#today for us to learn from and listen to and THANK
Note
Steve is most likely to end up in a lavender marriage and Tony's most likely to end up in a “married for tax/immigration/inheritance fraud” reasons.
They meet as married men and pine for each other hardcore and are also trying not to read too much into how their interest seems reciprocated and oh nooooo both Immigration/the IRS and the the Church/in-laws/DADT era army dudes or whatever are snooping around at the same time at each of their marriages and they have to be so good at being married at the people they are married to oh noooooo and they other guy doesn’t know why they are suddenly being iced out and maybe they were just imagining things? maybe it’s for the best with all these eyes around on them…
#not to get too real but i love queer people. we see each other and we save each other#i wish i could talk in depth about this lgbtq history panel i went to tonight without doxxing myself#but basically all of these panelists were older gay ppl & one of them won a very monumental court case in the state#and right after introductions one of the other panelists turned to her and thanked her so profusely for the sacrifices she had made#and the work she did to win that case#and that by achieving that win for herself she paved the way for this other panelist to have her own family recognized legally by the state#i don't know i'm not explaining it well but something about knowing and seeing that gratitude in real time. understanding so viscerally tha#so much of our history has happened within one or two lifetimes. to the point that many of the champions of our current rights are alive#today for us to learn from and listen to and THANK#i met two nb ppl through school last year and have since become very close to them#they are the only two ppl on this planet who use my pronouns the way i want them to be used. they switch it up every time and i love them#a little bit more each time i hear them talk about me. it's magical#my childhood best friend told me he liked boys and girls like a month after we first met each other in the fourth grade#he told me there's a word for that; he's bisexual#i think abt how incredible that was a lot. how brave he was to say that and to own that and how long it might have taken me to figure#out that i was the same had he not said it.#anyway all this to say that yes absolutely i love this#steve and tony meet at a military gala. steve's being recognized for his service and tony and his wife were invited by some higher-up who#imagined he could use the event as a way to cozy up to him and earn some good favor before negotiations start on SI's contract renewal#their eyes meet while steve's up on stage. he hates these things. hates being dragged into the spotlight. he feels naked and bare and#vulnerable every time. trapped in enemy territory with no cover. but he sucks it up he kisses his wife on the cheek and she smiles#big and beautiful; perfect like they've run their lines 1000 times over. like they could recite each other's parts by heart#he makes his way to the podium. breathes deep to center himself before he launches into his thankless thank-yous. steve's a terrible liar#but somehow he's made it this far in his career. he can manage for one more night. except#right as he lifts his eyes to speak he sees him. bright eyes burning into his from a shadowed table in the corner. the brass speaking at hi#on his left and a lovely woman who's bored and unimpressed on his right. and him looking directly back at steve#steve's breath catches and he chokes on air. trips on his lines. forgets himself and loses the beat of the scene#he looks down at his notes and ignores them. raises his face to the light and plays himself to be seen by an audience of one.#anon#signed sealed delivered
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it is frankly hilarious to me how strongly diverging the opinions are that oboists will have on reedmaking. even when they themselves had the same damn teacher
#sasha speaks#oboeposting#my current and two previous teachers were all students of the same teacher#(and in turn students of john mack who has a TON of former students teaching today and i've met/learned from some of them#at various points. the oboe world is small moving on)#and even just between my current teacher and my previous it's amazing how many Tiny differences there are#which order to scrape in. what's your shape what's your staple length what's your tie length.#how do you sharpen your knives and what kind of knives do you even use (BIG opinions on these ones.)#(i used to only sharpen on sticks and steel but now i'm touching up with stones again...only occasionally tho i like my sticks still)#(stones just for gross regrinding. i want my knives to last more than 6 months thanks)#even just between this year and last my reedmaking has changed and it's just funny to me how two different oboists#both with great sound and technique (and i can't stress this one enough: The Same Teacher)#will have completely opposing opinions on and methods of reedmaking. LOL#it does make learning how to do it yourself fucking annoying tho cause Who Do You Listen To#but after 4+ years i've finally got enough of a handle on it to start having my own independent opinions. thank gd
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MILF
Toto Wolff x wife!Reader
Summary: Toto knows his wife is a MILF … but this doesn’t mean he is okay with his son’s friends calling you that
Warnings: teenage boys doing teenage boy things
Based on this request
“Pass the schnitzel, darling,” you say to your husband as the three of you sit down for dinner. Your teenage son has just gotten home from school, and you can’t wait to hear about his day.
Toto smiles at you as he passes the platter of breaded veal. “How was school?” He asks.
Lukas shrugs as he takes a bite. “It was okay,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.
You give him a look. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, sweetie,” you gently chide. Even though he’s almost an adult now, you still see your little boy in him.
Lukas swallows and straightens up. “Sorry, Mum.”
“So tell us about your day,” you prompt. “Learn anything new and interesting?”
Your son fidgets in his seat. “Well … some of the guys were talking about you today.”
You raise your eyebrows in surprise. “Me? What about me?”
Lukas glances uncomfortably at his father. “Just … stuff they saw online. Paparazzi photos from when we were on the yacht last month.”
Toto sets his fork down, his expression darkening. He’s no stranger to being in the public eye, but he’s always been protective of you and Lukas. “What exactly were they saying?” He asks in a carefully neutral tone.
“They, uh …” Lukas rubs the back of his neck. “They called Mom a MILF.”
“A what?” Toto sputters, while you have to suppress a laugh. You’re familiar with the crude term, given your substantially younger age compared to your husband.
“It’s not funny!” Toto says indignantly. “I won’t have people objectifying my wife like that.”
You reach over and pat his arm. “It’s okay, dear. I’m not bothered by it.” You turn back to Lukas with an amused smile. “I’m flattered those boys think your old mom’s still got it.”
“You’re not old!” Lukas protests loyally. “It’s just, you know, you’re a lot younger than Vati, and you’re really pretty, so the guys notice.”
Toto scowls, but you grin and blow your son a kiss. “Thanks, sweetie.” Your playful reaction seems to visibly relax him.
“This is unacceptable,” Toto shakes his head. “I should call the school. Get those little punks suspended for sexual harassment.”
“Oh Toto, don’t be silly,” you wave dismissively. “They’re just teenage boys. I’m sure they didn’t mean any harm.”
“It doesn’t matter!” He insists. “Your dignity and privacy should be respected, not exploited. People think because we’re in the spotlight that they can say whatever vulgar nonsense they want.”
You reach over again and lace your fingers through his, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I know it bothers you, darling. But I married you knowing full well how public our lives would be. A little crude gossip comes with the territory.”
Toto opens his mouth to retort, then pauses, some of the indignation leaving his eyes. “I just don’t want anyone disrespecting you,” he says finally.
You smile softly. Even after all these years of marriage, your heart still flutters at his protectiveness. “I know. It’s one of the many things I love about you.”
Lukas makes a face. “Ugh, gross. Can you guys not be all mushy right now?”
You laugh and blow him another kiss. “Sorry Lukas. I can’t help it — your father’s the love of my life.”
Toto smiles back at you, the anger fading from his face. “And you’re mine, schatzi.”
Your son pretends to gag. “Seriously, stop. I’m trying to eat here.”
You chuckle and spear another bite of schnitzel. “Alright, we’ll behave. Now, tell me more about the rest of your day ...”
The conversation moves on to lighter topics as you finish up dinner. You listen attentively while Lukas fills you in on the drama with his friend group and his struggles in history class.
After clearing the dishes, the three of you move to the living room. You curl up next to Toto on the couch while Lukas sprawls out on the carpet to play video games.
You close your eyes contentedly and rest your head on your husband’s shoulder. Despite the lifestyle that being married to Toto provides you with, this right here is your happy place — your little family, spending a quiet evening at home.
Toto wraps an arm around you and presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Have I told you lately how lucky I am?” He murmurs.
You smile up at him. “Even after all these years, you still give me butterflies.”
“Good,” he says firmly. “I’ll tell you every day if I have to, until you’re sick of hearing it.”
Lukas groans loudly from the floor. “Could you guys be any more embarrassing?”
You and Toto both laugh. “What? I can’t tell my beautiful wife how much I love her?” He calls out in protest.
“Not when I’m right here!” Lukas complains. “Get a room or something.”
You grin mischievously. “That’s not a bad idea ...” you say, running a hand up your husband’s chest.
Toto’s eyes darken. “Minx,” he murmurs.
Lukas scrambles to his feet. “Okay, I’m out of here.” He gives you both a look of exaggerated disgust as he heads upstairs.
You and Toto chuckle as you listen to his bedroom door slam shut.
“Now, where were we?” Toto says in a low voice, pulling you closer. You bite your lip coyly as he presses his mouth to yours. No matter how many years go by, the chemistry between you is still electric.
You shift against him eagerly as the kiss deepens. His hands slide down to grip your hips, and you make a soft noise of pleasure. After nearly two decades of marriage, he knows exactly how to touch you.
“Tell me again,” you whisper when you finally break apart, slightly breathless.
Toto gazes into your eyes. “I love you,” he says sincerely. “I will always love you. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
You kiss him again, tenderly this time. “I love you too, Toto. Forever.”
No matter what people say or how famous you become, your relationship has always been grounded in this — the unwavering love between you. The rest of the world falls away when you’re together.
You rest your head contentedly on his shoulder again, his arms wrapped around you. This right here, next to the man who still looks at you like you hung the moon, is home.
***
The next day after school, Lukas comes home with a few of his friends in tow. You’re just finishing up putting away the groceries when you hear the chatter of teenage voices approaching.
“Hey Mum, we’re gonna hang out downstairs,” Lukas calls out as the group of boys raids the kitchen fridge for snacks.
You smile and give them a little wave. “Hi boys. There’s more drinks in the pantry if you need it.”
The teenagers rumble acknowledgements through mouthfuls of food before thundering downstairs to your home theater room. You chuckle and shake your head. Teenage appetites are truly a phenomenon.
You’re straightening up the living room when you hear the front door open again, signaling Toto’s return from work.
“Hello, liebling,” he greets you warmly, sweeping you into an embrace.
You kiss him in welcome. “How was work today?”
“The usual madness,” he sighs. “But coming home to you makes it all worthwhile.”
You smile up at him adoringly. Even after all these years, your heart still flutters at his smooth compliments.
“Oh, Lukas has some friends over,” you mention. “They’re downstairs watching movies or playing video games.”
Toto frowns a little. “Those wouldn’t happen to be the same friends who were objectifying you?”
You pat his chest placatingly. “Now dear, we talked about this. Don’t make a fuss.”
“Hmph.” He still looks slightly disgruntled. “Well, I should at least go down and say hello.”
You follow him downstairs, where the group of teenage boys are sprawled out on the sofas engrossed in some action movie. Explosions boom from the surround sound system as CGI buildings crumble onscreen.
They look up when you and Toto enter. “Oh hey Mr. Wolff,” one of them says.
“Vati, you remember my friends right?” Lukas introduces. “Jason, Andrew, Ryan, and David.”
“Ah yes, nice to see you boys again,” Toto says smoothly.
Too smoothly.
You can sense the storm brewing beneath his polite façade.
Sure enough, as the teens’ attention returns to the movie, Toto clears his throat. “So I heard you boys were discussing my wife the other day.”
The room goes silent, save for the cinematic explosions still blaring through the speakers. The boys glance around uneasily.
“Um, we didn’t mean anything bad by it,” David finally offers timidly.
Toto raises an eyebrow. “Oh? So objectifying and sexualizing a married woman is not meant to be disrespectful?”
The teens squirm under his icy stare. You put a warning hand on your husband’s arm, but he continues.
“Let me tell you something about my wife,” he says, an edge creeping into his tone. “She is an elegant, successful, and highly intelligent woman. Not some piece of meat for you ogling schoolboys to drool over.”
The chastised boys all mumble apologies and stare fixedly at the floor.
Toto points a stern finger at them. “I trust there will be no further vulgar comments, or you won’t be welcome in this house again.”
“Yes sir,” they mutter. Lukas looks like he wants the leather couch to swallow him whole. You have to stifle a smile at your husband’s overprotective papa bear routine.
“Good. I’m glad we understand each other.” Toto straightens his suit jacket. “Now you boys enjoy your … movie.”
He turns and heads back upstairs, with you following after an apologetic smile to the shell-shocked teens.
Once you’re out of earshot, you swat his shoulder reproachfully. “Toto! Did you really need to traumatize the poor kids?”
“I didn’t traumatize them,” he huffs. “I just … explained a few things.” At your skeptical look, he amends “ … Firmly.”
You shake your head in exasperation. “You’re impossible. I thought I asked you not to make a fuss.”
He takes your hands earnestly. “I’m sorry, schatzi. I just can’t stand anyone disrespecting you. You deserve to be treated like a queen.”
You soften at the sincerity in his eyes. “Oh Toto. You’re too good to me.” You wrap your arms around him in a conciliatory hug.
He holds you close. “Nonsense. I’ll spend every day proving you’re the most important thing in the world to me.”
You snuggle against his chest, reminded yet again how lucky you are. Even when he overreacts, you know it comes from a place of devotion.
“Just promise me you’ll go easy on the boys,” you say wryly as you pull back. “I think you scared them straight for life.”
Toto smiles ruefully. “I suppose I did get a bit … intense. But the message won’t do any harm.”
You laugh and kiss his cheek. “My noble protector.”
He grins. “Proudly.”
Later, as the boys are getting ready to leave, Toto stops them at the front door.
“Before you go, I have one more thing to say,” he announces. The teens glance at each other nervously.
Toto looks each of them in the eye. “If I ever hear of you disrespecting my wife again, I won’t be so kind. You see, she’s actually a MIDF … Mother I Do Fuck.” He enunciates the words pointedly.
The teens’ eyes widen in horror, and Lukas turns bright red. “Vati!” He hisses in embarrassment.
Toto ignores him. “So I would appreciate it if you kept your crude comments to yourselves next time.” He gives them a tight smile. “Are we clear?”
The boys nod rapidly. “Yes sir. Crystal clear, Mr. Wolff,” one mumbles.
“Good.” Toto claps his hands together. “Then get home safely.”
After the front door shuts behind the fleeing teens, Lukas rounds on his father. “Oh my god, Vati! Why would you say that?”
He shrugs unapologetically. “I wanted to make sure they got the message loud and clear this time.”
Lukas just shakes his head in mortification before stomping upstairs.
You slide your arms around your unrepentant husband. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”
“They left with a healthy dose of fear and respect,” Toto says smugly. “I think my work here is done.”
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#toto wolff#toto wolff imagine#toto wolff x reader#toto wolff x you#toto wolff fic#toto wolff fluff#toto wolff fanfic#toto wolff blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#toto wolff x y/n#mercedes amg f1#formula 1#formula one#f1 imagines#f1 fics
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When I Kissed the Teacher
Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader
Genre: fluff, humor
Summary: Mr. Kim has a crush, to his students that much is clear. It's also clear that you like him too. What happens when a group of meddlesome ten year olds decide to play cupid for their two favorite teachers?
Warnings: science teacher mingyu, grammar teacher reader, meddling students, crushes, flirting, lots of candy and coffee
Length: ~5.2k
Note: it's here! thank you to @gyuwoncheol and @gyuswhore for beta reading and to my lovely @tomodachiii for fact checking my knowledge of primary school lol
read more here
This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!
Turning from the white board, Mingyu faces the room full of weary children. Mondays are hard. Early mornings are hard. Learning the difference between reptiles and mammals first thing on Monday morning is downright torture. But it’s nothing a little bribery (read: candy) can't fix.
"Alright class, today we're learning about animals! Who remembers what a mammal is?"
Mingyu barely finishes his sentence before a sharp knock interrupts.
“Mr. Kim,” you seethe from the doorway.
Mingyu turns around immediately, eyes wide in fear at your tone. “Yes?”
“Can I speak with you? In the hallway?”
The class of ten year olds “ooooh” as their teacher trails after you like a kicked puppy. If they weren't awake before they sure are now. He shoots a silencing look back before dipping out the door where you wait, foot tapping impatiently.
“Would you like to explain where all my printer paper went?”
Mingyu tries to play dumb. “I don’t know?”
“Oh really?" You blink. "Because I found the box in the workroom and guess what was on the printer? More of your worksheets for your class!”
“How do you know they were for my class?”
You don’t answer, in favor of shoving the animal themed coloring sheets into his chest harshly.
“Listen, anyone could have…” He trails off under your withering glare.
“If you need paper, ask!”
Mingyu burns under the reprimand. “Oh, like you asked to use my paints last month?”
“That was an accident!" you argue, eyes wide. "And I replaced them.”
“Alright, then I’ll replace the paper I took.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
With a curt nod, you turn to leave; unaware of the blushing cheeks and heart eyes following your retreating form. But the gaggle of elementary students waiting for Mingyu's return see them clear as day; their fits of shrill giggles and whispers falling on deaf ears as he shakes off the stars clouding his mind.
Mr. Kim, their goofy science teacher, has a crush. And like children are wont to do, they hatch a scheme to help him out.
—
“Alright. Do we remember the difference between fragments and sentences?”
The classroom ripples with tiny voices shouting “yes” with varying degrees of confidence. Their last quiz grades are proof they haven’t quite grasped the subject yet but that’s why you’re planning for an intensive review with them today.
“Awesome! So our warm up today should be a piece of cake. I’ll help with the first one so let's all look at the boa—”
A knock at the door cuts you off. Mingyu stands in the threshold, looking positively mischievous.
“Sorry to interrupt, Ms. y/l/n. But can I speak with you in the hall?”
Forcing a smile, you respond. “Certainly. Class, why don’t you all work with your desk partner on the worksheet and when I come back we’ll go over the answers?”
They break into groups, chattering about everything but the work you’ve assigned; most notably the way Mr. Kim beams as you follow him outside. However, once you’ve crossed beyond the border of the brightly decorated room, twenty pairs of ears strain to hear why Mr. Kim interrupted their morning lesson.
“What's this about?” you ask.
Mingyu smiles, eyes shifting to the floor. “Here's the paper I owed you.”
“You’re kidding.”
Three hefty boxes are stacked next to your door. It’s far more paper than Mingyu used for his color sheets, and more than you’d probably need for the rest of the semester.
“I thought you could use extra since you’re too stingy to share.”
“I’m not stingy!” You scoff.
Mingyu simply flashes another self-satisfied smile before heaving a box into his arms and carrying it into your classroom. He could certainly carry all three boxes at once; anytime there were desks or anything else remotely heavy to be moved, Mingyu did so with ease. But the kids don’t think anything of the way he so obviously drags out the torture.
The kids watch Mr. Kim weave through the maze of tables towards the back of the room.
“Lia, can you open the door for me please?”
The little girl jumps from her desk and bolts for the supply closet, braids bouncy with each step.
“In here okay?” Mingyu asks.
Blinking from your stupor, you turn back to your desk as you answer. “Yeah, it’s…whatever.”
Your class stopped their work to focus on the unfolding drama between their two favorite teachers. They don’t know why you can’t seem to stand their science teacher, and it’s anyone’s guess why Mr. Kim has decided to interrupt their grammar lesson for something so silly. But it’s clear that whenever you two meet an argument is clear to follow. And in the guidebook of elementary school, if you like a girl, you always argue with them.
So enthralled in your silent battle of wits with the peppy man, you miss the two girls plotting in the corner.
Hana turns to her friends with breakneck speed. “Did you see the way Mr. Kim smiled at her?”
“He’s so in love,” Arin sighs dreamily.
“And Miss y/l/n is blushing! We should help them.”
Their whispers are cut off when you clap. “Alright! Back to work!”
Mingyu lingers by the front until you forcibly shoo him away, huffing at the permanent smile stretched across his lips even when the door slams in his face.
“Meet at the tree during recess.”
The two girls nod and return to their worksheets.
A new week comes with new challenges. Today’s is the universe’s determination to make your life as difficult as possible.
Your alarm didn’t go off, your shoddy dryer left you with damp clothes, and your car battery decided a short strike would be a great way to start the freezing morning. There was barely time to wash your face with cold tap water let alone put on makeup or style your hair. To top it all off, the green lunchbox with leftovers from your favorite restaurant sits on the shelf of your fridge which means the crumbled granola bar at the bottom of your purse will finally see the light of day.
Flicking on the lights, you rush to prepare for the day. By the grace of god your first period is planning time so no students witness your near breakdown from the absolute shit storm of the morning. Not much is to be done since you already organized everything you needed Friday afternoon but the tense events of the day leave you feeling off. Not even a cup of coffee with the creamer you reserve for days like these helps the overwhelming unease rippling in the back of your throat.
Your allotted private time washes by and before you know it, a gaggle of students filters into your room, giddy on holiday spirit and sugar. The first five minutes of class are spent reminding them their butts belong in chairs at their own stations, that the warmup is for them to complete on their own, and if they aren’t feeling well enough to do classwork they need to go to the nurse.
Twenty minutes into the lesson and the worksheet for their quiz on Friday finally manages to capture their attention. A few students struggle but most are sailing through. Its the same material as last week just with a new puzzle for them to complete once they have all the correct answers.
“Alright, who can tell me what word fits for number six?” you ask.
The attentiveness you’ve sweated to cultivate all morning dissolves when a volunteer knocks to distribute candy-grams.
“Delivery!” a young woman sings as she enters, dressed in red from head to toe with heart shaped sunglasses and a sparkly headband. Her wicker basket flows with candy bars wrapped with shiny ribbon and cardstock penned with confessions.
The shrill symphony of oohs and ahhs as the kids receive pieces of candy raises the vein on your temple.
“And for Ms. y/l/n!” the young woman sing-songs, heart headband bouncing as she approaches your desk.
The cardstock reads one of the cheesy messages the school provides for the Valentine cards they sell as a yearly fundraiser.
‘I like you a choco-lot! - your secret admirer’
You throw it into a drawer in your desk, oblivious to the crestfallen faces of two little girls watching with rapt attention.
“I don’t think she likes chocolate,” Arin whispers.
“No. Remember during Halloween? She said her favorite candy is Twix. She gave Gabi an extra point on the spelling test when she brought in her halloween candy and gave them to her.”
“Well maybe she’s mad because it wasn’t a Twix!”
“Maybe. But Mr. Kim didn’t react to the note on his desk this morning either,” Hana huffs. “But he was late so maybe he didn’t see it.”
Your second attempt to put class back on track falls flat. Instead of group review, kids come up to your desk one by one to check their answers while you nurse your headache until the bell dismisses everyone to their next destination. Another crop of students flood the seats, emotions running high from who did and didn’t receive candy in their last class. Two students end up arguing about who knows what and then proceed to break into frustrated tears.
You bite your tongue to stop from doing the same and put on one of the movies you reserve for days like these.
When Mingyu walks into your room after school ends and all the kids are dismissed for pick up, you give him a look that sends him turning around and exiting the way he came without a word.
Tuesday brings a better attitude. Mostly because you get to take all of your class to the library for silent reading. But the homemade stirfry sitting in your lunch box in the teacher’s lounge helps too.
Your second period kids spread out through the room, some sprawled across the worn rugs on their bellies while others curl up in the much coveted bean bags; a few choose to hide between the imposing bookshelves, crowded on all sides by the smell of old paper.
With an overly sweetened latte sitting in one hand, and a new novel in the other, you perch at the long table near the librarian's desk to ‘supervise.’
“How did you manage to get a copy of The Gate? I couldn’t even get the pre-order before it sold out.” Elise, the librarian, asks.
You smile into your coffee cup before responding. “Eh, I know a guy.”
“You do? I thought you didn’t date?”
“I don’t.” You nod. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have connections.”
“Well whoever your ‘connection’ is, send them my way when you're done with him.”
You pretend to ponder before answering, “I’ll think about it.”
Snapping your book shut, you rise to gather the kids to return back to class. It takes several minutes as a few refuse to join the line until their current chapter is finished and Kai pulls out the puppy dog eyes, begging to stay all day to finish his book.
You corral them out the door with promises of more reading time on Friday if they behave well the rest of the week. Some roll their eyes but most nod enthusiastically at the opportunity to skip on their weekly quiz.
Unlocking the door, you unpack your things and find a basket of Valentine’s on your desk to be passed out. Almost all the kids receive at least one, some find two or even three heart shaped sugar cookies on their desk. Your heart squeezes when some of the students decide to divy up their cookies and gift them to the students who didn’t receive a note.
The last cookie at the bottom of the basket has a note with your name on it and a message in the same swirly script as yesterday’s.
We go together like milk and cookies. - your secret admirer
As far as cheesy Valentine’s go, you’ve seen worse. But free snacks are free snacks and the confection tastes great dipped in your coffee.
Your fourth period class focuses on their worksheets, silently deciphering the reading and ticking of questions. You promised whatever group finished first with the most right answers gets a special Valentine treat; full sized candies and extra credit on Friday.
Whatever it takes to keep them focused while you work through grading everything for your other classes.
You don’t notice the man waiting at the door until one of your kids greet their science teacher; a ripple of tiny ‘Hi, Mr. Kim!’s following.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Mingyu announces from the door. “But, ugh, the volunteer accidentally gave me this.”
“Oh! Thanks Min—Mr. Kim.”
You take the can of orange soda from his hand and skim the note.
I have a ‘crush’ on you. - your secret admirer
None of the students can read the note from their seats but you and Mr. Kim look equally bashful.
“What are you guys working on? Mingyu asks, hoping to diffuse the tension.
A cacophony of voice race to explain their assignment. Mingyu pretends to understand, smiling at their enthusiasm and grabbing a worksheet for himself.
He plants himself in one of the tiny plastic chairs next to your desk meant for ten year olds rather than a grown man of his size. It’s comical the way his knees brush his chest and any small move across the slippery seat threatens to land him on the floor.
Reviewing the sheet, Mingyu announces, “Alright, how about if you guys finish your work before me, we can have a pizza party in my class on Friday?”
More screams bounce off the walls.
“You guys can’t finish if you’re talking to Mr. Kim,” you remind them.
The room descends into a cozy calm; the sound of pencils on paper, your keyboard clicks, and the soft jazz from the computer speakers blending together.
You don’t look up to grab the answer key from the corner of the desk, Mingyu huffing from his seat at being caught.
“No cheating,” you smirk under your breath.
“Creative strategy,” he argues.
Instead of answering you shake your head and continue to focus on your own tasks.
Ten minutes and twenty emails later, two groups of students rise and approach your desk at the same time.
“We finished first!”
“No, we did!”
“Guys,” you interrupt them. “I’ll grade them both and whoever has more right wins. Besides, Mr. Kim owes you a pizza party anyway.”
The entire class cheers at the news while Mingyu playfully pouts. Maybe if he hadn’t given up on his worksheet to snoop through the basket full of snacks on your bookshelf, he wouldn’t be eating his own words.
The second group of students to approach your desk ends up victorious. You mark down their candy orders to pick up on your weekly grocery shopping trip on Thursday night before sending them to back up their belongings so you can all head to the cafeteria.
“What’d you bring for lunch?” Mingyu asks as he walks with you to the teachers lounge to retrieve your lunch boxes.
“Pasta salad.”
“Wanna trade?”
“What’d you bring?” you ask, handing him the black grocery bag you know carries his lunch.
“Pasta salad.”
You roll your eyes and kick the fridge shut.
—
After lunch you have another free period. The printing room is empty so you take advantage and make enough copies for the rest of the week. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t wrong to bring you three boxes of paper.
Lugging the stack in hand, you turn down that hall only to find a familiar face standing guard outside your classroom.
“Arin? Why are you in the hallway? You should be in class.”
“I was just…going to the bathroom!”
“Really? Because there's a bathroom right outside Mrs. Lee’s classroom if I remember correctly.”
“It was gross!”
Considering Mrs. Lee’s classroom sits on the main hallway and intersects with two other grades, it probably looked more akin to a battlefield than a restroom at this time of day.
“Okay…but hurry back. And I’m gonna let Mrs. Lee know what took you so long so she isn’t worried.”
You side step around her but she moves right into your path. And then again. And again.
“Arin, what are you doing?”
“Sorry, Ms. y/l/n. I don’t feel good. Can you walk me to the nurse?”
Crouching to her height, you rest the back of your hand against her forehead. Arin never admits she doesn’t feel well even when she’s tinged green and hacking up a lung. It’s the perfect admission to keep you from peering past the threshold of your classroom and blowing the entire operation.
Until a loud crash and high pitched scream breaks the silence of the hallway.
You jump back up.“What the—”
“Wait!” Arin shouts, throwing her arms and legs wide to block your path like a three foot tall ‘X’.
“Arin, what is going on?”
“Mr. Kim said animals make themselves bigger to be scarier,” Arin says, tiny face scowling.
“And why are you trying to scare me?”
Another bang echoes out the classroom forcing you to pick the little girl up by her armpits and carry her inside with you. She slips from your hold as you stare with a wide mouth at the scene. A desk is pulled up to the board allowing Hana to balance atop it as she scribbles across the chalkboard.
Wil you be my Valintin? - Mr. K
“Hana! What are you doing?”
“Arin!” Hana huffs indignantly.
Arin opens her mouth to respond but the look on your face silences both girls. You help Hana down from the desktop before crossing your arms in front of you and taking a deep breath.
“Sit. Now.”
They trudge to the seats next to your desk; heads hung low, tears brimming in their eyes. Neither has been on the receiving end of such a reprimand before; they’re usually your best behaved students.
You allow them to stew in silence as you right the two chairs Hana knocked over. She doesn’t look injured which is a relief but your nerves are shot from the perplexing situation. Hana and Arin can be troublemakers but they’ve never done anything like this before.
Once you're certain the urge to yell at them is quelled you approach your desk and take a seat. You watch them expectantly. Arin chances a glance up and swiftly looks back to her lap while Hana focuses on the picture at the edge of your desk, blinking away tears.
“Girls,” you sigh. “What were you doing in here?”
“Ms. y/l/n,” Arin blubbers.
Presenting the tissue box, you wait several moments while they both dab their eyes and blow their noses before speaking again.
“We just thought…” Hana starts, glancing at the other girl.
“Thought what?”
“Mr. Kim’s in love with you and we wanted to help!”
“I see.” You nod. “Did Mr. Kim tell you that?”
They look at each other before shaking their heads ‘no.’
Your temple throbs from the situation. A measured breath through your nose sends the girls into a frenzy.
“We can tell!”
“You’re perfect for eachother!”
“And did Mr. Kim ask you to sneak into my classroom while I wasn’t here?”
“No ma’am,” they mumble in unison.
It dawns on you that the two girls have been behind all the gifts you’ve received this week.“Are you two behind all the Valentine’s I’ve gotten?”
“We were just trying to help!” cries Arin.
Moving to crouch in front of them, you wait until they both look up at you.
“It’s very sweet what you were trying to do and I’m sorry I yelled at you. But you can’t sneak out of class. What if something happened and you got hurt climbing the table?”
“I’m sorry,.” Hana says.
“Me too.”
You pass them more tissues to wipe their noses.
“How about we get you two back to class?”
“But what about Mr. Kim?”
“Yeah! He needs to know how you feel.”
“That’s between Mr. Kim and I. Understand? Those are grown up things.”
The repulsion painting their faces forces you to bite back a snort. Instead you offer your hands, pinkies extended towards them both.
“How ‘bout this? I promise to talk to Mr. Kim if you two promise no more meddling. Okay?”
All three of you share a smile as you intertwine their pinkies with your own.
“Now,” you say whilst jumping to your feet. “You are supposed to be in Mrs. Lee’s class. And you are supposed to be at the library.”
Escorting them both back to where they belong, they can’t help but giggle when you pass Mr. Kim’s room and he waves. The question is clear on his face but you shrug your shoulders.
You’ll explain everything later.
You smile knowingly at the corner of the classroom where two little cupids sit as the volunteer brings you a lollipop with a note reading ‘I’m a sucker for you.’
Part of you feels guilty they pooled their own money together to supply you and the teacher next door with treats all week in an effort to play matchmaker. But another part can’t help but laugh. And when you get the chance to tell Mingyu what they’ve planned you’ll no doubt laugh harder.
But because the universe somehow knows you lied to your students the day prior you find your reckoning in the cafeteria.
It was Mingyu’s fault. Or at least that’s what you argue. You barely made it three steps inside the room before the large man bulldozes you; sending his lunch and your own down your fronts in a palette of greens and browns.
His eyes widen in horror as a slice of tomato peels off your shirt and flops to the floor. “I am so sorry!”
“Seriously?” you choke.
The entire school watches with baited breath. Students and teachers alike watch with abject horror as you skirt around the taller man and flee with shaking shoulders and your chin dipped into your chest. Mingyu gapes like a fish as you run by, frozen in place. As hundreds of eyes settle on him, he realizes they all saw how he drenched you in salad and coffee.
Mrs. Lee dismisses him with a nod, silently agreeing to watch his class so he can trapeze out to his car and find something suitable to wear.
—
Mingyu watches the game of kickball unfold across the field, keeping an eye on the rowdier students as they pick teams. But even from a distance he recognizes one face is notably absent.
He finds Kai slumped on a bench at the far corner of the playground using a stick to draw lines in the dirt at his feet.
“Hey, buddy. You feeling okay?” Mingyu asks.
Kai never misses a game of kickball. Even when his arm was in a cast at the beginning of the year, he insisted he only needed one good arm to play defense and neither to play offense. Kai’s mom simply laughed at Mingyu’s concerned email and said her son was exactly like his dad and there was no stopping him if he was set on something.
So to have the little curly haired boy isolated on the far edge of the field is serious cause for concern.
Kai looks up briefly at Mingyu’s approach before returning to his mud art. “Mr. Kim, have you ever liked someone?”
“Liked someone?” Mingyu drops onto the bench next to him.
“Like,” the little boy inhales trying to explain himself. “Like a girl?”
Mingyu snuffs out his chuckle at Kai’s innocent question. “Yeah, why do you ask? Do you like a girl?”
“I–My friend does!”
“Okay,” Mingyu nods.
“And he doesn’t know how to tell her.”
“Well that's tough.”
“How’d you tell the girl you liked?”
“Well,” Mingyu drops to a whisper. “Once upon a time, I had a crush on this girl. And she was the prettiest girl I ever saw. Smart and funny too.”
“Did she run fast?”
The question confuses Mingyu at first but then he remembers he’s talking to a ten year old and the rules of attraction hinge on who gets the swing the highest and jumps off.
“She ran really fast,” he nods. “And she made me so nervous I couldn’t talk to her. My palms got all sweaty and my face turned red.”
“That happens to m—I mean my friend!”
“And it feels like there's a bunch of frogs jumping around your stomach?”
“Yeah,” Kai nods. “So how’d you tell her?”
“Well one day, I finally decided to introduce myself. Walked right up to her, opened my mouth and…poof.”
“Poof?”
“Poof.” Mingyu hangs his head. “I forgot everything I was gonna say to her.”
“What happened after that?”
“She waited a few minutes and then said ‘okay, I’ll meet you at 6:30 for dinner.’”
“She knew you liked her?”
Mingyu nods gravely before imparting his most sage wisdom. “Girls are very smart, Kai.”
“So I should try and tell her I like her?”
“Your friend should at least try,” Mingyu shrugs.
Kai blushes, having been clearly caught. “But what if she doesn’t like him back?”
“That’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Thanks, Mr. Kim. You’re the best!”
“You’re welcome, buddy.” Mingyu gives him a fist bump before shooing him back towards his friends. “Now go play kickball, the boys need your help.”
Kai runs off but a new presence fills the vacant seat on the bench.
“I thought we agreed to keep our romantic life a secret at work.”
Mingyu smiles sheepishly before turning to look at you. “Oh, you heard that?”
“Yeah, I heard,” you smile. “They already think you have a crush on me.”
“Smart kids.” He says, enjoying the way the worn sage button up swallows your figure.
Mingyu loves when you wear his clothes, he told you this morning when you stole his favorite jacket. Which is why you both took almost twenty minutes to gain your composure after he spilled an entire tray of food on you.
Mingyu swears he didn’t do it on purpose. How could he have known you were coming through the door at that very moment? But he’d do it again if it meant seeing you in one of the spare shirts he keeps in the truck again. Even if it meant he’d also sustain minor coffee burns.
“They think I have a crush on you too.”
You watch the way he traces your collar bone, catching the twinkle of the diamond pendant resting at the hollow of your throat; his birthstone. It was the first piece of jewelry he bought you when you started dating almost a decade ago.
You hadn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to you with shaky hands and red ears.
“Do you?” He asks.
“Do I, what?”
“Have a crush on me?”
“Oh Gyu,” you coo at him. “I have the fattest crush on you.”
“Damn right you do.”
Sitting outside with an entire audience of other teachers and students doesn’t allow either of you to fall into the familiar comfort of adorning kisses or airtight hugs. But Mingyu’s pinky brushing yours in the ample space between your figures is enough for now.
Friday is Valentine’s day which means all the kids don red and pink outfits and prepare for a day of candy filled fun. You spent all morning helping the art teacher set up paint stations. Why she cashed in on the long owed favor with such a simple task was beyond you but the monotony is a nice change from the chaos you’ve experienced all week. When second period rolls around, you shuffle back to your classroom; welcomed by the line of students waiting outside your locked door.
“I swear! I saw Mr. Kim and Ms. y/l/n at the grocery store last night.”
“Hana, Ms. y/l/n said its grown up business. Maybe you just saw people that look like them,” Arin shrugs. “And I don’t wanna get in trouble again.”
“It had to be them!”
They quiet down as they walk past your figure, smiling like cherubs when you greet them.
Students file in one by one, shrill voices echoing from excitement. Most cheer about their pizza party with Mr. Kim later that afternoon, a few squeals about the set of Valentine’s their parents sent with them to handout.
Your ears catch a few other snippets of conversation as you wait for the stragglers to make it by.
“Oh my gosh those are so pretty!”
“Those look like the flowers my mommy likes!”
Curiosity gets the better of you, forcing you to step into the room and see what the kids are talking about.
An explosion of pink camellias resting on your desk. Huge blossoms with pale pink petals spill over the sides of the vase, slips of greenery sprinkled throughout. Approaching your desk, the floral aroma fills your nose. The blooms feel like soft velvet under the pad of your finger tracing the largest one in the center of the arrangement.
Who on earth?
As if on cue a mop of black hair peaks in from the hall. Mingyu eyes the bouquet and the pleased look on your face before allowing his own to break into his infamous smile.
“Just wanted to make sure they got here safe,” he calls.
You whip your head up, eyes wide and mouth open at the can of worms he just spilled.
“What?” Mingyu asks innocently. “Can’t a man buy his fiancee flowers?”
He disappears with a wink but his laughter at the chaos he’s stirred up can be heard miles away.
“MISS Y/L/N YOU’RE MARRIED?” Mark screams.
Another shrill voice answers, “Fiancee means they’re almost married, idiot!”
“You lied to us!” Arin and Hana chorus.
Dropping into your chair, you hide your burning face in your hands. Coincidentally it also hides your shy grin from the hoard of ten year olds jumping in their seats at the news.Mingyu is in so much trouble.
A few weeks before the new school year starts, a group of nearly eleven year olds crowd into the pews of the massive church at the center of town. Stained glass reflects patterns over the marble floors, casting them in a rainbow of colors.
Some sit on their hands to calm the adrenaline pumping through their tiny veins. Others rock back and forth in an effort to watch Mr. Kim strut down the aisle in a fancy looking suit.
But all of them gasp when you turn the corner.
You look like a real life princess in your wedding dress, floating towards their science teacher waiting at the altar with tears and a smile matching your own.
When you and Mr. Kim kiss, the girls squeal and the boys blush.
Several rows ahead sits a small group of older students, who’ve long graduated elementary school and are headed to college in a few days. They exchange satisfied smiles and pat themselves on the back for getting their favorite fourth grade teachers together all those years ago.
Maybe now your new classes won’t try playing Cupid like they do every year given Mr. Kim finally married their favorite teacher.
-
Fic taglist: @tacosandbitch @leechanniee @syprosight @prettygyuuu @itza-meee @cottoncheol @ashluvy @jkslvsnella @xuimhao @vanishingboots @miujunhui @viciousdarlings @imprettyweird @akeminy @sana-is-ms-rmty @jayfrvr @watermelonsugawara @bouclesdefeu
Permanent taglist:
@cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @tomodachiii @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @gyuguys @primoppang @mine-gyu
© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.
#svthub#svt x reader#kim mingyu x reader#kim mingyu fluff#mingyu#mingyu fluff#kim mingyu#seventeen#svt fluff#seventeen fanfic#mingyu scenarios#mingyu x reader#mingyu imagines#🫡 highvern
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Questions To Ask Yourself If You Want To Become The Best Version of Yourself
What do I really care about? What things are really important to me?
What am I good at, and where do I need help? What am I strong in, and what could I get better at?
What do I want to achieve soon and later? What things do I want to do soon, and what are my bigger, long-term goals?
Am I trying new things and not just staying comfy? Am I doing things that might be a bit scary but good for me?
How do I deal with problems and when things go wrong? What do I do when stuff doesn't work out?
Am I nice to myself when things don't go well? Do I treat myself kindly, especially when things are tough?
How do I use my time, and what's most important? How do I plan my day, and what things matter the most?
Am I learning new stuff regularly? Do I keep finding out new things?
Do I have a good balance between work and fun? Do I make sure to have enough time for work and for things I enjoy?
Do I have good friendships and avoid bad ones? Am I friends with people who make me feel good?
Do I take care of my body? Am I eating well, exercising, and sleeping enough?
Do I think about my feelings and thoughts? Do I pay attention to how I'm feeling and what I'm thinking?
How do I deal with stress and make myself calm? What do I do when I'm stressed out?
Do I help others and make the world better? Do I do things to make people's lives nicer?
Do I have good habits and get rid of bad ones? Are there things I do every day that are good for me? Are there things I should stop doing?
Do I learn from what people say about me? When people give me advice, do I listen and try to get better?
Do I say no when I need to? Do I tell people when I need space or when something isn't okay for me?
What makes me really happy? What do I like to do that makes me feel great?
Do I use money wisely? Am I good at saving and spending money in smart ways?
Do I believe I can improve and get better? When things are tough, do I think I can get through them and learn something?Am I being kind to others and making them feel good? Do I treat people nicely and make them happy?
Do I learn from things I do wrong? When I make a mistake, do I figure out how to do better next time?
Do I try new things, even if they scare me a little? Do I give things a shot, even if they seem a bit scary?
Am I spending time with people who care about me? Do I hang out with folks who like me for who I am?
Do I eat healthy foods and move my body? Am I eating good stuff and getting some exercise?
Am I sharing and helping others when I can? Do I give stuff to others and lend a hand when I'm able to?
Am I paying attention when people talk to me? Do I really listen when others are speaking to me?
Do I take breaks and do things I enjoy? Do I give myself time to rest and do things I like?
Do I say sorry and make up if I hurt someone? When I make someone feel bad, do I apologize and try to make things better?
Do I imagine good things for myself in the future? Do I think about cool stuff I want to do?
Do I stop and relax when I'm feeling stressed? When I'm worried, do I take a moment to calm down?
Do I ask for help when I need it? Do I tell someone when I can't do something on my own?
Do I try my best, even when things are tricky? Even if it's hard, do I give it my all?
Do I pick up after myself and keep things tidy? Am I good at cleaning up and keeping things in order?
Do I use my time for things that matter most? Do I do important stuff before other things?
Do I think about good things that happened today? Do I remember all the nice things that occurred?
Am I okay with making mistakes and learning from them? Do I know it's okay to mess up sometimes and learn from it?
Do I show appreciation for the people around me? Do I let others know I'm thankful for them?
Do I take deep breaths and relax when I'm upset? When I'm mad, do I breathe and try to calm down?
Do I believe I can do better and keep growing? Do I think I can get better at things and keep getting smarter?
Am I happy with who I am right now? Do I like myself just as I am?
Do I feel okay when things don't go as planned? When stuff doesn't work out, do I stay calm?
Do I think about good things about myself? Do I focus on the nice parts of me?
Do I let go of things that make me sad? When something makes me upset, can I move on from it?
Do I notice when I'm feeling worried or scared? Am I aware of when I'm feeling nervous or frightened?
Do I believe I can do things even if they're tough? Can I do hard things if I try?
Do I try to make my mind peaceful? Do I relax my thoughts when they're racing?
Do I find things that make me feel relaxed? What can I do to feel calm and at ease?
Am I patient when things take time? Can I wait without getting upset?
Do I talk kindly to myself in my head? Do I say nice things to myself in my mind?
Am I curious about things and want to learn? Do I like to find out new stuff?
Do I think about good times and happy memories? Do I remember fun things that happened before?
Do I try to understand how others feel? Can I tell what others are feeling?
Do I imagine nice things happening in the future? Can I think about good stuff that might come?
Do I take time to rest and be by myself? Do I give myself breaks and quiet time?
Do I let go of things I can't change? Can I forget about things I can't do anything about?
Do I believe I can do things even if I don't know how yet? Do I think I can learn new things?
Do I tell myself I'm doing a good job? Do I give myself a pat on the back?
Do I stay calm even if things are really busy? Can I be relaxed even when things are crazy?
Do I know that I can make mistakes and it's okay? Do I understand that everyone messes up sometimes?
#personal improvement#personal growth#personal development#self worth#selfhelp#self improvement#self love#self care#journal#level up journey#positive mindset#success mindset#high value mindset#self help#self esteem#self growth#motivationalquotes#motivating quotes
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Jet Stream
Joel has his fun with you after learning his shower head has a jet stream setting.
Part two of my miniseries for @noxturnalpascal Can be read as standalone but check out the first part Lather ! Thank you @merz-8 @noxturnalpascal and @tightjeansjavi for all their brainstorming on this fic!
tags-soft dom!joel, maybe not so soft dom! joel, overstimulation station, pet name (good girl, sweetheart, honey, darling) crying, fingering, multiple orgasms both clitoral and vaginal, smoochin’, praise, blowjobs, snuggles
notes- thank you for your patience with me! Hope you’re all having a lovely start to your February, please harass me and spank me to get part 3 and my Valentine’s Day one shot out by next week ❤️💖
Kindly edited by @papipascalispunk ❤️❤️❤️
Masterlist
Joel wakes up early, even on Saturdays. Taking advantage of the little pleasures in life, he watches squirrels and chipmunks run up and down the trees in his backyard, listening to the birds chirp while the sun rises. When the sun rises, he’ll take his morning shower and sigh in relaxation under the hot water. Let it wash over him for a little too long before he scrubs his body.
But not this Saturday. Today, that steady pelting of water on his back and chest feels like a trickle compared to what it’s usually like. Joel’s been noticing this for a while, maybe you have too. He stands in the shower, annoyed at the glacial pace of the suds sliding off his body. After what feels like an eternity passes, he shuts off the water and examines the shower head closely. Yeah, that’ll do it, he thinks. Limescale. It’s built up around the shower head, into all the grooves. This commonly happens when hard water runs through a house. It’s an easy fix.
Joel unscrews the shower head from its fixture then dries off. He goes downstairs and grabs a bucket and a jug of vinegar from his cleaning supply closet. He soaks the shower head in the vinegar-filled bucket for about an hour before taking the shower head out, using an old toothbrush to scrub the grooves and holes in the shower head. Joel hears a creak upstairs and quickens his scrubbing, he doesn’t need you coming downstairs and scolding him for over-exerting himself. Yeah, yeah – he should be asking you for your help and all that, but you’re too pretty for a chore like this, he thinks. Besides, his shoulder is getting better. Not quite as tender as it was a week ago. As Joel wraps up the finishing touches of cleaning the shower head, he notices some etched words that were previously covered by the limescale – Rain, Shower, Jet Stream.
Well, would ya look at that. A mischievous grin forms on Joel’s lips. His brain has been fucking addled thinking about you. You, and the way you came on your own fingers, whimpering his name. How after, you pushed your fingers past his lips, how sweet your arousal tasted on his tongue. How he’s been yearning to touch you, fuck you, but his stupid goddamn shoulder is still hurting. Hurting, but healing nonetheless. God, is he addled. But now, with this nifty little jet stream setting, he can have you melting in his hands in no time. It can do all the work for him, leaving his shoulder unharmed and without disruption to its healing process. He wonders, how many times will he make you come?
–
The day goes by as normal. It’s evening, Ellie’s not home. You’re on the couch with Joel after eating pasta for dinner. You’re knitting a blanket using mismatched yarn, just trying to find some use for the odds and ends. Joel’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch and bouncing his leg, twiddling his fingers. He looks bored, anxious. Seinfeld is on TV, Joel loves this show. He rented the series DVDs from the library in Jackson and claimed to have scratched them when they were past due. “Joel, quit,” you scold him. He’s bouncing the couch.
“My bad,” Joel says. You can feel him staring at you. He’s touching his hair. You turn your face to look at him, raising your eyebrows expectantly. Joel wears an anticipatory look, but stays quiet. You turn your attention back to the TV and he’s now combing his fingers through his hair, sighing loudly. “Hmmm…” he hums, “What’s a guy to do…”
You drop your knitting needles in your lap. “What, Joel?”
“Oh, nothin’,” he says. Joel kind of just gestures to his hair and shrugs, like you’re supposed to know what he’s asking for. You do, of course, but he can use his words. “Ahem,” Joel clears his throat, now twirling a finger around one of his curls cheekily, making a real big show out of it. He’s smiling now.
“Do you need me to wash your hair again, Joel?”
“If you’d be so kind, darlin’,” he grins.
You finish the row you’re currently knitting before wrapping up your work and putting it into a basket and under the end table next to the couch. After pausing the TV, you stand up and Joel outstretches his left hand to you, which you take in your own. He groans loudly as you pull him to his feet where he stands in front of you. There’s something about him today. When you washed his hair last week, he was bashful and awkward. Today, he’s confident with his sly grin, that teasing look in his eye like he’s working an angle. Maybe he’s just excited for another shower blow job, which you’ll happily provide again. You smile too, he’ll be 0 for 2.
When you and Joel arrive at the bathroom, he locks the door just like last time. He’s unbuttoning his jeans, not bothering to hide the bulge in his boxers. You don’t bother with the formalities of your partnered shower as you and Joel undress yourselves. It’s unnecessary at this point, after the fortuitous, amatory events of your last one. Joel notices your smirk before he turns on the hot water. He can tell you think you’re gonna pull one over on him again. That’s fine, you can believe whatever you’d like.
Joel opens the shower curtain. “After you,” he purrs, offering his hand to you as you step into the tub. You stand underneath the stream of water, wetting your hair and letting the hot water warm your skin. It feels stronger today for some reason. “Pressure’s different,” you tell Joel.
“Is it now?” Joel asks, feigning ignorance as he joins you in the tub, cock already half mast. You step closer to him, reaching for it, feeling him grow harder in your hand. Massaging his cock, tracing your fingertips around his thick head and along the veins of his shaft, you bite down on your smile. “Yeah, that’s nice, trouble,” he sighs in pleasure, “Aren’t you something?”
“Feel good, Joel?” you murmur.
“Mhm,” Joel hums, “Feels just wonderful, sweetheart. You’re too good t’me.”
Shampoo and conditioner can wait. You take the time to massage his cock a while longer as you wrap your free hand around Joel’s neck, toying with the curls at the back of his head. They’re not quite wet yet as you’ve been hogging all the hot water, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. He lets you stroke his member as he holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, leaning in to kiss you softly. As you deepen the kiss, gently biting his plump bottom lip, Joel pulls away, removing your hand from his member.
“You done yet?” he asks you.
You’re almost offended. Asshole. You were enjoying that kiss. “Not quite,” you reply, leaning forward to kiss him, touch him some more.
Joel pulls away from you as he blocks your hand. He grips your wrist and holds it behind your back as he spins you around, your back now facing him. “Well you’re gonna have to be,” he says. “The lady’s ’sposed to come first. That’s how we’re doing things from now on.”
“Yeah, right Joel. You can’t touch me, your shoulder is still fucked up.” you squirm away from him, but he keeps his hold on you. Gentle, firm.
“Worry about yourself,” he warns in a tone much less teasing than before. He winces as he uses his bad arm to reach for the shower head, “Y’think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?”
“I…” you trail off as he hovers the shower head above your torso, peering over your shoulder as he watches the water fall down your curves. He hums softly as he focuses the stream over your breasts, feeling you begin to twitch as the water teases your nipples.
“My shoulder is healing, actually. But yeah, it is still a little fucked up,” Joel continues, “Don’t need to touch ya anyhow.”
Ohh, you’re getting it now. Joel thinks he cracked the code. “I appreciate the thought, Joel,” you chuckle. “But if you’re planning on using the shower head to make me come, just go ahead and put it back where it belongs. I’ve tried that already.”
“Figures,” he teases. “You wanna know somethin’?”
“What’s that, Joel?”
“Water pressure on this thing sucked lately, so I was cleanin’ this thing out this morning,” he begins. He keeps your arm behind your back as he sits both you and himself down on the shower bench, keeping your back pressed firmly against his torso. “Does this hurt?” he whispers before continuing. You shake your head no. “Good,” Joel says. “Anyway, wouldn’t ya know it, there’s a jet stream setting on this thing.” Joel nudges a foot between your legs and taps you. “Open ‘em. You stay like this for me.”
He’s speaking with such authority, such a commanding tone. You’re almost nervous. You could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice last week just how severely you pissed him off with the way you touched yourself in front of him, knowing he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. How you further taunted him when you pushed your fingers past his lips, dangling the premise of tasting your sweet cunt over his head. You should have known he’d retaliate.
“Was not a fan of how you got yourself off without me, pretty rudely, might I add. Told you I wanted to help, you fuckin’ deviant.”
Yup, you’re correct. He’s still fucking pissed. He did a good job keeping a lid on it until now. “Joel,” you breathe.
“So yes, you’re right. I can’t touch ya yet,” he continues in a low voice, “S’why we’re gonna see what this does to ya, sweetheart.”
Joel keeps the shower head on the rain setting for this part. With his free hand, he cups the back of your knee and has you set your foot on the bench where you and Joel sit. This way, you’re nice and open for him to do as he pleases. He brings the shower head lower, hovering it over your torso, down your tummy, then your pussy. It’s a nice sensation, warm and gentle. When you lean your head back on his shoulder and sigh softly, he ups the ante. Momentarily, he futzes with the showerhead and switches it to the jet stream setting before bringing it back to your center. He starts the stream at your inner thighs first, working his way inward until the stream is massaging your lips, first one side and then the other. Slowly, he twists his wrist, getting your pussy used to the new sensation. He can’t see much from this angle, can’t feel anything either. He’s waiting for you to jolt and moan to know when he’s struck gold. “Shhh…” Joel quiets you when you do just that. “Oh yeah, this’ll do just fine, hm?”
Fuck, it’s intense. It’s very intense, almost too much. “Joel, fuck,” you cry. You should not have fucked with him.
“Just relax,” he instructs, “You’ll get used to it.” But you’re not getting used to it, not even close. It’s a powerful, nearly electric sort of feeling that takes you wholly as you jerk and stutter in his hold. “Mm-mm, you stay here. Quit your squirmin’.”
“S’too much Joel,” you whine.
“S’kinda the point,” he mumbles, “But you’re doin’ good, sweetheart. Jus’ let it happen.”
Joel rotates his wrist, directing the stream of water in tight, steady circles on your clit. The striking, uncomfortable and intense feeling is beginning to dissipate as your pleasure begins to build. Joel’s hot breath is on your neck, his torso rising and falling steadily. You can feel his warm, stiff package pressing against your lower back. “Joel, it feels so good,” you breathe. “Please don’t stop.”
“Nah, I wouldn’t dream of that,” he replies. The movement of Joel’s wrists never falters, though he knows it’ll be sore in the morning. You move your hips in tune with his movement, eyes squeezed shut and moaning quietly, your open mouth pressed against his neck. He wonders if maybe you haven’t quite realized the circumstance you’re in, what he plans to do to you. “Your wish is my command, sweetheart,” he mumbles, wearing a smug grin.
Joel lets go of his hold on your leg to touch your breasts with his free hand, kneading your flesh. When he teases your nipples, the sensation of it all is heightened. Within moments, you’ve reached your peak. It’s intense and the feeling lasts long as Joel, with the help of the shower head, helps you ride out your high. Joel gives you a moment to catch your breath as he points the shower head at the floor, letting you relax against him. After a minute passes, you try to lean forward to get up, but Joel stops you by wrapping his strong arm around your torso and keeping you pressed tightly against him. “Ohh, you’re not goin’ anywhere. We’re not done yet,” he coos as he kisses your cheek, your temple.
“I know, but it’s your turn.”
“Oh, not quite. We’re way past turns and bein’ square and even and all that,” he says. “Yeah, that went out the door with that little stunt you pulled on me last week. So let me spell it out for you, darlin’, I am not finished with you.”
“Joel, what are you–” Joel cuts you off by bringing the shower head back to your pussy. Reaching out for something, anything, your hand finds purchase in his hair, tangling your fingers in his curls as you tug gently. “Joel, fuck,” you pant.
“Not goin’ easy on ya,” he warns. “S’that alright?” Your heart swells. Always the gentleman, Joel is. You nod against his cheek. “Then you stay just like this for me,” he instructs, whispering quietly against the shell of your ear, “Just like this. That’s all ya gotta do, s’real easy.” He tells you this like he’s giving you a choice, but subtly, he places his hand his back on your knee, keeping your cunt exposed to him for his use. Then Joel, realizing he has a better idea, gently pushes your leg off the bench. Potentially against his better judgment, he takes your own free hand and places it on your knee. “Be a good girl,” he murmurs, trusting you with this privilege perhaps too early in tonight’s endeavor. But he knows you, you’ve always been all bark and no bite – he’s not worried about you. Not a bit.
“I’ll be good, Joel,” you whimper, eager to make this easier on yourself. You’ve never felt a sensation this intense before, and you know to tread carefully with Joel. Especially given what led you to this mess you’re in with him.
Joel smirks, he’s right as always. Already you’re so docile, so well-behaved, so pliant.
He finds your clit with the fingers of his left hand to help him with the shower head in his right hand. After finding that sweet little bundle of nerves with the jet stream, Joel traces along your lips momentarily before pushing a finger inside your warm, wet pussy. “Joel, oh my god,” your right hand leaves its place in his hair and you reach for his bicep instead, not exactly sure what your goal is here. You just need Joel’s comfort, to touch him, feel him, hold onto him for dear life as he delivers you deep and powerful pleasure just moments previously unknown to you.
“I know sweetheart. Can’t do anything about it, huh?” he taunts, pushing in another finger. He curls them slowly, savoring the feeling of your wet heat pulsing around his knuckles. “Y’look very beautiful like this, ya know.” Joel quickens the pace of his fingers. You moan as you beg him for mercy of some sort as he fucks you on his fingers, while torturing your poor, overworked clit with that shower head. It’s sensual, satisfying, and nearly painful all at once. “Doin’ so good. I know you’ve got another one in ya.”
“I don’t know, Joel, I’m– I’m–”
“Take it easy. Focus right here,” he says, curling his fingers faster now. You’re a mess of panting and whimpering as Joel works his magic, stroking that sweet spot inside of you he made short work of finding. You’re soaking his fingers with your arousal as he touches you, a second orgasm washing over you quickly.
You’re panting, heart pounding as you try to come down from your high. “Please,” you breathe heavily, “Please Joel, I– oh–”
“Not quite sure what all that beggin’s for, sweetheart. Told ya what you were in for tonight,” Joel whispers in a honeyed voice. “You got one more, though.”
No way. It’s not possible. This is too much, you’re certain you’ll be satisfied for an eternity after this. “Joel, I don’t think I can,” you cry, hot and salty tears of overstimulation rolling down your cheeks. “I don’t–”
Joel interrupts you. “Yes, you can,” he says. Joel pulls his fingers and the shower head away from your pussy, giving you another moment to breathe. You’re still breathing heavily, shaking and trembling slightly. Poor thing, not used to all of this. It’s a lot on you and Joel knows this. “I’m right here, I got you,” he coos. He adjusts the way he’s holding you for a moment to look at your face, wipe away your tears. His brow furrows as he searches your face, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your jaw. “Breathe, baby. S’okay. Ain’t gonna break.”
You nod, stutter out some incoherent response. Joel’s eyes are warm and soft as he calms you, kissing your lips and your nose.
“What do you think?” he asks, “Reckon you got another one in ya. Just one more, hmm?”
“Okay,” you agree with a small smile. “Okay.”
“Attagirl,” Joel praises. He brings the showerhead back to the space between your thighs but you catch his wrist, pulling it away from your body before he has the chance to use it on you again.
“Want your fingers,” you request in a soft voice. “Can you just use your fingers on me?”
Joel nods. “We can try it,” he offers. “Was startin’ to get cold anyway. Why don’t you switch it back to the regular setting and put it back where it belongs?”
You nod and follow suit, playing with the settings before settling on the regular shower feature. You stand up to put the shower head back, letting the water wash over both you and Joel. On your way back to sit with him he holds your hips, steadying your shaky legs. You sit back between his legs, spreading your own. You gasp softly when Joel cautiously brings his right hand to your pussy, starting out with slow, careful circles on your clit. He groans in pain and shakes his head. “Does it hurt?” you ask.
“Mhm,” he answers. “Why don’t you help me out, hm? Use your own hand? Kind of your specialty, ain’t it?” Joel reaches for your hand and then stops suddenly. “Or,” he says, “What if we try something new?”
Oh, man. You’ve experienced a lot of firsts tonight, you’re not sure you can handle another.
“That poor clit of yours is all worn out huh?” Joel asks. “C’mere. Turn around and face me,” Joel helps you up and then has you straddle his lap, his rock hard cock is between your bodies, the tip all blushed. “I’ve gotten pretty good at doin’ things with my left hand.”
You’re quick to retort. “Except for getting yourself off,” you tease.
“Oh, yeah. Rub it in,” he replies. He snakes his left hand back between your bodies, his middle two fingers pushing inside you. “Was thinkin’ could see how it works out. How’s this feel?” Joel curls his fingers inside of you in a repetitive come hither movement, stroking your g-spot.
“Good,” you tell him. It does feel good, if not a little unfamiliar.
“Just focus on my fingers,” he instructs. As Joel works his fingers inside of you, you rest your forehead on his own. Breathing steadily, focusing on the feeling it stirs inside of you. It’s a new, different sort of pleasure. “Good girl,” he praises in whispers, “So good for me. You’re almost there.”
You begin to rock your hips into his hand, ignoring the way the hard material of the bench feels on your knees. Your clit is still untouched yet, here you are, that familiar feeling beginning to bloom in your tummy. Nothing’s ever made you feel the way you do right now, here in Joel’s arms. You’re liquid in his hands as your last orgasm begins to build, It’s deeper inside you, a slower build to ecstasy as Joel fucks you on his fingers.Your climax washes over you in waves, white-hot pleasure coursing through your through your body. “Oh my god, Joel,” You come with gasping breaths and moans for the last time, your fluttering walls choking Joel’s fingers and your arousal pooling in his hand.
Joel holds you tightly in his arms as you come down from your high for the last time tonight. You’re not sure how much time passes, but when you feel ready, you lift yourself up on your knees and reach for Joel’s cock, guiding him to your entrance.
“Woah, woah–” Joel stops you.
“You don’t have to do a thing,” you try. “Just let me–fuck. I need you, need to fuck you.”
“After all that? You still want more?”
“Wanna take care of you,” you plead. You want him so bad, need to feel him, need to be closer to him, you need to watch his face.
Joel smiles sadly as he shakes his head. “You know I can’t give that to ya,” he strokes your cheek, continuing, “God knows I wanna feel you too, sweetheart. We can’t get ahead of ourselves with my damn shoulder and all that. Just give me a few more days, hon.”
You nod in agreement. He’s right, unfortunately.
“And then I’m all yours,” Joel reaches for your ass and lifts you up, then sits you back down on the bench after he stands up. He stands in front of you, holding his heavy cock between his thumb and first two fingers, bouncing it slightly. “Stay right there,” he says. “You just sit all pretty-like for me, just like ya always do.”
Joel reaches for the back of your head and guides you to be closer to him, parting your lips with the tip of his cock. He tastes salty, heady and masculine. You cup his balls and squeeze gently, playing with them for a moment before gripping the base of his dick. Joel pushes into your mouth slowly. You swirl your tongue around his tip and his shaft, bobbing your head and hollowing your cheeks. You love the way he tastes, how he feels, how he jerks his hips slightly when you trail your tongue along an extra sensitive spot of his member.
“So good,” he praises, “Always so good.”
Joel maintains eye contact with you as he draws in and out of your mouth, watching you with warm, adoring expression. He loves your eyes, how you watch him as he fucks your mouth.
Moments go by and Joel’s squeezing his eyes shut, his movements starting to become frenzied. “M’close, hon,” he warns. You reach for his hand with your own and squeeze it a couple of times as if to tell him it’s okay, that he can let go. Joel does just that. He comes with a deep groan, his soft tummy and his chest heaving as he breathes heavily, loudly through his nose. His thick, heavy cock twitches in your mouth as ribbon after ribbon of his hot spend coats your tongue and your throat, which you swallow with pleasure. Joel lets out a strangled sort of noise when you begin to pull your mouth off of him, but first licking his head a couple of times. “Too much, too much,” he warns urgently. Interesting. He can dish it but he can’t take it. But you keep your thoughts about Joel’s overstimulation threshold to yourself. “M’not done with you sweetheart, I promise,” Joel says as he comes down from his high, his breathing now beginning to steady. “Few more days and you’re in trouble.”
Your insides flutter at the prospect, what a welcome threat. You smile as Joel takes your hand and lifts you to your feet, shuts off the shower and reaches for your towel. He helps you to dry off, then dries his own self off before helping you to your feet. Still holding your hand, he takes you to his bedroom and lifts up the covers. You get underneath and Joel tucks you in, walks around to his own side of the bed and joins you. Knowing what you need after all of this, he doesn’t bother asking before pulling you into his side, kissing your cheek and the top of your head. Holding you close and telling you what a good job you did. Making sure you’re okay, asking if you need anything, water, a snack. Whatever. “No,” you tell him before closing your eyes.
Just as you’re drifting off to sleep, Joel whispers in your ear, “Hon.”
“What, Joel?” you mumble, your voice thick with sleep.
“We forgot to wash my hair.”
#strang3lov3#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#joel miller#the last of us hbo#pedro pascal#pedro pascal joel miller#pedro pascal x you#pedro pascal the last of us#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal smut#lather#jet stream
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𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 — 𝐜𝐥𝟏𝟔
summary... wherein old photos of you and charles resurface and goes viral, forcing you and the man whose heart you broke to cross paths once again
request… no
faceclaim... christina nadin
pairing… charles leclerc x reader
warning… none so far
note... this is going to be part of a series that includes both one shots and smau but can be read as a stand alone
series masterlist
main masterlist
current part (part one) → part two
charleslec
liked by username and others
charleslec fans found an old instagram account allegedly belonging to charles from (what we believe to be) ages 12 - 20. the account is filled of personal pictures consisting of his supposed ex girlfriend, y/n y/l/n with sweet captions. y/n is a well known motorsport podcaster from monaco.
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username EXCUSE ME?
username this was not in my 2023 bingo card 😭
username you mean to tell me my girl yn dated shARL
username the way that this is probably why she’s had practically the entire grid as guests in her podcast apart from charles
username this is such an invasion of their privacy though like clearly they both didnt want this to be dug up
⤷ username i mean if they didn’t want anyone to see, they should have deleted the account or at the very least put it on private
username okay but these pictures are so 🥹
username i always thought it was weird the way charles and yn never interacted despite both being from monaco and involved the racing world
charles_lec7
liked by lorenzotl and others
charles_lec7 Joyeux anniversaire, mon amour. il y a 16 ans, tu es venu au monde et c'est la meilleure chose qui me soit arrivée. je suis toujours là pour t'écouter parler de n'importe quoi pendant des heures en attendant le coucher du soleil, malgré la plainte d'enzo qui ne veut pas nous conduire 🤣🤣
(happy birthday, my love. 16 years ago, you came into this world and it was the best thing that ever happened to me. i’m always here to listen to you talk about whatever for hours while waiting for sunset despite enzo’s complaint against driving us.)
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July 7, 2013
yourusername Merci beaucoup, mon ange. Je suis tellement reconnaissante d'avoir passé un autre anniversaire avec toi. Je t'aime plus que les mots ❤️❤️
(thank you so much, my angel. i am so grateful to have spent another birthday with you. i love you more than words.)
⤷ charles_lec7 J'ai hâte de vous souhaiter un joyeux anniversaire 70 fois de plus.
(looking forward to greeting you happy birthday 70 more times.)
⤷ username he was going to greet her 70 more happy birthdays because he thought they’d spend the rest of their life together 😭😭
⤷ username i only learned about them today but i am a child of divorce and they are my parents
jules_bianchi Joyeux anniversaire, yn!! Je suis toujours là pour veiller sur toi et Charles quand vous avez besoin de moi.
(happy birthday, yn!! i’m always here looking out for you and charles whenever you need me.)
⤷ yourusername merci, jules ❤️ nous t'encourageons toujours
(thank you, jules. we’re always rooting for you.)
⤷ username oh my god 🥲🥲🥲
username i ran as fast as i could as soon as i saw the posts and oh my god it’s true 😭
username they’ve 😭😭 been 😭 together 😭😭 since 😭😭 they 😭😭 were 16 😭😭
⤷ username if you scroll even further down, he first greeted her on her 13th birthday where he called her the prettiest girl 🥲
⤷ username i’m about to stab myself
username y’all ever thought that the reason why he probably wanted number 7 is because her birthday is july 7 which is 7/7
⤷ username STOP IT RN
⤷ username his username has 7 in it bc it’s her birthday 🥲
⤷ username someone fucking sedate me
charles_lec7
liked by arthur_leclerc and others
charles_lec7 entrer en 2016 avec la même fille qu'en 2010. mon amour, je te tiendrai la main pour toujours ❤️❤️
(entering 2017 with the same girl from 2010. my love, i’ll hold your hand forever.)
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January 1, 2016
arthur_leclerc vous êtes tous les deux si ennuyeux 🙄🙄
(you’re both so annoying)
⤷ yourusername arrêtez d'être jaloux
(stop being jealous)
lorenzotl Bonne année à vous deux!
(happy new year to the both of you!)
⤷ yourusername je t'aime, enzo
yourusername Tu ne m'as pas demandé de sortir avec toi avant 2012 🤔🤔
(you didn’t ask me on a date till 2012 though)
⤷ charles_lec7 Je t'aime depuis bien plus longtemps que tu ne le penses
(i love you far longer than you’ve known)
⤷ joris_trouche Malheureusement, je peux le confirmer en tant que personne qui a dû tout écouter.
(unfortunately i can confirm this as someone who had to listen to everything)
⤷ yourusername ❤️❤️
yourusername and to many more years to come. Je t'aimerai pour le reste de ma vie
(i’ll love you for the rest of my life)
⤷ charles_lec7 as long as i’m with you
username no because they legitimately seem so in love????? like from their words and not just the pictures
⤷ username there’s no way you’re going to tell me that a man who said “i’ve loved you far longer than you’ve known” and a girl who said “i’ll love you for the rest of my life” are no longer in love
username scrolling through this account is like watching their relationship unfold and mature before my eyes
username there’s no way you can tell me that two people so in love, looking forward to the future they plan to have together can just fall out of love and be complete strangers a few years later
⤷ username right!!!! because what do you mean love like this can exist and somehow just fade? what’s the point of love then??????
username the rest of us really be having an existential crisis because of a relationship that ended 6 years ago 😭
charles_lec7
liked by yourusername and others
charles_lec7 10 years from now, i hope it’s still you by my side
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November 5, 2017
yourusername félicitations, f2 world champion 🎉🥳 (congratulations)
⤷ charles_lec7 Merci, mon amour, je t'aime tellement.
(thank you, my love. i love you so much.)
⤷ yourusername 💕
⤷ username i think this is the end guys 😔
⤷ username her energy is so different here. she literally sounds more like a friend greeting a friend rather than a girlfriend of 6 years by this point
username how did we go from “looking forward to greet you 70 more times) bc they were so sure they’d grow old together to “10 years from now, i hope it’s still you by my side” where he sounds so uncertain if they’re in each other’s futures???????
⤷ username no fuck that because how the fuck did we go from “i love you more than words” and “i’ll love you for the rest of my life” to a “💕” without even an i love you too???????????
username this is his last post of her 🥲🥲🥲
⤷ username she doesn’t even follow this account anymore
⤷ username he abandoned this account after they broke up 😭😭
username no bc he’s f2 champion here and they were still together but he entered formula 1 single??? what the hell happened
yourusername
liked by lissiemackintosh and others
yourusername in another life
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lissiemackintosh gorgeous gorgeous girl
⤷ yourusername no you
madisonbeer 🔥🔥🔥
yourbestfriend un voyage dans le passé ?
(a trip down memory lane?)
⤷ yourusername 😵😬
username no bc your love story had me tearing up and now i refresh my feed and see this?
username she wanted to remind charles what he lost 😭
username in another life!!! i would have been your girlllllll
username literally the one that got away
username i simply can’t accept that this is the end of their story like this can’t be it, right?
taglist: @ncentic @coffeehurricanes @academia-girl00 @nhlfs @livinglifethroughfanfic @sage-butterflyy @chimchimjiminie16 @thatgirlmj @hiraethrhapsody
#formula 1#f1#charles leclerc#charles leclerc x reader#formula 1 one shot#charles leclerc fluff#formula 1 x reader#charles leclerc x you#f1 one shot#charles leclerc angst#charles leclerc smau#smau#social media#formula 1 smau
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Title: free days
Pairing: Bruce Wayne x male reader
Fandom: batman
Warnings: male reader, omegaverse, omega male reader, fluff, no heroes au, bat children are children, implied that they are (name)s bio kids
☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️🐟☁️
It was the ideal.
Giant alpha with a brooding expression and cold demeanour and peppy Omega who had enough conversation of six people, Bruce reading the morning paper as (name) enjoyed his breakfast sleepily in one of Bruce's shirts and a pair of boxers, both periodically taking sips of their drinks; Bruce a hot cup of black coffee and (name) a cup of (drink). "The zoo's snow leopards had cubs" Bruce mentioned casually, following the family "no bad news till after ten am" rule, (name) humming as he glanced to see the photo of the tiny cub "we should take the pups to see it" (name) mentioned, the Wayne family having donated a few million to help the conservation efforts the zoo was focused on.
"We can make arrangements, my darling" Bruce said to the other who beamed sleepily to his mate, Bruce feeling his heart warm at this.
The pups slowly piled in one by one, the smaller less formal dining area filled with sleepy littles, tweens and teens "Cassandra, stop stealing your brother's bacon" (name) said calmly as he stared off slightly, finally waking up a bit more as the pups ate their breakfast and Damian tried to copy how bruce are clumsily, the toddler absolutely fixated on Bruce these days "your lunches are on the counter in the kitchen, Dick remember that you are going to be accompanying your father today after school, Jason you are going out with your friends yes? I want you back home by 9:45--""ten?" "Get a good score on that test today and I'll consider it" "deal"
(Name) gave his kids their iteneraries as everyone ate and got ready for the day, little Damien and Helana letting their parents carry them to the nursery to be dressed for the day "alrighty little doves, let's get you in your outfits!" (Name) said to the two toddlers who let their parents dress them in clothes that they weren't worried would get messy, Damien in an adorable pair of shorts and a little shirt with a dog on it and Helena in a skort and a shirt that had Carmen Sandiego on it "you two ready?"
Today was their first class in martial arts, something all the children took as Bruce was consistently worried for their safety "they need to be able to defend themselves, what if we aren't there?!" He fretted behind closed doors, Damien looking excited and Helena bouncing as they and the rest of the family went to driveway "Tim, Jason behave or you drive with Alfred" and Alfred didn't get McDonald's before class, the two immediately stopping their nonsense as they followed Dick to his car and the others into the main family car, a town limo where the driver was ready for them. (Name) was thankful Damien kept his shoes on, sitting in his car seat separated from his sister with Cass between them "mama!" He yelled seriously "what is it dames?" "Oweo?" He asked almost confused and (name) tried not to laugh at the boys question "we can get Oreos after your lesson, yes"
Toddler martial arts was mainly just getting the little ones used to it, very clumsy and often times the little ones were more interested in their own feet than actually doing the lesson but it was a start "remember when dick was this little? He would only do anything if you held his hand?" (Name) said as they watched from the glass, little Damien and Helena practicing listening with the instructor and even learning the absolute basic stances, both excited to make noises and give wobbly little stances.
Bruce was happy when he could make time for his family, the tots passed out in their arms as they went to the limo "I'll be going to the office, prepare for the shadowing" Bruce gently kissed (name)s forehead and then lips as they smiled at one another "good luck" and with that they parted.
When night came, (name) was in bed reading a book when Bruce came in "how did it go?" (Name) asked as he blatantly watched Bruce undress into his boxers "it went well, he has been preparing for this since he was 11" Bruce walked to the bed and got in, moving (name) so he layed his chest against Bruce's as they smiled fondly at one another and gently kissed, (name)s hands gently holding into Bruce's sharp jaw as they enjoyed their time alone.
"I think I want another pup"
"Darling we have six children already"
"But baby?"
"Darling, the youngest two are just getting out of potty training"
"Fine" (name) playfully pouted as they cuddled, anyone outside the family would be intimidated by Bruce, though for his mate he was putty.
They weren't the perfect ideal of an alpha and omega but they were their ideal and that's all that mattered.
#batman x male reader#batman x reader#bruce wayne x male reader#bruce wayne x reader#male reader#x male reader#omegaverse#omega male reader
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teacher || james potter
pairing: james potter x reader
863 words, preschool teacher au, james is a single dad (not for long...?), kindergarten teacher!reader, gender neutral reader, harry is her student so you know how it goes
a/n: sorry this took months i have been in the slumpiest slump ever. hope you enjoy :,) I'm not too sure about how preschools fair in other countries but this is mostly based on my own experiences!
"Mr Potter! Lovely to see you today."
James walks into your classroom, and it's humourous to see you seated in a chair and table meant for six-year-olds.
He smiles at you and waves. Unfortunately, you're swooning on the inside.
Yes, it's unprofessional to have a crush on a parent, let alone the parent of one of your beloved students. Very unprofessional, actually. But you can't help but be enamoured by his looks. He looks exactly like his son, Harry. Messy hair and gold-rimmed glasses.
Or maybe he's just one of the only few parents who are the same age as you. And it doesn't help when you know he's a single father and always strikes a conversation with you whenever he has the chance to. In your head, maybe it wouldn't hurt to make a move.
"Of course, I'm happy to be here today, though it's the last time," he says as he sits down in an identical tiny chair.
You know you have to push these thoughts aside, because this was the last parent-teacher meeting for your kindergarteners who will be graduating in a few weeks. No matter your feelings, your job was to tell parents how their child has faired so far in their education.
You take a deep breath and fix your hair. "Okay, let's get started."
You adore Harry, a joy to have in your class. He is very friendly and communicates very well with his peers and teachers. He actively participates in class. He is developing well in the different aspects. You explain everything in layman's terms so he can understand, and he nods along, listening.
"Needless to say, Harry's definitely ready for primary school. If you'd like, it would be great if you continued his learning at home as well, before he officially starts school." you finish, nodding at James. You unconsciously bite the inside of your cheek, knowing that it won't be long until you'll never see this man again.
"That's great," he says, looking up from Harry's portfolio from over the year. "Harry really appreciates you as a teacher, you know? He always loves coming to school."
You smile at that, it warms your heart. "I'm glad to hear that. I'll definitely miss him when he graduates."
There's an awkward silence between the both of you, not particularly knowing what to say. You both nod and look down. You know it's the end.
"Well..." you start. "If you don't have any more questions, that will be it. Thank you so much for joining us on this journey, Mr Potter."
"I do have- um- a question?" he says abruptly. He suddenly seems more fidgety and nervous, gripping the binder of Harry's portfolio.
"Um..." he scratches his head. You look at him expectantly. "I appreciate you as Harry's teacher, of course. He always says that you're very nice and pretty... I also think you're very nice and pretty..."
You nod along, trying to keep your cool by controlling your facial expressions.
He continues, his shoulders slowly rising in a shrug. "So if you'd let me, we can meet outside of school for once," he spits it out quickly like he's ripping a band-aid off.
Blinking slowly, you process what just happened. "Did you just ask me out?" you ask, eyes wide.
His eyes dart to the side and then back at you. "Yes," he says.
"Mr Potter-" you start.
"Please, you can call me James-"
"Your son is my student."
"He won't be by next week."
"It will be very unprofessional of me-"
"I don't hear a no, though..."
And you're both in silence again. You sigh and bring a hand to your face, resting your chin on your palm as you look away from him. You try to think of your next move.
Aside from all of the consequences that may occur, this is a golden opportunity. Your teacher life always gets so hectic and you barely have time to go out and meet people. If you miss this chance you may never get to have one like it again.
You bite your lip and accept whatever fate may come.
You speak in a hushed voice, willing that no one hears this conversation. "Fine, yes. I'll give you a chance. But if anything goes wrong, my priority is my job and yours is Harry. Got it?"
James let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. He looks up at you with sparkling eyes. "Yes, okay. I will-"
He's cut off by a knock at your door. Your colleague opens it and her head pokes into your classroom. "Hi, sorry to interrupt, but the next parent is waiting outside," she says. You nod at her and she leaves. You stand up, and James does too.
"Well, this is... unofficially goodbye, Mr Potter. It really has been a pleasure teaching Harry," you say, stretching your hand out for a shake. He takes it, and his hand is warm.
You mutter quickly to him, "My contact is in the binder."
He grins at you, childlike, and you watch him leave your classroom with a wave. You wave back, smiling.
You sincerely hope you won't regret this decision.
a/n: RRRAAHHH i really hope to make this a mini series of some kind because i have the softest spot for kids and i start being a real teacher in a month! asks are open if you have any thoughts <3 thanks for reading!
#marauders x reader#marauders imagine#requests#james potter x reader#james potter imagine#james potter x you#zee writes
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mushroom oasis headcanons . . . ↷
A/N; im very sensitive about mychael too, oops
Pairing; "Mychael" x GN!Reader
CW; idk alien sex (jk) / this is actually cute, dont worry
Mychael as your boyfriend.
I just know that he likes to listen to ABBA with you and dance in the mornings when making breakfast or at night before going to sleep.
He purrs at bedtime, especially if you pet his hair.
You can caress his horns, they are softer than they look but also sensitive, be delicate
After a while of relationship, he could no longer avoid the growing guilt he felt and told you about the mushrooms in the forest and the brainwashing he did to you at the beginning.
Definitely identifies with Roar's "Christmas Kids" song.
Be thankful he doesn't have an internet connection or he'd make Deez Nuts cringe jokes.
He is the perfect person for fairycore, you have already begged him to do makeup together, even though he didn't need any of that.
He likes to feel safe, silly and childish with you, having learned to take care of himself since… well, always, it was a drain on the soul. what a relief to his heart to be able to be childish with you, like a break.
He still has certain self-esteem problems, his eyes always dilate when you say nice things about him (or when he's about to jump and attack ((kiss you)))
It's not like Mychael is an uncivilized being, but you've taken the time to teach him several things on dates you've had, things that perhaps he didn't know due to his isolation from society.
You're actually a little scared of what could happen if they discover Mychael's existence, so if you live together it will be in the forest.
Sometimes he is selfish and brainwashes you when he wants more kisses or just feels too needy to let you go out with your friends.
For him there is no such thing as breaking up, he will beg you for answers and ask countless times what the problem is or what you want him to change, as a last resort he would brainwash you so that you stay by his side, even if it's like a shell.
"They were 20 and decided to end their life just like this. They went up to the 21st floor and left without saying "goodbye."
I wonder if when they were flying through the air they remembered…
..I once told him if you kill yourself I'm gonna kill myself too!" Basically Mychael not being able to continue with his life alone once he meets MC, if you leave, so does he.
The first time you had sex, bro, Mychael almost had to be chained up, he acted like a spoiled kid when he tried his new favorite candy.
Mychael composes songs for MC, he will even try to get new instruments, new talents, anything to entertain his firefly and have them stay in the forest with him.
Is the kind of old-fashioned sculpted lover, don't doubt that you will look like a 60-year-old couple with 3 chickens and a dog, your wish is his command. If you can't go out to eat at an elegant restaurant, he will get a recipe book to prepare the best dishes and put candles on the table. If you don't have new clothes, he will knit what you like. If you don't like the color of the cabin, he will paint everything as many times as necessary.
Physically? Mychael will never hurt you, using guilt as manipulation is not to his liking either, he loves you too much so he will only wash your brain to have a perfect life by your side, don't worry, you are safe from the world and you will have healing caresses every night , even if it is not today, if it is not tomorrow, you will learn to need it on your own and stay at will.
Mychael is terrified of people, the opinion of the masses made him think of himself as a monster and he can't help but blurt out little comments mocking his own appearance. Being with you makes him forget what he is. Why was he surprised? Because you didn't look away.
His saliva is a little salty and something tells me that he produces goo when he is excited, trust me (delulu)
♡
#yandere visual novel#yandere#yandere x reader#headcanons#mychael x reader#mushroom oasis#mushroom oasis vn#mushroom oasis mychael#gn reader#mychael
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On Calling Out Antisemitism... in the Crossword
So I like to do crosswords. It's fun, sometimes I learn random facts, it exercises my brain, and that jolt of satisfaction when I figure out the gimmick brightens my day. I usually do it on the Washington Post, which is the same as the LA Times, mainly because it's free (though these days I pay for the WP in large part because I like Alexandra Petri's pieces, but I digress.)
So there I am, working on the Sunday crossword at work on a quiet Monday morning, and the clue is "sanctimonious sort." Could be many things, I skip it and continue. Slowly, as I get some of the crosses, I say to myself, "surely this isn't going to be 'pharisee'. I'm gonna be so mad if the answer is 'pharisee.'"
The answer was Pharisee.
If you don't know why that's a problem, in brief: The Pharisees were the precursors to modern Rabbinic Judaism, and that word has been used by those enacting violence upon us for centuries-- throughout blood libels, Inquisition, crusades, expulsions, etc. When "pharisee" means "sanctimonious, hypocritical, self-righteous, etc." and "pharisee" also means "Jew" even of the historic variety, it tends to be extremely bad news for the actual living Jews of whatever era it is.
So I wrote the editors of the LA Times and the Washington Post, and I said so. I told them about the history of the term. I told them that at a time when antisemitism across the United States is rising alarmingly, it is, at best, deeply irresponsible of the newspapers to allow this insidious conflation of Judaism with moral corruption and hypocrisy to appear in what ought to be a light-hearted game.
And you know what? I got a response from the LA Times within hours apologizing for the harm and saying they'd reached out to the crossword writing company to discuss it. I got a response from the acquisitions editor, who had spoken with the crossword editor, conveying their sincere apologies, saying that they were unaware of the antisemitic implications of the term, and they would never intentionally cause harm. They thanked me for bringing it to their attention, and also thanked me for my suggestion of an alternate clue ("Contemporary of Jesus").
We on Jumblr and in the Jewish community offline have spent so much time talking our throats hoarse and our typing fingers sore about the harms of antisemitism, especially since October 7. I know many of us are feeling frustrated, burnt out, and hopeless. We start to wonder what the point is, when none of it seems to be making a dent. I almost didn't send that email. I almost let it go. I let myself be distracted by work, forgot about it for a week or so until something reminded me and I got angry all over again, and then I sent off an email that I expected to be buried in the inbox to maybe get a response in a month or so, because even if it never got read, at least I knew I had written it. But it did get read, and it got shared with the relevant people, and they cared.
Sometimes people listen. Sometimes they learn. Sometimes, all it takes is one person saying "hey, this hurt me."
I'm taking the win today.
#jumblr#antisemetism tw#antisemitism#pharisees#crossword#if you come into my mentions with anything 'well actually' about the pharisees I will block you
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Spring Cleaning
Alastor x Reader // word count 3.2k
In which Alastor goes through your closet, and offers a tasteful replacement for the unsavory things he’s destroyed
Tags/warnings: yandere, invasion of privacy, Alastor’s outfit-changing magic fuckery, mention of lingerie, slight suggestiveness
A/N: I’d like to thank Goodwill for providing the clothing item that inspired this fic
There’s someone in your room, and you know exactly who it is, because - well, it’s not like it’s a rare occurrence. It doesn’t happen every time, but often enough that you’ve gotten used to seeing Alastor when you open the door, pacing along your bedroom floor, casually perusing your belongings, or sitting at your desk chair like he’s been waiting for you all day. It’s been happening for so long, now, that you don’t remember exactly when it started. And you certainly don’t know why. You tried asking, once or twice, but you learned quickly that he has a shocking ability to dance around questions that he doesn’t want to answer. All you really know is that he’s taken an interest in you, and that it’s not likely to disappear anytime soon.
Some specific visits do stick out in your memory. On one particularly horrendous occasion, he’d stood directly beside the door when you’d swung it open, hiding himself from view, only for his presence to be revealed when you’d turned to shut it behind you. His head had been tilted to a truly bizarre angle, but he’d straightened himself out while you were still reeling from the shock.
No need to be frightened, my dear. Just a bit of fun…
You got the feeling that the look on your face was exactly the entertainment he was looking for.
Today isn’t like that, thankfully. It’s usually not. You get the impression that he doesn’t want to scare you away (as if you could run away, even if you wanted to), and that that particular visit was a rare sort of indulgence. Your door is already cracked open, and you hear him long before you see him. He’s humming something, but like most of the songs he treasures, it’s far too old for you to recognize.
Not as if he accepts that as an excuse. You’ve started learning some of the titles, just to appease him. And the lyrics. And reading the books that he’s given you, and listening to his odd bits of old-fashioned advice, and accepting his various other gifts. The whiskey was nice, although of course he insisted upon drinking with you, and cut you off at one glass. Apparently, it would have been improper to indulge any further in mixed company. The coffee was better - at least he let you drink that by yourself.
When you swing the door open, he’s half-turned away from you, and doesn’t so much as look in your direction. But what you can see of his broadening smile makes it clear that he’s heard you enter. “Hello, my dear,” he murmurs. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”
This is another thing you’ve gotten used to: being made to feel like you’re the guest, in your own bedroom. It drives you insane, but of course, you’ve never addressed it. And you’ve certainly never tried to drive him out before he was ready to leave. This little arrangement you have - truly, you’re not sure what to call it - can be unpleasant, at times, but it’s not unbearable. He never comes late at night, and never shows up when you have company (although how he always seems to know whether you have company, you’re not sure). He doesn’t seem to want anything more than your attention.
It’s acceptable. Tolerable. And if you ever push back, you’re not sure what will happen, so you think it’s better to just leave things as they are. To let him come and go through your life as he pleases.
You’re coming closer than ever to saying something now, though, because this time he’s not just sitting at your desk, or standing idly somewhere in your room. He’s got your closet door open - and he’s rifling through the contents. Clearly, he’s been doing this for some time, because a large portion of your clothes are already lying in a heap on the floor behind him. As you watch, he tears another shirt off its hanger. A black camisole that you’d bought because it reminded you of something you’d worn often in life. A “going out top,” as your old friends had called it. He looks down with something like disgust, and drops it over his shoulder, where it flutters to the top of the pile.
“ Alastor…” You try to keep your tone even. Merely curious, instead of indignant. “What are you doing?” A bit of your anger slips through. It would be stupid to even hope that he didn’t notice.
“No need to be so hostile.” He slips another shirt from your closet and holds it up with both hands. “I’m doing you a favor.” He tugs on the sloped neckline of the delicate blouse in his hands, and a rip appears down the middle. “My mistake, dear.”
Arguing, you think, would be a bad idea. But you really do need him to stop. “I liked that one.”
“ Hmm…well! I didn’t. I’m afraid it was a bit modern for my tastes.” He shakes his head, and turns around, dropping the shirt into the mess of other garments on the floor. He’s made it through a good chunk of your wardrobe - several pairs of pants and jeans, as well as a few accessories you’d grown fond of, are visible within the heap. “I mean no offense, of course. I only wish to help.”
You certainly do take offense, but there’s no point in addressing that directly. “They’re my clothes,” you say instead, very aware that you sound like an idiot.
“Not anymore.” With a flourish of his hand, the pile disappears, leaving the floor bare. As well as your closet…as you carefully approach, you see that there’s almost nothing left inside. “You’ll thank me before long.”
It’s getting very hard to contain yourself now. “I bought those.”
“And I will be happy to provide some more… suitable replacements.” His image flickers in front of you - a moment later, he reappears by your side. It’s not the first time this has happened, either, but it makes you shudder every time. “To be entirely honest…” An odd twist of his neck brings his face directly in front of yours, nose nearly brushing your own. “I should have done this long ago.” He takes you by the shoulder, and guides you across the room to your dresser. “I’m nearly done already. Only a few drawers left to go.”
You stare up at him, hardening your gaze. Doing your best to sound confident, and not terrified of speaking up. “I want them back.”
“I’m afraid that’s not an option. What’s done is done.” He turns, and reaches for the handle of a drawer. The small one, in the top corner.
Oh. Your stomach knots as you realize which drawer, exactly, he’s about to open. You can’t, under any circumstances, let him see what’s in there. But your protest is so frantic that it’s barely comprehensible. “That one - don’t… ”
He laughs shortly, as if you’ve said something only mildly amusing. “You’re getting hostile again, my dear. You know I don’t appreciate that.”
In a panic, you blurt out the question that rises to the top of your head. It will distract him for a moment, if nothing else. “Why are you doing this?”
You realize immediately that this was a mistake. Questioning him is always a mistake.
But then again - you would like to know.
He pauses, the corner of his grin twitching upward. Eyes narrowing as his head swivels in your direction. “I’ve taken a liking to you, my dear.” He certainly doesn’t sound as if he likes you at the moment. His voice drips with condescension. “So when you do things, or have things, that I don’t like, I find it rather jarring.” He takes a deep breath. After he exhales, his eyes flash, and he continues in his usual lighthearted tone. “Taking those things away is quite a comfort to me.”
His smile seems a touch more genuine now. Somehow, that makes it more unsettling. So much so that you freeze up for just a second too long.
“Back to business, then.” He lashes out a hand, and yanks the drawer open.
As soon as he peers inside, he goes rigid. You stiffen, as well, but certainly not for the same reason. You take a deep breath, trying to ignore the sharp static suddenly buzzing in your ears. “I told you…”
“No, you didn’t .” He dips a single finger into the drawer, and pulls out the garment on top by its strap, dangling it in midair and examining it. It’s black, like the shirt you’d walked in on him tossing earlier - but it’s certainly not designed for going out. Or for anywhere besides your bedroom. He stares at it for some time, until his silence becomes too much to bear.
“You shouldn’t have”-
“My dear.” He laughs softly, more to himself than to you. “I’d really prefer you not tell me what I should or shouldn’t do.” His voice is sickeningly sweet, so fake that it’s painful to your ears, its conceit betrayed by the telltale twitch in his eye. “Now. Do tell me. What could have possessed you, to spend your hard-earned money on something like this ?” He tilts his head, and stares, clearly waiting for a response.
This question has no good answer, but some are worse than others, so you choose your words carefully. “It…I like how it looks?”
“Hm.” If he wasn’t grinning, as always, you’re sure he’d be grimacing instead. “I can’t say I understand.” He sets it down in the drawer for a moment, and carefully tugs off his glove. “Nor do I wish to.”
You watch in a mixture of mortification and horror as he takes hold of your lingerie once again, and snags his nails across the fabric, easily rending it to pieces. He drops the torn fabric carelessly to the floor, kicks it under your dresser, and pointedly wipes his hand on his sleeve before replacing his glove.
“Ah, well. No need to say anything more about it now.” His eyes trail to the remaining contents of the drawer. “I do hope that you’re not quite as fond of the rest.” He drops his hand over the pile, and a moment later, a soft green flame envelops it. For a moment, you panic, sure that your entire dresser is about to burn, but the flame disappears with the last of your lingerie, leaving not so much as a pile of ashes behind.
You peer into the empty drawer, mouth ajar. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.” You’re probably getting into risky territory, but this mixture of embarrassment and irritation is becoming too much to bear.
“Hm?” His eyes are gleaming. There’s something dangerous there, you think, something that you have to tread carefully around. “You didn’t get so worked up over the rest of your closet. Is this different to you?”
“You said you’d replace the rest,” you mutter, judging it to be the safest possible answer. The least likely to cause further embarrassment. “I doubt you’re going to make the same offer with…those.”
“Oh? Who says?” His eyes gleam, in that way they do when he gets an idea that no one around him is going to enjoy. “I’ll admit that I wasn’t planning on it…but those things clearly meant a lot to you. And I enjoy your company far too much to let something so small come between us.”
You think that you’d certainly like something to come between you and him. A wall, perhaps. Or a large metal gate.
“So! If it’s a replacement you want, a replacement you shall have.” He sharply closes the drawer, and kicks at a strip of shredded black fabric that still protrudes from beneath your dresser. “It should be something that can be worn in bed, I suppose. But I prefer to interpret that in a more traditional sense. Something to be worn to sleep.” His head tilts dramatically, and somewhere far above your head, you think you hear a few notes of a slow, lilting song, piped in from many decades ago. “And I believe I have just the thing.” That intractable smile pulls back, just a fraction. “Let’s see what it looks like on you, shall we?”
You open your mouth to protest. But of course, you don’t manage to get a word out before he flicks his hand in your direction.
When you look down, your previous outfit is gone. And in its place…well. Like Alastor said, there’s nothing lurid about it. It’s a slip of sorts, made of thin, silky off-white fabric that falls almost to your knees. Delicate enough that you wouldn’t wear it outside, but modest enough that you don’t feel entirely exposed. It’s something to be worn to bed, indeed. But not by you. There’s nothing you about it. The fabric itself appears brand new, but like all the things Alastor seems to appreciate most, the design clearly comes from long before your time.
You find, suddenly, that you don’t know how to hold yourself. How to act. Your arms hang awkwardly at your sides, feeling heavy as your fingertips skim the silk that surround your thighs.
You realize, after the moment of disorientation had passed, that Alastor is not acting like himself, either. He’s quiet. You were expecting mockery, some ridiculous comment that would make you melt into the ground - but it appears that the results of your transformation have caught him off guard.
There’s a creak on the floorboards to your right. A faint sigh. “I must say, my dear…” Alastor’s voice is softer than you expected, and almost devoid of the static filter that usually coats his words. “It suits you better than I could have imagined.”
You think that you’d prefer taunting to whatever this is.
“I’d go so far as to say you look quite lovely.”
You keep your eyes downcast, not wanting to see his face just yet, and examine the finer details of the garment he’s cast upon you. It has narrow straps, and lace at the neckline, which is high enough to give nothing away. The hem is also lacy, and the cut is straight, not so much defining your curves as endeavoring to erase them as much as possible. Objectively speaking, it is quite pretty. But you’re left with the impression that you’ve strode into someone else’s closet, and departed wearing their clothes.
“Don’t you agree?”
Slowly, hesitantly, you look up. Alastor’s eyes are fixed on you, shining a brighter red than you’ve ever seen. There’s nothing vulgar about the way he’s staring - but he’s not merely amused, either. Instead, he’s looking at you with rapt fascination, in much the way that one would contemplate a particularly exquisite piece of art in a gallery.
“I’m…not sure.” You instinctively cross your arms, almost wishing that you saw a more crude impulse behind his eyes. That, at least, would be easier to understand. Instead, it’s something like appreciation - or pride. More of the latter. If you were merely a piece of art, you’d imagine that this would be how your creator would look at you, upon seeing you on display for the first time.
“No need to hide.” He reaches forward, and touches you lightly on the wrist. It’s enough to send both of your arms falling to your sides. “You couldn’t even if you tried.”
His smile, again, seems entirely too real. There’s nothing threatening about his tone. It’s even, charming. And yet…
He slips behind you, and his hand moves to your waist - a test, you think, to see if you’ll slap it away. “But I don’t think you’re planning on trying, are you?”
“No.” You’re surprised by how quickly the word comes out of your mouth, how breathless. It was an odd question, one that hinted at more than the subject in front of it, and seemed to demand an answer.
His other hand joins the first on your waist, and he turns you around, so quickly that you almost stumble, his palms dancing lightly over your barely covered skin. When you’re facing him, one hand slides up, curling around your jaw and holding tight, keeping your gaze turned up towards his face. And it is a long way up - it’s almost embarrassing how small you are compared to him. He stares down, staying silent for much longer than you’re used to, his breathing just a touch heavier than usual.
His fingers tighten over the silk at your waist, pressing into your skin, a small twitch of his hand pulling the fabric very slightly upwards. It barely moves the hem at all - less than an inch - but somehow leaves you feeling infinitely more exposed. You almost flinch away, but after just a moment, he lets go, all at once. In fact, he practically jerks his hands back, as if he’s only just become aware of what he’s doing, and doesn’t approve. His smile, all of a sudden, appears incredibly fragile.
“Oh…” He laughs softly - it feels forced. “Forgive me, darling. I truly don’t know what came over me.”
You’re not quite sure, either. And as usual, you neither expect nor want an answer.
He steps to your side, leans slightly over you, both hands clasped behind his back. With what seems like some effort, he forces the usual lighthearted tone back into his voice. “You do want to keep it, don’t you?”
“Yes.” You’d prefer not to, you think, if this is the sort of reaction it draws out of him. But you can’t very well get rid of it, if he doesn’t want you to. And, you reassure yourself, just because you have it doesn’t mean you have to wear it.
“Good.” Again, overhead - but not so far overhead as last time - that lilting old melody falls into your ears. You have the odd impulse to cover them, but you force yourself to keep your hands at your sides. “It is getting late…I think you might as well keep it on, and get yourself all ready for bed.”
You’d like to push back. But all you can manage is a mute nod.
“Lovely.” He starts to raise his hand, as if to reach out and touch you again, but seems to think better of it. The hand falls, and disappears behind his back once more. “Sleep well, my dear.” Quickly, he turns on his heel, only calling out one final line before slipping out through your door. “You’ll see me again soon.”
You have no doubt that you will.
Alone in your room, you slowly approach the mirror that stands in the corner. Your reflection does not change your initial impression. You don’t look like yourself. You don’t like it. And it’s not like he’ll know if you take it off, change into something more comfortable…
Your eyes fall upon your nearly empty closet, and you remember that you don’t have anything more comfortable. Not anymore.
This is alright, you try to tell yourself. It’s just a piece of clothing.
Just a piece of clothing that you can’t imagine wearing for any other reason, or for anyone else.
Your eyes fall upon the empty drawer in the top corner of your dresser, and trail over to your bed. Quickly, you drop your gaze to the floor. You realize, with a sigh, that it will be a long time before you have any company besides him in this room. In fact, it’s possible that you’ll never open your door for anyone again.
At the moment, doing so would feel far too much like allowing a guest into someone else’s home.
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HEY! YOU THERE! WANT TO PLAY A TABLETOP ADVENTURE WITH A PROFESSIONAL STORYTELLER?
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Switzerland || James “Bucky” Barnes
warning: smut, unprotected sex, impact play (rough), explicit language, degradation, maybe dacryphilia
“Give me a fucking break, Y/N,” Bucky groaned.
Two hours.
They had been bickering for two hours.
It had started with a mission. A quick rendezvous for some data Sam had requested from a sister agency overseas. Y/N had figured it might be nice to get out and travel a bit.
Wrong.
“Give you a break? James, we are in Sweden! Sweden. The rendezvous was supposed to be in Switzerland. I mean, you have to understand why this is frustrating!”
“I messed up! Would you relax?”
Bucky slid the keycard into their hotel door, shouldering his way in. It was a last minute booking, since they hadn’t meant to be here in the first place. Thanks to James.
Bucky cursed under his breath, and Y/N peeked over his shoulder to see what was wrong.
Sick.
“Oh great. You booked a room with one bed. Awesome,” Y/N snarked. She shook her head in disappointment. “You know, I should’ve probably taken over booking and planning when you landed us in the wrong fucking country, but it seems I haven’t learned my lesson yet.”
“Would you just fucking drop it? I said I was sorry!” Bucky bit out.
Y/N scowled. “Sorry doesn’t fix the fact that we’re in fucking Sweden, James. Someone has to explain this to-”
“Stop calling me that.”
She paused mid-sentence. “Calling you what?”
Bucky heaved a sigh. “James. You can be mad at me, but please just… stop calling me that. You never call me that.”
All the fight left her then. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a moment of quiet to calm down.
“I’m gonna take a shower. Don’t wait up.”
----------------------------------
The hot water did little to relax Y/N’s nerves, but she was clean. And if she took an extra 15 minutes to just stand there and enjoy the quiet, well that was her business.
But she couldn’t stay there forever. She knew a fight sat unfinished on the other side of the door, and the longer she stayed in the quiet of the bathroom, the longer she pushed off a resolution.
So with a sigh, she pushed back the shower curtain and fumbled for her towel. She spent much longer than necessary drying off, avoiding the inevitable while she could.
Once her skin was thoroughly dry (and beginning to pink in the spots she had rubbed too much), she gave in to the gnawing in her stomach. She reached for her pajamas with a sigh, mentally going over how to diffuse the fight that waited for her.
Her hand met the empty countertop.
Y/N’s brows furrowed. She spun around, surveying the bathroom for her clothes.
Nothing.
Because this was supposed to be a day trip.
You don’t pack pajamas for a day trip.
Y/N wanted to scream. Because of course this would be happening. Her shit show day had reached its dirty grimy claws into the evening.
Her annoyance reared its head again, and she had to keep herself from storming out and shouting at Bucky once more for getting them in this predicament.
But she bit her tongue, and cracked the door just a sliver. “Bucky?”
Shuffling. Then, “Yeah?”
Her cheeks were already burning from embarrassment. “I didn’t bring pajamas. Do you mind calling down to the front desk and asking for a robe or something?”
“Y/N, it’s like nine o’clock. The receptionist has probably gone home by now.”
Her irritation flared. “Can you just check? The only other option is putting on the clothes I wore today and they’re filthy.”
She heard an annoyed curse and more movement. Then a metal hand was sliding in the gap in the door, a t-shirt hanging from its fingers.
“Here,” came a grunt through the wood.
A flush crept down Y/N’s chest. “I don’t-”
“Would you stop fucking arguing for once, and just take it?”
“I still don’t have any pants!”
“It’s a long shirt, you won’t need them! Just put it on and fucking relax.”
The sheer command in his voice would have been enough to make her listen, nevermind the fact that Bucky had always had her wrapped around his finger. So with a huff that sounded more pathetic than grumpy, she snatched the shirt and slammed the door.
The shirt was quintessential Bucky. Plain, dark, simple. It hung just past her hips, a bit too short to be considered decent.
“I knew it,” she growled. But there was no use in pouting about it now. It was clean and comfortable (and warm).
It took every ounce of security (and maybe insanity) to open the door and walk out. She refused to look at Bucky, but she could still feel his eyes like a physical weight on her body. After several rather awkward seconds, he cleared his throat.
“I’m not sleeping on the floor. So either you make yourself cozy down there, or we’re splitting the bed.”
Not even two minutes in, and he had found her last nerve. Found it, poked at it, sank his teeth into it, shredded it. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”
“Well I guess that settles it.”
What a shit day.
With a pout, Y/N pushed her way under the duvet, taking notice of how small the bed seemed to feel with Bucky in it. Her thigh brushed his and she bit back her gasp.
“Are you wearing pants?”
“No. Neither are you. Leave me alone and go to sleep.”
Y/N rolled her eyes and curled under the blankets. She had almost dozed off when a sharp tug on the covers disrupted her. “Do you mind?”
“You’re hogging all the blankets. Do you mind?” Bucky hissed.
And just to piss him off more, Y/N yanked the blankets enough to leave him exposed to the chill in the air.
“Are you serious? What are you, 5?”
“Do we really want to start talking about ages, you old fuck?”
Bucky groaned and reached for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in darkness. “Fine. Whatever. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
The peace in the room settled and remained for maybe five minutes.
Until…
“Would you stop pouting?”
Y/N threw her hands up incredulously. “I’m not pouting!”
“Yes. You are.”
“How would you even know?”
“I can just tell. It’s irritating me. Now stop,” Bucky spat.
“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Y/N’s not sure how it happened, or what set it off exactly. But Bucky had gripped the back of her neck and pulled her face to hover above his too quickly for her to prepare, her hands falling to his chest to balance herself. Bucky’s fingers dug into the nape of her neck with a bruising grip, and he soon brought his metal ones up to grab her jaw.
“Enough,” he growled.
With her head caged between his hands, she had no room to move, let alone reply. It wasn’t necessary though, as Bucky pushed through, his tone turning razor sharp.
“Enough with the pouting. Enough with the disobedience. Enough with the smart ass comments. Enough with calling me ‘James’. Enough. I’ve had enough. You can’t seem to help yourself from being a pain in my ass. I’m over it. Everyone else wants to kiss your ass, I’m not gonna do that. I want-”
He stopped. His teeth bared and gritted.
So it came as a shock when his lips crashed into hers with a force so staggering, she would’ve fell back if not for his hands holding her in place.
The kiss was urgent. Desperate. It was teeth, and tongues, and lips, and spit, and lust. Y/N struggled to catch her breath, but feared breaking away to break whatever spell had fallen over them.
“Such a fucking waste,” Bucky groaned. “A mouth like this, and all you do is pout and whine with it.”
The hand on the back of her neck slid up to her hair, and with a yank he had her throat bared where he sat up to meet it. His teeth nipped at her neck, roughly biting at the skin there. Y/N threw her head back in ecstasy, biting back a moan that threatened to slip.
A warm trickle slid down her neck.
Y/N pushed Bucky off by the shoulders, her hands flying to her neck. “Am I-” she stuttered. “Am I bleeding?”
“That should be the least of your worries right now.”
And before she could protest, he had pinned her on her back. “I am going to fuck you hard enough that you feel me every time you sit down. Every time you mouth off. Every time you touch yourself,” he continued, kissing a trail down her stomach. “I am going to ruin you.”
That didn’t sound so terrible.
The moment Bucky put his mouth on her, her eyes rolled to the back of her head. This had to be some sort of punishment. To be laid out in front of someone she despised and fall apart like this. Her teeth sunk into her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, small gasps managing to escape.
“You can do better than that,” Bucky urged.
And yes. She could. When his tongue did a particularly sinful circle around her clit, the whine that left her cut through the air loud enough that she briefly thought of whoever might be in the room next door. But when Bucky repeated the action, drawing another series of whimpers from her, she found she didn’t care.
A groan sounded, and the vibrations from it rang through her core. “Just like that,” Bucky gasped.
His mouth returned with a vengeance, licking and sucking at her like a man starved. She couldn’t have held her mewls and whimpers to herself if she tried, embarrassment be damned.
“Please,” she gasped. “I’m gonna-”
“No.”
Bucky pulled back at once, and her core throbbed at the loss of contact. Y/N sat up on her elbows, poised to protest.
“There’s that pout again.”
And yes, she was pouting.
But who could blame her?
“If I see that pout again, I’m knocking it off your fucking face.”
She immediately sobered and set her mouth straight.
Bucky smiled. “Good girl.”
Fuck.
Y/N keened high in her throat, the sound leaving without her intending it to. A flush crept up her cheeks.
Bucky’s grin looked like it might split his cheeks.
“Oh?” he teased. “Did you like that?”
His hands snaked up her waist, pushing his shirt higher on her torso, inches of skin creeping out bit by bit. His fingers, both flesh and metal burned her skin as they trailed up her sides. She gasped as his hands finally cupped her breasts.
“You like being told how good you are? You like being my good girl?”
Y/N whined, her hands moving to grab at Bucky’s wrists. Something to anchor her, she supposed.
Or just an excuse to touch him.
“You want me to tell you how pretty you look like this? Spread out and whining for me? Wearing my shirt?”
It was becoming too much: the way his hands grabbed at her skin, the way his breath fanned over her face, the words he was speaking.
“Please,” she begged.
“Use your words.”
“Fuck, please,” she tried. “I need you.”
Bucky smirked. “Where? Where do you need me?”
This was torture. She had seen the worst of humanity. She had fought the worst of humanity. But this was pure, unadulterated punishment.
And she loved it.
“Please,” she rasped.
Bucky chuckled, a sound that raked down her nerves. “Only because you asked so nicely.”
He plunged two metal fingers deep in her core, the cold biting into the lining of her walls. It stung, but it was wonderful.
“God,” Y/N gasped, a newfound sense of euphoria washing over her.
“You feel so soft,” Bucky rasped, kissing the space between her breasts with a tenderness that was unlike him.
It was too much. The cool steel of his fingers stung and her whimpering was fueled by the way they curled inside her.
“I knew you’d like this,” Bucky rasped. His hand pushed harder, deeper, until he was stroking just out of reach of where she really wanted him. “I always thought you’d be responsive, but this…” Another kiss. “This is better than I could have ever imagined.”
“Bucky,” Y/N moaned.
He paused. His lips hovered just above her nipple and his fingers stilled inside her. “Fuck, say it again.”
And so she did.
“Bucky.”
“Fuck, good girl,” he groaned, plunging back in with a renewed vigor. “You’re getting me all wet, baby. Look how pretty you look taking my fingers. Already whining, and I’ve barely touched you.” He dove in for her mouth this time, lips borderline bruising. He spoke against her mouth in a tone that sent heat rushing through her. “I can’t wait to see what you do with my cock in you.”
“I’m gonna-”
“No you’re not,” he growled, pulling his fingers away. Y/N groaned, but was cut short by a hand at her throat.
“Enough. Whining. I won’t tell you again,” Bucky hissed.
He tightened his grip around her throat, and her vision immediately blurred. Bucky smirked. “Good.”
Then he was inspecting his fingers, watching the way her essence dripped down the metal of his hand. Another groan.
“Open,” he commanded. Y/N’s lips parted, her tongue darting out eagerly. Bucky slid two metal fingers into her waiting mouth, pushing them back far enough to brush the back of her throat. Her eyes watered as she gagged, but she kept her mouth open all the same.
“So pretty.”
It was intoxicating, the taste of herself on the tang of metal, and she greedily lapped at his digits while he thrusted them past her lips. She had just started to lose herself when he pulled his fingers away.
His now spit-slick metal hand dug into the flesh on her ass when he had managed to (easily) manhandle her onto her front, leaving her gasping into the pillow at the sting. Her scorching flesh burned hotter against the cool brush of vibranium. Y/N’s entire body was on fire, made worse by the intensity and heat of Bucky’s gaze sliding over her skin. She was still lost in that feeling when she jumped against the sheets with a whimper, Bucky’s hand soothing over the now sore spot he had left after striking the flesh underneath.
“That one was for snapping at me all day,” he taunted, a smirk evident in his voice as he raised his hand again. Y/N braced herself for the strike, but still cried out when it landed. “And that, is for calling me ‘James’,” he growled out.
She was panting, breath ragged and sharp in her lungs. “You-” she gasped out as his fingers drew lazy circles over the marks he had left on her ass. “You can’t-”
“I can,” he hissed, wrenching her head back by her hair. “And you’re going to take everything I give you.”
Any sane person would’ve refused. Kicked him off of them with a snide comment and gone to bed, maybe even pretending this never happened to salvage any scrap of dignity left after everything that had happened.
“Got it?” Bucky growled with another tug to her hair.
“Yes, sir,” she groaned back.
The older man sighed contentedly, releasing his grip on her hair and dragging both hands down her spine slowly. “I think you’ve had enough spanking for now.”
A small surge of something close to panic roared through her, panic at losing this feeling, and the sting she could still feel on her ass.
“No!” Y/N gasped out before she could stop herself, too far gone to feel the bite of embarrassment at her words. Bucky’s hands stilled on her hips, and his fingers flexed against her skin.
“No?”
“Please,” she nearly whispered. “Please keep going.”
Silence hung, low and heavy around them for several moments. Had it not been for the weight of his hands still on her, Y/N would’ve thought he left.
Then, a groan, low and guttural, like the sound was being punched out of him. Bucky’s hand slid around the front of her neck, the heat of his flesh seeping into her throat. His grip was tight enough to pull her head up, but just barely. Suddenly, his mouth was right next to her ear, tone low and threatening, much like one he used when speaking to their targets.
“This is your last chance to tell me to cool off before I ruin you,” he bit out.
It was as good of a warning as she was gonna get, Y/N knew from their time together on missions, seeing the “Winter Soldier” firsthand. A sick thrill ran through her blood.
“Please,” she insisted.
A resounding ‘smack’ rang through the air as Bucky brought down his other hand against her ass, metal impacting soft skin. Y/N arched back against him, simultaneously running from and chasing the feeling.
More smacks followed, each one worse than the last. Her resolve was crumbling beneath her with each blow. Sensing her drop, Bucky smoothed both hands over her abused cheeks with a smirk.
“What happened to begging? Hm?” he taunted, digging his fingers into her already bruising skin just to see her hiss and try to pull away.
“Please,” she slurred against the pillow.
Bucky laughed, a mean and cruel sound. “Is that all you know how to say now? Have I already fucked you that stupid? I’ve barely touched you sweet girl.”
Y/N’s head was reeling, an emotional whiplash pounding at her temples as he mocked her and soothed the bite all in one breath.
“I need you inside me. Need to feel you,” she whimpered out, writhing as his hands pressed her further into the mattress.
Bucky muttered a sharp ‘fuck’ under his breath, before recomposing himself. She could hear the shuffle of him ridding himself of his pants, and she held her breath when she felt the rigid line of him press against her already sore ass.
Y/N keened high in her throat and pressed her hips back into his harder. Bucky pulled back just barely, teasing her.
“You sure about this?”
And maybe it was the gentle note of sincerity staining his voice that made her head swim, but Y/N found her breath catching once again.
“Please,” she insisted again.
And then Bucky was pressing into her slowly, inch by torturous inch, until he was seated all the way to the hilt with a strangled moan. Words failed Y/N as she felt the head of his cock pressing into the deepest and most intimate part of her, already leaving her aching in his wake.
Bucky dug his fingers into her flesh, pulling her back against him to sink into her even further. It was overwhelming, the way he filled every space within her, leaving her no room to even breathe. He was unlike any other partner she had ever had, and Y/N had the sick feeling she may never be satisfied with anyone else. She wrapped her fingers around the smooth metal of Bucky’s wrist, dragging his hand up to settle around her throat once more. The older man’s grip stayed loose where it rested against the skin of her neck as he let out a shallow breath.
“Don’t,” he panted. “Don’t do that. I don’t think I can be gentle with you if we start that.”
It was sick, so sick, the thrill that thrummed through her veins at the thought of Bucky, the Winter Soldier, stringing her out and using her body in that brutal way that only he could.
It was that same thrill (and slight mania) that sent her over the edge of insanity (and stupidity).
“Is that so?,” she gritted out with as much teasing in her voice as she could. She felt him tense behind her, deadly quiet and still as he waited for her to continue. “Or are you just worried you won’t have enough bite to match your bark?”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Bucky’s fingers tightened around her throat to the point of it being painful, her breathing slowing to almost a stand still. His hot breath ran across her ears as he leaned in to whisper, “I’m going to enjoy every fucking second of this.”
The pace he set was immediately brutal, leaving no time for her to adjust to the sheer size and force of him. The sharp curve of hip bones dug into her ass almost painfully with every thrust as he filled her to the hilt. Words failed her completely, nothing but wanton moans stuttering out between her ragged breathing. Normally, she’d have the sense to be embarrassed about her volume altogether, but this was not the same run-of-the-mill hookups she was used to. This was untamed and raw and torturous.
Another moan slipped between her rough-bitten lips, and then Bucky was slipping his grip up to her chin and cheeks to grab her face hard and turn her head painfully to meet his wild eyes.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, pushing her face away again before dropping his hand against the flesh of her bottom once again, leaving a sting in its wake.
His manhandling only made that pit in her stomach worse, and Y/N clenched her jaw to stifle the whimpers free flowing from her mouth. It only seemed to spur the soldier behind her even more.
His cock was dragging against her walls sinfully, and she wondered if she had ever felt this full before. Or if she’d ever feel this full again.
“You want everyone in this goddamn hotel to hear you?” Bucky ground out when yet another pathetic sound escaped her. He pulled his hips back just enough to slip out of her before yanking her up by the arm to roll her over onto her back. The intimacy of facing him as he dismantled her piece by piece was overwhelming, and Y/N nearly cowered away from the heat of his stare as it roved over exposed form, but Bucky was quickly slipping his cock back into her and she was keening once again.
Bucky’s hand reared back quickly, and Y/N braced herself for the slap to fall against her ass, but gasped when the strike landed across her cheek. Tears immediately welled up in her eyes at the burn, but the moan that tore from her throat betrayed her arousal at the impact.
The older man towering over her laughed, a full and mocking sound that made her want to simultaneously sink back and chase the cadence of it. His tone was nothing short of taunting when he sneered at her. “You’re getting off on this.”
Her cheeks burned again, this time from shame instead of smacking, and she pulled into herself just barely. It was humiliating to be this vulnerable in front of him, but the thrill of him seeing every dirty part of her and fueling all of it gave her a sick sort of satisfaction.
“You like when I get rough with you, pretty girl? You like it when I treat you like the whore you are?” he crooned, a gentle hand smoothing down her cheek as his thrusts picked up even more. That same hand gripped her cheeks hard enough to make her lips pucker, a smile pulling up at his lips as her pupils blew out. “My little whore. All mine.”
Mine.
Y/N whined, that knot tightening even further. “Please,” she gasped out for what felt like the hundredth time.
Bucky smirked. “Please, what? What is it, baby?”
Any other day, his teasing would’ve earned him a lashing from her, but she only found it more and more enticing now. “I need to cum,” she panted, on the verge of tears. “Please let me cum.”
She could see the effect her begging had on him, his eyes darkening considerably. “I don’t know-”
A choked sob broke from her chest, a single tear rolling down her cheek hotly. It was all too much, and she had the feeling she’d combust if he didn’t grant her relief. “Please,” she begged once again, more desperate now.
“Fuck,” Bucky gritted out between clenched teeth, eyes zeroing in on the path of the tear staining her cheek. “Cum for me, sweet girl.”
She could have wept as the wave of euphoria swept over her, pulling her under fast and hard and wracking through her body with an intensity she had never felt before. She clenched around Bucky’s shaft like a vice, and she felt him twitch before he was spilling into her with mutters of “all mine”. His thrusting continued as she rode out her high and even long after it had passed, making her whine at the sensitivity. He only pulled out when she weakly shoved at his shoulder, too overstimulated to take much more.
They were both panting as they stared at each other, and Y/N said a silent thank you to whoever could hear her that Bucky looked just as wrecked as she felt. He pulled away from her quicker than she would have liked and retreated to the bathroom. She heard the faucet turn and on and off before he reemerged with a wet rag. Her face flushed as he nudged her knees open and made to wipe at his seed dripping out of her before she stopped him with a hand to the wrist.
He leveled her with a look that made her toes curl, that same bit of dominance she had seen firsthand creeping into the expression. “I was just inside you, and now you’re trying to keep me from cleaning you up?” Y/N swallowed, still too embarrassed to let him take care of her like this. Bucky scoffed, and his voice turned stern. “Move your hand. Now.”
And even though they were done with whatever had just happened between them, Y/N found herself obeying the order. Her partner took care to clean her up gently before tossing the rag aside in the small pile of dirty linens they had accumulated. He slid into bed next to her, lifting the sheets slightly before pulling her into him with a strong, muscle chorded arm. Silence hung around them for a moment.
“Should we talk about this?” she whispered, afraid that speaking any louder would shatter the calm.
“No,” Bucky replied simply, sinking a stone in her heart before he continued. “You need to rest right now. Talking can wait until you’ve slept.”
It was a sweet sentiment, but Y/N didn’t want to leave things unchecked just because she needed rest (even if sleep was tugging at her eyelids heavily). “Are you sure? Maybe we should-”
“It wasn’t a suggestion, you’re going to sleep,” he insisted, pulling her in tighter and tempting her with his warmth.
She gave in with a playful huff, burrowing into his chest with a private smile. It felt natural, to be with him like this.
But Bucky Barnes always has to ruin her good mood.
“Who knew bossing you around was all it took to get you to shut up.”
She rolled her eyes, even as a laugh crept up her throat. “Don’t get used to it.”
Y/N felt the smile he buried in her hair as he pecked the crown of her head.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
note: i’m not aiming for accuracy, im aiming for a good time
#bucky barnes#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky fic#bucky x y/n#bucky smut#bucky barnes smut#dom bucky barnes
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Lo‘ak x female omatikaya reader x Neteyam
⋆｡° ✮ Minors dni 🔞
⋆｡° ✮ Masterlist
⋆｡° ✮ Warnings: explicit smut, slight cnc warning, restraints, pred/prey play, teacher / student dynamics, in public
⋆｡° ✮ There was almost no way I could think of any other pairing for this prompt than the Sully bros with reader and it’s all thanks to @tallulah477 and her amazing fic "hunting the tawtute" so make sure to give it a read, it’s one of my fav fics 😩🩵
⋆｡° ✮ Translation: sevin = pretty
The distant calls echoing through the forest didn’t belong to either one of them. It belonged to one of the other tsamsiyu [warrior in training] who were participating in todays lesson of hunting down and killing wild prey.
You however, were playing your own game and had moved out of the training area almost immediately, melting into the dense underbrush like a nantang. Because, unlike the others, you weren’t actually hunting. In this special case, it was you that was the prey. You were being hunted.
You'd taken off at a lope, covering distance quickly before slowing and taking care to hide your tracks. You had headed west, remembering a stream they had mentioned to all numeyus [students] the night before, telling you all that this was the border of the training area.
You hadn't seen the slightest sign of either of them and given how long it had been it was likely that they still didn’t know where you were. Better keep it that way, you thought to yourself as you crouched at the base of a tree, making your profile as small as possible. You knew the outcome if they would find you. After all, there was a reason you were their favorite numeyu out of them all and your lessons usually ended just a little differently than it ended for the others. A little more… personal.
For a moment, you were completely still, breathing slowly, silently, listening for anything you could use to pinpoint how close they were. Nothing. You must’ve been so far away from the rest of the group that you couldn’t even hear the other students anymore. So you edged your way through the trees, abandoning the cover of the underbrush in favor of putting even more distance between them. There was a rather thick trunk of a fallen tree ahead, tall enough that you could get a good vantage from the top. You rounded the trunk to get to the other side that was hopefully less covered in moss and easier to climb, and there he was, leaning against it, deceptively causal.
Neteyam.
"Shit", you yelped in surprise and immediately turned to run. You knew you couldn’t outrun him over distance, but you were light and agile, could loose him in the trees if only you could get up there, but he was quicker to react. Neteyam kicked your legs out from under you, tackling you to the ground. The fall knocked the air from your lungs and he immediately dropped his weight onto you, twisting one arm behind your back.
"Caught you, my little numeyu." Irritatingly smug.
He leaned close and you could feel his breath on the back of your neck, his tongue tracing the shell of your ear and you knew exactly what was about to follow.
"Come on, Neteyam, please", you squirmed, "Let me go."
Footsteps crunched behind a few bushes and before you knew it, your other karyu (teacher) crouched down next to your face and brushed a strand of stray hair behind your ear.
"Too late for that, baby."
You bared your fangs at Lo‘ak, barely able to hide the smile tugging at your lips.
Both of them then flipped you over, before Neteyam placed your hands near the top of your head, pinned your wrists there with his knees while he bound them together. They were still keeping their thoughts to themselves, but Lo‘aks shit-eating grin wasn't hard to interpret. It caused Neteyam to chuckle, brushing his fingertips over your cheek as he shook his head in disappointment, "Poor thing. You really thought you could outrun us. You have so much left to learn."
You rolled your eyes at him, testing the strength of your restraints once more and Lo‘ak grinned even wider. Neteyam then leaned over you, brought his mouth down rough against yours, hot and slick. His tongue pushed into your mouth and you couldn’t help but moan into the kiss. "I think it’s time we claim our prize for hunting such special prey, don’t you agree?" He spoke against your lips, to which you nodded in agreement, already drunk of lust just from a kiss.
The oldest of the two pulled back, the kiss all too brief and flicked his eyes up to his brother who kneeled between your thighs. "Hold her still, bro", Lo‘ak says to him.
You lift your head up as much as you could to look at him. Lo’ak then bent over you, brushing his lips over yours, licking at your mouth, your chin. He caught your lower lip between his sharp teeth, distracting you from the way he harshly yanked your loincloth off of you.
Neteyam reached forward and hooked his hands under your knees, and then Lo‘ak was pushing into you, one long steady drive, splitting you open, nestling himself deep inside you. You whined and he moaned with you, the sound rising to a harsh gasp as he drew back and thrust into you harder, smug grin finally sliding from his face as his mouth went slack with pleasure. The younger brother didn’t keep his movement slow for very long, as Neteyam passed your thighs into his arms so he could use them as leverage to fuck you hard and fast and deep, making you cry out with every thrust.
Your own mouth soon fell open too, just to be filled to the brim seconds later when Neteyam pushed his leaking tip past your spit slicked lips.
"That’s right, sevin", he groaned lowly once you snapped out of your lustful haze and started swirling your tongue around his length as best as you could from your current position. "Just like that, fuck." His hips soon begin to move on their own accord, thrusting into the warm wetness of your mouth while his brother seemed to let loose all that pent up adrenaline from chasing you down.
"Shit, baby", Lo‘ak moans, throwing his head back in bliss as he feels your walls squeeze around his length. When he glances back down at you, he’s met with the sight of your pretty pussy creaming around his cock, making a mess where the two of you are fused together. "You’re so tight. So wet for us. Dirty girl, loves being our prey so much she’s drenching my fucking cock", he chuckles.
You make wet sound around Neteyams cock, slurping the salty pre-cum leaking from his tip as if it’s a reward for your efforts. One of his hands tangles itself into your hair then, helping you move your head over his length as he begins to fuck your mouth at a faster pace. Your eyes remain fixed on his, blinking the tears away even as he repeatedly hit the back of your throat. "I won’t last if you keep that up, sevin", he growled, his breathing heavy. "Will you be a good girl and swallow it all for me?"
You hum your response, the vibrations against his cock sending a shiver up his spine and a moan tumbles from his parted lips, alongside whispered curses. The sight alone makes you clench harder around Lo‘ak, both of them seemingly reaching their peak soon while you were also not very far away from your pleasure high.
What sends you over the edge is Neteyams hand reaching between your thighs and rolling your oversensitive clit between two fingers. You cry out around his cock, Lo‘ak fucking you through your orgasm with precision, aiming to hit that sweet spot deep inside you that he knows will make you see stars. They both guide you through that high together, their hands not leaving your skin for even a second until both men loose themselves inside you, filling you with their seed as soft praises and low groans are being whispered between you and them.
Excitement fills every fiber of your being once you’re untied, redressed and sent off to the rest of the group with teasing claps to your ass and a wink by your teachers. Their filthy promises for tomorrow’s lesson about handling knives makes you clench your thighs in anticipation, and you can’t wait for them to turn this lesson into another very personal experience, just for their special little numeyu.
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also i LOVE your poly!marauders apocalypse au (so creative btw!! i'm obsessed!!) and would be so down to read something in that universe where the reader gets hypothermia or something like that hehe !!!! <333333
Thanks for requesting lovely!
cw: mild hypothermia
apocalypse poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words
You keep tripping, which is mildly embarrassing. You think it’s a combination of fatigue and the general numbness that’s pervaded your body even though the layers you’d put on when you’d packed up the campsite that morning. You’d all agreed that, with the death eaters on your trail, it’s really only safe to stay in one area for a few days at a time, even with all the protections you place around your sites. But that means days where, instead of lounging around your tent, listening to the radio and plotting for the Order, you use all the daylight you have to hike through the wintry woods until you’re far enough away to set up another camp.
Sirius glances back when you stumble again, the toe of your boot catching on a branch you hadn’t seen buried in the snow. It’s a more dramatic affair than it should be, and you barely get your other foot out in front of you fast enough to avoid face-planting into the leaf litter.
Your shivering worsens as another gust of wind burns your face, making your thick jacket feel like mesh. You think this has to be the worst moving day your group has had yet. The cold is the same, but the sun hasn’t so much as peeked from behind the clouds all day and the wind makes it nearly unbearable. The snow is thick enough that you’ve started stepping in the boys’ footprints to save energy. One of the many perks of taking up the rear.
You nearly hit Sirius when he stops in front of you.
“This clearing looks about as good as any,” James is saying, but Remus looks hesitant.
“I don’t know,” he frets. “Do you think it’s far enough? We’ve been slow today.”
“You’re tired,” James says kindly. You look at Remus, noting his slouched posture, the weariness he’s never quite learned to hide from his expression. You’re not sure how you didn’t notice his exhaustion before. You’re usually more aware of those things. “And it’s horrid out here. Let’s just call it a night, and if you’re still anxious about it tomorrow we’ll go a bit further.”
“I can make it further tonight.”
“It’s not all about you, Moony,” Sirius drawls. He looks especially monochrome against all the fresh white snow, you think. His superblack hair is as eye-catching as neon. “I’ve got a rock in my shoe I’d love to get out, and I know y/n’s knees have to be black and blue from the way she’s been falling for the past hour.”
His scheme works; Remus looks to you, arguments of his own fortitude forgotten. “Are you tired, dove? You want to stop?”
You shrug. “Yeah, I guess. It’s cold.”
Suddenly all three boys seem focussed intently on you. You’re not sure why. You don’t actually recall much of what you’d been talking about.
“Could you say that again?” James asks you. His brows are stitched together and his eyes have gone all sharp behind his glasses.
“I just said it’s cold.”
“Why’re you talking like that, doll?” Sirius takes a step toward you, then looks to Remus. “Why is she slurring?”
“I don’t know,” Remus says softly. He’s looking at you weird, too. Frowny. “Yeah, let’s set up. Maybe she just needs a rest.”
James spells the tent up quickly, then makes Remus stay and sit with you while he and Sirius set up the protections and everything else. The temperature inside the magical tent is cozy. Remus lights a fire in the grate to warm you all up.
“Do you feel okay, lovely?” he asks, helping you out of your jacket. You sit on the bed, working off your shoes.
“Yeah, just…just really tired.”
He furrows his eyebrows, placing a palm on your cheek. You have no clue how it’s so warm, but a sigh escapes you as you lean into the touch.
“When did you start tripping?” he asks you.
You…you’re not sure. You can’t remember the first time it happened. How long had you been walking?
Your bemusement must show on your face, because Remus’ mouth pinches. His hand slides down to cup your face, fingers pressing oddly into your jaw. Frankly, you could care less where he puts them so long as he keeps touching you.
“Feeling better?” James asks, materializing behind Remus. You’re not sure which one of you he’s talking to, but you hum contentedly anyway.
“I think she might be hypothermic,” Remus doesn’t look away from you as he talks, his eyebrows lowered like he’s waiting for you to answer a question you don’t remember him asking. His fingers press harder into your neck. “Her pulse is…scary weak.”
James looks at you, and you look at Remus.
“You really think so?” you ask him, befuddled. “I don’t feel…I’m only tired.”
“Hypothermia makes you tired,” he tells you gently. “And you’re slurring your words, love.”
You feel an icy tendril of fear snake around your spine. “I am?”
“You’re alright.” James catches onto your panic quickly, leaning over Remus to give your shoulders a bolstering squeeze. “Let’s just get some of these layers off you, and then we’ll swaddle you in blankets.” He starts easing off your jumper, leaving you in just your undershirt. You’re newly cognizant of the sluggishness of your movements as you raise your arms to help him. “Once you sit by the fire for a bit, you’ll be feeling back to normal in no time.”
You nod numbly, lifting your bum to tug off the jeans you’d worn over leggings. James takes the blanket from the bed and wraps it around you while Remus goes to find more in the other room.
“Poor love,” James coos, dropping a kiss to your head. “You’re shaking like a leaf.”
“No duh,” Sirius says, the tent flap letting in a blast of cool air behind him. “It’s fucking freezing out.”
James offers him a sorry smile. “We think she’s got hypothermia.”
Sirius sobers, stormcloud eyes flickering to you. “Shit, really? How bad is that?”
“Not too bad, I don’t think,” Remus says, nudging past him with a stack of blankets in his arms. “I mean, it’d be great if I’d thought to bring any books on that sort of thing, but I’m fairly sure if it were bad she’d be more confused and a bit…blueish.” He drapes a blanket over your shoulders, letting James pull it tighter and tuck it about as he wishes. “Do you feel any better?”
“I think so,” you say quietly. It’s a bit unnerving to be at the center of so much alarm like this. You do feel better being out of the cold, but you’re not sure if that’s what he’s asking. “It’s a little hard to tell.”
“You don’t seem like you’re slurring as badly,” James evaluates. He cups the back of your neck, planting a kiss on the frozen tip of your nose. “I think you’re getting better already, lovie.”
Your face certainly feels warmer.
Sirius grins at your flustering, though it’s dampened by worry. “What about a hot chocolate?” he asks, tone unusually gentle. “Does that sound like it might help?”
“I’m fine,” you say, and he disregards you immediately, posing the same question to Remus.
“Would that help?”
Remus shrugs. “It could. Doubt it would hurt. James, love, I think she’s got enough blankets.”
James frowns, peering through the layers of covering to find your face. “Do you feel warm enough, angel?”
You blink, owlish. “I think so?”
He shakes his head. “Sounds far from certain. More blankets it is. Sirius, get started on the hot chocolate.”
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