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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 30 days

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The Quiet Ones 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

Note: don't ask me why I did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You keep to yourself. That’s the safest, the easiest way to live. You keep your head down, your eyes to yourself, your voice bottled up.

You grip your phone as you approach the coffee shop. You stand on your toes to see through the painted windows and frown at the long queue. You won’t have to worry about that. Like everything else social, you’ve found a work around.

You look at your phone, the app showing your order as ‘preparing’. It should be done shortly as the progress bar fills close to complete. You can bear the claustrophobia for a minute or so until it’s ready.

You go to open the door but an arm reaches past you and does that first. You step back, patiently waiting for the other customer to precede you. They don’t move. You stare at their shoes. Dark blue velvet loafers with gold emblems on chains.

“Go on, baby face, I got it,” the man’s voice makes your skin crawl.

You shrink down and give a nod, throat clenching as you struggle to find your voice. You’re not much for conversation but you’re but impolite.

“Thanks,” you force out without raising your head.

You scurry through quickly, a bit to close to the stranger than you like, and you clasp your phone against your chest as you stand just away from the cluster of people awaiting their orders. You bounce on your feet as the noises join together to form a cacophony; the hissing steam, the clanging metal, the clinking porcelain, the calls of the workers behind the counter, and the buzz of the crowd seated or standing around the cafe. Sweat gathers on the nape of your neck as the chaos swirls a storm around you.

You pull your phone away from the front of your pullover and check the screen. Should be ready any moment and you’ll be free of the circus. You adjust your grip on the phone, almost jittery as another customer joins the wait at the pick up window.

You breathe out. It’s not usually this busy at this time. You have a routine. You can handle the expected. You order on your phone so you don’t need to talk to anyone. You wait outside until it’s almost done then come in too quickly claim your prize. But not today, something’s different and it’s throwing everything off.

It’s only on Wednesday’s that you venture down to the cafe. It’s the halfway point of your week so you mark it with a taste of motivation. The same order every week. A London fog latte. Simple and affordable. Nothing fancy, nothing complicated.

Your name cuts through the din, “...medium London fog.”

You drop your arm to your side and set your shoulders. You march forward through the parting bodies ahead of you and reach for the cup. Before you can grasp it, someone else scoops it up. You nearly cry out in horror. Someone’s stealing your order!

You turn to the tea thief but they make no move to flee. They hold the cup nonchalantly, turning it to read the sticker on the side, reciting the same name that just rose from the barista’s lips seconds ago. You face the stranger but again, your eyes are downward.

The blue loafers!

“Cute name,” he comments as he holds the cup out.

You once more try to take the cup but before you can, he has it out of reach again. Your lashes flick and your fingers twiddle helplessly. His large hand is firmly around the cup so even if you did try to wrestle it from him, you doubt you’d have any hope but to spill it all.

You look around but no one else seems to notice. They’re all staring at their phones or talking with the person next to them. The staff behind the counter are too busy appeasing the rush of orders.

“I’ve never tried one of these,” he taunts, “I’m more of a ristretto guy. Like my espresso.”

You shake your head and rescind your hand, balling it against your fist. What does he want? Why is he bothering you? You said thank you. Did he not hear you?

“Don’t get yourself in a tizzy,” he pushes the tea towards you, “there you are, sweat pea.”

You hesitate. You slowly unfurl your fingers and reach for the cup. As you wrap your fingers around it, you can’t help but brush his. Thick and strong and unmoving. He clings to it for just a moment before he lets you have it.

“Thanks,” you squeak again, this time louder so he certainly hears you.

“You got a sweet voice,” he puts his hand on his hip, a glimpse of a shiny gold watch face peeking out from beneath his sleeve, “I’d love to hear more of it.”

Your eyes round as you focus on the zipper of his thin jacket. You shake your head and meekly raise your cup awkwardly and dip your chin slightly. No thanks.

You turn and weave your way back through the crowd. Your heart is thumping in your chest. What an odd encounter.

More so, you’re dismayed that he saw you. That he noticed you. For years, you’ve done your best to be invisible. You prefer it that way. You don’t even think your neighbours know you exist. But that man, he seemed to see nothing but you.

You push outside and nearly drop your cup. You try to steady yourself. You’re all knotted up and tense. You tuck your phone into your back pocket and bring the cup before you nose, inhaling the sweet scent of the foam. Something about it isn’t as soothing as usual.

You turn down the pavement and wince as a sole scuffs close behind you. Suddenly, another set of steps walk next to yours, measured to keep in tandem with your own short legs. Blue velvet.

You walk faster. Is he following you? Why? What does he want? He’s much taller, you can’t outpace him.

“You know, when I said I’d like to hear more, I thought maybe over a coffee?” He suggests.

You don’t say a word as you keep your eyes forward, squeezing your cup tight as you try not to swish it around too much. You’ve never had to deal with this before. Men don’t see you. There was a time you hated that but since, you were grateful for that.

“I mean, I could do most of the talking, never had much of a trouble with that, jellybean,” he offers.

You shake your head. Your throat tightens. You can’t speak. You want to scream but you can’t make a noise.

As you get to the corner, you stop short. He steps past you but just as quickly catches himself and turns to face you. You gulp and look down at your cup. You can’t keep going. If you do, you’ll lead him right to your home.

“What’s going on, sweetheart? You forget something? How about we head back and I’ll buy you something sugary to go with that?”

You furrow your brow and step back on your heel. You bring your eyes up, a furtive glance at his face, brief and flickering. You just want to know what he looks like so you never see him again.

His blue eyes twinkle, his nose is long but proportioned to his chiseled face, his hair is combed back, the sides shaved, and a thick swatch of hair lines his upper lip. He’s older than you, you know that much, but you’ve never good at gauging age. You’ve never seen him before but you can’t be sure. You don’t look at many faces.

You pivot and cross the street without looking. You narrowly miss a bumper and get a honk in remonstrance. You can’t stop yourself. You’re panicking. You head down the next street as his footsteps follow. It’s all you can hear.

As you pass a bin, you dump the drink. You don’t pause as it plummets heavily into the trash and you fall into a brisk half-jog. You pump your arms, puffing wildly, dizzy as you search for a saviour.

You dash into the library. You don’t know what you’re looking for. Just for anyone to get this man to leave you alone.

You don’t look back as you enter and head straight for the front counter. You’re out of breath as you approach the rounded edge and tap the bell frantically. A woman emerges from behind the window wall and she greets you with a confused chime.

“Hello, can I help you?” She asks.

“Yes, I need...” you gulp and glance at the doors. You push away from the counter and spin, searching. You don’t see the man. He’s probably waiting outside. But you never looked back. You never really saw if he was following. “I...” you turn back to the woman, “never mind.”

You cross your arms and turn away. You cringe as you realise how ridiculous you must have seemed. Worse, you didn’t mean to bother someone just doing their job and over what? You’re own issues. You should go home, back to your reclusion, where you can’t be in anyone’s way.

👄

When you finally muster the courage to leave the library, your journey home is slowed by your paranoia. You have your phone out, held up so you can see over your shoulder with the front camera. You watch the screen more than the sidewalk ahead of you.

You get home without a second shadow. As you let yourself through the grated front door of the building, you can’t help but feel stupid. That man must’ve got the idea when you as good as ran in the other direction. You’re being dramatic.

You close the camera and put your phone away. You waist six dollars in your frantic flight. You mourn the tea latte as the heavy inner door clunks shut behind you. You drag your feet up the stairs as your keys jingle on your finger.

You apartment is at the very end of the hall. You enter and twist the latch. You slide the chain into place and hang the key ring on the little hook beside the door frame. You untangle your purse and leave it with your phone on the table in the corner.

You shuffle the few feet to the front room and look around. You find comfort in the familiarity of your little apartment. Your hideaway.

You go back to your desk and sign back in. You’re back later than usual but you can still make up the time. As long as there’s enough tasks left in the portal. You don’t have to let that man ruin your whole day. You’ll never see him again. In a few days, you won’t even remember him.

👄

Wednesday. Halfway through the week.

You scroll and click around your screen as you watch the clock in the corner tick on. Usually around this time, you’d be excited. You’d clock out for your break and go down to the cafe. As much as you looked forward to the treat, the walk alone was relaxing in its own way.

Not that day. Despite your efforts to shrug off the strange encounter, you haven’t shaken it. So instead, the kettle boils as a bag of earl gray sits in an empty mug. You’re not going. Maybe next week.

You’re a bit depressed but you’re too nervous to make the venture. Oh well, you’ll save a bit of money. You could find a different place next time. That might be easier.

You stay logged in and claim a new task. Hey, you can be done work earlier if you can power through. You might even make a few extra bucks.

The kettle clicks and you get up to pour the water. You leave it to steep, forgetting it for the screen before you. Your fingers tap endlessly across the keyboard, filling the silence as you zone in on the words, transcribing messy ink to Times New Roman.

Your trance is broken by a sudden buzz. You sit up, the kink in your neck pangs. You need to stop hunching. The buzz comes again. Is that... It must be a mistake. It happens now and then, someone buzzes the wrong apartment.

You get up as it sounds a third time and you shuffle down to the speaker box. You hit the button, “wrong number.”

“No--”

You let go of the number before you can hear the response. They buzz again. You sigh. You hit the button.

“I’m sorry but you have the wrong number,” you repeat.

“I don--”

You release the button again and take a step back. Buzz! You’re getting annoyed. You hit the button. “Wrong--”

“Got a delivery. 212.” The man’s voice drowns out your own, reciting your name after your apartment number. Your finger stays on the button as you frown. A delivery?

“I’m not expecting a delivery.”

“Are you...” he says your name again.

“... yes.”

Silence, filled with the low hum of the speaker, “so, can I come up or...?”

“Uh, I guess.”

You pull your finger away and hover it over the other. Maybe it’s from work? There was the one time they sent a cheap mass production travel mug with their logo on it as some incentive. A poor attempt at employee appreciation.

You press down and hold until you’re certain they have enough time to get in. You wait by the door, ringing your hands. You hear the door at the end of the hall open on its old hinges and you peek through the peephole.

You watch the fuzzy figure come into focus with each of his long steps. He doesn’t hold a box nor wear the uniform of a postal worker. No, he wears those blue leather loafers and holds a bright pink paper cup with a white lid. From the cafe.

As he comes close, you get a pigeon’s eye view of the hair on his upper lip and his bold blue eyes. It feels like he can see you too as he stands smirking on the other side of the door. This can’t be real.

He knocks and you wince as the door shifts in the frame.

“Special delivery,” he calls through, “open up, baby face.”

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark fic #the quiet ones #dark!fic #series #the gray man

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httpsserene · 5 months

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𝖍𝖙𝖙𝖕𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖊’𝖘 1𝖐 𝖘𝖕𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑 - 𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫

summary: slightly less innocent, virgin!reader has had her view of pleasure shifted. her libido has increased to insane levels after she finally allowed her boyfriends to fix her…dry spell. charles and max have no issues with helping her ride out her newfound sexual appetite, and figure that she may be ready to take the next step. or, more accurately, take the next hand. content warning: 18+ only. explicit. no penetrative sex. corruption kink. handjobs. thigh riding. praise kink. dom/sub undertones. charles leclerc is a brat. orgasm denial. there's smidge of humor in here somewhere i think. slight humiliation kink. word count: 4.2k words pairing: charles leclerc / max verstappen x fem!black!reader soundtrack: gun • doja cat

preface: AHHHH OMG I HAD THIS IN MY QUEUE AND THE DATE WAS 9/12 INSTEAD OF 12/9 I WAS IN THE WOODS WITH SPOTTY CONNECTION ALL DAY AND I HAVE TBLR NOTIFICATIONS OFF ON MY PHONE I AM SO SORRY I HOPE YOU ALL LIKE IT! ALL FUTURE EPISODES WILL BE POSTED AT 12 PM ON THEIR RELEASE DAYS!

prev 1k special join taglist feedback & requests table of contents next ↻

it’s laughable. you can’t believe that you almost bought a vibrator instead of telling your boyfriends that you were ready to start the sexual aspect of your relationship. actually, it kind of makes you mad—you could’ve been experiencing the most mind blowing levels of pleasure years ago, if you had just gotten over your own insecurity.

max and charles had been dating each other for a couple years before they found you. you were a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend, and they were enamored with you as soon as they were introduced. you cringe whenever they reminisce over the first time you met them—the men think it’s the cutest first meeting ever.

they met you on a yacht in monaco. an older member of the ferrari team was retiring and decided to have a relaxed celebratory brunch on a chartered yacht. charles, of course, would be attending; he’s sure he’s most likely contractually obligated to go, but he also enjoys going to these sorts of events, he flourishes and thrives in social settings. however, on this particular day, max and charles had already planned for a date.

when charles had been forwarded the invitation from andrea (his trainer), who had texted him threats of bodily harm if he didn’t show up—he whined and groveled to max about having to reschedule their date. max had shushed charles’ dramatics, and simply pulled out his phone to show a text thread between him and brad (his trainer), who sent him the invitation to the yacht party. charles made a noise of surprise; this brunch is more relaxed than he thought. max shrugged and pressed a kiss to charles cheek–all they have to do is make an appearance, greet who needs to be greeted, congratulate who needs to be congratulated, and then they can sneak away and leave early for their date.

that was the plan. and everything seemed to be going according to the plan. they had boarded the vessel (nobody knew the rivals had come together), everyone assumed they had just arrived at the same time. they quickly congratulated the retiree, and charles separated from max to go and charm everybody on the boat, while max had gone to take advantage of the brunch spread.

the dutchman was halfway through his second plate of finger food when charles had returned to his side, bringing their trainers and a few engineers along with him. the monegasque was stealing bites of food off his plate, and max gently tapped on the face of his richard mille watch to remind charles that they needed to start wrapping up.

except, joris had just boarded the yacht—and you were at his side.

charles choked on his bite of stolen food, and max distractedly patted his back to clear his airways. it was like time slowed down, their vision tunneled, and the noise of conversations around them quieted; at the sight of you. you were wearing this light, flowy, orange sundress that complimented your warm brown skin, accessorized with gold jewlery, a pair of heeled tan sandals, and your curly hair was free and blowing in the breeze. you kept your gaze lowered, like you were fearing making eye contact with anybody on board, and you turned to slightly hide behind joris as you frantically whispered to him.

charles and max had decided then and there; they need to know you.

you had parted from joris at the sound of someone calling for you and the sight of you walking away, broke the trance the two drivers had been under.

when charles’ friend made his way over, they were quick to interrogate him about you, and why exactly he’s never introduced you to them before. joris threatened them before he gave them permission to pursue you (not that they needed it), and refused to answer any of their questions about you. he told them to go talk to you, and warned them to be gentle with you—as you have a more shy and introverted personality. it took nearly thirty minutes for charles and max to find where you disappeared too. you were chatting to the retiree, and as soon as you wrapped up the conversation—max inserted himself in your path, and ‘accidentally’ bumped into you.

you stumbled briefly, finding yourself bumping into charles as well. you frantically apologized to the two drivers, eyes wide with embarrassment—and max and charles found themselves vehemently reassuring you that it was their fault, and that you don’t need to apologize.

once you calmed, max started to test the waters.

“it was completely my fault. i should’ve been paying more attention to where i was walking but, i got distracted—because you look too beautiful in this dress.”

your mouth parted in surprise and you giggled awkwardly, not expecting the compliment (charles had to muffle his snort, max is incredibly corny), “oh! thank you—it’s really the dress that’s beautiful.”

the monegasque stepped in, “ah, no that cannot be. the dress only compliments how pretty you are.”

you hummed, eyes flickering between the two of them nervously, and caved to their flattery.

“mmm, thank you…the orange works with my skin tone pretty well.”

“it does,” max agreed with a soft smile, “i must be your favorite driver—since, you’ve dressed in dutch orange.”

your eyes widened, as you giggled at his bold claim, laughing harder when charles’ pretends to be angry at max’s words. the couple watches as your smile shifted from something sweet, to something teasing as you fumbled over what to say in response.

“oh? well, if i did dress for my favorite driver, it would be lando norris. because, this color is more similar to papaya than your dutch orange.”

max scoffed, and charles bursted out laughing—the two of them not expecting the teasing from you, based on how joris led them to believe that you were the shyest thing to walk on earth.

that interaction had completely cemented their urge to date you. they ended up staying at the yacht party, just talking to you the entire time, enjoying making you blush and fluster, flirting around the limits of how much affection you could take from them. they missed their dinner reservation, but found themselves taking you out to dinner somewhere near the waterfront.

at the end of the night, you exchanged phone numbers with them and they sweetly told you that they’d reach out to you for a second date. you had made a noise of surprise, completely disbelieving that you were on a date, or that they’d want to see you again. but, charles and max were quick to make their intentions clear as they realized they may have been moving too quickly for you.

you can’t believe that was over two years ago. the boys had been so kind with working hard for your trust, and with a final conversation about how this relationship would work—you had agreed to be their girlfriend. of course, you had your stipulation of not being ready to have sex, but the boys did take that in stride and didn’t try to coerce you into changing that boundary. matter of fact, they had even offered to stop having sex between the two of them if it made you uncomfortable—which you disagreed with on the spot; they didn’t need to limit their actions with each other just because you needed extra time.

and extra time, ended up being two years. charles and max had waited two years without complaining once, about the fact that you still weren’t ready to have sex with them. apparently, the final aspects that you needed to realize you were ready to have sex were: being unable to get yourself off for a month while they were in the midst of a triple header…and also that, you trust them with your entire soul.

and goddamn, did their patience result in a valuable reward.

ever since max and charles had cured your dry spell by giving you the most life-changing orgasm from riding max’s thigh, you’ve been insatiable.

it’s like your horny-meter was struck by lightning and was overloaded and stuck at the highest setting—it feels like a perpetual ovulation week. it feels like you can’t look at max’s thighs without getting wet, it feels like you can’t hold charles’ hand without your knees buckling. it wasn’t like you were never horny before the thigh-riding incident (max finds the title hilarious), but to be consistently desperate—you’ve never felt like this before. it’s like the monegasque and the dutchman have awoken your sex drive and shifted it into high gear. your libido has been so insanely high that the men have pretty much offered themselves to you as free-use.

you wake up horny? choose your fighter: charles’ thigh or max’s thigh. you get turned on by charles kissing your cheek? ride his thigh. your tummy knots up when max calls you pretty girl? ride his thigh. your panties get wet when charles comes back from getting a haircut? ride his thigh. your clothes fall off when max smiles at you? ride his thigh. your brain turns to mush when charles and max make out? ride their thighs, twice.

you’ve been so pleasure-crazed that you ended up getting a friction burn from how often you were using their thighs.

you whimpered in shame as charles rubbed aloe vera on the irritated skin between your legs.

“vior (see)?” charles said to max, who was sitting on the bed next to you holding your hand, “she has sensitive skin—we should not have let her use our thighs so often.”

“ah,” max dismissed, ignoring your mortified whine, he smirked at charles, “she’s just learned how good we can make her feel—forgive her desperation, schatje?”

charles lightly presses on the inflamed skin, and you slightly hiss in pain. he stares at max with an unimpressed expression,

“and now feeling good too often has her feeling bad, non?”

charles resumed his gentle massage of aloe vera, as he continued to bicker with max about you, like you weren’t lying right there. mortification had the melanated skin of your cheeks flushing with a visible blush, and you muffled your embarrassed whimper into max’s thigh. the humiliation of your boyfriends discussing your barely-sex related injury as if you aren’t present should have been horny-level reduction material—but secretly, you enjoyed it; just a little bit.

with a pained gasp, you slammed your thighs shut around charles’ hand when he passed over a more seriously-raw area of skin. his hand was forced up, and it brushed firmly against your cunt—and that previously pained gasp transformed into a moan of pleasure. the conversation around you silenced abruptly. you kept your eyes tightly shut, refusing to pull away from the safe haven of max’s thigh. you heard charles laugh disbelievingly, and with his free hand he easily pulled your thighs apart with little effort. the casual show of strength only had you getting wet.

he made a show of flexing the hand that was entrapped between your thighs, before he dropped two of his fingers on top of your panties and guided them to circle over your clit through the thin cloth. your eyes flew open, and with a squeal your hips bucked up to chase his hand; but he was too quick, and pulled away, using that same hand to hold your hips down on the bed.

“you’re so horny that you completely forgot about the friction-burn you have on your thighs from your previously extremely horny activities,” max deadpanned, staring down at you with a blank expression.

“i can’t help it,” you murmured shyly, “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” max stated, releasing his grasp of your hand to brush his thumb across your cheek, “nothing’s touching your cunt for a week.”

“huh? WHAT? why? no—why not?” you blurted out in confusion, ignoring charles’ snort.

“liefje—you could barely handle charles rubbing the gel into your skin; you are too sore and inflamed. no pillows, no hands, no thighs.”

you humphed, knowing max is right, but not wanting to admit it.

“that’s torture! i just started getting to experience real pleasure and now i can’t even cum for a week?!” you whined up at max with pleading eyes.

“you went without using our thighs for two years—you can handle a week, mon coeur,” charles patted your hip with an annoying smile, before he climbed off the bed to put the gel away.

“charles, don’t tease her,” max sighed, “it’s just a week, pretty girl. you’ll be fine.”

you are not fine.

it’s the slowest time has ever passed in your entire life. honestly, the nerve of your boyfriends to have beautifully muscled thighs around you. you’ve been put in horny jail–seriously! the two men seem to have a radar for whenever you start to get turned on. no matter how hard you try to suppress any changes in your body language or facial expression, they sus you out in a few seconds. it’s uncanny; before you even open your mouth to try and persuade them into anything, they squish your cheeks together and say, “not yet,” and then walk away to give you space to calm down. every instance of this in the first couple of days was more mortifying than the aloe-vera gel application situation (which max now applies for you since charles couldn’t refrain from teasing you), but you quickly became desensitized.

max will not budge. he lets you whine, grovel, beg, promise, and plead. he sits through your whole monologue of desperation on day four, and smiles the entire time. when you finish your expertly delivered request to be allowed one orgasm from his thigh, he pats you on the ass and walks away. the amount of rage that filled you was probably unhealthy–how the fuck does he manage to be so unfazed?

charles, on the other hand, you could break. on day five, you trapped him in bed, sneakily convincing him to spend five more minutes with you while max brushed his teeth. you were quick to initiate sweet kisses, humming into the press of his lips, before you pull away and squirm on top of him to straddle his torso.

the love-tinted haze cleared from his eyes as soon a he puzzled out your motive, and the monegasque moved to guide you off his body, but you halted him, pressing a firm hand in the middle of his bare chest.

“c’mon cha–just let me, it’s been so long,” you pout down at him, doe-eyes wide and pleading, “don’t you wanna make me feel good?”

charles wavered–it has been so long. he doesn’t think he’d forget how your face looks as you orgasm, but it would be nice to see it again. you slowly grind your hips down on his, and charles manages to hold back any noises, but his eyes flutter in pleasure. the brunet halts your hips when he sees the brief flicker of discomfort appear in the furrow of your brows.

“ah, regarde toi (look at you)!” charles tuts disapprovingly, “you know you aren’t ready, just wait a little longer!”

you climb off of his lap, and bury your face in the pillow next to him, muffling a dramatic scream to make sure he knows how displeased you are. he rubs your back soothingly, letting you release your anger, before you flip over and huff.

“fine–whatever. two more days. two more days…for me,” you murmur, ignoring charles’ squint at your words, “just because i can’t do anything doesn’t mean you two can’t, right?”

charles shrugs his agreement, “yes, i guess. we haven’t came since you can’t. we were just planning to wait for your skin to recover.”

your heart warms at their abstinence, and the gears of your brain start turning.

“hmm. you know you don’t have to wait for me? i kind of got myself into this situation and it’s not fair for–”

“no. max and i are both responsible too,” charles cut you off, “we should’ve taken more care to make sure you weren’t pushing yourself too far.”

“i don’t blame you guys–i was jumping the two of you everytime you so much as breathed in the same room as me. but, that’s not the point! i was going to say: shouldn’t i thank you guys properly?”

“quoi? how?” he tilted his head to the side in question.

“i mean, isn’t it time i learn how to make you feel good too? i’ve kind of taken advantage of you, and never thought about making sure you guys feel good, like me.”

“how can you say that, mon amour? you make us feel good everytime we make you feel good,” charles sees that you don’t quite believe him, “you don’t notice how tight our pants get when you sit on our thighs? after you’ve finished, we sneak away to the bathroom to relieve ourselves! trust me, we feel very good with you.”

“hey! that’s my point–i want to make you guys…cum,” you whispered, “not have you sneak away to go do it yourself. can’t you teach me? isn’t now the best time for me to learn when i can’t be distracted by my own orgasm?”

“as long as you avoid rubbing yourself on anything, i’m actually okay with this,” max’s voice carried from the doorway, causing you and charles to jump in surprise. neither of you heard him open the en-suite door.

the dutchman walked over and sat on the bed next to charles, who eagerly supported your suggestion now that max said it was okay.

“c-can…can we do it now?” you asked quietly, simultaneously afraid of a possible rejection and the idea itself.

the younger man hummed, and sat up next to max. he smirked at the blonde, “i’m sure he can’t say no to the opportunity of having me teach you how to touch him just the way he likes.”

you may have miscalculated, to some degree. does everything about max have to big? big mouth, big hands, big thighs, big…dick. your brain stops functioning at the sight—max sitting with his back against the headboard, legs spread open comfortably, uncaring of how exposed he is, his cock half-hard and still growing where it rests on his thigh, and don’t forget his self-satisfied smirk at the sight of your shock. you squirm from your seat in between his legs and charles steadies you from his position behind you, bracketing your body within the two of them.

the monegasque shifts forward, hooking his chin on your shoulder with his chest pressed along your back, and hums softly, “all of that ,” charles pauses and moves his right hand to apply pressure on your navel, “is going to be deep inside of you soon.”

“ ‘s not gonna fit in me.”

“we’ll make it fit,” max states. you whimpered at his confident tone, and you could feel charles muffle his chuckle in the crook of your neck.

the click of the lube bottle opening caused you to flinch back into charles, who soothed you with a pat on the hip. the brunet carefully squeezed out a small amount of lube into your right palm and murmured instructions for you to warm up the liquid. he then guided your hand to grasp max’s dick, who sighed softly at your touch.

“touch him however you want, mon ange,” the monegasque directed, “get used to how he feels and then we can make him feel good.”

swallowing down your apprehension, you lightly trace a finger down his shaft, marveling at how he’s a few of your fingers in girth and decently longer than the size of your hand (that’s definitely not fitting inside of you, they have no idea what they’re talking about). you drag the tip of your pointer finger up along the vein on his underside to the head of his cock. the tip is flushed with an attractive shade of pink complimenting the pale skin of his body, and it’s a beautiful contrast to the brown skin on the back of your hand. you wrap your palm around him gently and brush your thumb over the head, making a noise of surprise at his cock twitching in your grasp. a drop of pre-cum beads in the slit and you curiously drag a finger to collect it; you pause, before you bring your finger to your mouth and flick out your tongue to taste it.

it almost tastes like nothing? slightly bitter, a little salty—but, it’s good. he tastes good.

max groans and the sound of his head falling back and hitting the headboard reminds you that the cock you’re feeling up is attached to him.

a broken rasp of, “fuck,” slips from his lips, and charles kisses your cheek in approval.

“ah-you’re so good at this already, mon amour,” charles cheered, “let’s give him a hand, together.”

he brings his left hand around your body to join yours around max’s, and leads you through the motions. he starts you on half strokes, having you circle your hand around the head, while he focuses on mimicking your motions around the base. you can see the muscles of max’s abdomen and thighs clenching with the effort of not thrusting forward into your hand.

“shit,” max moans, “the two of you will be the death of me.”

charles nips a mark right behind you ear, “move your hand like this—oui, just like that—and press your palm around the head—good girl—just keep doing that for me, mon amor.”

max groans roughly at the focused attention on the sensitive tip of his dick; he’s going to come embarrassingly quickly. the sight of charles teaching you how to give him a proper handjob is going to keep him up at night.

“liefje, you’re doing such a good job,” max pants, “going to make come already, pretty girl—are you going to lick my cum off your fingers too?”

you moan highly at his words, nodding your head quickly in agreement, eager to keep being good for him. max continues to run his mouth as he gets closer to orgasm: ‘you and charles should taste the cum off your hand together,’ ‘he can’t wait to get his hands and mouth on you,’ etc.

with a stuttered breath, max warns you that he’s cumming—and charles yanks your hand off of him; ruining max’s orgasm. the dutchman shouts in frustration, his hips bucking up freely now, trying to chase the delicious friction that was stolen from him.

with flushed cheeks, max yells, “what the fuck, charles!” and you turn to look at charles, who’s sitting behind you with an extra-pleased smirk on his face. the brat shrugs nonchalantly, not offering an explanation. you bring your hand back to grasp max’s cock—and repeat the same motion of twisting your palm around the head, to lead max back to an orgasm. he moans in relief, thankfully the edge of release didn’t slip away from him entirely—and then you bring your other hand up to make up for charles’.

all it takes is a few more synced strokes, and max cums. you feel the warmth of his release coat your fingers, but your eyes are stuck on his expression. his mouth parted slightly, eyes shut, his chest heaving, mouth red and flushed from where he was biting at his bottom lip, and you can see the pleasure washing over his face—goddamn, you wish you were feeling what he is. in the haze of appreciating how he looks when he comes, you fail to stop your hands from continuing your motions and max’s hands fly down to halt you once the pleasure slips into too-much.

when he makes eye-contact with you, you raise your cum-covered hand to your mouth and make a show out of tasting his cum. you moan sweetly and smack your lips—honestly, you don’t particularly like or dislike the taste, but the way max’s eyes widen at your display makes you think you’ll learn to love it. he watches you lick your hands clean, and murmurs out a faint, “what the actual hell, liefje.”

“and, you,” the older man’s expression hardens as he directs his cold gaze on charles, “we’re not touching you for two weeks.”

“por quoi?!,” the monegasque pretends as if he doesn’t know exactly what he did.

you and max both ignore charles’ whining, and you smile extra sweetly at max as you wiggle onto his lap, “may i use your thigh, please?”

he digs his thumb into the sensitive skin of your thigh, and you yelp lightly.

“two more days, liefje,” max orders, “and if you’re patient, you can have more than just my thigh.”

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melpomene-writes · 8 months

Text

my celebrity crush

minatozaki sana x fem!reader // fluff, smut

you are so gay.

as if there has ever been any doubt about that.

the photo on the screen of your phone is just further unnecessary proof of that fact. you try telling yourself that you’re just appreciative of an expensive matching lingerie set but the truth is that you’re halfway in love with the gorgeous model and the voluptuous curves that the lace frames.

besides, you might as well appreciate the latest photograph that underwear model minatozaki sana has posted to her instagram account — it’s been shared to be looked at, though perhaps not with the kind of meticulous attention that you use to admire every pixel of the frame.

there’s no question about it, minatozaki sana is gorgeous. anybody with a working pair of eyes can see that. that she was placed upon this earth specifically to model underwear, you have no doubt. but sometimes you wonder whether sana’s existence has a secondary purpose — to torture you with those pretty brown eyes and her smiling lips and each flash of delicious skin.

“you’re so gay.”

tzuyu’s comment, while undeniably true, is the unwelcome gravity that sends your thoughts plummeting back to reality.

“she’s so pretty,” you whine, staring mournfully at the picture for a few seconds, before you continue scrolling down your instagram feed.

“yeah, because you were definitely admiring her face,” tzuyu comments drily, giving you a knowing stare. she nudges you with her elbow, then gestures at the drinking game that you’ve been ignoring in favor of drooling over an unattainable model. “come on, it’s your turn.”

you reach into the center of the circle and flip over a playing card, before pointing across at dahyun and gesturing for her to take a drink.

“trust you to fall for a girl who’s famous,” tzuyu says, when the game has moved onto your other side.

“i haven’t fallen for her,” you pout. “i’m just appreciative of her work.”

“you get a notification whenever she posts a new photo,” tzuyu reminds you. “i don’t even do that for the people that i’m dating. you’ve got it bad.”

you scroll back up to look at sana’s picture once more, and your heart twists painfully in your chest at the smoldering gaze that sana gives the camera. finally deciding to stop torturing yourself with daydreams about what will never be, you lock your phone and slide it into your pocket, then gesture to the half-empty bottle of vodka on the floor between yourself and tzuyu.

“i need a stronger drink.”

///

you’ve got a nice o’clock class in the morning, yet you still allow tzuyu to ply you with a generous amount of vodka, still allow yourself to be drawn in by the increasingly raucous drinking games, still allow yourself to be dragged out into town to continue your night at a club when you promised yourself earlier that you would only have two drinks and then be in bed by eleven.

it’s a dangerous game to play, but once you become aware that you’re way drunker than you planned to be, you decide to embrace it and order the next round of shots — tequila this time —much to the delight of your friends.

your mind’s fuzzy as you stumble away from the dance floor and down a dark hallway with unpleasantly sticky floors towards the women’s bathroom. there’s a queue lining up outside, a string of drunk girls complimenting each other’s dresses and catching loudly over the thump of music as they wait for one of the stalls to free up and you join the back of it, fishing your phone out of the pocket of your pants to pass the time.

when you unlock your screen, it’s still open on the instagram post from earlier, and your eyes pop out of your head once more as they’re greeted by the sight of minatozaki sana’s lace-clad body. the sight knocks the air out of your lungs, and you feel giddy. (it might be the alcohol, but you’re pretty sure that this photo really isn't helping the matter.) you feel as though you could stare at this photo all week, that sana’s sultry brown eyes and the expanse of creamy skin on display could keep you sustained better than the food and oxygen that science says your body needs to survive.

tzuyu’s words from earlier ring in your mind. trust you to fall for a girl who’s famous. end despite your earlier denial, you know now that it’s true. you’ve never been this addicted to a girl in real life, never felt like your life would be incomplete without somebody. and its fucking ridiculous because minatozaki sana’s a famous model, and you’re just an insignificant speck in sana’s extensive follower list. you might dream of an alternate universe in which a chance encounter with the model leads to a fulfilling relationship and a fairytale happy ending, but the reality means that this will never actually happen.

which is why what you do next is so easy.

it’s almost certainly the alcohol that pushes you to start typing out a comment on sana’s photo, fueling the resentful part of your mind that’s reminding you that sana’s not the only incontestably gorgeous, but that as a famous model she would never even glance twice at somebody like you, pushing your thumbs to tap away at the keyboard on the screen of your phone before your brain has the chance to catch up.

“nice underwear, bet it would look better on my bedroom floor...”

the line moves forward just as you tap send, and you slip your phone back into your pocket and forget about the comment entirely.

///

when you’re finished in the bathroom, you return to the dancefloor with a clear conscience and a renewed enthusiasm for having a good time. you dance with tzuyu, shimmying your hips and waving your arms around above your head in ways that would bring you great shame if you weren’t impaired by the buzz of too many units of alcohol. as it is, you dance like you don’t give a fuck — and you don't.

that is, until your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you take it out while continuing a half-dance kind of thing, startling yourself with the bright glare of the screen as you unlock it in the darkened nightclub. you turn down the brightness, then look for the cause of the vibration — an instagram notification telling you that somebody has sent you a private message — and read the words on the screen.

“nice face, bet it would look better between my legs...”

you read the sender’s name once, twice, three times before it registers that it reads minatozaki sana — your celebrity crush minatozaki sana — and it is only after that the contents of message itself hits you.

and you nearly drop your phone.

no way.

no fucking way.

you read it all again, read your own shame-inducing comment that you barely remember typing earlier in the night and then read sana's private response. and it just doesn't make any sense. sana’s making fun of you, she has to be. you’ve made an unwanted and inappropriate sexual comment on a stranger's photo and sana’s calling you out for it.

you have to believe that’s true because the alternative is that sana’s message is genuine, and that is far too much for your alcohol-fogged brain to handle.

there is no way that sana would be interested in somebody like you.

you’re a firm believer that the multiverse theory is entirely plausible, but you cannot comprehend that there could be a single universe in which you get hit on by somebody as completely out of your league as minatozaki sana.

especially not in this universe.

especially not after the awful comment that you sent.

you wish that you could rewind time. it's stupid, to be completely honest, because you've spent months dreaming up impossible scenarios in which sana notices you amongst the thousands of fans, but now that the day has finally arrived, you don't think you've ever been this mortified in your life.

you need to be sober. you also need to rectify this situation as soon as possible, and because sobriety seems to be several hours and a few pints of cold water away, you settle for working on the latter.

"i'm so sorry! i've been drinking and i don't know what i was thinking when i wrote that! i promise i'm not a creep!"

it's word vomit in written form, but you aren't capable of typing out anything more articulate in your current state and you're at least grateful that the message contains no spelling errors. you hit send and push the phone back into your pocket, as if putting the whole thing out of sight will wipe it from your mind.

if only the world worked in that way.

“what’s wrong?” tzuyu bellows into your ear from just a few inches away, and despite the proximity, her words are still almost drowned out by the thump of the bass.

you try to act normal, realizing quickly that ‘normal’ behavior is a lot harder to pull off when you’re thinking about it, and just shrug, before answering, “just not feeling it anymore. i’ve drunk too much.”

“we can go if you like,” tzuyu replies. “i’m pretty much done for the night too.”

your phone goes off again in your pocket, and you try not to be too eager in taking it out, just in case tzuyu notices your strange behavior and probes further.

“why don’t you enjoy the rest of your night, and we’ll see if you’re still interested when you’re sober tomorrow?”

you frown down at the screen, because the words don't entirely make sense and you don't know if that's your fault or sana's fault or the alcohol's or some fiendish combination of all three.

“interested in what?”

you press send and sana’s next message comes back almost immediately, and you can’t help but picture sana somewhere with her phone in her hand, waiting for your message so that she can reply straight away. (sana’s scantily clad in this scenario, and draped across a bed, because apparently your mind enjoys straying to inappropriate places after too many shots, and oh boy, if your mouth wasn’t dry before then it certainly is now.)

“in seeing my underwear on your bedroom floor.”

you lock the screen of your phone in panic, lest anybody around you happen to see the conversation with sana and put it away as you lean towards tzuyu and say, “yeah, let’s get of here.”

///

when you wake up, the only thing to hit you before the hangover is the shame.

you remember everything. well, there are clear gaps in your memory — you don’t remember the journey to the nightclub, nor getting food on the way back home even though there’s an open pizza box with two and a half uneaten slices lying in plain sight on your bedroom floor, nor the exact set of circumstances that led you going out on a night that you’d promise yourself you would stay in. but you remember everything about minatozaki sana, about the obscene comment you posted on sana’s photo, about the inexplicably propositional message that you received in response.

and you’re mortified.

you unlock your phone with the greatest reluctance, because you're hoping that there’s a tiny chance you drank so much last night that the entire thing was merely a dreamed-up product of your own alcohol-addled mind but nope, the messages from sana are most definitely glaring up at you, which means that you did the unspeakable and pretty much sexually-assaulted a stranger via an instragram comment.

the third thing that hits you, once you’ve confirmed that last night’s events really did happen, is the realization that you should’ve been in class twenty minutes ago.

you drag yourself out of bed, grateful that you at least had enough sense to change into pajamas when you got home in the early hours of the morning, rather than passing out fully nude, as you’ve done before, and take your phone with you out of your bedroom and into the kitchen where tzuyu sits at the table, chewing on a slice of toast.

“tzuyu, we have a big problem,” you announce.

tzuyu glances up from her plate, an expression of mild surprise on her face before she swallows her mouthful of food and replies, “for the last time, y/n, skipping class because you’re hungover is not the end of the world.”

you feel a bang of sadness for the loss of your unblemished attendance record this year, but then shake yourself out if it when you remember that there are far worse things that you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours than forgetting to set an alarm.

“no, something happened last night,” you explain. when panic flashes across tzuyu’s face, you hold out your phone, which is open on the comment you made on sana's photo last night, and quickly say, “no, nothing like that. look at this.”

tzuyu squints at the screen, mouthing the words of your comment silently as she reads it, before her mouth drops open and she stares up at you with shock in her eyes.

“jesus christ, y/n. that’s not like you at all.”

“i know!” you whine, taking back your phone so that you can open up the message conversation that follows on from your comment. “i’m mortified.”

“i mean,” tzuyu says, taking another bite from her toast and continuing in a muffled voice, “that photo has hundreds of comments. i’m sure she hasn’t seen it.”

“hold on,” you tell her. “i’m not finished.”

you show tzuyu your phone once more, this time open on the surreal conversation with sana, the one that you wouldn’t believe actually happened if you didn’t have the hard physical evidence of it in front of you.

tzuyu’s reaction is predictably astounded.

“what the actual fuck?”

“so, you see it too?” you ask, just to confirm, as tzuyu takes the phone from you to look at the conversation in more detail. “i haven’t just fantasized the entire thing?”

tzuyu frowns down at the screen with an expression of disbelief that matches how you feel, and then answers, “it would appear not.”

the phone in tzuyu’s hands vibrates with a new message, and you lunge forward to snatch it from your best friend, only for tzuyu to use her height advantage against you to keep you the phone to yourself.

“it’s from her!” tzuyu announces gleefully, before she reads out, “‘morning cutie!’ — oh my god, i’m going to be sick already — ‘hope you aren’t too hungover. the offer still stands. i’m in dc for a shoot next week if you’d like to go for a drink?’ holy shit, y/n. she’s serious.”

you finally triumph in taking your phone back, reading over sana’s newest message to find that tzuyu didn't make a word of it up. minatozaki sana, a famous model so gorgeous that you’re certain she could date anybody she wanted, has actually asked you out.

“it’s a joke,” you say aloud, for your own benefit more than for tzuyu. “it has to be. retaliation for the gross comment that i left her. she has to be making fun of me, trying to see if she can trick me into saying yes, before she jumps out and tells me that of course somebody like her would never be interested in somebody like me.”

“okay y/n, this may be news to you — and don’t you dare repeat this conversation to anybody because you know i hate it when people think i can be sincere — but you’re actually kind of hot." when you open your mouth to protest, tzuyu shuts you up with a dismissive wave of your hand and continue, “and i know that girls could be flinging their panties at you and you’d still come up with a completely illogical explanation for why they might still not be interested in you, but it’s not completely unreasonable that minatozaki sana has checked out your instagram account, decided that you’re a hot piece of ass and wants to screw you.”

you chew on your lower lip, because that’s an unlikely story, even though the messages that stare up at you from the screen of your phone seem to support a similar idea.

“look,” tzuyu says, reaching out to rest one hand on your arm, “if you don’t want to then you don’t have to. but just remember that most people would give anything to be asked out by their celebrity crush.”

it hits you then. this is your celebrity crush, the woman that only ever appears in your fantasies. an opportunity like this would never present itself again.

“okay,” you finally concede. “but if i turn up to meet her and find that she’s there with a half dozen police officers waiting to arrest me for sexually harassing her online, then you are paying for my legal fees.”

///

you’re terrified. you’ve been a jittery ball of nerves all afternoon, and now that the minutes until you meet sana are down to the single digits, the pounding of your heart is deafening.

“y/n?”

you’re so nervous that you startle when you hear a voice saying your name, and you jump to your feet when you see sana standing in front of you.

sana is… she’s shorter than you imagined her to be. she’s only fractionally shorter than you, but it still surprises you that this figure you’ve built up in your head to be such a monumental idol in your life doesn’t actually tower over you in reality.

sana seems completely normal too, as if she’s just a regular person, rather than a famous model with hundreds of thousands of online followers. and yeah, of course you knew sana wasn’t going to show up in just a fancy set of lingerie, or wearing a glamorous ball gown, or anything like that, but there’s something about seeing sana wearing a pair of turned up jeans with rips in both knees, a leather jacket, a plaid scarf bundled around her neck, that just grounds the entire situation.

she’s still gorgeous though. you think that sana could have turned up in a pair of sweatpants and with unwashed hair and you would still momentarily forget how to breathe in her presence.

sana’s eyes are browner in real life, and her smile even prettier, and if you weren’t at least fifty percent in love with the model before this moment, then you definitely are now.

“sana?” you choke past the dryness in your throat to finally stop gaping like an idiot and say something. “hi! um, can i get you a drink?”

“sure!” sana answers, unraveling her scarf from around your neck and taking off your jacket, folding both over one arm as you lean on the bar and flag down a bartender. “i’ll have a white wine, please.”

“a white wine and a vodka lime soda, please,” you tell the server behind the bar, reaching into your purse for some change to pay for the drinks.

“you look great, by the way,” sana says, nudging herself into your side as she leans on the bar beside you.

“so, do you,” you say. “i mean, wow.”

you turn to look at sana with the intention of physically acknowledging how good sana looks but find brown eyes much closer than you expect. you falter, intimidated by sana's proximity, and have to look away for your own sanity.

“don’t be ridiculous,” sana dismisses your comment with a wave of the hand, as if she hasn’t just dazzled you with a simple gaze. “i came straight from a shoot so i didn’t even have time to properly get ready.”

the bartender places your drinks on the bar, and you take the opportunity to distract yourself from the heat rising to your cheeks in sana’s presence by reaching out for your purse and counting out the correct change to pay for your drinks. passing the glass of wine over to sana, you pick up your own drink and lead the way over to a small table for two not far from the bar.

“i want to apologize for the comment that i left on your picture,” you say, almost as soon as you both have each taken a seat, desperate to get your apology in early so that you have a chance to redeem yourself and prove to sana that you can be so much more than just a creep from the internet. “i was drunk, and i know that doesn’t excuse anything...”

“don’t worry about it,” sana says, taking a sip from her wine and then placing the glass on the table. “it’s not the first time i’ve seen a comment like that. admittedly, they’re usually from gross teenage boys or pervy old men...”

“i’m incredibly sorry,” you repeat, mortified at being placed in such a category.

“look, i can tell that it’s out of character for you,” sana reassures you. a sly smile quirks her lips, and she adds in a lower voice, “besides, i like a girl who isn’t afraid to say that she wants.”

your mouth goes incredibly dry from the combination of sana’s words and the look that sana gives you in that moment, like she wants to launch herself across the table and do unspeakable things to you regardless of the bar’s other patrons, and you have to reach for your drink to cool yourself down.

“do you do this often?” you dare to ask, almost scared to hear of all the other people sana must’ve invited out for drinks, just like this.

“do what?” sana frowns.

“go out for drinks with fans.”

sana shakes her heads and answers, “actually, this is the first time.”

you almost choke on your drink. you had been expecting sana to say that she does this all the time — she must do this all the time if she's doing it with you — but the reality is a complete surprise.

"then... why me?"

it doesn’t make sense. sana has over ten million followers on instagram, and out of them all, she has chosen you.

“i don’t know,” sana shrugs. “something about you intrigued me. when i saw your comment, i was curious because it came from a woman. and then i looked at your photos and i liked what i saw.”

you feel your cheeks flush when sana confessed to browsing your own instagram account. you use it to post pictures of sunsets and hand-picked flowers and the cat that followed you home from the library last week. nothing that would make a lingerie model swoon.

and yet sana’s still there, sitting in front of you with a drink in her hand that you bought for her.

“what about now?” you dare to ask. “do you still like what you see?”

sana’s gaze slowly lowers, staring at your eyes and then dropping to your lips, where she lingers before her stare slides down the rest of your body, as if she’s checking you out through the table that sits between you both. when sana’s eyes flicker upwards once more to meet yours, she doesn’t answer your question verbally. instead, the way she raises her eyebrows at you, along with the renewed hunger in her eyes, is more than enough of an indication of her thoughts.

“so,” sana eventually drawls, “it took you a great deal of alcohol for you to post that comment, right?” when you nod an affirmative, sana continues, “and how many drinks before you’ll let me take you back to my hotel?”

you glance across at your drink, already half empty from the way that you’ve been sipping at it regularly as a distraction from the mounting arousal that has you clenching your thighs together. your decision is instant, and you reach for the glass, knocking back your head to pour the remainder down your throat.

wincing at the taste of the vodka, slightly stronger at the bottom of the glass than it had been at the top, you put the glass down with a thud and reply, “one’s more than enough.”

sana’s eyes light up in delight and she finishes her own drink in one gulp, before collecting her purse and jacket as she pushes back her chair.

“then let’s get out of here.”

///

if somebody were to ask you at a later date to recount the journey back to sana’s hotel, you would only be able to do it in the vaguest terms. it’s a blur of sana’s hand in yours, and sana’s hand on your waist, and sana’s hands drifting lower so that it's not quite grazing the curve of your denim-clad butt when you both have the privacy of the elevator up to sana’s room.

the two of you talk about... about something. the two of you must do, because the journey isn’t an awkward one, not entirely anyway. you think that you both talk about sana’s current shoot, and your college classes, and other such idle chitchat that happens entirely on autopilot. none of it really registers in your brain, because you’re still completely overwhelmed by the fact that you’ve met your celebrity crush, let alone the fact that said celebrity crush has invited you back to her hotel room for what promises to be the most mind-blowing evening of your entire life to date.

you’re still half-convinced that this whole thing is just a hoax, that sana’s hand seeking out whichever part of your body it can find to hold as you both make your way up to sana’s room is only there to stop you from running, that you both’ll step inside sana’s room to find a television crew armed with cameras and a half dozen confetti cannons ready to jump out and tell you that you’ve been pranked.

because there’s no way that sana actually wants to have sex with you.

but the two of you make it up to the hotel room, and when sana unlocks the door with her key card and ushers you inside, there’s nothing waiting for the two of you except a king size bed that’s equal parts inviting and intimidating.

“can i get you another drink?” sana asks, dropping her purse and jacket onto the floor beside the dresser and opening the door to the mini-fridge in the corner of the room to inspect its contents.

“no,” you answer, deciding that although a little liquid courage would be more than welcome right now, you want to be sound of mind to experience this for whatever it turns out to be. “i...”

“oh,” sana says, shutting the fridge door again and crossing the room to you, her hands seeking out your waist and slowly guiding you back against the wall next to the door. “is there something else you'd rather be doing?”

“i...” you stammer, your throat almost painfully dry, “i have a couple of ideas.”

“yeah?”

you hesitate before you act, searching sana’s face for any possible sign that she doesn’t want you to kiss her, but when you find none, and when sana’s hands tighten on your waist in encouragement, you lift one of your hands to cup sana’s cheek and pull her in for a hot kiss.

despite waiting for you to initiate the kiss, sana takes control as soon as your mouth meets hers. she keep you anchored against the wall with her hands, while her mouth opens and her tongue swipes against the crease of your lips, requesting access that you’re only too happy to give. and you’re grateful that sana’s taking the lead. the entire situation still drips with surrealism, and your brain can’t keep up with the fast pace of the evening's developments.

you’re kissing minatozaki sana. you’re in sana’s hotel room, with sana’s hands low on your hips, and sana’s tongue sweeping into your mouth, and there’s no fucking way that this isn’t just a hyper-realistic dream. except that you’re too aware of each tiny detail for this to be a dream, too aware of the thudding in your ears with each pump of the blood through your veins, too aware of the way that sana’s hands burn through the material of your top, too aware of the ache between your legs as you subconsciously push your hips forward into sana’s as if seeking contact where you so desperately need it.

it has to be real.

almost as if she senses that you need a respite to let your brain catch up with your body, sana pulls back from the kiss, far enough for you to see that sana’s brown irises have almost shrunk entirely behind the black of her blown pupils, before sana’s parted lips descend on your neck, tracing dangerous paths over tendons and fluttering pulses.

it’s still very distracting, the way that sana’s teeth and tongue work at the skin of your neck with no real predictability in their movements, but without the intoxication of sana’s lips on your own, you do manage to remember that there are things you planned to say to sana before things could get to this stage and with your mouth free to speak, you choose now to attempt to vocalize them, if only to give you something else to try and focus on instead of succumbing entirely to your desire.

“i just want to say,” you manage to husk out, impressed with your own ability to string words together in the face of sana’s valiant efforts at making you lose your mind entirely, “i think you’re… you’re a great rolemodel to young girls, a real icon. the campaigning you do for body positivity… and, uh...” you let out a little grunt as sana’s teeth close around a sensitive spot on your neck, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut to regain the composure needed to finish your sentence, “and the lgbt community. you know, bisexual represen—”

“y/n,” sana says, lifting her mouth from your neck and cutting your words off with a disarming arch of her eyebrow, “i would love to hear all this later, but right now i can think of much better things that your mouth could be doing.”

you let out a noise somewhere between a whimper and a groan at the implication of sana’s words, but you get a sudden surge of confidence, sliding your hands under the hem of sana’s top and bunching the fabric upwards.

“can i take this off?”

sana smiles as she detaches her own hands from your hips, allowing just enough space between your bodies for you to lift sana’s top up and over her head.

you don’t know how to cope now that sana isn’t wearing a shirt. it seems silly, because you've seen this sight before — sana’s breasts covered in satin or lace — but before it’s always been part of a carefully constructed photoshoot intended to be shared with millions of other people. this is completely different because it’s a private showing. nobody else but you get to see this view, and knowing that sana wants it to be you and only you seeing her body tonight, is more of a turn on than anything that you’ve ever encountered in your life before.

“shit,” you groan, closing your eyes as arousal throb in your veins.

“your turn,” sana husks. “i want to see you too.”

sana’s hands tug at the hem of your top and you raise your arms above your head, allowing sana to pull the garment up and off, before she drops it on the floor beside her own.

you almost want to fold your arms across your chest, feeling incredibly self-conscious about standing there in your bra in front of a woman who gets paid to be photographed wearing the same amount of clothing on her upper half. you decided earlier today to put on your nicest bra, just in case things escalated this far, but you’re still just a poor college student, and your nicest bra cost about thirty-five dollars, compared to be obviously far more expensive that sana wears.

“fuck, you’re beautiful,” sana exhales appreciatively, stroking the fingers of one hand across your cheek, then down the column of your neck and over your collarbone before her palm comes to rest over your lace-covered breast. “i can’t wait to get you naked.”

you surge forward, pressing your lips against sana’s, and the force of the movement causes sana to stumble backwards, one hand anchoring itself on your waist while the other palms your breast generously.

“bed,” you mumble, between hot kisses full of tongue that swipe messily at each other and teeth that nip at swollen lips, as you attempt to steer sana backwards towards the bed in the middle of the room, something that only becomes more difficult as sana’s thumb and forefinger pinch at an already puckered nipple through the fabric of your bra.

the two of you make it to the bed, somehow, by which time your jeans are caught around your knees and your fumbling hands have propped open the button on the front of sana’s. you kick your jeans off, tossing them on the floor somewhere behind you as you climb on top of sana, disconnecting your lips long enough to help sana tug denim down her own legs.

“come here, gorgeous,” sana says, smirking at you as she lies back on the bed, propped up on her elbows.

you follow sana’s request, crawling up sana’s body with your legs on either side of sana’s hips, your aching center hovering just inches above sana’s lacy panties as you lean down for another kiss. your long hair tumbles over your face, and you have to take a moment to flick it all over one shoulder, before you connect your lips once more and let your hand slide up the smooth skin of sana’s side until it’s resting on the other curve of sana’s lace-clad breast.

“can i?” you mumble against sana’s lips.

“take it off,” sana says, arching her back off the bed so that you can reach your hand underneath sana and unsnap the clasp. “i want your mouth on my breasts.”

you’re only too happy to oblige, undoing the bra with a shaky hand before throwing it to the floor. you don't allow yourself time to think — or time to realize that sana’s now lying topless before you, because that would almost certainly be too much for you to handle — before you descend on sana’s breast, wrapping your lips around a rosy nipple while you send one of your hands up to give sana’s other breast a generous squeeze. you swipe your tongue over the nipple as it puckers and sana’s hand finds the back of your head, tangling into brunette curls to keep your mouth against her breast.

you’re not satisfied with just this though. now that you have a taste of sana’s skin, you want more, you want to put your mouth on every tantalizing inch of sana’s body. you replace your mouth with your other hand, giving attention to the hardened bud with your fingers, while your tongue traces a path down the valley between sana’s breasts and down sana’s stomach.

sana’s body is even more perfect in person than in her pictures, and you get more and more proof of that with each second that you spend worshipping it. sana’s belly has a slight curve to it, unlike the stereotypical stick-thin model, and you make sure to lavish the soft skin with attention. you trace mindless patterns over sana’s stomach with your lips, stopping every so often to place kisses or draw pictures with your tongue. you seek out sensitive spots, reveling each time sana lets out a gasp or arches away when your lips brush over a ticklish area, making sure to return to these places until sana’s a writhing mess beneath you.

the hand on the back of your head grips tighter, then try to push your mouth down further. you smirk against the warm skin of sana’s stomach, knowing exactly where she wants your next destination to be.

but you won’t give in that easily. you lift your mouth from sana’s stomach and settle on your knees between sana’s legs. sana lets out a groan of frustration, but it’s one that dies in her throat when she realizes that your hands have gone to her hips, seeking out the elastic of her underwear to pull the lace down her legs and discard it on the floor.

you’ve been in this situation with girls before, but you don't think you’ve ever wanted it this much. and it’s not just because sana’s famous, or somebody that you’ve been harboring an unrequited crush on for way longer than the other girl has even known of your existence. there’s just something about sana, about the way that her kisses taste like perfection, about the way that you seem to know exactly what to do to elicit each gasp of pleasure from sana despite being a thrumming ball of nerves, that gives you the inexplicable sensation that your life was always supposed to end up in the moment, whether you like it or not.

you definitely like it. there isn’t a question about that. and, judging by the smear of sana’s arousal that coats your stomach when you settle back between sana’s legs, sana likes it too.

minatozaki sana is into you. which is just way too strange for you get your mind around. sana’s so beautiful, both in looks and personality, that she might as well be from another universe, while you’re just... well, you’re just you. you’re nothing special. completely ordinary.

“i need your mouth,” sana begs.

you’re only too happy to oblige. you trail another path down sana’s body, similar to before but with more purpose now. without the scrap of lace covering sana’s center, your destination is in sight, and you waste very little time getting there, only stopping briefly over sana’s breasts and her navel and that sensitive spot just above sana’s left hipbone that you discovered during your earlier exploration, in attempts to drive sana wild.

everything about this situation is incredibly surreal, but you decide the moment that trumps it all is the one when you slide your tongue through sana’s wetness for the first time. you can’t believe you’re here in sana’s hotel room, let alone going down on the woman you admire, but the heady taste of sana’s arousal on your tongue is eerily familiar, yet also different to anything you’ve ever tasted before.

instinct kicks in. no longer is this you and your celebrity crush, this is you and a girl who wants you, a girl who needs you, if the way that sana’s hips cant up into your mouth is anything to go by. sana sends a hand down and tangles it into the hair on the back of your head, keeping your mouth against her while she bucks her hips and gyrates against your mouth.

it’s really fucking hot, is the first thing that crosses your mind. and there’s no second thing, because you lose yourself in it all. sana’s enthusiasm is smearing her arousal all over your chin but you fucking love it, love the way that sana just can’t seem to get enough of your mouth.

“yes, baby,” sana mounts out encouragements between whimpers. “yes!”

you’ve never been called baby before, but you decide that you like it coming from sana’s lips. you double your efforts in response, wrapping your lips around sana’s aching slit and lashing your tongue against it. sana bucks her hips again when you do that, lets out a few more murmured encouragements and a gasped ‘fuck’, and you hum against sana’s center in approval.

you realize that sana’s going to come really fucking soon if you keep this up, and while the thought is an encouraging one, you aren’t quite ready to be done yet. you slow down the ministrations of your tongue, moving away from sana’s sensitive clit to drag lazy paths up and down sana’s folds, while bringing up a hand to spread sana open for you.

“do you want...?” you ask, lifting your mouth from sana’s center as you dip the tip of an exploratory finger into sana’s opening.

“god, yes,” sana groans, lifting her hips off the bed in an attempt to get your mouth back on her. “do what you want, y/n. fuck me. i need... yeah, just like that.”

you go straight in with two fingers, knowing that sana's more than ready for both, and you let out another hum of delight at the sensation of sana clenching deliciously around your digits. you curl your fingers against sana’s front wall, seeking out the erogenous area that you know will drive sana crazy, and you know you're successful when sana’s back arches off the bed and a husky groan erupts from her throat.

“fuck. y/n, just like that.”

you speed up your motions, thrusting two fingers in and out, and lean down against to put your mouth against sana’s center. there’s no pretense anymore, no need for further delay. you need to see sana come for you and you need to see it soon. you swipe your tongue against sana’s folds once, twice, then dive right in, giving sana’s clit the unwavering attention of your lips and tongue while your fingers slowly work sana higher and higher.

“shit, baby. i’m gonna…”

no amount of warning could prepare you for sana’s orgasm. you know it’s been building but it still takes you by surprise, from the way sana’s hips lift off the bed, to the shout of pleasure that escapes her lips. you use your free hand and splay it over sana’s hips, keeping them anchored to the bed, while you use your fingers of the other, still buried in velvety warmth, to coax yet more sounds from sana’s mouth.

sana’s body stutters through the climax, trembling beneath you with unpredictable jerks, and even when you think you’ve drawn the last of sana’s pleasure from her, sana’s body still twitches once more, before she collapses onto the bed with a contended sigh.

you withdraw your fingers and wipe them on your thigh, not minding the sticky mess they leave behind, then crawl up sana’s body.

“did i do okay?” you ask, because even though sana obviously just came for you, you need to know if it was good enough, need to know if you’ve done enough for sana to stick around long enough to return the favor.

sana’s hands pull your head down for a kiss. there’s almost too much tongue, but when you realize that sana is merely tasting herself on your lips, you decide that there can be no such thing as too much tongue, and you let sana’s filthy kiss take control.

“you’re so cute,” sana mumbles against your lips, her mouth turning up into a smile. “way more than okay.”

in a sudden move that takes you by surprise, sana flips you both over and hovers above your body with a predatory smile on her face. she lowers her mouth to your neck, closing her teeth over your pulse point and sucking what is going to turn into a dark mark into the pale skin there, before moving even lower.

“what was it you were saying earlier?” she asks, between kisses that draw a path over the swell of your breasts and down towards your navel. “i believe you used the words ‘feminist icon’. why don’t you tell me a bit more about that while i eat you out?”

your head falls back against the pillow and your hand finds the back of sana’s head. the moan that spills from your throat when sana’s lips close around your clit can probably be heard from the hotel lobby many floors below.

///

six months later

you hum a jaunty tune under your breath as you slot your key into the front door of your apartment. you smell like an airplane, and you haven’t eaten all day but none of that matters when you’re still riding the high of a weekend spent in your girlfriend’s bed.

you’ve been dating sana for six months now, and it still feels a little bit like a dream that you’re praying you’ll never wake up from. that night in sana’s hotel room was one of the best of your life, and once the two of you were done exploring each other’s bodies over and over again, the two of you both stayed up talking into the early hours of the morning until you both were too tired to stay awake any longer.

as you push open the front door and drag your small suitcase inside the apartment. you smile to yourself at the memory of that night and the morning that followed. if sana asking you out for a drink was surreal, if sana taking you back to her hotel room and fucking you until you couldn’t remember your own name was surreal, then nothing could have prepared you for sana inviting you along to the second day of her photoshoot the following day, nor the way that sana took you twice in her dressing room during her lunch break, nor the relationship that blossomed from there.

it’s been a really great six months.

“tzuyu?” you call out into the apartment, leaving your suitcase by the door and walking toward your roommate’s bedroom. “you in?”

“yeah!” comes tzuyu’s reply.

you push open the door to tzuyu’s room and find your friend sitting up against the headboard of her bed, her laptop on her thighs, which she moves to the side when she sees you standing in the doorway.

“so, how was your weekend away?” tzuyu asks.

“it was good,” you grin.

‘good’ doesn’t even begin to cover your weekend spent with her, but then none of the other words in the dictionary do either. you don’t think you’re going to be able to stop grinning for days.

“have you been on instagram lately?” tzuyu asks.

“no, why?” you frown, fumbling for your phone in your jacket pocket and opening up the app.

“take a look at your girlfriend’s latest post,” tzuyu tells you, her voice full of glee and eyes lit up with delight.

you scroll down your feed until you find the photo in question and read the caption.

there’s nothing quite like letting your girl take it off you at the end of a long shoot…

your eyes flit up to the picture, a photo of a pair of lacy underwear lying discarded on the floor, and heat rises to your cheeks as you realize that sana must’ve taken the photo while you weren’t paying attention.

the thing is you recognize the underwear. in fact, you remember picking the set out at the mall specifically to wear on this trip to visit sana, and you remember the nerves you felt while putting them on and wondering whether sana would like what she sees, and you remember the satisfaction of sana popping open the clasp of the bra and drawing the lacy panties down your legs with only her teeth.

“shit,” you groan, letting your head fall against tzuyu’s doorframe with a soft thud.

“what?”

“that’s not even a picture of sana’s underwear.”

tzuyu’s shriek of glee is a sound that isn’t going to leave you in a long while.

probably the most requested one...

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #twice x reader #twice imagines #twice sana x reader #twice sana imagines #minatoazki sana x reader #minatozaki sana imagines #sana x reader #sana imagines #girl group imagines #gxg imagines #kpop #twice #twice sana #minatozaki sana #sana #girl group #gxg

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lovings4turn · 2 months

Text

୧ ‧₊˚ ☕️ ⋅ ☆ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭…

— in desperate need of caffeine, logan stumbles into the first cafe he comes across. little does he know, this will be the start of something great.

+ the first part of my whole latte love series , aka my child , so i hope you all enjoy <3 this is set in the uk , but reader isn't specified to be any particular nationality !

+ dividers from benkeibear !!

there were many sacrifices logan sargeant was willing to make in his life.

flying halfway across the world aged only eleven to pursue his dream of racing, for one. on a smaller scale, always allowing his brother dalton to ride shotgun on family trips, despite the fact that the backseat caused his legs to cramp up after a few hours.

but, no matter how late he was running, logan had promised himself he would never, ever deprive his body of a hot, caffeinated beverage before a meeting.

on this particular morning, though, logan was running especially late. normally, the jarring sound of the iphone alarm would snap him from his deep sleep within seconds, the noise sparking an instant feeling of dread within him even when it wasn't coming from his phone.

he’d learned that alex had a habit of setting alarms for various things throughout the day, before promptly forgetting what he’d set it for, leaving logan to go through the five stages of grief at least four times a weekend.

but it seemed today the universe had been a little bored, and so decided to find entertainment in burdening a poor, unsuspecting american race car driver with one minor inconvenience after another.

firstly, his alarm hadn't woken him up. correction: it had woken him up, just thirty minutes after it was supposed to.

secondly, his pride in managing to get dressed with an impressive five minutes to spare was quickly dissipated when he couldn't find his keys or wallet. the hunt had set him back another ten minutes (because why on earth would he think to check the cutlery drawer until he had run out of other possible options?).

and, for good measure, he'd tripped over his own welcome mat in his mad dash out of his apartment. so, yeah, it had been a morning, to put it lightly.

logan cursed to himself as he all but jogged down the busy street, eyes desperately scanning every building he passed in search of a cafe. he was too frantic to read any shop signs, but when he witnessed two girls walking out of a doorway clutching two paper cups, he knew he'd struck gold.

fucking finally.

logan offered the pair a tight lipped smile as he slipped past them and into the cafe, letting a sigh of relief escape his lips as the familiar smell of strong, freshly brewed coffee hit him.

this was more than worth being late for, he decided. he'd pick up a few extra coffees, as an apology, a courtesy of some kind. who could be mad with a cup of coffee in their hand? though logan figured he was allowed to be a little lax in his timings anyways, since he was no longer in his rookie year at williams. the team would forgive him quick enough.

trainer-clad feet led him towards the back of the fairly short queue leading up to the counter, and logan took the opportunity to slip his phone out from his coat pocket and shoot a quick text to alex. he hoped his teammate wouldn’t mind bearing the responsibility of updating the rest of the team on his whereabouts.

‘sorry, overslept. omw now though, bringing coffee as an apology and effort to keep my head’.

three laughing emojis quickly flared up onto logan’s lockscreen, and he took that as a positive sign.

it was only when logan placed his phone back into his pocket that he realised just how close he was to the front of the line, and immediately began rehearsing his order. sure, he ordered the same thing practically every single time he got coffee, but with the day he was having, he’d probably find a way to absolutely butcher the simple order.

all he needed was his oat milk latte, a black coffee for james, and some sort of sugary, overly sweet concoction for alex. he doubted this place sold the pumpkin spiced lattes that he loved to tease alex about ordering, so he’d just have to find the next best thing.

only, when he finally stepped up to the counter and opened his mouth to order, his mind went blank.

standing only a few feet in front of him was the most gorgeous person logan had ever seen, and considering he’d travelled the world and met countless different women and men over the years, that was an impressive achievement.

you, luckily, hadn’t noticed the internal reboot logan was experiencing, and focused instead on offering him a warm smile and greeting.

“morning! what can i get for you today?” you asked, finger poised and ready to input his order into the till in front of you.

logan barely managed to stop himself from physically shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, before pasting a crooked grin of his own onto his lips.

“good morning,” he returned, voice a little quiet before he cleared his throat and spoke up again. “can i just get a large black americano, large oat milk latte, and uh,” logan paused, eyes quickly scanning the board in front of him as he weighed up all of the different syrups available.

vanilla, caramel, hazelnut, and oh, thank god, cinnamon. that was close enough to pumpkin spice, right?

“and a large cinnamon latte, please. oh, to take out.” he finished, finally returning his eyes to you as you skillfully rang through his order.

“ah, great choice,” you commented, your smile still never having left your lips.

from the moment he’d opened his mouth, you’d quickly registered the accent, though opted not to comment on it despite how pleasing it was to your ears. of course there were no shortage of americans stepping into the cafe everyday, but there was something about his in particular that caused your ears to perk up a little more. maybe it was down to the person it was attached to, instead.

“and is that everything for you today?” you continued, snapping back into following what you’d aptly dubbed your ‘service speech’, a routine that ensured you didn't stumble over your words to every customer you served.

“that’s all, yeah.” logan responded with another small smile.

“perfect. that’ll be nine eighty there.”

"great, thank you."

logan quickly pulled out his phone to pay, though as his eyes caught the small jar sat on the counter, ‘tips’ scrawled onto a label in nice handwriting, he wished he was paying by cash. a flash of hope ran through him as he dug his hand into his jean pocket, and he had never been more relieved to feel some spare change brush against his fingertips.

barely even bothering to count how much was there – it looked to be about three pounds, but he could have been wrong - logan dropped it into the jar, offering you a sheepish smile. he felt a little foolish, paying by card and fumbling around for some cash, but the look on your face was more than worth it.

“thank you,” you repeated with a soft laugh. “should be ready for you in two minutes.”

logan couldn’t bring himself to speak again, so simply nodded and moved to walk to the point he would collect his drinks from. before that, though, he would grant himself one, small privilege.

his eyes quickly found your name badge, and he scanned it as subtly as he could before he walked away, the name replaying over and over in his mind like a broken record. but, no. broken records were annoying, an inconvenience, something to fix or throw out. your name was anything but.

not even five minutes after he’d placed his order were his drinks placed onto the counter, each labelled appropriately to save for any confusion. a cupholder had also been provided, which logan was eternally grateful for. he didn’t think the three drinks would survive the short journey otherwise. as a treat to himself, he took a small sip from his latte and almost swore. logan didn’t believe in magic, but he was sure that this coffee was somehow laced with it. never had a simple oat latte tasted so good to him.

and, he thought, a little embarrassingly, never had someone looked so good making one, either.

“see you later!” you called from behind the till, lifting your hand in a gesture that could be perceived as a wave, but also an attempt to smooth your hair a little.

logan nodded and gave you a smile. you would definitely see him later. he had just found his new favourite coffee shop, and he wasn’t going to give it up any time soon.

☕️ . . . there it is , the first instalment !! i loved writing this so much - and actually did so with a cinnamon iced latte of my own , as alex and i are actually one and the same ! hope you all enjoyed , and thank you for reading <3

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #₊ ⊹ barista!reader #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant blurb #logan sargeant drabble #formula one x reader #formula one x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you

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ghouljams · 9 months

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Of course Bee cracked first! What I don’t think she realizes is that she cracked open the flood gates. Wanna see my man Konig run full steam ahead

König's wraps his arms around you, his big body pressing against your back as nicely as his lips press against your neck. It's chaste and gentle and terribly distracting. You let out a shuddering breath, tipping your head to give him room. You haven't seen his face since you first stumbled into his pasture, and now all you can feel is the soft plush if his lips, the rough stubble on his jaw, the warmth of him. You're supposed to be cooking.

It's the same washing up after dinner. König's arms around you, his teeth starting to tease against your neck. You abandon the dishes to queue up a movie on the couch before your legs can give out. Though you're sure if they did König would keep you up.

You barely get the movie on before König is on you. His big hands hold your face as he kisses you, pulling you closer until you're balanced with a hand on his thigh, halfway in his lap. He picks up right where you left off in the kitchen, licking into your mouth and coaxing you to do the same. You close your lips around his tongue and suck, earning a low groan from König.

That seems to be invitation enough for him to finish pulling you into his lap, dropping a hand from your face to wrap around your waist and hold you close. You let out a breath at just how... big he feels like this. König takes full advantage of your parted lips, breathing you in as his fingers slide against your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw.

"Braves Mädchen," He murmurs in a voice far too low and tender for a man who had his tongue in your mouth. You know that one, and you know that the fingers pushing up under your shirt coupled with it only goes one direction.

"You have to go home after the movie," you tell him. König hums and kisses you again, filthy, greedy, absolutely ignoring the fact that he isn't allowed to stay the night. A fact you nearly ignore yourself when his fingers dip bellow your waistband just as the credits roll. You're breathing heavy as he sucks bruises on your neck, holding onto his broad shoulders for dear life as he drags his tongue over the abused skin.

"König you have to go," you push at his shoulders, hoping that gets your point across.

"Then you need to get off of me hummelchen, or not even God will be able stop me from fucking you," the low growl in his voice threatens to melt your resolve almost as much as the way he grinds his hips up against you makes your eyes roll back. Fuck, is that his cock? You don't think you've ever even seen one that feels as big as that. God, maybe he can stay the night...

No, no, stay strong. You need time to freak the fuck out over kissing your closest friend before jumping into bed with him. Even if you could just get a little taste of... No. Bad. You scold yourself, and do your best to not eat absolute shit rushing to get off of König's lap. When you finally put some space between you he sighs like the weight of the world has been placed on his shoulders.

You tear your eyes off of him as he stands and adjusts himself. Trying to offer a smidgen of privacy to the man making your mouth water. You clear your throat and follow König to the door to lock up behind him. Hoping that the solid barrier will stop your mind from realing over the way he said 'fucking' like a punch to the gut. Fuck this is the stupidest thing you have ever done and you've done a lot of stupid things.

"I'm tired of holding back little bee," he tells you at the door, leaning down to kiss you a final time before he grabs his hat off the rack and settles it on his head, "next time, I won't."

"I'll wear something pretty." You tell him, trying to think of any reason to let him go.

"You always do." He closes the door for you, and you- well you're just positively fucked aren't you?

#cowboy!König #könig x reader #könig x you #oc: bee #könig mw2 #könig call of duty #bee: haha im in danger #get it könig you deserve it #könig you left your bandana on the kitchen floor #its gonna make your day real hard when bee's wearing it the next time you see her

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ravencoloredroses · 10 months

Text

Safe Word

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Sometimes when Az comes home from a mission things can get out of control.

Word Count: 1,679

Warnings: *SMUT*, blood, bruising and cursing

A/N: It’s been a while since I posted and I’m so sorry about that. Life has been crazy lately, but now that things are back to normal (ish) I’ll be posting more regularly. I have a bunch of requests to catch up on so if you requested a while ago and I never posted it I’m sorry! It will be up soon I promise! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this short fic with Az! This is my first time writing smut…. so let me know what you think! <3

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I hear the front door open as I drain my bath water. He’s home. Rushing to meet him, I just grab my robe to put on. Coming down the stairs, I see him in the entryway taking off his shoes.

“Hey Az!” I greet and watch as his stiffened form relaxes at my words.

“Hi beautiful.” He says back, spinning around to face me. When our eyes meet it’s difficult not to notice the fire in his gaze. He walks over to me and I meet him halfway. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down for a quick kiss.

Well, it was supposed to be a quick kiss, but Azriel had different plans. He pulls at the back of my head exposing my neck to him. He makes his way down my chin to my neck and down to my collarbone. I grab onto his hair and arch my body closer to him. He gives a deep moan and comes back to my lips. He grabs the back of my thighs as my queue to jump up. I cling onto him as he walks us up the stairs. My robe pools around my waist and he releases a moan as he notices how I’m dressed.

“I missed you so much, my love.” He says when we finally break for air.

“I missed you too.” I managed to get out. He smirks, pushing open our bedroom door and tossing me onto the bed. He looks at me with the gaze of a predator, and I’m more than happy to be his prey. I understand exactly what he needs from me. I knew from the moment I saw him at the door.

When Azriel has a bad day on a mission or in training he has multiple different ways to relieve his stress. Most days are just to cuddle up with a book or take a relaxing bath, but on rare occasions he needs to release his frustrations with sex. Today is one of those days.

He hovers over me pulling off my robe. As his scarred hands graze over my skin, I feel a wetness pooling at my core. I reach down and start to undo his belt buckle when he takes over for me. I watch as he flings his leathers onto the floor, never breaking eye contact. I note the obvious bulge in his boxers and pull him down into another searing kiss.

I move my hands down his torso and under his waistband, stroking him teasingly. He grabs my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist.

One second he’s standing up to remove his boxers, the next his mouth is back on my neck. I run my hands through his hair as he makes his way down to my chest, leaving marks that will definitely be there tomorrow.

His shadows creep up and bring my hands above my head pinning them there. He begins massaging one of my breasts and sucks on the other one. His unoccupied hand finds its way to my thighs, slowly circling around where I need him most. He runs his hands through my folds as his thumb plays with my clit. I arch my back off the bed and struggle to pull my hands free from his shadows, desperate to touch him.

He moves back up to kiss my lips, gives himself a few pumps, lines himself up and slams into me. Normally he allows me to adjust to his size, but tonight he just starts pounding. At first it was a bit of a shock, but after a few thrusts I realize I’m just along for the ride.

His pace never slows, if anything he picks up speed. The sound of slapping skin fills my ears and he moves his hands to my waist, holding me down firmly. He’s slamming into me so hard that I’m sliding up the bed towards the headboard. He pulls at my hips to bring me closer to the edge of the bed. His grasp on me only tightens as time goes on, turning my pleasure into pain.

I try to endure it for his sake. I know he needs this -needs me- right now and I can’t bring myself to stop it.

“Fuck.” He moans in my ear. “You feel so good.”

I kiss his shoulder as my response, but as tears fill my vision I know it’s getting to be too much.

I realize that I’m not wet anymore. Making this much, much worse. I can endure the pain from his hold on my hips, but every thrust feels like sandpaper scraping my insides.

He adjusts his grip on my waist and thrusts faster and harder. He’s getting close, and I tell myself if I can just stick it out for a little longer it will be okay.

The pain becomes too overwhelming and that has me do what I never thought I would need to do.

“RED!”

Azriel immediately stops his motions and looks at me stunned. “What’s wrong?!? Are you okay?!?” He asks looking frantic.

“I’ll be okay, I just need to stop. I’m sorry.” I sob, wiping away my tears.

“Do not apologize. Ever. Can I pull out?” He questions. I give him a small nod. He slowly pulls out of me and releases his hold on my waist. His shadows also release their hold on my wrists, giving my arms light kisses as they go back towards Az. He kneels before me and we both take note of the visible marks he left behind and the trail of blood seeping out of me.

“No. No no no no no.” He says mostly to himself, pulling at his hair. “Fuck. Oh my gods I’m such a fucking idiot. I’m so sorry dove, I- I don’t even know what happened.”

“Azzy, It’s oka-“

“Don’t. Do not tell me it’s okay.” He cuts me off, running off to the bathroom. As he gets up I notice his painfully hard cock. He was about to cum, and I ruined it. It looks so painful for him and I feel terrible for essentially blue balling my mate.

He returns with an entire first aid kit and a wet rag. He gently spreads my legs and begins wiping me clean. I can tell by his clenched jaw that he’s beating himself up in his head. I want to say something but nothing I could say will help this situation, so I remain quiet.

When he’s done cleaning the blood off of me, he rummages through the first aid kit looking for something. He pulls out a tube that I don’t recognize, meets my confused gaze and says, “I asked Madja for this when we first became mates. It helps to heal cuts on the inside, I can do it… if you're okay with that.” He looks at me with eyes filled with sorrow and I give him a small nod.

He sighs and twists the cap off the tube and squeezes some onto his fingers. He scoots closer to me and I spread my legs as far as I can for him. He clenches his jaw again and slowly pushes two fingers into me. I hold back my gasp as he moves them around to coat my walls. He pulls out and wipes them off on the rag.

He climbs back up on the bed and reaches over to pull me into his lap. I rest my head on his shoulder and grab his free hand to play with. Rocking me back and forth, he rubs a soothing hand down my spine.

After a while like this, he lifts me up and pulls back the covers of our bed. He lays me down and then climbs in next to me. I snuggle up into his chest and he puts his arms around me. “Az, it’s not your fault. We have a safe word for a reason. I should have used it sooner, so if anyone’s to blame it’s me.” I whisper and feel him stiffen underneath me.

“I’m your mate. The person you’re supposed to trust, the person who should never harm you. You’re the love of my life, I’ve waited centuries for you and I fucked that all up tonight. I know we have a safe word, but you should never have to use it with me. It’s my job to keep you safe, but I didn’t even keep you safe from myself.” He sobs.

I shoot up into a sitting position to look at him fully. Azriel does not cry, ever. Yet here he is, my mate, crying because he thinks he hurt me. I place my hands on either side of his face and look him dead in the eyes.

“Azriel. I love you so gods damned much. I do trust you, fully. After I said the safe word you immediately stopped. You stopped when you were about to orgasm. That shows me how selfless you are. Not all males would do that, but you did.” I kiss away his tears and continue.

“I never knew what it felt like to feel safe until I met you. You are the only person who puts me first and that means the world to me. I will never be able to repay you for all the times you’ve saved me. I love you Azriel and what happened here tonight doesn’t change that.”

He nods his head and I wipe the rest of his tears away then place a soft kiss on his forehead.

I slowly lay back down and pull him into my arms. This is my favorite way to sleep and I think it’s his too. Az nuzzles his head into my neck and I let my fingers play with his hair, lightly scratching his scalp like I know he loves. He places a kiss on my shoulder and flares out his wings to shield us from the world.

I’m drifting off to sleep as I hear a whisper so quiet I barely hear it.

“I love you too.”

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #azriel #cassian #feyre #mor #nesta #rhys #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #acotar smut #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel x y/n

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eywathemother · 1 year

Text

Fish Lips Part 1

Ship: Aonung x Kiri's twin sister!Reader

Warnings: Language, bullying, gore, fighting, talk of war, injury and blood, slow burn, enemies to lovers (not really a warning just some people don't like that trope), death of (a) character(s), not proofread

Words: 2,858

Keys: (y/n) = your name,,(y/i/n) = your Ikran's name,, Neural Queue= the braid extension of a Na'vi's nervous system that allows them to link up to animals and Ewya,,

Chapters; Introduction || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Spoilers for Avatar: The Way of Water A whole ass lot.

Watching your father being stripped of his title of Olo'eyktan was painful for the family. You never would've thought that you'd be leaving your home, your people. You wanted to stay; you didn't want to leave. Why couldn't you just stay and fight as your mother said, you'd eventually have to fight anways. It was like losing a big part of yourself.

You said goodbye to your grandmother, you didn't want to leave her. You didn't want to leave anyone. You held your twin's hand, hoping to find some type of comfort. You let go of your sister's hand to get on (y/i/n), your beautiful Ikran, and you took one more look at your people and the Tree of Souls before flying off with your family.

You flew next to Kiri and had your last look at the forest before leaving it all behind.

The trip was long and quiet, barely uttering a word to each other the entire time. The storm that came was the only time you all really spoke to each other, making sure everyone was okay.

You arrived sometime during late morning of the second day and you couldn't hide your awe. The place was beautiful, nothing like your home in the forest. The clusters of homes in the tree's branches near the ocean side was extraordinary and beautiful. You glanced at Lo'ak who wore a curious face as well. Neteyam gave you a small smile with bright eyes and you all landed.

Kiri came over to help you off your Ikran, you insisted you could do it yourself but sometimes she was too much of a helicopter sister. When you got off your Ikran you walked alongside Neteyam, your sister moved to stand next to your mother.

" This is so cool." You whispered to Neteyam." You think they have Ikran's here?" He asked and Lo'ak scoffed." Dude look, we're surrounded by water there's probably like a really cool fish they use or something." You and Neteyam glanced at each other and giggled at Lo'ak who shrugged." I'm just using my brain."

" What brain?" Kiri chimed in, making you all giggle harder. Neytiri let out a small hiss in warning." Sh." You all immediately obeyed not wanting to agitate your mother any further and fell back into a silence as you followed your father forward into a group of people. They were different from you, they had a turquoise skin tone, their tails were smooth and flat, and they had what looked to be fins on their forearms and calves.

"Be nice." Your father said to you all." Be nice.' Neytiri repeated, probably aimed more at Lo'ak and you than anyone else. You began to feel uncomfortable with their stares, but you remained calm and looked around a little more.

A boy walked forward, he had on what looked like a tooth necklace and a boy followed behind him. The walked halfway around while you all greeted them, analyzing you, Neteyam, and Lo'ak.

" What is that?" The shorter boy said." Is that supposed to be a tail?" He laughed with his friend, and you barred your teeth a little at them. Neteyam pinched your arm and your hissed a bit at him. You did not enjoy them picking on your brothers. The taller one looked you up and down with a smirk as he continued to laugh.

You turned away from the boys to your brothers who were both looking over at the water and you turned your head to see a pretty girl coming out of the water. From the corner of your eye, you saw Lo'ak turn his head downward and you and Neteyam both looked over at him.

" It's too small, how are they supposed to swim?" The shorter one continued and the girl came over slapping the boys arm." Do not. Rotxo, Aonung." She scolded them, their faces fell immediately.

She sighed turning to us, you gave her a small smile in which she returned. Then her eyes shifted to Lo'ak who nodded his head up as a greeting with a smile on his face." Hey." He said to her and she giggled looking down.

You would definitely be teasing him about it later. A weird fish thing flew above you interrupting your thoughts, and you bent down a little, looking at the weird creature. The two boys walked away to the front, but still kept an eye on your brothers.

"Olo'eyktan." The man spoke, you assumed to be Tonowari the Metkayina chief walked over to your father. " I see you." Jake said and they greeted each other politely. We all followed suit and greeted the chief respectfully. As they were greeting a woman came out from behind the people and your father immediately turned towards her to greet her." I see you Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayina."

" I see you Ronal." Your mother greeted as well and she shifted her gaze between your parents." Why do you come to us, Jake Sully?" He turned around to look at you all before facing them again." We seek Uturu."

" Uturu?" Ronal repeated, baffled by your fathers words, She looked to her mate and back at your father. " A Sanctuary for my family."

Ronal's ears went back, and she approached your father." We are reef people; you are forest people." Tonowari stated as Ronal analyzed you all." Your skills will mean nothing here." Ronal eyed you when she walked past you, especially at your wounds. You shifted your gaze away ears bending to show your embarrassment of being under her hard gaze.

" We will learn your ways." jake turned to Neytiri for her to agree." Yes.' Was all she said, and Ronal grabbed her tail, then Tuk's arms. "Their arms are thin." Ronal walked over to Kiri, grabbing her tail. Kiri let out an ow, pulling her tail from Ronal's hands." Their tails are weak. You will be slow in the water." Then she looked down at Kiri's hands and grabbed them.

" These children, are not even true Na'vi." The crowd began to mumble and Jake stared at Ronal as Neytiri watched in irritation. Kiri pulled her hands from Ronal's." Yes we are." She retorted, then she walked over to Lo'ak grabbing his hands and raising them for the crowd to see." They have demon blood!" She shouted and the crowd gasped, backing up.

Jake raised his hand in front of Ronal's face." Look. Look." He turned his hand for her to observe." Look I was born of the sky people and now I am Na'vi alright you can adapt. We will adapt, okay." He promised.

Neytiri stepped out in front of Jake, confronting Ronal." My husband was Toruk Makto and he led the clans to victory against the sky people." She glanced at Tonowari for approval who bent his head a bit in respect.

"This you call victory?" Ronal asked." Hiding among strangers?" An uncomfortable pause rung out through the air, and you watched as the two woman butt heads." It seems Eywa has turned her back on you, chosen one." Neytiri barred her teeth immediately getting into her space. Ronal hissing and stepping closer to her.

" I apologize for my mate she's-" Jake started and Neytiri interrupted. "Do not apologize for me." Jake ignored her and continued to speak." She's come along way and she's exhausted."

"Jake." Neytiri eyed Jake until she turned around and looked away from Ronal who was staring her down. Ronal turned away and placed herself next to her husband. Tonowari looked awkward and immediately tried to change the subject.

"Toruk Makto is a great war leader." He started and faced his people." All Na'vi people know his story." He raised his hands into the air." But we Metkayina are not at war." Tuk approached your fathers side, and he picked her up as Tonowari turned around to face Jake again.

" We cannot let you bring your war here.' Tonowari finished and Jake looked up at him." I'm done with war, okay. I just want to keep my family safe." He stated to both of them as Ronal approached Tonowari's side again. They shared a look, Ronal and Tonowari having a silent conversation between each other. " Uturu has been asked." Your mother stated holding Kiri's hand and looking up to meet Tonowari's eyes.

After a few beats of silence, she bowed her head and Tonowari turned to his people." Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us. Treat them as your brothers and sisters." He turned to Jake." They do not know the sea, so they will be like babies, taking their first breathe." You bowed your head in embarrassment your ears going back and your tail wagging in irritation.

You just wanted to sink into the ground, or better yet to just go back home. You mother had the same reaction, so you felt better that you weren't the only one." Teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless." He emphasized useless, turning towards Jake and meeting his eyes.

Your father wasn't completely okay with the treatment but he dealt with it so you could all have a home." Okay what do we say?" He put Tuk down and placed his hand on her back shoulder. " Thank you." She spoke in relief while everyone else just mumbled a thank you.

You didn't even say anything, your ears still back. Jake turned your way, sending a scolding look your way. " Thank you." You grumbled and turned your head away as he faced forward.

Tonowari turned to the girl and boy standing next to him." My son Aonung and my daughter Tsireya will show your children what to do." Jake bowed his head in thanks, but Aonung wasn't having it." Father why do I-"

"It has been decided." He pointed a finger at his sons face and immediately shut down his tantrum. Tsireya stepped forward with a smile." Come I will show you our village."

You guys gathered your belongings and followed Tsireya, her brother and the crowd gone." Follow me." She said with a smile and she took some things out of Neytiri's hand." Let me help you."

"She's very sweet, I see why you're already head over heels for her." You teased Lo'ak who rolled his eyes." Am not." Neteyam ruffled his hair, almost dropping his things but quickly regained himself." When's the wedding?" He asked and you both laughed at him as his cheeks darkened." Stop teasing him you two." Kiri scolded you and you sighed.

You followed her onto the bouncy walking platforms of the houses nearby, which Tuk was having fun on." Tuk lets go." Kiri said and Tuk turned around from the creature she was looking and giggling at. You were the last in the line because of your ankle that still hadn't healed since your little adventure to the battlefield backfired immensely.

" You okay back there?" Neteyam asked as he glanced behind him." Yeah, my ankles just a bit sore is all." You sighed and he chuckled." Well, it wouldn't have gotten worse if your stayed with grandmother." You let out a small hiss at him." Whatever."

Tsireya stopped at the last house near the end and pointed into it." This is for you. Your new home." Jake entered followed by the rest of you." Yea this'll work. This is great!" He spoke, trying to be optimistic. Neytiri walked in with a huff, looking around and letting the rug she was holding fall. You all glanced at each other before getting to work.

You set down your things, going up to Tsireya ad bowing your head a bit." No need for formalities." She smiled and you nodded taking the things out of her hand." Thank you for your help today." You turned but was stopped by her voice.

" You're hurt." You turned around glancing a bit at your mother before meeting Tsireya's gaze." Uh, It's alright. I'll freshen up the patching after I'm finished." Nonsense, my mother has practice in healing." You looked to Neytiri again who glanced at Tsireya." Go on, (y/n)." You paused and looked at your mother who smirked at you teasingly and Tsireya ushered you to follow her.

" Where did you get those wounds?" She asked and you rubbed your head." A rock landed on it." She looked at you, zigzagging through the walkways to her house" And what about the one below your neck?" You shrugged." Do you always interrogate strangers."

Tsireya shook her head." No, I'm sorry I was just curious is all." You shook your head." I was just teasing you; you don't need to apologize." You gave her a smile and she giggled a little." Oh."

She led you into her house where her mother and father were talking to each other. They looked up and Tsireya stepped forward." Her bandages need freshened up and since they just got here and don't know where things are I thought you could help her mother." Tsireya explained and you stood there awkwardly under the gazes of both her parents.

Ronal had a suffocating and powerful aura, you felt like you would be crushed by her presence. Tonowari stood up and nodded." Of course, I will be back I need to be somewhere." Tsireya and you both bowed your heads in respect towards him and he gave a small smile before leaving.

Ronal got up and collected what she needed, walking over to you and grabbing your arm. It wasn't harsh but demanding you sit where she placed you." Sit girl, I must look at this wound first." She spoke, removing the poorly made bandages you had on your neck.

" When did you get this, it's still a bit fresh." She asked as she studied the stitching." Five days ago." You answered and she huffed." You should not have flown with a wound like this, it could've torn." She lectured you, and Tsireya peered over to look at it, holding tools her mother handed her.

" What is it from?" She asked as she mixed some ingredients together in a bowl." I was cut by a knife." You explained and Ronal glanced up at you before returning her eyes back to her work." By the sky people?" She pressed and you gave a curt nod." Dream Walkers."

She sighed mumbling underneath her breath, and she began to lather on the salve she was making onto your wound." You must be more careful." She was really starting to sound like your grandmother and Norm who lectured you the entire time they were patching you up.

" Yes, ma'am." The room was filled with silence as she finished up with the medicine and patching." Now your ankle." She demanded, gently but firmly pulling your leg from your crisscrossed position." No, it's quite alright, it's close to healing anyways." You gave an awkward smile at her, and she squinted her eyes at you.

"All injuries must be treated." Was all she said as she unraveled the wraps around your ankle. It was still a bit swollen and a big bruise cover most of the inside of your ankle.

She tsked, turning your foot to look at your ankle more." Why have you been walking, so stupid of you." She huffed, as she put some salve on it." Did this happen when you were cut?" You shook your head embarrassed by the lecture the woman was giving you." It happened a few days before that."

" My goodness child, you need to stay out of trouble." While Ronal's words came out harsh, you knew she meant it in a kind way. As she was finishing applying her son Aonung walked in, holding a basket of fish he most likely caught.

He sent you a glance, giving your wounds a once over. You didn't like him, your first impression of him was he and his friend making fun of you. Now you have to deal with him teaching you. Your ears went back a bit in irritation. and Aonung copied your actions.

Ronal noticed this interaction and eyed Aonung as he set down the fish." Where is your father?" She asked him and he shrugged." I think he went to talk to Jake Sully." You held in a laugh, it was funny to you how everyone thought Jake Sully was his name together, when it was just Jake.

Ronal saw the amusement on your face and cocked her head." What is funny?" You whipped your head towards her and gave an embarrassed laugh." Nothing, I was just thinking of something."

She looked at you for a little bit before turning to Aonung and standing up." You will walk her back." You stood up, your tail wagging in surprise." No, it's okay, I know my way back."

Ronal turned to you." You're confident for someone who has just been to our home once." Ronal grabbed Aonung's arm as he huffed and rolled his eyes. She hissed at him in warning, and he bent his ears back." Do so with no problems Aonung."

Ronal let go of him and ushered both of you out before going back to where Tsireya was sat watching your interactions. As you walked back the atmosphere was tense, he didn't turn to face you or even acknowledge you as he led you back.

You didn't mind, it gave you a bit of time to actually think about the move and how your life will be like here. When you arrived Tonowari had just finished talking to your father and you began to help your mother with finishing unloading.

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #atwow #atwow x reader #aonung x you #aonung #aonung x reader #x reader

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ml-nolan · 4 months

Note

Coffee in bed with Dreamling

You got it! T-rating for this one.

When his eyes open, Hob is greeted by high ceilings swirling with kaleidoscopic clouds. It takes no time at all for him to remember where he is. Dream has done a lot to make him feel comfortable and safe in The Dreaming.

"Hello, Hob."

That includes making sure to be at his side every time he wakes in this behemoth of a bed. Sometimes Dream takes the time to lie down beside him, with or without clothes, depending on whether he feels like seduction is necessary. It usually isn't with Hob—he's pretty much game at any time.

Today though, Dream is perched on the side of the bed, close enough to run his fingers through Hob's hair. It's nice that there's sort of a middle ground for physical affection these days. In the beginning it was a bit hot-and-cold, with Dream either demanding to be ravished or fully disappearing for days on end. But the joy of having been friends first is that, eventually, they both missed sharing the simpler, less heated moments.

"Is there anything you require this morning, Hob Gadling?"

"Hmmm…" This isn't a question he ever waves off. He's never understood why people play coy little games to be polite. He knows that here in The Dreaming, he can pretty much have whatever he wants. Why not take advantage of that? "Don't suppose you could get us a cup of coffee."

Dream snorts of the very idea that there would be something he couldn't provide. It's subtle, but very cute. Not that Hob would dare tell him that (well, not right now, anyway).

"How would you prefer it?"

"Just a regular cup of joe, a little cream, no sugar."

Hob can't say it's not delightful to be waited on by a king. To be indulged, more like. With the hint of a smile, Dream goes very still, and then there is a cup in his hand. It's gorgeous in an artisanal sort of way, with starbursts of gold leaf where cracks used to be. He hands it to Hob, its temperature cool enough to hold in his hands.

"Where'd you get this one?" Hob says, pushing himself up to sit against the cool wooden headboard. The coffee is perfect—roasted but not burnt, creamy but not too thick.

"From the dream of a cafe owner who lives in a seaside village," Dream says.

"Uh oh. So does that mean I've stolen some poor sod's coffee?"

Dream turns his head ever so slightly, which he always does when Hob says something that he thinks is silly.

"This dreamer is much like you," Dream says, voice colored with affection. "He is resourceful enough to make the best of the unexpected."

Hob sets his cup on the stone window ledge beside the bed. "Uh oh. I'm not going to lose you to him, am I?"

Anyone would clock the smile on Dream's face now. He shakes his head. "You are still singular to me, Hob Gadling. I would have no one else. Besides," his expression drifts slightly, "his existing partner figures heavily in his dreams. I would be loath to interfere."

With a thoughtful sound, Hob scoots closer to Dream, straining up to kiss him. Obligingly, Dream leans into it to meet him halfway, letting his soft, cool lips linger on Hob's. There's a flutter in Hob's stomach, the same way there always is when he wakes up under Dream's attentive gaze.

They break from the kiss. "How long will that coffee stay warm?" Hob jerks his head toward where he'd left the gilded cup on the windowsill.

Dream's eyes flash, darkening from sea green into that clear black sky. He sets a hand on Hob's chest and eases him onto his back.

"As long as is necessary."

This piece was brought to you by these Soft Prompts. I've got a lot of great ones in the queue, but please feel free to send an ask for Sandman, The Magnus Archives, or Malevolent ships (or any of my OCs)!

#yay we're back with ficlets!#my head has finally cleared enough!#finally!#the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #soft prompts

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aonungsmate · 1 year

Text

Map of Stars

Aged up!Neteyam x Mate!Reader [Word count: 1.6k]

Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT, Back praise, unnecessary words bc y/n is smitten fr, body worship, implied smut, size kink if you squint, overstimulation [This goes without saying, minors dni]

You like holding onto Neteyam whether on his shoulders, around his waist, his toned arms, but most especially his back. You loved how his lean back presses against you, tight muscles flexing every now and then, never failing to jostle the fluttering feeling in your stomach. Neteyam however, was oblivious to your growing affinity towards his back. He’s the sharpest warrior there is. He knows when a sturmbeest would appear at a certain hotspot. He knows where the fresh fruits are. But this? This, he does not know. Not that he would care. If anything, he'd be more than flattered, that even the simplest things on him you would find endearing. He certainly notices your behavior around him when those feelings resurface though. He loves how your ears would suddenly turn downwards, slowly turning leaning more into the purple spectrum, indicating that you were flustered. Your tail would suddenly start swishing a bit faster, its end becoming more and more noticeable as it moves unconsciously.

So, when Neteyam saw you doing it once when he was helping his brother remove the saddles from the ikran, he was set on finding out which particular part of him makes you all putty in his presence. First, he tried pinning it on his arms. He has trained for years, effortlessly making it a routine to do various hand exercises to improve his aim, practicing weaving with his sisters, and lifting supplies for the clan, making his biceps more toned, making it one of the first things the women in the clan would coo at. He has tried showing off to you countless times, purposely shooting better at practice when you were around, making sure that you were seeing his taut muscles as he pulled his arm backwards to aim. At dinnertime, he would reach from behind you, making his forearm slightly graze your shoulder. To no avail, you would only smile at him endearingly, face slightly reddening from the contact, but it’s definitely not the reaction he was trying to find.

Neteyam loves everything about you. But he was just a man. He wants to see you melt before him, baring your everything at him. He longs to witness you offer yourself as his and his only.

Neteyam never considered himself as a selfish person. Growing up he has only known to give and sacrifice for his siblings, dedicating his whole being to please his parents, the people around him, always aiming to prove himself as the future olo’eyktan. But as his pupils rapidly enlarged at the sight of you squirming beneath him, your three fingered hands raking along his back, your eyes hooded with overwhelming arousal, all he can think of is to take take take.

“Neteyam–! Slow down–ah!” you pleaded, eyes slowly rolling back at the feeling of his muscles flex beneath your fingertips. You didn’t even realize you were crying until your mate swiped a stray tear on your cheek, dipping towards you to rub his nose against your left cheek, his hand stroking your queue, making you arch your back, meeting his chest halfway. As if to add fuel to fire, he tugged at his queue, forming tsaheylu between you, burying you in massive waves of emotion. Love. Desire. Lust. Fondness. Worship. Ardor. Everything came to you in a roller, making you quiver at the feeling, chanting out his name so loud some might mistake it for a ritual, a sacrament of lascivious want for your mate’s back.

You were too swamped with pleasure your hands have fallen on the mats, gripping at nothing as Neteyam thrusted at you faster and faster, never getting tired of maneuvering his hips forward and backwards, pulling back until only his tip was inside of you, then moving oh so deep back into you, giving you endless jolts of pleasure. You rolled your hips upwards to try and match his pace, only proving to you that you can’t catch up to his tempo as he outruns you by digging his member brisker into you. He groans at your ear, slipping from his positioned palms, almost failing to stop himself from falling flat into you, his elbows acting as cushion from his unexpected collapse from too much delectation. From the new angle, he catches your lower lip between his teeth, playfully biting it then smashes his lips against yours, deepening it with a delve of his tongue on yours. He moans as you reciprocate by licking against his tongue, decelerating his thrusts to match how slowly he detaches mouth from yours, a string of saliva appearing from between you.

It was endlessly torturous as it was tremendously pleasing to you, that he would go from slow to fast then rapid to sluggish, continuously building the impending knot in your stomach. “Oh my Eywa–! Neteyam-” you exclaim as he once again consumes you by plunging into you harder rhythmically. He grabs your hand, guiding it on his back as he rammed into you. You whine in realization as he makes you scour through his rear muscles, feeling them twitch at your hand’s mercy, experimentally pressing through the plush of them with Neteyam muttering a curse as he impossibly quickened his pace. You were seeing stars when he gave you three of his hardest thrusts, your arms pulling him closer to you, making him nestle against the dip of your collar. You sob against his shoulder as you feel yourself let go, your slick covering the entirety of his member.

“Hahh–” He breathes, his warmth seeping through, filling you with his seed, never stopping his languid thrusts, his eyes almost went black when he sees himself inside you, his shaft plunging inside you lazily, a dent on your stomach visible. You pull his head into you, kissing him with wild abandon. This takes you back to your first night as mates. You were on his back, being carried by him to the tree of souls after you hurt your ankle out of sheer excitement when the day he would choose you has come. Your courting was well known in the village. The people knew that the two of you have loved each other for a long long time.

That night was also the reason why you have come to love the way his back would dip into a perfect semi-arch that leads to the most alluring tail you have ever seen. The way his back pressed into your chest, firm muscles shifting every now and then, it was so so attractive. So when your beloved pulled out from you, you could not help but pull him closer to you, only you shifted him onto his stomach, your eyes seemingly forming into hearts as they lay gaze on his freckled back, the bluest stripes adorning it. Your eyes droop into a mesmerized look, thinking just how beautiful Neteyam is. You could be presented with every eligible man in the whole world but not one of them would hold a candle to your Neteyam.

Neteyam shifted his neck slightly to see what you were up to, chest slightly heaving at the exhaustion starting to seep through. He was about to ask what was wrong when his eyes widened in realization. You were practically melting his back into a puddle with how lovingly your amber eyes were stuck onto him.

“I see,” he chuckles, voice slightly raspy. He folds his arms beneath his head, acting as a pillow to make himself comfortable, knowing how much time you will spend giving his back attention. Yawne does that very well, in his opinion. You gently put open mouthed kisses on his back, a beautiful map of stars that you have come to love, giving each bioluminescent freckle attention, doing your best to remember which spots struck the most reaction. Neteyam jutted his hips onto the flooring after you suckled on a certain area of his back just a few centimeters away from his tail. Eywa, he exclaimed. You started working your way up, licking him from the dip of his spine, moaning obscenely as you did it, your hips rocking against his tail, its incessant flickering creating a friction against your womanhood.

A familiar buildup has Neteyam breathe a sigh, groaning as he feels your wetness against his back, your nose nuzzling against his braids. You kneaded the knots on his back, eyes rolling back at the feel of his muscles rippling against your palms, tearing a loud moan from you as your mind blanked out for almost a minute with how unexpected your release came. Neteyam gasped your name as he himself let go of the tightening in him, releasing a sputter of his semen against the ground, his right hand shakily reaching behind him almost tangling with the connected queues, and finally came in contact with your sex as he massaged through the bundle of nerves, helping you through your release. You squirted against his back, making your breath hitch when you felt his left hand rub your bottom against him, stroking it in a circular motion.

“Neteyam, I love you–!” You scream, continuing to whimper his name, "Neteyam, Neteyam Neteyam—Haah.." your voice fades as you run out of breath from overstimulation, tickling his ears as you did so.

As soon as he felt your heartbeat slow down, he shifted onto his back to guide you into a cuddling position. Deciding how close he needed you, he lifted you up to put you quite literally on him, an appreciative sigh coming from you. You pressed a kiss on his cheek, then went back to nuzzle against his neck, mumbling an i love you, so so much my mate. It was not too long until your soft snores reached his ears. He chuckles at the sight, his arms wounding around your waist, his tail protectively wrapping itself around your thigh, with yours unconsciously doing the same to him. He smirked at his new discovery, the cogs inside him starting to run through ideas where he can exploit this to tease you, perhaps score another passionate night with you, as the two of you go beyond your experiences, showering each other with love and intense desire.

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dawsonscreekwasalwaysbad · 1 year

Text

bojack: and it ends with a three? talk about an anticlimax! what kind of phone number ends with a three?

me:

#had this in mind for a while but didnt want to post bc internet safety #but then i figured. that still leaves like a couple hundred million phone numbers so i should be fine #is it too late to be posting john mulaney memes? i dont care #bojack horseman #kid gorgeous #phoebe talks #mine #john mulaney #a horse walks into a rehab #the queue from halfway down

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pedroshotwifey · 4 months

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Christmas Countdown Day 17 - Mulled Wine

Treat

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Word count: 1.7k (on the dot)

Tags/Warnings: no use of y/n, smut, fluff, daddy kink, piv sex, DIRTY dirty talk, soft dom joel, but also degrading nicknames (in a loving way), idk y'all its 2:00 am rn, frottage, stuff i'm forgetting

Summary: Joel thanks you for your consideration

A/N: I'm so tired, but I think this turned out pretty good. Lots of dirty talk. Idk. I'm putting this in my queue and passing tf out. Idk what happened bc this was supposed to be sweet and then it turned so dirty.

****

You watch Joel from the window as you finish stirring your ingredients one final time. It had been a bit of a struggle to get everything you needed to create a mulled wine, but you had done it.

Joel had mentioned to you in passing how he used to drink it around Christmas time before the outbreak. He’d invite Tommy over and the brothers would sit at the kitchen table with Sarah.

Joel would sip on his wine while Tommy indulged on his usual beer, absolutely refusing to touch Joel’s “sissy drink”. Sarah had asked once if she could have a mug of it, and so she ended up with a warm apple cider.

The story had made you laugh, you could almost see Tommy teasing Joel while Sarah whined for her own “sissy drink”.

They would sit around with their respective drinks after decorating the tree and recall fond memories. It was one of Joel’s favorite traditions back then, and you could tell he had a hard time opening up about it.

He’s been doing so much better with it lately–opening up to you. He used to not let a thing slip, but since you’ve settled in Jackson with Ellie, he’s been able to relax a bit. You don’t try to rush it, but you’re happy that he’s finally able to do so.

You sigh contentedly as you divide the wine into two steaming mugs. Looking back out the window, you can see Joel coming back up from the shed where Ellie had insisted on living. He’s halfway back to the main house now.

You think it’s cute, but also good for her, that she wanted to be independent. Though you would hate to be any farther from her. You know Joel feels the same way with how much he talks about it and goes over there to fix small things for her.

Just now, he had been over there re-caulking the window frames. He’s been worried about how cold it might be getting in there lately with all the snow outside.

Just then, Joel opens the door, a blast of frosty air blowing in with him and making you shiver. He notices you immediately, a smile adorning his rosy features.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says as he starts to pull his gloves off. “What’re you doin?”

You step to him, starting to help him with his thick leather jacket. He sets his gloves down on the kitchen counter and allows you to pry the coat off.

“Just making a treat,” you say, trying to hide the excitement in your voice.

“Oh?” Joel questions with a slight chuckle at your vague answer. “What kinda treat?”

You bite your lip to suppress your smile as you hang his coat up on the rack by the door before backtracking to the stove. You pick up the two steaming mugs of wine and walk back to him.

Joel knows what it is as soon as you pass him his mug. He looks down at it, then at you with nothing but love and gratitude. Not only had you remembered him talking about how much he enjoyed it, but you had gone out of your way to do something nice for him.

You watch him, trying to gauge his reaction. It did cross your mind once or twice while making it that he might not appreciate it because of the memories. That it might bring back things he didn’t want to think about. It didn’t seem likely–maybe a few months ago it would have–but not now. It had still been nagging you nonetheless.

It definitely doesn’t look like that’s the case, though, with the way Joel takes both of the mugs and sets them down to engulf you in a hug. He holds you close to him and whispers a small “thank you, baby” into your hair.

You smile into his chest, your arms wrapped tightly around him.

“You’re welcome, Joel,” you say, pulling your head back. He dips down to kiss you slowly, and you bring one of your hands up to thread into his fluffy graying hair. Joel groans into your lips and keeps ahold of you as he leads you backwards into the living room, your lips staying together as much as possible.

Once he reaches the couch, he sits down, pulling you on top of him. You shift to get situated in his lap, the two of you separating to catch your breath. Keeping eye contact, you grind down on him, making him groan as you pass over his bulge.

“Careful, darlin’,” Joel warns. “Keep that up and I ain’t gonna go easy on you.”

You smile mischievously at him as you do it again, and this time as he groans, he puts his hands over your hips and helps you do it. You allow him to drag you across him, his dick hardening with each pass.

Your clit catches on the fabric of his jeans, making you moan sweetly as you place your forehead on his shoulder.

“Feels good,” you whine as the pressure increases.

“Bet it does,” Joel teases. “My whore’s so starved she can get her little pussy off rubbin’ on my fuckin’ jeans.”

You moan louder at his words as you gyrate your hips, feeling a warmth starting to take over in your belly.

“Yeah, you gonna come like this?” Joel asks.

You just nod, letting him feel your agreement. You’re so close, just a couple more seconds.

“Alright then, go ahead, baby. Come on daddy’s lap with that slutty little cunt.”

And you do. You moan loudly as your movements grow more frantic, your cum seeping out and slicking up your clit to make the glide more pleasurable. The feeling of your pussy throbbing around nothing is almost a tease when you have Joel’s cock within reach.

He seems to know what you’re thinking, because as soon as you stop moving, he reaches for your pants. He unzips them and pats your thigh to make you get up before pulling them and your ruined panties down your thighs and having your step out of them.

You quickly get back onto his lap, covering his lips with yours in a sloppy kiss as he begins to work at his own pants. You can feel the moment he pulls his cock out, and you look down to admire it. You’ve always thought he has such a beautiful cock. Seems fitting for him.

His tip is already an angry red, leaking pre-cum which lubricates his thick shaft as he pumps himself a couple times.

“C’mon, baby, get up here on daddy’s cock. Don’t make me wait.”

You quickly obey, sitting up on your knees to notch him at your entrance. You sink down on him, moaning as he grunts. Your hands fly to his shoulders as he bottoms out, allowing you to adjust for a second.

It is only a second though, before he starts to thrust up into you. You moan at the first punch of his cock against your cervix. He places his hands back on your hips and assists you on bouncing on him.

“Tha’s it, baby,” Joel praises. “Never get tired of this messy fucking pussy. She’s always so hungry for me.”

You whine in agreement as you lift yourself up and down, a wet squelch coming from between your legs each time you fill yourself. Joel gazes into your eyes as you struggle to keep yours open. His teeth grit each time he hits a spot that makes you squeeze around him.

“Feel so good, daddy,” you tell him as you admire the thin sheen of sweat beginning to cover his golden skin. “I-you-I–”

“I know, honey,” Joel cuts you off. “Cockdrunk already.”

His condescending tone never fails to get you going. You fucking love it when he treats you like this, because you know that it’s not real. Just for now, you get to be his slut, his little fuck toy. Joel would never dream of speaking to you like this any other way.

You just nod at him, feeling your second orgasm approach. Joel begins to thrust quicker into you, making you whine with each punch.

“Yeah, I can feel it, baby. Let go for me.”

It only takes a few more thrusts before you’re coming around him, flooding his cock with your cum. The extra lubrication makes it even easier for him to slide in and out of you, and he takes full advantage of that, fucking your thorugh your orgasm at full speed.

“So damn tight n wet,” Joel grits out. “Poor pussy just can’t control ‘erself.”

“Mnm, she needs you, daddy,” you confirm, your eyes closed now as you rest on his shoulder again. Your legs are starting to ache, but you continue your movements as much as you can so Joel isn’t doing all the work, though you’re sure he wouldn’t mind too much.

His pace begins to falter and get more frantic as he gets closer to his own end.

“G-Gonna come on this little cunt,” he tells you through tight teeth. “Mark you all up n watch it drip off’a you.”

“Please, Joel, want your cum so bad.”

You can feel the way he pulses as he gets closer, watch the way he bites his plush bottom lip to contain himself.

He suddenly pulls you up hard, his cock falling out of you just in time to coat your pussy lips with his warm cum. He groans as he runs his tip just barely onto you, letting the sligh friction lengthen his high.

When he comes down, he places you gently back on his lap, his spent cock nestled between the two of you. You both breath heavily in a comfortable silence, and you almost fall asleep until you remember the wine.

“Wait, Joel–”

“It’s good room-temp too,” he says, his eyes cracked open just slightly. You scowl playfully at him, slapping his chest lightly.

“Or we could warm it back up. Jus’ sit here a minute, darlin. I’m too damn old for this shit.”

You giggle at him but comply, resting your head back on his chest. The wine will just have to wait.

****

Thank you for reading! lemme know If you wanna join the countdown taglist :)

FOTJC: @arcanefox207 @redhotkitchen @magpiepills @exquisiteserotonin @sparklefarts38 @pink-whiskey-woman @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @secretelephanttattoo @morallyinept @beskarandblasters @tightjeansjavi @theywhowriteandknowthings @nerdieforpedro @maggiemayhemnj @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @ghostofaboy @joels-shitty-puns @elvinaa

WCC: @amyispxnk @melaninmommy @brittmb115 @mandoalorian @yorksgirl

Link to prompt list

#friends of the juice collective #pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #smut #pedro pascal smut #fluff #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction

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002yb · 8 months

Note

Jason is looking for a lighter in his pockets but he left it at home, Dick has a lighter, he lights Jason's cigarette only to take it away of Jason's lips and kiss him, Dick's kiss tastes like cherries and chocolate, he put the cigarette back in it's place and walks away, Dick's sweet lips makes the cigarette taste bitter

It starts as a stupid game between Jason and Tim. Just something dumb to do to pass the time - hidden away someplace high to avoid the crowds at whatever event the Wayne family is expected to partake in

Tim gets his hand on some small chocolates, individually wrapped, and bets Jason that he can't unwrap it before it melts from the heat of his mouth - they say you're a good kisser if you can unwrap a candy like that, y'know?

So they make a game of it. They both suck. They snicker at each others' efforts and Jason complains that the only reason he can't do it is because this game was meant to be played with sturdier treats.

Which Tim takes as a challenge because okay, let's test that.

Queue: Dick

Who joins them along the ledge of whatever building they're sat on top of. He takes the empty space between Jason and Tim, amused at how the pair of them have hidden away from their familial responsibilities and also endeared that he was invited out with them to be rebellious or whatever they're doing

But really Tim only texted him because of his damn chocolate game. Jason shoves a chocolate at Dick and tells him to unwrap it without his hands.

And Dick is confused, but then Tim clarifies by pointing to his tongue and oh - Dick laughs, sticking the chocolate into his mouth as he teases, 'you two couldn't do it?'

'Because it melts' and 'you're supposed to play with different candy,' would be the excuses, but moments later Dick pulls a flattened wrapper from his mouth and Jason and Tim are ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ〃)

And oh, oh. Dick having brought cherries with him to snack on. Because this man is starved. He gets harassed at these galas just let him snack in peace, damn.

Anyway, Dick piles on and challenges his brothers to tying a knot with the cherry stem. Same thing, but no melting so no excuses, huh?

Jason and Tim being very l: because uh oh.

But Jason is Jason and he doubles down because Dick is bluffing. Ain't no way this man can tie a damn teeny tiny cherry stem with his fucking tongue the implications would be too unfair and--

Dick does it. He plops a cherry in his mouth, stem and all. Spits out the pit and not long after - a knot. Purposefully bitten into a heart shape because Dick is a playful, ornery, cheeky little fucker.

Just this heart shaped cherry stem knot dropped right into Jason's hand and Jason flushing fucking cherry red because oh my

Can Dick tie a ring for him too or--

For real this smooth bastard just stole Jason's heart whoops

Jason and Tim taking their own cherries to try. And Tim gets halfway there, but Jason really can't do it and it's infuriating. Lots of banter and teasing before Jason huffs and spits the stem out outright (which leads to a handful of 'aw, spitters are quitters come on now,' jokes, foul fuckers) and goes for a cigarette instead.

Only no lighter. Big sad.

And it's cool, he's content to sit there with that unlit cig in his mouth since he can't have Dick's tongue down his throat what

But then Dick brings a lighter out of nowhere and having his heart stolen again aside, he's flummoxed. Why the hell does Dick have a lighter?

'It's Tim's.'

Which Tim is very ∑(ﾟﾛﾟ) about because fuck, he's been exposed

Jason laughing because 'Timothy, really? What a rebel.' And Jason takes the light, tickled at everything the night is turning out to be. Dick pickpocketing their younger brother? Tim being exposed for smoking on the down low? Wow.

Some Dick and Tim banter as Jason accepts the light and then it's chill vibes for the boys and it's sweet. It's summer, it's sunset; still too hot to be dressed to the nines like they are, so they strip down. Jackets off, shirts undone, sleeves rolled up and shoes (and some socks) tossed somewhere behind them.

It's the most relaxed Jason has been in a long time - listening to Dick and Tim shoot the shit, laughter low and pleasant and Jason is calm

Until Dick plucks the cigarette from Jason's lips and oh. fuck.

All Jason can do is marvel it - how Dick sits along the rooftop ledge bathed in gold light, smoking Jason's cigarette before passing it to Tim. The easy way he breathes out the smoke, how it dissipates in a rush at Dick's huff of laughter before Tim takes a drag of his own and hands it back.

Dick takes one more drag before looking back to a dumbfounded and awestruck Jason. The fading light of day is bright in Dick's eyes and the mirth in his smile is a wondrous thing.

He blows smoke down at where Jason still lays and oh lord Jason can smell chocolate and cherries through the smoke and he can't help but look at Dick's mouth, the curl of his lips into a devastating and damning smirk

Dick laughs a bit and replaces the cigarette back at Jason's lips

'You good, little wing?' He asks, and like fuck he is, no

Jason rolls onto his side, flushed face hidden in his hands because 'no, make an honest man out of me, jerk. fuuuuuuuck'

Because Dick really did treat Jason like a wrapped piece of chocolate, like a fucking cherry stem (tied into a heart shaped knot that Jason holds fast to his chest); he's been fucked without Dick laying a hand on him - what an unfair bastard

#dickjay #jaydick #jason's first love is dick grayson

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p1nkshield · 9 months

Text

Hello! Welcome to chapter nine! I hope you like it!

“Rocks.”

“Concrete.”

“Steel.”

“Rocks.”

“Concrete.”

“StE-”

Alfred took the plate Jason was holding before he once again phased through the floor.

Jason landed with all the grace of a newborn giraffe. He was just about to let a slew of expletives fly until he saw Stephanie. She was in the middle of wrapping the Batmobile in purple chrome.

“WOW! Timbers was not kidding about you dropping in every once and awhile!”

Oh no, if Jason garners the attention of Steph he’s never going to be able to met his goal.

“Do you want me to help?” Stephanie’s face only showed mischievous intent.

“No.” Jason got up and began cautiously shuffling his way back to where he was.

“Come on! I wanna help!” Steph followed him the whole way up.

“No!”

Danny has seen many a curious scene. A giant monster made of meat, an evil back shaver, a baby pirate, but this was both surprising and entertaining. One moment Jason was refusing the help of a person he’d never seen before and the next he was gone.

“Come on! oop!” Stephanie whipped her head around.

“No! Your help isn’t helpful!” Jason’s voice was coming from where he was a moment ago.

“Oh! You did it!” Danny exclaimed.

“Did what?” The interruption caused Jason to pop back into view.

Danny demonstrated with his own powers. “You turned invisible! Your whole body too! When I was starting out it was just my hands!”

Stephanie was too stunned to speak for a moment.

“So another thing I have to worry about doing on accident?” Jason said this exasperatedly as he began to sink.

“Hey umm.” Danny tried to point out the situation.

“Nonono! Solid thoughts! Tungsten, Kevlar! Granite! Steel!”

“Water in a sieve!” Steph recovered from her stunned state at the possibility for mischief.

Jason slipped through the floor again.

Danny stuck his head through the floor “You almost had it! Try to slow down your molecules next time!”

Bruce returned to his home to see his Batmobile in a glitter purple hue and his second oldest son falling through the ceiling then subsequently the Batmobile.

“Jason are you alright?”

A muffled “yep” came from under the bedazzled Batmobile.

This was the 24th time he’s fallen. he’s almost halfway through his bet and he just fell in front of the old man. Of all people this was the worst option. He really doesn’t want Bruce to see him like this.

“Jason?” Bruce couldn’t find him. Did the net fail? Is he somewhere in the crust of the earth? Was he on the other side of the globe?

“Yeah?”

Oh. Invisibility. Okay.

“Perhaps I could contact Martian Manhunter about dealing with intangibility?”

“Please.”

“Alright.”

Stephanie was laughing her way into the bat cave until she froze. “Sorry Jason I couldn’t pass up the opportunity-”

Bruce very quietly said a single word. “Stephanie”

Such a statement even silenced Danny who was also laughing at the Batmobile’s new exterior.

“And that’s my queue to leave! Goodnight everybody!” She said, scrambling for an exit.

“Wait for me! I don’t want to die again!” Danny followed.

“Great those two get along too swimmingly.” Jason said, clambering his way from under the purplemobile.

“I agree.”

@skulld3mort-1fan @addie-lover-of-stories @ivymala07 @nottmuchtopost @stargazer-luna a @icecweme @dontfightmecauseillcry @seraphinedemort @tinybrie @kyrianclawraith @spoopyspoony @joyfulcollectordreamland @luffyrose @nixthenerd @darkstarsapocalypse @lemccr @busterkeel @britcision @inthereellife @vythika96 @chrysanthemum9484 @blankliferain @sara0055 @pike-s @xye-chan @blackroselina @malice-of-the-sunrise @gin2212 @meira-3919 @undead-essence @onlyhereforthechaos @charcoalstainedbones @ectoradiation @persephoneblackrose @farmercale @claudiashq @boo-ghosties @56thingsinaname @insomniaxonline @thefanficcup @terzatheunderscorerima @wolfeyedwitch @mys-tia

#Bruce worried about his kids Wayne #dp x dc fanfic #all I know is that she is chaos and loves purple #so that’s what she did #Alfred saves the day again by keeping Jason’s lunch from falling on the floor #all of brucies kids and protégés understand what he means when he says a single word #that sounded like he just said Stephanie but it was actually a paragraph of text

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months

Text

Black Light 4

Warnings: namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You check yourself in the mirror. The black bob isn’t a bad look. You tilt your head back and forth making the sleek strands wiggles back and forth. The sunglasses complete the look and you ponder overhauling your usual style. You look dangerous.

You resist scratching under the wig and give yourself a smile. You look almost devilish in the get up but you can’t chance being recognised on your mission. No, this is very important. This is revenge. Served tepid.

You sneak out the backdoor and check your phone. You have another message from your new friend. She texted you earlier that she had a new cell already. You hang onto yours like gold, you’re not really sure what you would do if you lost it. Probably turn to the primitive lifestyle.

‘I’m headed to the club, meet you at the cafe.’

‘Sure thing, 🐔💸’ You text.

She texts back a simple question mark.

‘Chicken wing’ you clarify and smack your forehead. You’re such a dweeb. You follow up quickly; I’ll be there.

You head downtown, catching a bus halfway and tossing the transfer. You could use the walk as your nerves are starting to flurry. You approach the cafe and see your friend. She wears a denim skirt and an off-the-shoulder red shirt. Her shoes are the same shade as her top. She looks towards you then the other way, not acknowledging your approach.

You near and give a short ‘psst’. She whips around and sneers in your direction before blanching and saying your name.

“Like it?” You pull down your sunglasses. “I feel like Sandy from Grease. Well, more like Rizzo.”

“Uh, sure, why are you dressed like that?”

“Oh, I didn’t want that guy to recognize me so I figure I could sneak in like this.”

“Ah,” she nods and lets out a sigh, “right. Well, try going to the other one when they card ya.”

“That works too. You’re so clever.”

“Thanks,” she says dully, “come on.”

You give a bounce and follow her down the street. She marches on, set on her path as you skip to keep up. She’s a lot more graceful in her heels. And angry. You worry about Cole, he might not be ready for what she has in store.

“Hopefully that jackass is there but those types usually don’t have anything else going on,” she snarls as if reading your mind.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You make sure you point him out when you see him. And don’t get to close, I’ll take care of him. No drinks, either. Let’s not take that chance.”

“Sounds like a plan. Well, kind of.”

“Don’t worry, I can slip this guy something. Don’t you worry. Men are stupid, he gets distracted by his next mark and I’ll strike first,” she turns the corner and you flutter along with her, joining the queue outside the club.

“You’re so brave,” you admire.

“No, I’m pissed,” she insists as she crosses her arms, slowly shifting with the line.

You peek out around the bodies. You see that man, Auggy. He’s scowling at an ID. You watch him and his eyes flick up as if he can sense you. You recoil quickly and put your chin down.

“Hey, be cool,” your friend touches your elbow, “busy tonight, you just gotta blend in.”

“Mmm, yeah,” you murmur, “I just… I don’t know what I did. I was nice–”

“He’s an old grump,” she scoffs, “who cares how he feels.”

You approach the front of the line and make sure to veer towards the other bouncer, the one with the pudgy belly. He barely looks at your card as he waves you inside. The two of you enter to the buzz of the crowd and blare of speakers.

“Now, we hunt,” she says, “keep your phone on you. You get close to him, let me know. Oh, and take a picture if you can.”

“Right, uh…”

“I’ll get upstairs, you stay down here,” she directs, “we’ll meet back up in half an hour if we can’t find him.”

“Sure.”

“Look, I got you. Anyone gives you trouble, text me. And give em a punch like I showed you.”

You put your fist up and pat your elbow as you reenact the brief lesson she gave you earlier. She smiles and squeezes your arm.

“Good,” she praises, “now, let’s do this.”

She turns and struts off. You admire her from afar. She’s so cool. And she likes you, you think. She’s a lot nicer than Amanda or Kam. You frown and spin around, looking around at the dancing figures and the bar shining at the far end of the room.

Where to begin…

You twiddle your fingers and give a huff. You have to get in the mindset. The grindset. The findset. Find him. Hmm, you’re not great with faces…

You go to take a step forward and you're suddenly hauled back by your arm. You yipe. No one around you reacts as you’re slammed against the wall, a shadow towering over you. You look up as your sunglasses are torn away and a light is shone in your face. The bouncer lets out a gravelly growl as the small bulb of the flashlight glares in your eyes.

“I knew it was you,” he grits.

“Oh, hi, Auggy!” You chime, “how are you?”

“Don’t act like you fucking know me,” he clicks off the light and leans down until your encased in the blackness of his silhouette. “You don’t want to know me.”

#august walker x reader #august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #drabble #series #black light #au #mission impossible: fallout #the club

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gccdlittlegirl · 24 days

Text

❝ 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞 ❞

chapter one

🔞, m4tz, yandere!hongjoong, themes of jealousy, intense love and possession, top!hongjoong, bottom!seonghwa

WC: 2515

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

Hongjoong wasn’t expecting much of anything when he got to the food court.

Yunho had dragged him to the mall as emotional support while he clothes shopped. Hongjoong didn’t need anything, so he’d spent the last two hours giving mumbled opinions and sitting on his phone. Now Yunho had run off to the Panda Express queue, leaving him behind to rot (and, presumably, pick them a table). But Hongjoong wasn’t planning to eat. He sat at the nearest table he could find, a cup of lukewarm water from the jug at Spencer’s clutched in his hand.

It wasn’t like he was frugal. He just preferred to keep things to himself. He didn’t need to eat in front of people, so he wouldn’t. He didn’t need to divulge much to other people, so he rarely spoke. He didn’t need to look around him, so he looked at his shoes.

Except for now.

Secure in his seat, Hongjoong took the opportunity to glance around the food court. The walls were wood, the warm brown comforting compared to the glaring white walls from the rest of the mall. The tables were flimsy black ones, not connected to the floor underneath. He carefully placed his cup back onto the shaky surface.

“Oh, my, GAWD! Joong, you will never guess what just happened in that fucking line–” Yunho squawked. Hongjoong listened passively through the drama, nodding everytime his friend took a breath and staring a hole into his flimsy cup.

“And then Maddie was like why are you even here? and I was like the same reason you’re alive, bitch, and then—wait, Joong, look! That hot guy’s totally checking you out!”

Now he was interested.

“Yunho, what…?”

“Over there! The guy with the huge smirk on his face!” Yunho’s eyes bugged, and he pointed very obviously behind Hongjoong’s seat. Multiple times.

The young man was now laughing, his gaze still locked on Hongjoong. And Hongjoong had to admit…he was pretty cute. Godlike, actually. Achilean.

He looked like he was crafted from marble: long black hair, practically glistening in a curve framing the sides of his face. His eyes were slanted, catlike: his teeth a perfect row of white. His jawline could cut glass. His neck was—

“Not my taste.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Yunho whined, shoveling in a bite of orange chicken. “It’s not very often that someone…”

“Likes me? Yeah, well, there’s a reason for that.”

Because Hongjoong didn’t want anyone to like him. And he never would.

Yunho rolled his eyes, continuing to eat. Before he could get halfway through his food, Hongjoong felt a tap on the shoulder. A polite little tap.

Hongjoong hated being touched. Hated being disturbed. Why would someone be bugging him right now? Couldn’t they just fuck right the–

“Hello?” He breathed, the smiling dark haired boy now a foot from his face. He was frozen.

Up close, the boy’s pink suit was much…brighter. Gems everywhere. He smelled lightly of fruit. Everything about him had an air of polished grace. Electric grace. Like he didn’t care who looked. Who stared. Hongjoong’s eyes traveled lower, down the pink sparkles on the boy’s wrist, on his stomach, on his—

“Well, look at that, it’s time for Bible study! I best be off.” Yunho smiled knowingly, walking past Hongjoong on his way out. “Wrap it before you tap it!”

Hongjoong smacked Yunho on the arm as subtly as he could. He was going to kill Yunho later. Wrap it before you—Oh, he was gonna crawl into a hole—

“Well, I’ll take that as a cue to sit?” the boy slowly took Yunho’s seat, and Hongjoong dared to look him in the eyes for the first time. They glinted, a deep shade of brown. Hongjoong looked back down at his water cup, not wanting to meet them.

The boy was poker faced, though. Maybe he hadn’t heard Yunho’s Freudian Trick.

“Well…I’m Seonghwa…” the boy smiled softly, a shy contrast to the dominant smirk he’d worn earlier.

“Okay..” Hongjoong wasn’t sure what to say. “Seonghwa.” The name rolled off his tongue like butter. And after it, he let the silence roar.

“Not one for talking, are you?”

The more that Hongjoong tried looking away from the boy–from Seonghwa’s–eyes, the more Seonghwa stared into them deeper.

He wasn’t as shy as when he’d first sat down, that was for sure. He leaned closer into the table, closer than Hongjoong had ever had someone in his space. Underneath him, the table tilted on its leg, but Seonghwa didn’t even flinch.

“Well, I’ll do the talking, I guess.” Seonghwa grabbed the water cup from under Hongjoong’s hand, taking a swig of it and putting it back in the same hand. Manipulating Hongjoong’s fingers, one by one, around the width.

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, almost too frozen to respond. On the edge of the cup, bright pink sparkle gloss stained the cloudy plastic.

“I’m Seonghwa. I saw you from my seat. I liked your hair. And then you turned, and I liked your face. And now I’m here.”

This boy had some real confidence; Hongjoong had to laugh. He shook his head softly, incredulous.

“What? Find it hard to believe?” Seonghwa raised a manicured brow, managing to look even hotter.

“No, I just–” Joong put his face in his hands, exasperated—“I don’t know, I just...Nothing close to this has ever happened to me, so...”

“Well, have you ever been on a date? Like, a real one?”

A real one?

“No, I just…”

“Are you free on Saturday? I already have a reservation at Mikuni’s. I could use a plus one.”

Hongjoong stuttered again.

There was no way he could let himself do this. He was the shy one. The mysterious one. The Scorpio, or whatever.

And more importantly, he’d never done anything with anyone before. And he was sure that’s how it would stay.

What if he did get with Seonghwa? Marry him? What if he got overstimulated one day, and lashed out at Seonghwa, like he did with everyone else? What if Seonghwa couldn’t handle his anxieties, his mood swings, his baggage?

What if he went out with Seonghwa, and he wanted to go back to one of their apartments afterward? What if he had to say I don’t know or I’ve never done or I’m sorry if that hurts? What if he couldn’t verbalize those things?

And he would not be pushed down. Not again. He’d outright refuse. He’d have to be the on Seonghwa—

Seonghwa.

Seonghwa was looking at him, his eyes a little wider. Expectant.Like a lost little puppy that needed a tug on his collar to keep walking.

Sigh.

“Yes. I mean, sure. Sure, I’ll go.”

Hongjoong didn’t know what he wanted to wear that night. He didn’t own any suits. He didn’t own much clothing at all, for that matter.

He kept thinking about Seonghwa’s last comment. I already have reservations at Mikuni’s. Had he made them in hopes of meeting someone that day? If it wasn’t Hongjoong, would it have been…

Another man?

He wasn’t sure why that smarted. He’d seen Seonghwa once in his entire life, and he was already imagining him with other men. Ha. Ha, Ha, Ha.

He decided on a regular pair of black pants with the blandest button up he had. It wasn’t like Seonghwa would care, anyway. He’d met Hongjoong wearing a T-shirt and jeans.

But what if he did care? What if Seonghwa showed up wearing something even more elaborate than the pink suit? What if he was in a whole ball gown and Hongjoong was stuck in his thrifted shirt? Oh, fuck, he should change—

ding.

Or not.

ding.

Hongjoong unfroze, running through the hallway toward the front door. He brushed his sweaty hands down his pants.

God, this was so embarrassing. He was straight out of some cringe movie. Jesus.

ding.

He opened the door.

“Thought you’d keep me waiting?”

Seonghwa was leaning against the door frame, the pink sparkles traded for a plain black three piece with matching black glasses. His hair all slicked back. His brow raised.

Hongjoong crossed his legs and hoped his partner wouldn’t look down.

An amused smile grew on Seonghwa’s face.

“Why are your ears bright red?”

Hongjoong’s mouth fell open, and he stuttered. (Stuttered! Like an idiot!)

Seonghwa laughed, taking his glasses off and folding them on the collar of his dress shirt. He grabbed Hongjoong by the arm, pulling him closer.

“You flatter me.” He said, his voice low. He led them out the door, where his small red Miata was waiting for them, on and humming.

Because of course, the man had a Miata.

The drive was quiet. Seonghwa seemed confident in the silence, but Hongjoong squirmed in it.

He was usually so annoyed when anyone tried to speak to him. He’d sit in the back of classrooms all through school, he took his lunch breaks at work hiding in his car. But with Seonghwa?

Hongjoong wanted to know everything about him. He didn’t know why, but he did. He felt like he’d need to put on a show tonight; talk as often as he could, or risk losing his chance. Losing his Seonghwa.

They got to the restaurant, and Hongjoong watched as Seonghwa talked to the waiter (reservation for Park Seonghwa, yes that’s Park with an R…) and grabbed his hand once more to lead him down the rows of seats, rows of people, smiling people.

The room smelled lightly of sage, and the deep red walls were set off by the lights above every table. The waiter left them alone with their menus and their awkward hitched breaths.

Seonghwa already knew what he wanted, (Had he been here before? With another—)

“Man, I missed sushi. I used to get the Safeway kind nearly every night after work.” Seonghwa said. “Do you work anywhere? Or do you live at that mall?”

The way Seonghwa leaned against the table, sitting under the dim lights like Hongjoong was the most interesting thing he’d laid eyes on…Hongjoong crossed his legs again.

“Well, it’s not the most exciting work. It’s just a grocery store deli job. I cut the lunch meat, or whatever.”

And made the sandwiches that he couldn’t afford on the store’s own salary. And dealt with all the most obnoxious rich customers in the entire city. And sat unblinkingly in his car for an hour at the end of every shift because he was too drained to move.

“So I should get sushi at your store next time, is what you’re saying?”

The waiter dropped their sushi rolls off, and the conversation paused as they said their thank yous, organized their cutlery, their drinks.

“Well, where do you work so late that you don’t have time to make dinner?”

Seonghwa sighed.

“Well, I work at the law firm down F street. But I’m just a secretary, and one of two secretaries, at that. Nothing special.”

Hongjoong had gotten a spicy combo roll, but it was hard to take a bite when he was too busy looking at the light glinting over Seonghwa’s skin.

“How late does a law firm stay open?”

“What?”

“Are you picking up Safeway dinners because it’s so late you can’t cook, or can you just not cook for shit?”

Seonghwa got flustered in a way that reminded Hongjoong of the brief moment he’d seen at the food court the other day. Hidden glances under the shell that he hoped he could—maybe, one day, potentially—break.

“I leave at five. I just can’t cook for shit.”

Hongjoong couldn’t help it. He giggled through his chopsticks.

“Don’t laugh at me—!”

“No, no,” Hongjoong snorted, “you’re fine. I’ll do the cooking, you’ll do the cleaning, I guess.”

“Oh, am I your little housewife now?” Seonghwa, ever quick to recover his confidence, quipped.

“Of course, why else would I be here?”

Their laughter calmed down, and Hongjoong stared into his sushi platter as he finished the last of the roll. He could’ve gotten something on the side, but he was still a bit anxious about the night, and he figured going lighter was better.

“Why did you come here?” Seonghwa asked, looking down at his own plate. His voice sounded suddenly small.

Hongjoong was caught off guard.

“What do you mean? Well, you asked me!”

“No, that’s not what I meant. You’re clearly super new at this. No offense, of course,” Seonghwa reached for his hand across the table. “I just don’t know why you’d say yes to someone like me.”

Hongjoong was less new than he looked. But of course, only he would know that.

“Well…are you done with that?” Hongjoong pointed at Seonghwa’s sushi.

Seonghwa meshed his brows together.

“Well, yeah, but…”

“Let’s pay, get back to the car, and then I’ll tell you.”

Seonghwa slumped into the driver’s seat with a dramatic exhale. He sat for a minute, not looking at Hongjoong, who’d been playing absently with his fingers since he shut the passenger door.

After a moment of silence, Seonghwa finally met Hongjoong’s eyes. They were like little boba pearls, catching the light reflecting from the street lamps and twisting Hongjoong’s stomach.

“So..?” Seonghwa broke the silence.

Hongjoong took a breath.

“If we’re being completely honest. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t like people.”

Hongjoong broke from Seonghwa’s gaze. He wasn’t sure he could stand it. But he managed to continue, hushing his tone.

“I think I like them and I try to be more talkative and then I regret it, or I get overstimulated and snap at people until they think I’m weird and leave, or I get depressed and stay in my fucking bed until everyone stops texting me.”

Seonghwa opened his mouth, but Hongjoong interrupted.

“Except Yunho, of course. The apocalypse won’t make him stop texting me.”

Seonghwa put his face in his hands to stifle a laugh, but when Hongjoong started laughing, he joined.

“Where did you find that guy, anyway?” Seonghwa asked, cautiously patting a tear from his eye (was he wearing mascara?).

“The fuckin gutter, I guess.” Hongjoong said. “I met him in middle school.”

“I still can’t believe he said wrap it before you tap it. And you just let him leave—“

“Okay, well what was I gonna say? Thanks, Yunho, I’ll double rubber just for you. Have a nice Bible study-“

He stopped, nearly choking on his own cackles. Seonghwa was still laughing, too, and he absently reached for his hand to play with the boy’s fingers.

“Oh, so you want to rubber, then?” Seonghwa said.

The blood rushed to Hongjoong’s face (and somewhere else). He stuttered a bit, but Seonghwa spoke again before he felt pressured to respond.

“I’m kidding. You don’t have to think about that. Unless you want to, I mean—“

“Oh, no, there’s been moments…”

“Moments?” Seonghwa started laughing again.

WHAT WAS HONGJOONG SAYING?? What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck he was such a bumbling idiot—

“Oh, no, I mean, I don’t, I didn’t mean that, like, I just meant like—“

And Seonghwa’s lips were on his.

// AAAA thank you for reading!! warning: chapter two is basically pure smut throughout the whole thing, and will get into some of the secret backstories of both characters which do include a bit of trauma. but i’ll update when it’s done!

#ateez smut #matz smut #seongjoong #hongjoong smut #seonghwa smut #seonghwa x hongjoong

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