockwarming lite is entirely up his alley, you tell him, and he immediately agrees once you explained those terms to him. „You got me all figured out!“ — „You’re my guy… of course I have.“

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Some toys. Vibrators, nipple clamps. You actually own more handy items, mostly to run on him but also a decent amount of toys that give special attention to your clit. When he’s touring and you watch him on your tablet, either performing or chatting with you in real-time, you like to masturbate somewhat casually — until he turns up the heat and takes his shirt off. He’s no less horny, and sad on top of that, whimpering into his hotel pillow every night he’s not with you. Yeonjun once told you behind closed doors that Kai is pretty much withering away without your presence and hasn’t once looked at someone else with sexual, wandering eyes. This shit is serious. Kai gets a remote-controlled butt plug for his birthday that you can activate with your phone, I’m telling you.

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

More than fair. Might have the uncanny ability to look sassy in promo pictures and entertain his members with jokes, but Kai has actual zero brat potential, just pure dorkiness. Recently, he jokes how he’s proud of being your trusty boy toy and it makes you chuckle, kissing his cheek in return — because he is, and even more than that. You regularly step on Kai and he craves it, the absolute living slut for degradation. It’s a thrill, he loves to experiment, but he has no reason to tease. He’s too sexy to ever need it. Catching your eye is easy.

Though he understands that humiliation has a way of working if the sub, often when play begins, feigns an ego or attitude and talks back a lot, his view is that it should be more about masochism and breaking down his dignity sexually „because it’s hotter!“ — so there you have it, he’s the obedient type. Long as it stays a mind game, it’s shocking how far Kai is able to go psychologically because he otherwise isn’t a big fan of uncouth behavior or tough love. Kai’s 18+ side is mysteriously surprising and volatile sometimes as he likes to finds his pain’s limit. In his eyes, annoying one’s dom or domme is for subs who don’t have respect. Cutting to the chase and being a professional is better.

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Super soft fairy moans like a cloud to sink into. No raspy groans or growls, it’s all very delicate. Such a fascinating trait of him given how such a lovely voice comes out of such a tall, immense body. Gradually, he gets louder and louder as play or sex goes on, and to say his innocent reactions are rewarding is a gross understatement. Kai is the type to helplessly whisper in your ear how much you fluster him, that he’s going insane, it’s beyond sexy to hear. He moans so much about wanting to do everything for you. He can be cheeky (as in, flashing his booty, that is), but he does as you say when the command comes. He finds the classic femdom hand signals helpful, the ones that indicate the sub which position to assume, how to act, what to say.

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Ever since you talked about latex and BDSM-inspired fashion, he’s been interested in trying on various fetish gear. That idea lives in his mind perpetually after you showed him some pictures of quality harnesses. Not too frail ones, it has to be large and substantial enough. Both fashionable and decorative, actually. He knows a lot of that stuff from what TXT are wearing in photoshoots, so he’s familiar with some aspects of it. Needless to say, he looks good in everything. Kai being a present to unwrap is just as steamy as him staying half-clothed with some bits of teasing skin to peek through. His stomach, his arms, or legs, you know the deal. His recent thing is donning his maid costume, which teases you immensely with his exposed, godly legs.

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Extremely sensitive pink balls. Even the slightest intentional contact with your lips, teeth, nose, or breath makes Huening Kai yelp out loud. Such a taboo spot for teeth increases the temptation of it. How soft, round, and plump this pretty spot is. You love to use your fingers and lube on them at your pleasure. They have that gentle scent, you could pucker your lips and slurp on them for minutes, completely obsessed with how perfect they are. At the expense of having him scream and seeing his legs twitch, no-brainer. He’s well-shaved, nor does he grow much hair there to begin with. Coming home from a music show, he always showers first before you can even touch him. „Wait, I’m disgusting, just a minute“ — and off he goes to the bathroom. He’s meticulously clean. And hell yeah: His dick got a nice fucking shape to it.

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Not to sound cheesy — to be honest, he’s always ready for some action. If you think bighit, he’s the opposite of Suga. The experienced, sometimes fully tired Yoongi takes his time to get going, lets nobody hop on his lap in the studio, and depends on his mood entirely. Cat person incarnate, everything at his own pace. Sex? It’s pretty common in society, it’s a set of activities, it’s another break when he produces. The goal is always the same, getting off, it’s a way of loving physically, it gets its place in the daily schedule, et cetera, and so on, he’s got his own philosophy, he’s a thinker. Hyuka on the other hand…

Is blue-eyed and would never conceptualize sex like this. Mood doesn’t matter when he can always warm up to your kisses. Sex is special, it holds deeper meaning and emotional value. Your pace is his pace. You initiate, he adapts. Like a pup, Hyuka will grind up against your hips in no time and jump at the prospect of sneaking off into the sheets. There’s novelty and an element of surprise, he yearns a lot at work.

His fellow members catch him daydreaming all the time, but he won’t kiss and tell. Everybody knows the maknae thinks about you anyway. The way he crushed on you was fucking crazy, the entire company saw how lovesick he was walking around. A very lightheaded Kai almost thought he’d faint and dramatically plunge into another reality when you asked him out on a mere ice cream date. All he could do was nod his head with a pulse above 120, put on his best preppy little outfit, and run to the hairstylist instantly.

z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Eyes half-closed, cuddling and caressing has a higher priority to Huening Kai than leaving you to your own devices. A light sleeper anyways, he hardly dozes off. Some people need space, some need sleep, others need a bath — Kai is more about the immediate hugs and warmth, and most definitely getting covered up. He doesn’t like staying nude and sticky, so dressing back up in oversized sweaters or shirts sounds like a better idea. A heated blanket during winter is a must, and from there, you can both doze off until you remember to brush your teeth.

Sometimes, you crawl back out from your little comfy love cave somewhere around 11:45 PM, handle business in the bathroom, and go back to sleep, hoping to rest like this forever. His tight schedule prevents that, though you still try to gather those hours like a quest. Kai is the cutie on duty, he works diligently so he can come home as early as possible. If not, you can visit your cuddle bug during practice, recordings, or photoshoots to your liking, or the dorm where you can sleep spooning during tender hours of rest where you warm each other on the couch.

read hyuka a-z on ao3

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paddockbunny · 2 years

Note

Max prompt 1 please! your writing is brilliant

"Welcome to the club..."

Summary : Max remembers an earlier conversation and makes sure your initiation into a certain well known, smutty, club is down to him. Rating : 18+ Pairing : Max Verstappen x Reader Word Count : 1,607 Warnings : NSFW, adult material, 18+, language, intimate touching, PinV sex, unprotected sex, detailed orgasm talk, Mile High club, sort of public sex Prompt Number : 1. Join the Mile High Club Gif Credit : @ferrarisbulls

As you took to your seat, you chucked your bag into the large cream leather seat you would be spending the next few hours in. You heard your boyfriend laugh with the pilot and the air stewardess over by the door and glanced around to see a familiar look plastered on his face.

“What ya plannin’ Verstappen?” You joked and he looked over at you as if he had just been rumbled, like a naughty child would if they had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He feigned he wasn’t planning anything but the look he flashed the stewardess as she walked past said the total opposite. You finished up taking out your things you needed for the flight from your bag and Max took the opportunity to press up against you from behind. “Can’t you wait till we’re home to celebrate?” You lulled but secretly you loved it. Your boyfriend was so hot and horny for you – especially after a race – that it made you feel like the most desirable woman on the planet. “Baby, if you only knew…” He practically growled in your ear and it sent an excitable wave throughout your body.

An hour into the flight

As time passed you realised how restless Max had grown beside you - which was strange because usually on the flight home after a race he was spark out within a few minutes of take off. You chalked it up to the fact it was only the pair of you on the flight back to Monaco tonight. Usually quite a few others would join, from Jos or Victoria, to some friends and even Christian and his wife had caught Max’s jet somewhere before. But tonight, it was just the two of you. As he huffed beside you (and you felt his eyes on the side of your head) you glanced up from your phone. You usually spent this time replying to emails and enquiries or on social media interacting with some of Max’s fans but you knew he wanted some attention tonight. So when he huffed again, you finally clicked your phone off and set it down on the little table.

Your head fell backwards and then to the side, his side. He was staring back at you with a soft, gentle smile and you could see how tired he was in his eyes. “Why don’t you close your eyes, baby? We still have a while before we land.” You suggested and it was met with a firm head shake and then a smirk grew on his mouth. Glancing down when you felt Max’s hand slowly creep on to your thigh and a surprised scoff left your mouth. You knew all of his tricks. You knew each and every one of Max’s “lets have sex” signals. For some reason you glanced at your watch, wanting to know precisely how long he would have to wait till you were home, in bed, fucking. “Do you remember a month or so ago when we were flying home from Italy?” He spoke softly. Most of the flights all seemed to merge into one and other so unless something specific happened, none of them really stood out to you.

“Remember when Lando mentioned the Mile High Club and you said you were not a member?” You side eyed him. You could see where this was now going and you bit your bottom lip – an action you knew always got to Max. The hand that was still working on your thigh seemed to grip it a little harder and you watched as he swallowed somewhat nervously. “No one is going to interrupt us.” He had somehow moved closer in the seats and his hand was now dangerously close to dipping under the hem of your skirt. The feeling was enough to make you want to moan for him but you sat still, positively radiating shock at what Max was suggesting. “Max….” His name flowed freely from your lips “We can’t” You added but it seemed like a useless protest. He had deliberately taken a jet home tonight. He had deliberately made sure no one else was with the pair of you. He deliberately paid off the staff. He had planned every second of this.

Giving in to him was so easy. As you thought of a way to stop the inevitable, Max took the opportunity to slide his hand past the barrier of your skirt and slowly ghost over your lace panty covered slit with his fingers. Everything you could have said in that moment had evaporated and disappeared from your mind. He knew you couldn’t resist him. You were just as horny for him as he was for you. You matched each other perfectly and your minds both went to sex as soon as a race was over so with that forgotten about confession, jet sex was only a matter of time. You felt his finger pull aside your panties and his skin touched you were you needed it most at a torturously slow pace.

“Look at how wet you are just thinking about it.” He teased but he was right. You had gotten so wet in what felt like seconds. Panties soaked and your juices already coating Max’s fingers. “They won't interrupt?” You whispered, already succumbing to the feeling of pleasure Max was giving you – even if it was nothing compared to his cock. He nodded and confirmed they wouldn’t dare so you threw all caution to the wind.

Everyone was right. The Mile High Club was really the best exclusive club to join. There was nothing quite like the thrill and feeling of fucking at 40,000 feet. Every sensation felt heightened and the feeling of ecstasy was better than ever before. You had started off in Max’s lap. Riding him as his hands clamped tightly around your throat. His praise of “good girl” and “fuck you feel so tight” seemed to echo around the jet cabin. And the jet, fuck! There was something about the way the jet’s vibrations seemed to synchronise with the same rhythm as you rode Max’s cock at that started teetering you closer and closer to climaxing. But Max didn’t let you. No, he wouldn’t let you get off so easily and so quickly. With reassurance no one would interrupt so you could do it however you liked, Max held you in place and set you down on the edge of the sturdy, bolted down table. His name – which had come from you in whimpers and whispers – now fell from you in loud moans. The angle was everything. His thick, big cock was able to continually hit your most pleasurable spot over and over and over again with every single powerful thrust. You gripped at his Red Bull team issued shirt with tight fists. His groans and gasps were intoxicating. Then, as if it couldn’t possibly get any hotter, Max reached between you both and started doubling the pleasure by rubbing over your clit with his fingers without any kind of warning. His smugness at being so in tuned with your body and your needs was one of the reasons you absolutely adored him and couldn’t imagine ever fucking anyone else ever again. No one could ever make you cum like Max could.

Then just as you thought about cumming, Max confidently told you; “Fuck, I can feel how close you are.” With a heavy pant and groan straight into your ear. “Keep going…please….” You begged him. His movements got ever so slightly lazy and his rhythm was disappearing, he was getting close to his own orgasm and yet was still continuing for your sake. He desperately wanted you to get off. He desperately wanted you to cum. He wanted you to feel the high along with him and that was evident in the way his fingers quickened their pace on your clit. You managed to mumble a quick “right there” and you felt the sudden, shocking high and you felt like you were floating. Your thighs trembled and your walls fluttered around his cock. The feeling of the high flooded you and shockwaves rippled throughout your body. You cried out his name and rode out the feeling as he leaned in further to your body and huffed out yours straight back to you. With one stronger, powerful thrust you felt Max empty himself inside of you. Through the aftershocks of your own orgasm you felt his. The jerking, convulsing movement of his cock inside of you as he gave you every last drop of his milky seed. Max’s knees almost buckled from how hard he climaxed. You were positive you had never orgasmed like that in your life and so you were confident that Max hadn’t either.

As he pulled out of you he let a shaky chuckle leave him. “Welcome to the club…” And within an single instant you grabbed his neck and pulled him straight back to you, his mouth on yours. You needed the simplicity of his kiss after the high that you were coming down from. You knew what it felt like to be drunk on him but this was far beyond drunk. You felt paralytic from him. You couldn’t help it. He hadn’t just fucked you. He hadn’t just given you the best, most otherworldly orgasm of your entire life. He had planned it. He had remembered what you had said over a month ago. He made sure it was him that was going to be the one to experience this first with you. And that was the biggest turn on of all.

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