#JFC Press Meet
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cato comforting u while your crying and then cradling you his big ass arms (i am a SLUT for men with big biceps)
warnings; r is sad, cato is peak boyfriend, ARMS (they're a warning)
a/n; on my mf KNEES for this man, vikings is on my watch list next bc he's just too fine jfc. sorry this got buried in my inbox lovely! i hope you enjoy though <3 (also this gif??? im fucking sweating)
"Who've I gotta kill?"
You stifle a gasp with the back of your hand, glossy eyes snapping up to meet the furious stare of your boyfriend. The colour bleeds from his knuckles, flexing at his sides as he watches the way you hiccup and coil in on yourself to try and conceal the steady flow of tears making their way down your cheeks. Grass tickles at your bare legs where you shuffle on your bum to face him.
"'s nothing, Cato. I'm okay." You nod vehemently, as if trying to convince yourself; he crouches, sitting back on his heels to cradle the side of your neck with thick digits. Your pulse thrums under his touch.
"Baby," he murmurs; it's soft the way he speaks to you, a jarring juxtaposition to the sharp bite of his usual tone. "What's goin' on?"
"I don't wanna talk 'bout it right now," you sniff, and Cato catches the tears that spring to the surface again, tickling at the swollen rims of your eyes. Your head ducks and the palm of his hand applies a firm pressure to the crown of your skull as he manoeuvres, and thick thighs come to rest either side of your own, chest crowding against your back.
You tip back to lean against the warm expanse of his chest and his arms come up to cage you in; heavily muscled biceps brace around your protruding collarbones when he smears a kiss across the ridge of your temple.
Tucking your head in the crook of his elbow, your own arms come up to twine around his upper arm, head rolling until you're gazing up at him through sticky, wet lashes. The crease in his brow dissipates, and dimples crater at the centre of his cheeks under your affectionate observance.
"Whatcha lookin' at, short stuff?" he teases, thumb squishing the pudgy flesh of your bottom lip.
"Just you," you purr, voice waning through the thick lump in your throat. Cato traces the column, pressing into the dimple beneath your chin to rub a tight circle there. "Just love you. I don't deserve you."
"Who told you that? 's that what the tears are about, huh?" Lips drag downward over your jaw while he waits for an answer, wet half moons glistening in the wake of his fervent touch.
"Just what people say about me. When I was out earlier..." You falter, concealing your face in the groove of his armpit. "Some of the other girls were laughing. At me." You hiccup into the soft cotton of his t-shirt, neck bending awkwardly when he tucks you in tighter, arms a vice around your top half. "They say you're too good for me. That they don't know why you're wastin' your time."
"You think it's true?" he asks.
"I-I don't know. I think you could do better than me."
His chin digs into the juncture of your neck when you lift your head, heavy eyelashes kissing at the corners and trailing dampness across Cato's cheek.
"I love you. Don't want anyone else, my girl."
You surge forward, twisting the top half of your body to wrap around him like a vine; he stays steadfast, rigid as you clamber up and into his lap on tired limbs. Your fingers settle at the nape of his neck, tangled in short, blond hair.
His hands squeeze at the fat of your hips, drawing you closer still, lips pressed to the shell of your ear.
"You're mine, okay? My girl forever."
#cato hadley x you#cato hadley fic#cato hadley x reader#cato hadley fanfic#cato x reader#cato x you#cato fluff#cato hadley fluff#cato hadley#thg cato#thg fanfiction#thg fic#thg x reader#the hunger games x reader#the hunger games fic#the hunger games x y/n#the hunger games x you#writer#writers on tumblr#writing#writing for fun#cato hunger games#alexander ludwig
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#that 4th gif is giving thots 🥵 are we having similar thots? the ghoul has you on your knees next to the campfire one night, a firm hand on the back of your neck keeping your cheek pressed to the soft, worn leather of his duster, laid out on the dirt beneath you. you're begging him for "more, please, touch me" in soft, breathy whimpers and his free hand begins to dip between your thighs when he stops, gripping your hip instead while his thrusts come to a halt. "why the fuck am i doing all the work?" he grits out and his warmth at your back is suddenly gone, leaving you shivering in the cool night air as he moves to sit against a nearby rock, leaning back with a smirk. "now get over here, sweetheart," he grips his thick, heavy cock with one hand as he watches you crawl to him, flicking his wrist to drag the head over your clit when you straddle his hips. his other hand comes up to yank you firmly down onto his cock, rocking up to meet you - hitting so deep you swear you can feel him in your ribcage - and revelling in the loud, gasping moan it punches out of you. "and put yourself to use." a loud smack rings out in the quiet night when his hand come down your ass - hard enough that you both know it will leave a mark - to encourage you to lift yourself up on shaking thighs, your hands splayed across his chest for support, and start moving. (this wasn't even the original thot i still have to write that out, this just got away from me lmao) 💜 -thirsty nonnie
*pterodactyl screeches*
BABES YOU CANNOT JUST DROP THIS MASTERPIECE ON ME LIKE THIS 🥵 fuck - i - just - goddamn it. you were thinking exactly what i was thinking jfc 💀
ajhsdkjsgfius if this is something that 'just got away from you' i fear i won't survive the original what a way to fucking gooooo
shit i need to go lie down and wrestle with my thots
#cooper howard x reader#cooper howard x you#the ghoul x you#the ghoul x reader#the ghoul#cooper howard#fallout smut#cooper howard smut#thirsty nonnie
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about u | jjk
❝ this song is about a love that you can’t reconcile—wanting to make a home out of a person that has proved to you time and again that they are not a home; they are just a person. it’s about retracing scars, negative patterns, all with the silent belief that moments of communion and understanding might justify months of misfiring and regret. we’re all just trying to get back to that ‘first high’ feeling—an honest endeavor, however futile. ❞
✤ PAIRING jungkook x f. reader ✤ GENRE exes to fwb to strangers, college/grad school au; angst, smut ✤ RATING explicit. minors do not interact. ✤ WARNINGS toxic & self-destructive behavior (inc. jealousy and possessiveness). infidelity (with an external partner). reader is bisexual (which is not a warning but a general statement so the homophobes stay away) and there is a brief mention of coming out. two people who are both too honest and unable to communicate. swearing. cigarettes and alcohol use. kissing, some spitting, fingering, oral sex, protected vaginal sex. every time i asked jess to read this over for me she always came back with "jfc jewel" so i guess this is angsty. unhappy ending. ✤ WORDCOUNT 7.3k ✤ LISTEN TO this was based off of "winterbreak" by muna, but there are bits and pieces of the entire about u album in here, "everything" and "outro" especially. ✤ THANK YOU to muna for writing the album, @the-boy-meets-evil and @hot-soop for reading over this for me multiple times and putting up with all my brainstorming and my beloved @here2bbtstrash for the extra set of eyes. ✤ AUTHOR'S NOTE hi, thank you for reading! i cannot emphasize enough how much more sense this story will make if you listen to about u in the background. i would also like to reiterate that these two are maybe not all that likeable most of the time, but i hope they're still human. as i once saw in an ao3 tag, you are more than the worst thing you've ever done.
[ the first. ] You’d read an article once—something about the second time you fall in love.
It’s going to feel different, it’d said. The first time felt like a dream.
As you stare across the kitchen at Jeongguk, you think that might be true. The part about it feeling like a dream, because it used to be a pinky-lavender haze and everything that has come after hasn’t felt so good. Not a nightmare, but close. At least with nightmares you can force yourself awake. You can tell yourself it wasn’t real. You can pretend.
This is as real as it gets, watching him smile over the rim of a plastic red cup. Someone else’s hand on his arm. The girl it belongs to looks nothing like you, and you wonder if she’ll be the second time he falls in love. You also wonder why you didn’t stay home. You wonder about fault and regret and if either of them even matter. No, you eventually decide: there’s just you in Taehyung’s kitchen and Jeongguk on the other side of it and the result of a million decisions in between you.
There had been a plenitude of reasons you’d fallen in love with Jeongguk, but he’s undoubtedly beautiful. Soft, tinkling laugh; a smile that reaches his eyes. Not all that long ago you used to be responsible for both, so there’s a lingering, bitter sting beneath your wonder. Jeongguk is beautiful and no longer yours, and that’s enough to have you retreating to the living room.
Jimin’s at your side immediately. Wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of your head that does little to alleviate your guilt. Missing someone is always easier with thousands of miles in between you. All those distractions. Just like a nightmare, distance lets you pretend. Not so easy to do when all those ghosts come back to haunt you; when you can still hear Jeongguk’s soft voice in the kitchen. The music is so loud but you’d be able to hear him anywhere, you think.
Even places he’s not.
Jimin leans down, forces his way into your personal space. “Are you doing okay?” he asks, and his words are warm and wrapped in alcohol, but you nod. You’re scared you might start crying if you open your mouth. Afraid of what might come out besides shuddering breaths, which just makes you feel stupid. Baby’s first breakup, you chide yourself. Maybe Jimin can get you a commemorative ornament.
Taehyung is turning twenty-four and it should be joyous. It is joyous. People that aren’t you are laughing and dancing and pressing their cheeks together as they huddle close to take selfies. Someone you don’t recognize is cackling wildly as they wrangle Taehyung into a headlock and smear cake frosting on his face. Someone else is tutting and running a rag under the tap to wipe it off and then the frosting is gone. It’s hard not to draw parallels.
There one minute and gone the next.
Gently wiped away.
But the feeling lingers, doesn’t it? The tack of the frosting, all the love that transpired between you and Jeongguk. Sometimes you fear it’s permanent—not able to be wiped away with a rag run under the tap, not able to be wiped away at all. Just this burden you’re cursed to carry, because Jeongguk isn’t and can’t be yours but knowing does nothing to erase the past. Doesn’t help you forget. It’s fucked and it’s unfair, but that’s just the way it goes.
“I think I should leave,” you say, watching another scene play out in the kitchen. Jeongguk fills a cup and hands it to a different pretty girl. Everyone here is so pretty. Makes sense; so is Taehyung. Pretty people are drawn to one another like that. “Is it too soon? Will it be obvious?”
Jimin sighs, wraps you in a hug. Says, “Oh, love,” in a way that’s too sympathetic. Makes you sound too pathetic. “No one will blame you. These things are hard.”
You squeeze your eyes shut. Not that you don’t appreciate Jimin’s reassurance, but sometimes it all feels a bit silly. Weren’t you the one to walk away? Call it off? Are you allowed to mourn the very thing you destroyed?
And Jimin, bless him, is so patient with you. Asks if you need a ride home and you wave him off, remind him your parents’ place isn’t far, that the cold might do you some good. You tell him you appreciate him and his night shouldn’t be ruined on your account, and you just laugh when he tries to protest, tell him to go get himself another drink.
“Text me when you get home,” he says, voice stern, and you brush that off, too. “I’m serious. It’s late and it’s dark and anyone could be out there—”
“Maybe I should walk you home, then?”
All those articles you read about the second time you fall in love didn’t mention this. Said nothing about the way a voice will always be able to turn your world on its axis and how to right it again. Said nothing about how to coexist with ghosts. Said nothing about what to do with all the yearning and the pain and the stupid, selfish strands of hope. There are paragraphs about an overarching, general grief, but nothing about the specific one living inside of you.
The shock on Jimin’s face is reflecting your own. It’s nice to not be the only one caught off-guard and stammering over their words. It’s nice to have a friend when it feels like your entire world is on the edge of collapse. “I don’t…” he begins. Swallows thickly and turns to look at you, an obvious question biting at the back of his teeth.
You know the answer.
You know that what you should say isn’t what you want, just like you know it isn’t fair, this thing you’re doing. Because you turn to Jeongguk and say, “Are you sure?” which might as well be a yes, because you’re selfish and suspended in this liminal space and don’t want him to go home with anyone else. You don’t want him to move on.
He shrugs. “It’s on the way.”
You say okay. Let Jimin help you into your coat, hide his face in your neck as he tells you to be careful, and that stings. You’ve never had to be careful around Jeongguk before. The two of you never, ever hurt one another—until you did. The kind of hurt your heart hasn’t easily forgotten, is still stubbornly clinging to.
Your heart wants Jeongguk, always.
You want Jeongguk, always, so you let him grab your hand, link your pinkies together. You let him lead you out of the house and don’t turn back to see who might be watching. God, you want to, though. Want all those pretty girls to see that he’s leaving with you. Want them to know it’s your name that’s branded on his heart; your name beneath his skin. For once, you want someone to want what you have.
It’s strange. The two of you have been apart for eight months, and there’s a lot of things you might want to tell someone in that amount of time, but you find it hard now. Don’t know where to start, which words to use. Don’t want to say something stupid, because Jeongguk is just walking you home but you’ve assigned a lot of meaning to it, and eight months is a long time to yearn for something and finally get it.
So you say, “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” because it’s something that’s true and easy to say.
Jeongguk doesn’t answer right away. Drops your pinky so he can hold your hand properly—fully, all five fingers intertwined—and squeezes. “Is it weird for you?” he asks, and he doesn’t sound nervous. Almost sounds like he’s smiling a little, giving you shit. He sounds familiar.
“No. I don’t know. Maybe a little.” He asks why? at the same time he passes under a streetlight. Lights up golden and amber. He’s beautiful—“I don’t know. It’s just… I guess it’s just been a long time. We didn’t leave things the best.”—and no longer yours.
The Jeongguk walking beside you is not the same Jeongguk that walked out of your dorm eight months ago, tears staining his cheeks, the smell of a goodbye fuck still clinging to his clothes, his skin, sweat still dotting his hairline. This Jeongguk is sharper, more selfish with his laughter, and you wonder about all the ways heartbreak can change a person. How you’re changed for facilitating it. You wonder if Jeongguk blames you before deciding you’re too much of a coward to find out the answer.
“Was it that bad?” When you look over at him, he’s chewing on his lip ring, trying to bite back a smile. “You’ll have to remind me. I don’t remember.”
You stop walking, jerking forward when Jeongguk is left unaware and keeps going. “That’s not funny,” you say. “Jeongguk, that’s not—I did what I thought was best, okay? I thought I was doing the right thing—”
The smile drops from Jeongguk’s face. “Hey, hey, look at me,” he says, and he’s hesitant to reach out and touch you but he does it anyway. Cups your face in both hands. “I know, it’s okay. That’s just—it’s just life, right? You did what you had to do, babe. It’s okay.”
You did what you had to do, babe.
Did you?
Jeongguk is selfish with his laughter but never his affection, and knowing that feels like an albatross around your neck. You have broken him so entirely, but he’s still kind to you, finds it a worthwhile thing to be.
His eyes go to your lips. Tattooed fingers dimple your face just a little more, dig in deeper. When you dare to take him in, he looks… different. No longer amused, the way he was just seconds ago; now, there’s something dark there. Longing, anger, hunger. Jeongguk looks like he wants to swallow you whole and make you suffer; looks like he wants to cage you beneath him and worship you through the comedown.
I’d let him, you think as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. As you smell the smoke that lingers, the sweat and the alcohol. I’d still let him.
It’d be so easy to press a kiss there. To feel his skin beneath your lips: flushed, still warm from the party, not all daunted by the bitter winter wind biting at your cheeks. As you lean in further, you wonder if it’ll taste the same. You wonder how much can change in eight months and if all those old comforts change, too. If it’s something inevitable.
Jeongguk moves his hands to your waist. Crawls his fingertips beneath your jacket and finds bare skin. Sucks in the smallest bit of air, and you would’ve missed it had it been any other time, but winter is always quiet and subdued. Always smells transitional, something dangerously close to hope and redemption.
And eight months is a long time to miss the feel of someone’s lips, isn’t it, so you think you can be excused for reaching for something you thought you’d never have again.
The first kiss is hesitant, testing; pressed to the spot just beneath his ear. Maybe you don’t know this Jeongguk, but you know the version of him you used to love—the one you still do—and you know the way he’ll sigh. You know the way his hands will grip tighter. You can still hear it, the way you used to kiss him there and he’d say, don’t start something you can’t finish, baby, and the way you’d laugh and always, always finish it. Can still feel the warmth that used to bloom in your chest. The love.
Jeongguk won’t say that now, you know. Wonder if it’d sound more like don’t start something you already finished if he did. He huffs a small laugh, more an exhale than anything, and asks, “What are you doing?”
And you answer, “I don’t know,” because it’s honest. You admit, “I guess I just miss you,” because it’s true.
A war wages within Jeongguk. You can see the storms, the white flags that are close to being thrown out. Can see the way his gaze flits between your lips and your eyes. What he’s looking for, you don’t know, but the storm rages on. And just like real life, just when you think it’s at its worst, there’s a break in the clouds: a tangible beam of silvery-warm light when Jeongguk tangles his hands in your hair, thumbs at the hinge of your jaw. Jeongguk tilts your head back and looks ethereal in the amber glow of the streetlights.
He says, “We shouldn’t,” and you nod, because you know and the anguish on his face is surely mirrored on yours, but when he follows it with, “let me take you home, let me take care of you,” you find it impossible to care.
You nod.
Everything is amber.
Eight months is a long time to go without the way Jeongguk kisses you: intentionally, demandingly, insatiably. He still tastes the same. Tastes like the first time you’d ever dared to kiss him, back at that party freshman year, tongue flavored with cheap liquor. Jeongguk tastes forbidden and feels like coming home.
You couldn’t say how you make it to Jeongguk’s apartment, but the way you stumble over the threshold feels familiar. The way the door is barely locked when Jeongguk crowds your space; picks you up, wraps your legs around his waist, presses you against it, hips moving on their own accord, rutting, all those little sounds spilling from his lips—everything is familiar. This is not just a practiced song and dance but something memorized. Something instinctual. You could be apart from Jeongguk for years instead of months and your body would still know what to do.
He carries you to his bedroom and you don’t think about who else has been between his sheets, because he puts you down so gently. Kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck—all gentle, powder-soft. Sounds like spring when you paw at the velvety cashmere of his sweater, pull it over his head, and he sighs. Feels like he’s breathing fresh life into something he shouldn’t, something long dead, but then you skim along his warm skin and your world is reduced to the way it feels like silk beneath your fingertips.
“I still love you,” Jeongguk whispers against your mouth, his inked fingers toying with the button on your jeans. Pops it open, pulls the denim down your thighs. Doesn’t bother pulling them off, only goes as far as your knees. And it’s uncomfortable, the way it’s bunched there, but the way Jeongguk says, “Fuck, missed you so much,” is so sweet.
Everything happens too fast.
Jeongguk leaves your shirt on. Drags it up and over your breasts and kisses at the newly-exposed skin. Sinks his teeth in, lets it hurt for a second before he laves over the marks. Settles between your legs and coaxes an orgasm out of you with his mouth and his fingers. Speaks his praise into the juncture of your thigh, breathless as he touches himself, strokes his cock with the wetness lingering on his fingers. Looks so, so pretty when he sits back on his haunches and says, “Just wanna look at you,” and makes it sound wistful and longing.
Makes it sound like it means something.
He’s still touching himself, still slicking himself up. There’s a split second where he goes to move and thinks better of it. Looks to the side before looking back at you. The storm kicks up again. “Have—” he begins before he swallows thickly. Dares to look hopeful, even through the squall. “Have you been with anyone else? Since…?”
You haven’t. Tried to, once—another stupid party, more cheap liquor passed to your mouth from someone else’s, but it hadn’t gone anywhere. They hadn’t tasted like Jeongguk; hadn’t felt the same. Two puzzle pieces that fit together all wrong.
Jeongguk has, though. Something you’d heard from a friend of a friend that you weren’t meant to. They’d called it a rebound, and it had bloomed so many ugly thoughts in your head. Five months had passed. Jeongguk was fucking someone else in his bed while you were in yours, torturing yourself over whether or not to tell him happy birthday. Whether it was allowed to or not, it’d stung.
(You had. You’d reworded the text a million times, plucked up all the courage you could find before you sent it. It’d gone unanswered, just like you expected it would, and you thought it was because Jeongguk didn’t want to talk to you. Thought you were digging your fingers into wounds that had yet to heal, so it’d stung but you understood.
But Jeongguk hadn’t answered because he was fucking someone else. Had someone else’s taste on his tongue; was panting someone else’s name into the dark. The embarrassment had been the worst part.)
Still does, if you’re being honest with yourself, so you lie. “I—yeah,” you answer. “Just one.”
Looks like it stings Jeongguk, too. “Right,” he responds, blinking back tears, and he’s got a lot of nerve, you think. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just—a condom. Are you…”
“Jeongguk—”
“Are you sure? Maybe this isn’t…” He huffs. Drops the condom on the bed, hangs his head. “What are we doing?”
You stare up at the ceiling. Nothing up there but the swirls in the plaster. “I don’t know,” you admit. “Hurting each other, probably.”
Jeongguk walks his fingers down your thigh. Grips at your skin, wants it to bruise. Wants you to have something to remember him by come morning. “Sometimes I’m really mad at you, you know?”
“Yeah, trust me, I know.”
He nods. Refuses to look you in the eye now that you’re watching him. “I still love you so fucking much and I’m still so angry. What am I supposed to do with that? What am I… fuck, I thought I was over it. I thought I’d see you and not feel a fucking thing.” There’s fresh ink on the back of his left hand. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but you notice it now, when he runs his hands down his face.
You also notice the way the atmosphere shifts, the split second in which his heartache bleeds into something else—resolve, maybe. Obstinacy. Like he knows how this is going to end and he’s going to do it anyway. He’s going to find the most painful part and press on it, dig his fingers in, and it’s just an inevitable, foregone thing. Something he can prevent and something he’s choosing not to.
“You fucked someone else,” he sneers. Rips the foil open with his teeth, flashing too white in the dark of his bedroom. Rolls the condom on like it’s an inconvenience. Like you’re an inconvenience. “Was it good? Was it worth it?”
You roll your eyes. Feel the way your breath catches in your throat, because you’re not going to cry. Jeongguk fucked someone else and is vilifying you and it’s hypocritical and ugly and unfair, but you’re not going to cry over it. You’re going to press the gas pedal as far as it can go, say, “Yeah, it was,” and find some wicked delight in the way his eyes squeeze shut, as if it can spare him from the pain.
The two of you used to love each other. Jeongguk used to smile down at you when you were naked beneath him like this. Used to lean in close and whisper that he loved you just as he pushed inside even though you knew, you could feel it in everything he did. Now, there’s no smile. Now, he leans down and spits on your pussy and pushes inside and doesn’t tell you a goddamn thing.
Not with words, anyway.
Because the way he fucks you says it all. Impersonal, desperate, bitter. He grips your hips and fucks into you frenzied and fast. Takes your hand and puts it on your clit and tells you to get yourself off. An inconvenience. Tells you he misses your tight cunt, tells you he misses the way it milks his cock, tells you he misses watching the way you come undone underneath him, but he doesn’t tell you he misses you.
There’s a moment, just after he spills into the condom and stays inside, just catching his breath, when you think he might say it. Might tell you he loves you around the lump in his throat, might apologize, might ask if you two can’t figure it out.
There’s only a moment.
Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Lets the moment pass. Pulls out and ties off the condom and wordlessly gets up to throw it away. It’s the silence that pisses you off. The disregard. Jeongguk hates you for something you’d lied about doing that he’d done for real, so you can be wordless, too. You can treat him like an inconvenient, cheap fuck, too. You can get up and find your clothes and pull them on and let him watch, words biting at the back of his teeth, and you can tell yourself to feel nothing.
You can say, “You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” and not shy away from the resentment in your voice, because it’s properly placed. “You fucked someone else, too, so you’ve got a lot of fucking nerve, Jeongguk.”
Eight months is a long time to miss someone, to play at daydreams. To think of all the things you want to say, the things you’ll do. In not one of them did you think about this: you, fully dressed and stinking of sex, saying, “It’s late. I’ll show myself out.”
Jeongguk, tears glistening on his cheeks, saying, “No, let me—baby, I’m sorry, please—I’ll drive you.”
A shake of your head. Jeongguk doesn’t push it.
Roll credits.
[ the second. ] Jimin wants to talk your ear off about it—the girl you’re seeing.
It’s new and there isn’t much to say. You tell him the two of you met at one of the student showcases put on by the art department and leave off the part about all of Jeongguk’s old friends being there, that he would’ve participated, too, if he hadn’t dropped out after you broke his heart. Leave off the part where you would’ve been there to support him instead, in another life. Leave off the part where it’d just been morbid curiosity: you, not an art student, wandering those halls to see if Jeongguk’s photographs were still framed on the wall.
“Is she nice?” Jimin asks, head nearly knocking into yours as someone shoves by him. “Fucking asshole.”
You nod. “Why would I date someone that wasn’t nice?”
Jimin, perpetually unbothered until he decidedly isn’t, sends you a look that he hides behind the rim of his cup. “Because you’re in your self-destruction era and aren’t thinking clearly.”
“The fuck does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said. You know I’m happy if you’re happy, but…” He pauses as he trails off. Tries to wrap his words in something delicate. “It’s pretty clear you still aren’t over it. That’s all.”
You snort. “That’s all?” you repeat, like it’s some small thing. Like it’s normal and fine.
“I’m sure it’s easier to pretend when the two of you are thousands of miles apart,” Jimin amends, and he must see how you bristle, stung by the callout, because his eyes soften. “Tell me about her.”
She’s beautiful and kind and smart. Smokes clove cigarettes and the smell is always clinging to her skin. You know how to make her come but don’t know what she’s majoring in—fashion, you think, because she’s always holding fabric swatches against your skin. Tells you what suits you and what doesn’t. Tells you which textures don’t work, what’s too warm, and she doesn’t need to tell you what’s too cold because you already know it’s you.
She’s beautiful and kind and smart and has no idea you’re still in love with someone else.
But you can’t tell Jimin that, can you? Can’t tell him about how she’d dragged you to a private corner in the gallery and kissed you breathless; the way she made you come on her fingers; the way Jeongguk’s name nearly slipped out of your mouth as you shook. Can’t tell him that she’s got arms full of art. Delicate patchwork; nothing like the harsh, bold colors inked into Jeongguk’s skin, but it feels the same to trace the lines.
You can’t tell him much of anything, so what you settle on is, “She’s nice—good for me,” and it doesn’t sound convincing to either of you.
Jimin doesn’t call you on it, though. Not again. Instead, he keeps his gaze steady, staring into the fire, the flames dancing wildly when you meet his eye. “You need to be careful,” he says. “You’re going to hurt her, too. Maybe worse than you hurt him.”
“Jimin—”
“Just be careful,” he reiterates, and all you can do is nod. What else is there to do besides wait for the inevitable crash and burn?
And it’s a little unfair, you think, that Taehyung grows older every single year. A little unfair that guilt won’t let you decline the invitations. A little unfair that you can still pick Jeongguk’s laughter out of a crowd. A little unfair that these hometown friends-turned-acquaintances still throw sideways glances whenever someone else touches him, as if he still has someone to answer to; as if they’re expecting something.
An hour. You’ve survived an hour longer than you did last year, and it’s not much but you’re still proud of yourself. You’ve had a drink, talked to someone other than Jimin. Managed to ignore the way Jeongguk is ignoring you; the way he immediately leaves a room as soon as you enter. Maybe it’s better like this, you reckon. Maybe it’s what you need.
An hour is long enough. Jimin doesn’t comment on the way your bones crack when you stand to leave. No one needs a reminder of growing older. He doesn’t ask if you’ll be okay, either; if you need a ride home. Instead, he stays quiet as he studies you, clearly wondering if lightning strikes twice. If you’re going to be able to walk past Jeongguk and out the door without making another mistake.
You can at least make it across Taehyung’s sprawling yard and to the house. You can dodge the sweat-slick bodies and the girls sitting in laps. You can toss your empty cup in an overflowing trash can. You can pretend the eyes on your back are well-intentioned.
You can make it to the bathroom.
Annoying, the way your phone has been vibrating all night only to disappoint you. Irrational. You scroll past the emoji-laden messages, the coy flirting, because they’re from the person you’re actually dating—the person you told you were going to sleep early—and not from Jeongguk. You should feel guilty. You should feel guilty, but the face staring back at you in the mirror doesn’t look guilty at all.
She looks tired. A little beat-down, but that’s life.
Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve spent the last two years of your life chasing after ghosts.
A knock at the door startles you. Sends your phone tumbling to the floor, screen probably cracked to hell, and you swear under your breath. “Just a minute!” you call out, a little stunned from how threadbare you feel all of a sudden.
Still, the knocking continues, and you’re on your knees on this bathroom floor and all you want to do is cry. You don’t want to be on this floor in this house. You don’t want to keep putting in the effort of maintaining the facades of all these friendships. You don’t want to keep coming back to this town, don’t want to keep being confronted with the harsh reality of all your mistakes.
“Just a fucking min—”
The words die on your tongue, because there Jeongguk stands, all the air in your lungs dissipating at the amount of space he takes up. Even worse when he steps inside and locks the door behind him. You feel like you’re going to drown. You feel like you’re going to scream or cry or both, and you’re still on the floor, still on your knees, and it feels too much like penance when you look up at him. Feels like you’re groveling, praying for forgiveness.
You stand quickly, ignoring the rush of blood to your head, the way your legs tingle. Jeongguk still hasn’t said a word, doesn’t seem like that’s going to change, either, and it’s really all you can do to stay on your feet when everything in you is screaming to collapse.
Eventually, he says, “You’re seeing someone,” and it isn’t a question, not really, but it borders on one. It’s a question and a confirmation and somehow sounds a lot like he’s asking for permission for something.
“I—yeah.” You swallow. “It’s new.”
He hums. Steps a little closer. Leans against the sink. Darts out his tongue to swipe at his bottom lip before he tugs his lip ring between his teeth. “Yeah? Does he treat you well?”
“She,” you correct, and there’s a flash of something in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Jeongguk, at one point, had known everything about you, but not this. “And yeah,” you add on, barely a whisper, “she does.”
Part of you feels embarrassed. Jeongguk had known everything about you but not this, and you shouldn’t feel embarrassed or guilty but it still sits there in the middle of your chest. Feels like you’ve been keeping secrets. Feels like shame, even though you aren’t ashamed. Feels like you’re awaiting judgment. But the surprise in Jeongguk’s eyes disappears and something else settles in its place—uncertainty, if you had to guess.
“Are you happy with her?”
You shrug. “Like I said, it’s new.”
And Jeongguk is as emulous as ever, because he asks, “Does it feel like what we had?” and you already know the answer is no.
“I’m not sure anything will.”
It’s honest; you hadn’t said it to appease him, but he looks pleased anyway. You’re starting to understand why so many people write about their first love. Why it’s such a powerful role to fill. Because you and Jeongguk are standing in a bathroom behind a locked door, feet apart from one another, and you think, I don’t think there’s anyone I will ever love more than him even though it’s been two years. You think, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this.
You think, I would try over and over and over again if he asked me to.
Later on, when you’re alone in your childhood bed and your face is streaked with tears, only your shame and guilt for company, you won’t be able to figure out who moved first, but one of you had.
Once upon a time, you had known everything about Jeongguk, too. You could recite his taste from memory, but it’s different this time. He licks into your mouth and it tastes like ash—nothing like the clove cigarettes your girlfriend smokes, but close enough that the parallel burns like acid in your throat. It’s close enough that you can keep your eyes shut and pretend again.
This time there’s no softness to be found. There’s just Jeongguk’s mouth pressed to yours, barely letting you breathe, not wanting anyone to hear. There’s just the sink digging into your back. Jeongguk’s hands gripping at your waist, pulling at the hem of your skirt. There’s the frustration and desperation of two people who love each other but will never, ever get it right.
There’s Jeongguk asking, as he spits into his hand and slicks you up, if you’re going to tell her.
There’s you, already too far gone, saying you don’t know.
There’s Jeongguk asking, as you’re clenching around him and dragging him with you to the edge, if you’d come back to him if he asked you to.
There’s you, already knowing the answer to this, too, saying you would.
But this isn’t that and Jeongguk doesn’t ask. When it’s over, he tosses the condom and does a half-assed job of helping you clean up and he doesn’t ask. He splashes water on his face and fixes his hair and he doesn’t ask. He tucks his cock back into his briefs and zips his jeans and he doesn’t ask.
Jeongguk has one hand on the doorknob and he doesn’t ask you to come back. Instead, he asks, “How long are you gonna keep doing this?”
For once, you don’t have an answer.
[ the third. ] You go even farther away for grad school.
You try to put more distance between you and Jeongguk, more distance between you and all the skeletons in your closet, but you just pack them up in different boxes and bring them with you.
You spend New Year’s Eve chain-smoking in your parents’ back yard—that same brand of clove cigarettes, because hearts are easy to break but some habits are not. Sometimes it’s a comfort to hurt yourself in the same way you hurt others, so you chain-smoke and you don’t go to to Taehyung’s birthday party because you weren’t invited and it doesn’t sting in the same way that it doesn’t sting that Jimin doesn’t call you once you’re home because he hasn’t spoken to you in a year.
The clock ticks down to midnight. Someone sets off fireworks. Absolutely nothing changes.
There are no half-baked resolutions. There’s no hope that this is going to be the year you get your shit together. There’s just you and the bed you’ve made for yourself; the autopilot you can’t—won’t—turn off, because you don’t know where you’re going anyway so you might as well just go wherever it’s taking you. There’s guilt and there’s shame and there’s baggage, but they’re all old friends. Those are old scars.
The sweatshirt you’re wearing doesn’t belong to you, and it does little to protect you from the bitter cold that bites at your skin. Jeongguk doesn’t belong to you, either, but he keeps coming back to you like he does.
“Mind if I sit down?”
You shrug, gesturing to the empty chair beside you. The small fire you’d built is down to its last embers, and it’s what you focus on, because you can’t focus on Jeongguk anymore.
“You weren’t at Tae’s.”
“Wasn’t invited.”
“Oh,” he breathes. “Sorry, I didn’t know. I would’ve—”
“It’s fine. I wouldn’t have gone anyway.”
He seems to hear what you don’t say. I wouldn’t have gone because I can’t be around you anymore. I wouldn’t have gone because I don’t trust myself with you. I wouldn’t have gone because I’ve burned down every good thing in my life trying to keep you. “Oh. Yeah, that—that makes sense.”
He’d texted you. Asked if he could see you. Just wanted to talk, and you’ve never cared much for symbolism, but nearing midnight on New Year’s Eve had seemed as good a time as any to let it go, so you’d said yes. Now, when there isn’t much to say, all of Jeongguk’s flimsy excuses are laid bare. Transparent.
“Was Jimin there?”
Jeongguk nods. “You didn’t know?”
You shake your head. Feels like it’s made of concrete. “No. We haven’t talked since last winter break.”
“Because of—”
How cruel, that you’d confessed to Jimin instead of the one person who deserved to know. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
You shrug again. “It’s okay. I don’t think it’s permanent, just until I can get my shit together, I guess. Wasn’t fair to drag him into my mess anyway.”
“It’s not that easy,” Jeongguk says, and it sounds like something he wants to be true. It sounds like something he’s said countless times in defense of himself. “We’d—I’d do it if I could.”
“Yeah,” you agree, “of course.”
Silence creeps up again, so you dig another cigarette out of the pack and offer one to Jeongguk that he waves away. “Cloves? That’s a weird choice.”
“Just something I picked up along the way.”
He hears you again: They’re what she used to smoke. It helps me heal to hurt myself with something that reminds me of her. Sometimes I chain-smoke clove cigarettes and I don’t wash the smell from my hands, my clothes, my hair, because it makes me feel less alone.
So he asks, “Was it real?”
“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, flicking the wheel of your lighter, words spoken around the cigarette stuck between your lips. “It never had a chance. Not a real one, anyway.”
“Do your parents know?”
“Know what? That I went away to college and started fucking women?” Jeongguk shrugs. Has the audacity to look embarrassed. “What are you trying to ask me? You wanna know if I keep coming back to you because I’m scared to come out to my parents?”
“No. I don’t know. I just—”
The laugh that escapes you is scorched and bitter. Sounds the way the tobacco tastes. “No, Jeongguk. I keep coming back to you because I keep hoping you’ll ask me to.” I keep hoping you still want me.
“I almost did,” he admits, and you can hear how he swallows around the lump in his throat. “The first time.”
“When you were a dick about me sleeping with someone else? Yeah, okay. You didn’t want me back, you just didn’t want me to be with anyone else.”
He huffs. “How the fuck do you know what I want? You’ve never bothered to ask.”
“Because it doesn’t matter,” comes your response, stilted and practiced. “It doesn’t matter what we want, because we’re just going to keep hurting one another trying to get it right.” You suck in a breath, wipe furiously at the tears on your cheeks. “And we’re never going to.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Then ask.” Jeongguk startles, looks at you with wide eyes. “Ask me to come back for real, Jeongguk, and I will.”
A beat of silence.
Two, three, four.
Someone sets off another round of fireworks. A dog barks. It’s so cold that you can see Jeongguk’s breath each time he exhales, each time he breathes out instead of speaking. All the words he isn’t saying. And it’s exactly how you knew it would go, but it does nothing to tamp down the devastation in your chest.
You’d confessed your transgressions to Jimin and thought your silence to your ex-girlfriend was a gift, that it was sparing her the pain of what you’d done. Now you understand that someone’s silence can be the most vicious thing of all.
[ the last. ] Graduation looms. It’s the last winter break you’re spending at home.
Your therapist suspects you get your compartmentalism from your parents.
They don’t mention it. They see the stack of boxes and your bare bedroom walls and they don’t say a word about any of it. They watch you pack everything in your car and don’t offer to help. They process their grief silently, and when you can’t stand it anymore, you say, “I dated a woman my senior year of undergrad, you know.”
They don’t say anything to that, either, but it feels good to tell them. Feels a little like freedom and reclamation, like you can be who you are in front of others.
When you leave for good, you don’t want to repackage all those same skeletons.
So you meet Jimin for lunch and you take it in stride that everything is weird, that there’s nearly two years of silence to fill. You don’t ask for forgiveness and he doesn’t demand it of you, just asks if you’re doing better. “I’m doing the best I can,” you answer, and it’s human and honest enough that he accepts it with a warm smile.
Jeongguk is more difficult.
There’s no way to neatly box up that kind of baggage.
You’d intended to stop by his apartment to talk, tell him you aren’t coming back anymore. There’s nothing left here for you, you’d told him, and there was a flash of something. A there’s me, isn’t there? that had gone unsaid, destined for the same fate as a million other unspoken words between you.
Because there is him, but there’s also the way you’re desperately trying to claw back into something resembling normalcy. You’d lost yourself when you also lost Jeongguk, and you need to figure out who you are without him. You need to know who you are once you stop running and let your demons catch up with you. You need to hear what they have to say.
Maybe Jeongguk had said it best last year—“It’s not that easy. I’d do it if I could.”—because you’re nothing if not predictable and self-destructive.
You’re nothing if not naked and on your back beneath him, your fingers threaded through his hair as he rocks his hips into you, more tender than you deserve. His lips are ghosting along your skin and every press feels like a brand. Feels like he’s both making a mockery of you and declaring you ruined for anyone who might come after him. Feels like you’ll love him until you die.
(Some version of you must exist outside of Jeongguk’s grasp—outside of his orbit, his bed—but right now, as he twines your fingers together and pins them above your head, you can’t figure out who she might be.)
Eight months had been a long time to think of all the things you wanted to say, and four years is worse. Four years, and you still can’t bring yourself to ask him to try again, but there’s nothing after this, nothing to lose, so your voice is hoarse and raw when you say, “Jeongguk,” and he groans a little, nips at the column of your throat because he loves the way you say his name. “Jeongguk,” you repeat, because he senses the urgency, hears what you aren’t saying.
“Yeah, baby, say it. Whatever it is, tell me.”
He rolls his hips faster. Before, he would’ve tried to prolong the ending, but he’s hurtling towards it now. There’s nothing after this, you know, but you need the confirmation. You need to finally put all of this to rest. “I want to—” His cock strokes someplace that whites out your vision. “Fuck, want to—want you to come with me.”
He laughs, full of himself, probably smirking out the side of his mouth. “Keep squeezing me like that and I will soon.”
“No,” you insist, shocked at the conviction in your voice, “when I leave. Come with me.”
Everything slows. Jeongguk pulls back, moves his hands to cover himself, and there’s nothing but cold confusion in his absence. “What?”
“I didn’t ask you before. Last year. I just—I left it up to you, and you’re right, I didn’t ask what you wanted, but I didn’t tell you what I wanted, either. But I’m telling you now. I’m asking—”
There was never going to be anything after this.
Jeongguk’s silence says it all.
The way he pulls out and rolls you onto your stomach. The way he fucks as fast and as hard as he can. The way he used to love you openly and honestly and now holds whatever’s left close to his chest like it’s something to be ashamed of.
Someone’s silence can always be the most vicious thing of all.
Roll credits.
thank you so much for reading, and an additional thank you in advance if you decide to reblog my work. as always, my inbox is always open for any feedback! ♡
#jungkook x reader#jungkook x you#jungkook x y/n#jungkook imagine#jungkook angst#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#bts x reader#bts x you#bts angst#bts smut#bts scenarios#bts imagines#bts fanfic
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Because I was leaving comments on @jayjay-thejet-plane's work over on AO3 (when it let me stay logged in, JFC) I remembered the horrific experience of getting my tongue pierced back in the 90s and how I passed out afterwards, which I said would make a funny Meet Ugly. Referring to Tattoo artist Bradley because we need ALL the AUs.
TW: Blood.
“How do you feel about having Mikey do it? He’s new to piercing but he’s one of our experienced tattoo artists.”
“Got to learn somehow I guess right?” Jake asks.
“Thanks man, appreciate it,” a guy, obviously Mikey, says, reaching out for a fist bump and Jake obliges, throws a grin over his shoulder to Javy who had bet him good money that he couldn’t and wouldn’t get his tongue pierced. Javy is in fact paying for the privilege of Jake getting his first piercing. He’s walked through the procedure, shown the instruments and he listens intently, tries to ignore the needle and clamp. Then there are the aftercare instructions and what he does and doesn’t need to do to keep it from getting infected. Okay. It’s not rocket science. He can do this.
He’s never had anything pierced before, isn’t quite sure what it’s meant to feel like and he can’t really ask with his mouth wide open like it is, tongue pinched in the clamp and it reminds him vaguely of the dentist, when they ask you a question and you try and answer while your mouth is stretched open. Then there’s a count of three and blindingly hot pain and a flood of wetness in his mouth and he looks up to see Mikey looking at him wide-eyed. Then the hot pressure in his tongue is gone and he feels a little light headed, reaches up to wipe his chin where he can feel the wetness dribbling out of his mouth and when he sees blood the light-headedness intensifies and he swallows, tasting nothing but the sharp tang of his own blood and then his world fades to black.
“I got him.”
“Jesus that’s a lot of blood…”
“Go! Get Bradley!”
“Rooster!”
Jake wonders woozily why they need a barnyard animal, if maybe the blood loss will help in some type of ritual. His grandma was always warning him about shit like that.
He hears the heavy approach of boots, but his eyes feel heavy, can’t open and focus and at least the chair he’s in is comfortable.
“Holy shit, it looks like a murder scene in here. What did you do?”
“Uh…”
There’s movement and rustling noises and he can feel hands on his face, then a damp cloth and he presses into the hand cupping his jaw. It’s nice and cool against the heated skin of his face and he hums appreciatively.
“Mikey…”
“Slipped and went through the transverse muscle on a diagonal.”
“So not vertical.”
“Nope.”
“Well fuck…”
Jake forces his eyes open and looks up, his vision a little blurry, but there’s a guy standing in front of him and the first thing he notices is the moustache, tries to reach up to pat it but the guy pulls away and Jake thinks he’s frowning.
“Looks fuzzy…”
“Is he on something?” the guy with the moustache asks.
“No…” Javy answers for him.
“Okay…”
“It’s a caterpillar… fuzzy.”
There’s a few snorts or what Jake thinks might be amusement, he’s starting to feel a bit more normal and the hand is still on his face and he looks to it, notices the tattoos. His eyes are now able to focus, and his gaze travels up the arm, it’s nicely muscled and notes the black tank with the bronco logo, the mosquito caught in amber on a chain around the guys neck and oh, the arm is attached to the guy with the moustache.
“Hi…”
“Hi there gorgeous. You back with us?”
Jake nods, feels the hand flex a little on his face and he nods slowly.
“Now, you want to try again?”
Jake nods, and this time he’s sat up first, given some water to rinse out his mouth before settling back again, somehow less nervous. Moustache guy has introduced himself as Bradley, and Mikey hasn’t stopped apologising for the slip, and Jake doesn’t care, can’t really focus on much more than Bradley’s intense gaze on him as he reopens new packets of sanitised equipment.
It goes much better this time around, not painful, well, not compared to the first time. Then Bradley’s removing his fingers from his mouth and Jake swallows, wonders if intense eye contact is part of the tongue piercing package.
“Want to get an ice cream? I know a place. Be good for your tongue.”
“Yeah? That your professional opinion?” Jake asks, and it feels weird, the metal bar knocking around in his mouth, tongue definitely feeling tender and swollen.
“Sure is. And I should stay with you. Just in case you pass out again.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to stop you from doing your due diligence.”
Bradley gives him a slow smirk and yeah, Jake thinks he’s going to like him.
#Hangster#Sereshaw#Top Gun Maverick AU#snippet#why yes this was written on company time now that you ask
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me and suguru me and suguru me and suguru... mm maybe it's a few days after our first kiss (which isn't even a proper kiss btw i'll talk abt that soon too dw) and the air between us is just a little weird bc neither of us has yet to bring it up....
and now we haven't seen each other for the whole day too bc we both had stuff to do but. we have this Event in the evening and we're both supposed to attend alongside with satoru and shoko...
suguru's the last to arrive and by that time all three of us are a little tipsy already, laughing loudly at one of the tables together. he sees me throwing my head back, cackling at one of satoru's stupid jokes and suguru pokes the side of his cheek with his tongue. he hasn't seen me in a dress. ever. and now he's forced to take all of that in with the side of me boosting satoru's ego by going along with everything he says.
when he finally joins the table, his hand rests on the backrest of mine, his body towering over me as he teases satoru over smth aaand when i tilt my head back to look at him he glances at me and i die. thank you for listening to my tedtalk. no but yeah i blush and just try to keep my composure bc that shit is embarrassing as fuck he should not be having such an effect on me jfc.
he sits way too close to me too. mind you, we haven't talked properly in like two days. his hand stays behind my back for the rest of the night, his thigh bumping against mine as he manspreads on his seat (😒😒) but the second he sees me roll my shoulders and squeeze my eyes shut, the first signs of me getting tired, he leans closer to, his lips brushing against my ear. "want to go outside, hm?"
shoko gives me an awfully Knowing smirk but i go with him anyway (obviously).
(his hand stays glued to my lower back for the entire time he guides me through the crowd.)
i rest against the wall of the building and he stands in front of me, a few strands of his hair falling from their slicked back place as he places a cig between his lips. he lights it while keeping eye-contact. he's got that grin on his face. i hate it (he looks so fucking good).
he takes a step, now standing tall and proud right there in my own personal space. he's way too close. but it's not like i'd ever push him away. so he stays; inhales the smoke and then exhales it to the side. and then he's raising his hand to me and places the stick between my lips without a word. he watches how i breathe it in in slow motion. he can smell my perfume. i blow the smoke in his face and all he does is stare at me with that look on his face.
"you gonna kiss me again?"
"you want me to?"
i want to punch him.
"oh, fuck off."
he hums, his eyes flicking to my lips when he sees the corners twitching, an annoyed smile threatening to break out.
"you look really pretty... " his words trail off, his eyes heavy as they meet mine.
"yeah?"
"yeah... " his fingertips dance on my waist, treading on thin ice, on the thin fabric of my dress and i just wish i could crack open his head and see what he's thinking about. i swear he's even closer now; i can hear him taking in another puff of the cigarette and i can feel the warmth of his body against mine. i can feel his thigh pressing against mine. "i missed you, you know?"
okay, so i really want to punch him.
"and who's fault is that, hm?"
his grin stretches wider. he likes it when i push back, talk back. fight back. it makes this little game of his even more fun.
but before he can trap me with his sweet, honeyed words, the door slams open and out stumble shoko and satoru, their arms locked as they talk way too loudly. i turn to look at them, suguru doesn't. inhale.
he hums to himself again as he holds back on the urge to push my hair behind my shoulder to expose even more of my skin, his teeth itching at the mere thought.
exhale.
#ari you're fucking INSANE to bring up s*guru under that dress post hooooly fuck..#this is all your fault#but yeah..#he's#yeah.#anyway everybody say hello to THE most self indulgent piece ever i can't believe i actually wrote something using “i” instead of “you” lmao#WHATEVERRR OKAY I WANTED TO LET THIS OUTTT OKAYY#i'm so sleepy though so idk if it makes like ANY sense lmao#whaaateverrrr#misu my beloathed#i love him sm actually it makes me sick#i think we'd make a good couple:3#and he think we'd make an excellent couple:3#misu#mickey is daydreaming
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Not to be all size kink about it but
Seeing your monster's cock for the first time and it's too big??? You're sure it's too big. They warned you it might be too big. "Humans are often a little scared of it" they told you, "It truly may not fit." They even assured you that they would be okay with it if you could never ride them, that there were so many other things you could do together. You still insist on trying. At the very least, you want to see it. They've been playing with you for weeks, but you've never even gotten to see their cock.
So when you see it for the first time and your eyes go wide and your mouth falls open in surprise because their warnings could not have prepared you for this, they're like "really, I totally understand if it's too much" and when your brain comes back online you just laugh at them.
"It may take some time," You admit, "You might have to be patient."
And they try to just casually be like "No worries, I can do that. And if it doesn't work, no big deal." Except you can see the way they twitch when you say it and you know they're fucking thrilled that you're even just willing to try.
So now you're straddling their hips, the head of their cock pressing against your entrance, and you're pressing downward so very slowly, half out of necessity (because jfc youre gonna have to take your time here) and half to tease them, and just the head alone is so filling. It hurts a little but you really, really don't mind.
Beneath you, your monster is panting. You can feel how hard they're fighting to control themselves by how tightly they're gripping your hips. A small part of your brain is worried they're going to manage to break something because they're just so damn strong, but it's a very, very small part and easily ignored.
You're sliding down their length in tiny increments, barely managing a quarter if an inch at a time before you have to stop and let your body adjust, try to relax more. You keep trying to spread your legs wider, as if it might help. Each of your movements makes your monster's cock twitch within you, making your own body clench tighter around them, making them moan and making you whimper. You're so lost in the feeling of being filled and stretched as your body struggles to accommodate them, and in the thoughts of how it will feel when they begin to move and how it will feel when they're fucking into you with wild abandon while you desperately cling to both them and your sanity. You're so lost in all of it that you barely notice when, what might actually be hours later, they're fully seated within you, your hips flush with theirs. You're fighting to catch your breath and wondering, not entirely as a joke, if their cock might be pressing against your lungs.
You're pretty sure you could stay like that forever. You almost think you should because surely if this gets any more intense you might simply die.
But they're whining up at you. Their eyes are nearly black with lust, their lips parted, panting, the sharp points of their teeth just barely visible. They're beautiful like this.
Their hands are fisted in the blankets to either side of your bent legs. You don't remember those hands leaving your hips but when you look down to see where your bodies meet, there are already fingerprint bruises blooming across your skin, even pinpricks of blood where they couldn't keep their claws from digging in, just a little. Your own hands are braced against their stomach. There are shallow divots in the skin there from your nails, but no bruises and no blood.
Your thighs are already sore and tired from controlling your speed, but you manage to ignore it, rising halfway up their length before sinking back down. Have you ever been this wet? Has your core ever felt so tightly wound? That one half-thrust is enough to send you so close to orgasm you're almost afraid to move again.
They ask you if you're all right. You look utterly debauched. Your skin is blotchy with heat and arousal, your breathing is loud, almost gasping, your lips swollen and red from your own teeth digging into them as you worked them inside of you, your own eyes so hazy with lust your monster isn't sure you can actually see them.
You nod. And you giggle, which is unlike you. And you rock your hips again, an even shallower thrust. And the groan they let out tells you just how badly you're teasing them, just how desperate they are to move. That they are controlling themselves for you is so sweet. And it sends your arousal even higher, because you can't help but think about what they might do to you if that control snaps.
They're beautiful like this.
A third time, you move your hips. This time, you lift yourself off of them entirely with an obscene popping sound. You've heard people describe feeling empty before, but you're not sure you've ever truly felt that way until now. You're twitching, desperate to sink back down, and you see no reason to wait.
With one hand, you line them up with your entrance again. They feel good in your grip. That surprises you, you've never been particularly drawn to using only your hands on someone, but now you're half distracted by exploring their cock with your fingertips, tracing each dip and ridge. Their eyes have slipped closed, and a wrinkle has formed along their forehead from concentration and pleasure.
Your monster says please. And you're surprised, because usually you're the one begging. For a split second, the power goes to your head, and you seriously consider saying no. But you want it just as bad as they do.
With a devious smile they can't see, you slip down their length as quickly as you can manage, crying out with a noise you'd be embarrassed to be making if you could think that far. It's not that quick, but it has the desire effect. Their hands find your hips again, squeezing painfully before tearing themselves away, one returning to the blanket the other pressing flat against your back, nearly sending you crashing down against their chest before you catch yourself. You're leaning over them now, hands braced on the bed to either side of them, and when you open your eyes, they're looking up at you in a way that makes you dizzy.
You try to move again but you're shaking too hard.
"Fuck me." You demand. Usually if you were to demand something, your monster would laugh, would tell you you need to learn to ask nicely, would make you beg on your hands and knees if that's what they were in the mood for. How many times have you begged for their mouth or their fingers? How many times have you begged them for pleasure and pain?
They don't say anything of the sort this time. They move.
Their hands are suddenly on your thighs, digging into your flesh as they begin to move you. You find yourself thrust back and forth on their cock, your movements controlled entirely by their hands. They are not gentle. Each time they pull you up, their cock nearly slips out of you. Each time they pull you back down, your body slams against theirs. And they have set a punishing pace.
You squirm, instinctively wanting to get away from the pain of being stretched open so violently, even as that same pain is what finally pushes you over the edge into your first orgasm. They don't stop. They don't even slow down. You were already overwhelmed. You're not sure there is a word for what you are now.
Your second orgasm comes close on the heels of the first, and it drags a scream from your throat. You're not sure you've ever screamed in pleasure before. Their movements stutter, but you manage a rough, barely intelligible "keep going." It's this assurance – and perhaps the way you're still twitching and clenching around their cock – that finally sparks their own orgasm.
They yank you tight against them as they cum, harshly grinding your hips against theirs. It's at this moment that your arms give out. They barely seem to notice you crashing into their chest. As their climax begins to fade, they start moving you again, using your body to draw out their own orgasm as long as they can with slow, shallow thrusts. The change in angle and the way they're manhandling you purely for their own pleasure sends you spiraling towards a third orgasm. They're moving slower and slower, clearly reaching the point of satisfaction. You're still on the edge when they finally go still. You try to move, searching out just a tiny bit more stimulation, but they're holding you too tightly. A low rumble of amusement beneath your cheek confirms they're doing so on purpose.
You manage a breathy "not fair," but your voice has gone as weak as your body. They don't bother to answer.
After several minutes spent with both of you trying to catching your breath, your monster begins to pull out of you. But they stop when you make a whine of protest. They've gone soft, but you still feel so incredibly full. You never want to feel empty ever again.
"I could spend the rest of my life on your cock," You mumble into their chest.
They answer with a quiet hum of approval. And then say "Well, now we know it fits there."
Before you can ask them what they mean, they've slipped a thick finger into your mouth. Their skin is rough against your lips and tongue.
They take their time, pressing down on your tongue, running the sharp tip of their claw along the inside of your cheek, hooking around the corner of your mouth and giving a gentle tug before adding a second finger. You whimper. At the feeling of their fingers exploring your mouth, and at the implication. Your brain runs wild with images of their cock filling your mouth, pressing slowly but firmly into your throat. Of yourself, choking and struggling to breathe.
They begin thrusting their hand back and forth, pulling out until their claws are dancing at the very tip of your tongue, then pushing in until those same claws are threatening your gag reflex. You're pretty sure you're drooling onto their chest.
During one of these thrusts, they push a third finger between your lips, forcing your jaw wider to accommodate them. Your jaw is already uncomfortable, and these three fingers barely even approach the girth of their cock. This might take more training.
Even as a flash of nervousness dances up your spine, you force your mouth even wider, and begin to run your tongue along their skin. You even go so far as to lick the very tip of their talons each time they pull out of your mouth. You can still taste a hint of your own blood on them, from when your monster held you too tightly.
They chuckle again. You're rewarded with a fourth finger and a single shallow thrust of their hips that isn't enough to trigger your third orgasm, but does press their cock deeper into you. You moan around their hand, and clench around their cock, and you're so unbelievably happy.
#whoops this was supposed to be like. two paragraphs long.#got carried awaaaaaaay#monster fucker#monsterfxcker#size k!nk#size kink
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oh I have a marty thot for sure! I’ve been thinking about riding his thigh while he sits back and just watches, kinda unimpressed at the show and telling you “you can do better than that, can’t you?”
Earn It
Pairing: Matt Martin x sugar baby!reader (f)
Universe: sugar daddy Marty
Word Count: 3k
Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Sugar daddy/baby dynamic, lap dance, semi-public/risque sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, choking, mild degradation, creampie, a little bit of cum play (lmao jfc).
Fridays are supposed to be celebratory; the end of the week, welcoming in a few days off to relax and reset. What they’re not supposed to be are stressful, non-stop, chaotic.
Yet here you are, already thinking about the large glass of wine you’re going to pour yourself when you get home; the only decision you’re planning to make for the rest of the night is red or white.
Setting your keys into the bowl on the table beside the door, you eye the pristine leather sneakers next to your shoe rack, but make no move to greet the person you already know is waiting on the couch. You knew you’d regret having the extra key made for him, that he’d show up unannounced like a poorly-timed pimple, but it’s not like you really could say no—not when you consider that he all but pays your rent.
When you round the corner, bag left on the quartz countertop (an upgrade he insisted on when you were signing your new lease), you finally offer him your attention.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he muses, glancing up from where he’s scrolling on his phone. You do your best to mask the shiver that runs down your spine when his eyes lock with yours. Based on the smirk that quirks up on his face, you’d wager a guess that you did a poor job of it.
“Hi, Matty,” you say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You need a new dress for the charity gala,” he drawls.
“I do, do I?”
He ignores your attitude, standing up to walk over to the island and setting the invitation in front of you. You glance it over, admiring the thick, black cardstock and gold foil detailing the casino-themed event taking place at UBS Arena next month.
“Black tie attire,” you hum. “I don’t have anything that’s black-tie appropriate.”
“That’s why you need a new dress.”
“And that’s why you’re here right now, sitting on my couch after a day from hell, full of back-to-back meetings, am I correct?”
Matt smiles again. “Already have a bubble bath going for you, my little brat. I’ll be here tomorrow at 9 to pick you up.”
You feel a little guilty for the sass, smiling bashfully at him as he plants a sweet kiss on your cheekbone on his way to the door. “Lock up behind me, darlin’.”
Goddamn him. Always knowing exactly how to charm you to get you to bend to his every will—but not without giving him the kind of attitude that makes his dick hard. A fair tradeoff, in your opinion.
That’s why you work, why your dynamic makes your relationship feel so smooth and seamless and… perfect. Except the part where he’s paying you to fuck him.
Either way, it’s how you find yourself walking along Fifth Avenue, following Matt as he leads you into stores with price tags that intimidate you so much, your cheeks get hot. He lets you browse on your own, warming you up a bit, picking out a few items for work along with a new Yves Saint Laurent purse.
Purchase after purchase. Item after item. The ease with which Matt whipped out his thick, black credit card—you know, the heavy ones that just feel luxurious—almost physically pains you as you try to do the mental math of what he’d spent today.
Finally, you follow him to the dresswear section of Bergdorf Goodman’s, admiring the ease with which he carries the multiple bags in his large hands. You feel well and truly spoiled, thinking to yourself that the dark green lace set he purchased at Fleur du Mal will come in handy later when it comes time to show your gratitude.
“This dress,” he murmurs against your temple, pressing an affectionate kiss to your skin as the fitting room attendant readies a room for you. “I want everyone there to imagine fucking you out of it.”
At this point, you’re used to his blunt and sometimes crude nature, but that doesn’t stop your skin from heating at his crass words. You can’t deny the warmth that radiates between your legs, though, at the thought of him showing you off, claiming you as his, publicly. And, well, how are you supposed to say no to him buying you a dress that’s worth more than your groceries for the month?
The selection is enormous, and you find yourself overwhelmed by the options—lace, chiffon, silk, crepe—all of it doesn’t mean much to you, so you rely on your stylist to select a few options that complement your body type. Matt sits quietly in the corner of the fitting room, watching you try on dress after dress, making barely any comment other than an occasional hum.
When the stylist leaves you to contemplate your options, you glance over your reflection, at the Alex Perry gown that stares back at you. It’s the first dress that feels right, and you can’t help the feeling of excited anticipation that fills your chest when you think about wearing it beside Matt at the gala. Maybe he’d wear that delicious gray suit that you like, the one you almost stained permanently humping his thigh like a fucking dog in heat.
“Is this the one you want?”
You do a final spin in the mirror, checking the various angles and standing on your toes to imitate your height in heels. It’ll need to be altered a bit, but you’re pleased with the way it fits your body and, more importantly, the way it makes you feel luxurious. With your nod, Matt leans forward and glances at the price tag hanging out of the back. His eyes flick to yours in the mirror, and you stew in discomfort for the few seconds before he’s sitting back, apparently approving of the price.
A wide smile forms on your face, feeling a bit like a child on Christmas morning at your excitement. You like Matt for far more than his wallet, but you can’t deny that it feels nice to be spoiled by him, to feel lavished by his gifts and special treatment.
“Think it’s time for you to say thank you, don’t you?”
Matt’s low purr snaps you out of your thoughts, eyes focusing back on the navy silk material that’s hugging your body. The corset bodice keeps you tucked in, accentuating the curve of your breasts, fabric draped across your middle and fastened in place with a large, glittering piece. But the real attention-grabber is the slit on the left side that goes up to your hip, revealing almost your entire leg.
You cast a glance at him in the mirror, a flutter in your chest when you see the way his eyes rake in your reflection. He hums, and though he told you it was your decision, you’re pleased that he likes what he sees.
“Thank you, Matty,” you say, batting your eyelashes at him. You lean forward and press a kiss against his lips, warm and soft—the kind you could fall into with ease. He smiles, crooked and patronizing as he tsks.
“Oh, sweetheart, you know that isn’t good enough. Look at all these bags—all for you. I think I deserve more gratitude than that, hm?”
The hidden meaning of his velvet words are enough to make you shiver, your heart chilling as you realize what he wants. His eyes glitter as he watches you, sees the recognition on your face and the hitch in your throat.
Your voice is hoarse as you whisper, “Here?”
Matt blinks, lazily, with a raised eyebrow, like he’s challenging to you to deny him. Of course you can’t, and he knows it. He leans back on the bench, his back resting against the wall and his legs spread comfortably. It’s a silent invitation, one you can’t refuse, and you find yourself moving to sit in his lap with a shaky gulp.
His hands weave their way to your hips, warm through the material of your jeans. “Good girl.”
With just the right amount of pressure, he encourages you to move your waist, swaying your hips as your ass brushes against his groin. He’s half hard, the bulge firm against you as you set a rhythm, listening for any other customers entering the dressing rooms nearby. The classy elevator music hums softly through the speakers while the silk covering your ass glides against his slacks in a filthy narrative.
A low hum of approval sounds from Matt’s chest, eyes glued to the way you work your hips. It isn’t long before you’re glancing behind you, meeting his eyes as he regards you with his easy, lazy gaze. Beneath the firm press of your ass, you can feel him hardening as the tick of your heartbeat increases in your throat. His signature smirk slides its way onto his face, smug, soaking in the fact that he’s got you wrapped around his finger, willing to do practically anything he asks you.
It isn’t long before he’s stiff, solid beneath you, and you feel an involuntary throb at the size of him. Every moment, you remain vigilant, ears perked for voices—or worse, the sound of someone’s gasp. It reflects in your movements, not lackluster but certainly not to your usual level of enthusiasm. There’s something about him when he’s like this—cocky confidence rolling off of him in waves, his gaze heating your skin—that drives you desperately, deliciously wild, a feral urge in you snatching control of your conscience.
But not right now. And he knows it.
He hums, displeased, and you have a split moment to register his disappointment before he’s purring, “Sweetheart, I think you can do better than that, can’t you?”
The velvet of his voice strokes the flame inside you, sending a wave of warmth between your thighs. Another throb against the stiffness under your ass. His hands remain at his sides, not offering any assistance. You can practically feel his lazy gaze on your ass, waiting patiently for you to react.
He senses your hesitation, knows the reason you’re timid—waiting for the fitting room attendant to come back at any minute and discover the lewd situation unfolding. So he changes his approach, voice honeyed and silky smooth. “Look at that gorgeous dress. Y’look fucking stunning in it, baby. But you gotta earn it, darlin’.”
You meet his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, see the glitter in them that tells you he’s serious, accepting the small nod he gives you. Bracing your hands on his meaty thighs, you resume your movements, pressing yourself into his groin with more force.
Matt’s words echo in your head as you work him—and yourself—into a frenzy. Earn it. He didn’t specify what his… end goal was, but from the glint in his eye you think it’s safe to assume it’s more than just a clothed lap dance in the middle of the dressing room.
How you ended up half-naked, thong tugged to the side, hands bracing yourself against the wall of the fitting room, you’re not sure; all you really know is the feeling of Matt’s weight behind you, so tall his face is almost out of your view in the mirror’s reflection. He’s not looking at you, instead focused on tapping the head of his erection against your ass.
You bite your lip to stifle a whine, staring at him in the hopes he’ll offer you just a glance so you can beg him silently to please, put it in. Eventually, he does, sees the desperation pooling in your eyes and chuckles smugly, pleased at the rash desire he finds in them.
“Arch it for me, sweet girl.”
Obeying, you press your ass out toward him, thinking you’d break your back right here, right now, if it meant he’d provide you with some relief. His warm palm presses against your spine, encouraging you to go further, and he hums in approval at the view you present him: expensive dress bunched over the swell of your hips, ass out, pussy dripping, eyes wanton and pleading with him in the mirror.
“You want it?” he asks, his voice so low you strain to hear it.
You’re almost embarrassed at how fast you nod, not wanting to waste any time. He smirks again, and you know he’s biting back the urge to tease you, instead just offering, in all its simplicity: “Slut.”
There’s a brief moment where he allows his words to sink in, a flood of arousal seeping out of your bare, uncovered core, threatening to drip onto the faded wood flooring of the dressing room. You’re grateful that he didn’t make you beg—he usually does—but then he’s pressing into you without warning and a loud cry leaves your lips.
Your hand slaps over your mouth to muffle the sound, but he’s already gotten what he wants out of you, a more than obvious admission of the debauchery occurring just inside the fitting room. Instead, he focuses on the warm wetness enveloping his dick, watching the way your cunt sucks him in, greedy.
Despite his reckless attitude, he’s aware of the slap of his hips against your ass, and instead of jackhammering into you the way he wants to, he’s opted for hard, deep, slow thrusts; hard enough to have a soft, involuntary sigh every time he sheaths himself to the hilt inside of you. It’s the opposite of a quickie (even though that’s exactly what this is); instead, he’s diligent, indulging himself in the feeling of your tight walls throbbing around his length.
All things considered, you’re pleased with the minimal amount of noises sounding from your stall; though your body shivers when you hear the low groan rumble in his chest. With a glance in the mirror, you can see the way he’s watching himself pull out of your cunt, biting his lip at the sight.
Matt offers a light slap of his tip against your lips before he’s jutting his hips forward, subtly, to rub his length against your clit. The sensation makes you shiver, the slickness of his shaft sliding against the tender button, and you feel the shockwaves coursing through you at the movement.
With his free hand, he gathers your hair in his fist and yanks backward, arching your back until your head is resting against his chest. The sharp pain melds into pleasure, loving the way he knows exactly how to take control over your body to have you dizzy with lust. Hot breath fans over your ear, soft and subtle pants puffing air down your neck. “Fuck yourself on it, baby.”
His warm fingers press into your hips, urging you to move; you do, seeking out that delicious tingle when the fat tip of his cock brushes against your clit, running between your folds. You hear the pleased hum in your ear, quiet, and then the chuckle that follows when he slips into you, a loud gasp leaving your lips.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a low groan. “So fucking wet for me, just the way I like it.”
Matt urges you to keep going, biting back another moan at the feeling of him being buried inside you. Your hips roll him in and out of you, and Matt’s hand trails over your ribcage, groping your breast on its way up to finally land at your throat, fingers curling around the base and squeezing. “Makin’ too much noise. Someone’s gonna hear you, and then I won’t get to flood this pretty little cunt with cum, will I?”
Swallowing the urge to whine with need, you shake your head, trying to tell him with your eyes how badly you want that. His lips press softly against the place where your shoulder meets your neck, keeping eye contact with you through the mirror while he angles his hips in search of the spot that’s going to have you dribbling down your legs. He knows he’s reached it by the way your mouth falls open, your brows scrunching in pleasure when the nudge of him against your g-spot has your eyes fluttering shut.
He hums again, and you know he’s pleased—both with himself for reading your body like his favorite book, and with you for being obediently quiet. The hand around your neck tightens while the forceful punch of Matt’s hips grows more intentional, aiming for precision rather than speed.
The smirk in the mirror, flashed in your direction is enough to make you shiver in his arms. “You think you can stay quiet while you come for me? Hmm?”
You’re trapped—can’t nod, can’t speak, barely hanging onto your last shred of control before you’re succumbing to the release that rips through you. Your legs shake, lungs scrambling for breath as the wave crashes over you, hands clutching the wall in search of purchase. Tears prick at the rims of your eyes, blurring your vision.
Matty’s eyes glitter as he pulls out of you, grinning when he hears the slickness between your legs.
“Love it when she purrs for me.”
It’s only when you feel hot liquid oozing out of you that you realize he met his climax, too, burying the evidence deep within your core. Your shaky legs clench together in an effort to prevent his cum from seeping down your legs and onto the floor.
Matt’s hands linger on your sides to make sure you’re steady before he’s tugging your panties back in place and swooping the dress back over your hips. He hums at the creamy drips on the inside of your thighs, swiping up to collect it on his finger. You don’t even have to be told to open your mouth, eyes fluttering shut when he presses the salty mixture onto your tongue. He hums when your lips close around the digit, sucking it clean before he releases it with a pop.
His eyes are still dark when he presses the call button on the wall with a crooked grin, and when the attendant knocks gently on the door, he says simply, “We’ll take the dress.”
#matt martin fic#matt martin x reader#hockey fic#hockey imagine#nhl imagine#nhl fic#nhl fanfiction#hockey smut
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Part ii finally jfc let'S GOOO
EDIT: pt I here
First kisses with the Primarchs ~♡ Pt. 2
Includes: Angron, Corvus, Ferrus, Sanguinius
Sanguinius: Misty rain patters softly against his wings as he shelters you, a sudden sunshower having started as you were out on the balcony together. His hair is getting damp, you notice, eyes absently following a raindrop’s path down his temple. You run your eyes over his face and startle when you lock eyes with him, he chuckles, a crooning little sound. The wing he’s holding over you moves, drawing back towards his body and bringing you with it as Sanguinius sinks down to meet you in the feathery cocoon. Briefly you think this might look a bit silly from an outside perspective, but then he’s pulling you in with a gentle, clawed hand and pressing his lips to yours; they’re as soft as they look and warm and the tip of his nose is cold as it prods your cheek and makes you laugh as you pull away.
Ferrus: Ferrus, it seems, is in a mood today. You’re not quite sure what caused it but you won’t complain - he’s got you settled in his lap, one of your arms held against his mouth where he peppers kisses to your fingertips, your knuckles, your wrist, and then all the way up to your shoulder, stopping there to bump his forehead against yours like a cat. You chuckle and he smiles a little awkwardly, unused to it, you kiss him, feeling his cheek tense as his smile grows unwittingly, and oh, you pull away, eyes twinkling, “you have dimples?” you ask, his brow furrows and he reaches his hand up briefly, but he lowers it again and instead wraps it around your waist, “I suppose I do,” he hums, leaning back in his seat and closing his eyes, still smiling. You sit up a bit and lean in, pressing a tentative kiss to his lips. He tenses, but then he’s curling around you, smelling like dried vanilla and comfort.
Angron: His chest is hard but comfortable behind you, and you can occasionally feel his muscles twinge. The skies are dark above you and you shiver a bit, it’s cool, but not freezing, and your body is warm where it’s pressed against Angron, he’s not holding you - still doesn't trust himself to, but…you’ve made enough progress to be this close, so you’re getting somewhere at least. You tilt your head back a bit, head bumping against his pec, tracing a scar on his chin where it trails up his cheek with your eyes. You’d like to feel it against your fingertips, but he flinches whenever you touch his face or neck. He looks down, meeting your gaze as the sky begins to darken above you, the first colours of the sunset just starting to streak across it. He lets out a deep sigh and you can feel him relax, just a little, his warm breath brushing across your cheeks. You lean up a bit and kiss the scar, featherlight. His eyes slip shut one at a time like he’s reluctant to close them and his face drops even closer to yours, his neck flinching. He’s waiting for something, you realise as his lips purse a little, you lean in, pressing a reverent kiss to his scarred lips and holding it there until he pulls away and turns his head back to the sky, which is now alight with oranges and pinks and purples.
Corvus: You grumble as your eyes crack open and slowly adjust to the dark. You’re cold, you realise, the blankets you’d gone to sleep with are nowhere to be found - turfed off during the night by Corvus, who is now looking at you, having woken up when you did. He asks if you’re okay, voice rough with sleep, you glare at him and mumble about the blankets. He chuckles and sits up, dislodging you from your comfortable spot against his side, and reaches over to drag the covers back up, tucking them up under your chin. He leans down and kisses your lips, soft and chaste before settling back down against his pillow and closing his eyes. You stare at him for a moment before watching his eyes snap open in realisation. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times like a fish, then clears his throat, alabaster cheeks flushing vibrantly in the moonlight. You laugh a little disbelievingly and lean in, kissing him. He sighs against your lips and raises a hand to cup your side, soft and tasting like nothing you’ve ever kissed before.
#warhammer 40k#wh40k#primarch x reader#warhammer x reader#warhammer headcanon#next part out tomorrow hopefully#Angrons is longer than the rest because...I have no excuse#Angron lovers I hope you enjoy kissing him because I certainly did. Mwah.#i like you *dimples your ferrus*#🐉 anon
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You’ve altered my brain chemistry with that snippet and that’s not even an exaggeration.
I can’t stop imagining Eddie and Tommy, who saw each other in passing in Basic but became friends when they were assigned to the same platoon. Laughing easily with each other as they’re flown from Britain into France. Finding each other when they’re dropped behind enemy lines and not managing to find their platoon for a day or two, constantly dodging enemy fire as they try and find their way back. Sleeping huddled together in barns, looking up at the stars through the burnt thatch roof.
Eddie and Tommy finally finding their platoon and finding their other friends but still being drawn to one another on quiet nights. Tommy pulling Eddie aside and telling him he’s worried about Eddie being a medic on the frontline. He’s seen some of the injuries other medics come back with, clipping stray bullets as they pull men back to safety. Tommy doesn’t want Eddie to get hurt. For some reason, that’s when Eddie puts a hand to Tommy’s cheek and tells him not to worry. He’s going to be fine.
Eddie and Tommy sharing a foxhole during the winter while they’re surrounded by Germans. Huddling together in the unspoken way soldiers to because they’ll do anything to conserve body heat. Sharing illicit kisses under the cover of the coat they throw over their hole to keep out the snow. Whispering promises they know won’t be kept, until Eddie has to leap out and treat a wounded soldier that got shot on a patrol.
Tommy appealing to the Captain to he won’t get moved to a different platoon when Eddie’s gets shipped out to the trenches after the battle is won. Travelling together in the trucks, pinkie fingers linked under Tommy’s coat that lays across his lap. Sending coded messages to one another when they’re separated for 3 months, arranging illicit meetings in the bowels of the trenches where they know are no patrols that night.
Tommy taking a bullet a month before they’re due to go home and Eddie pressing his hands against the bleeding wound, ripping bandages with his teeth and injecting him with morphine. He removes the bullet and stems the bleeding and Tommy spends a week in the field hospital before he’s cleared for duty again. Eddie wiping hair from his sweating brow and pressing kisses to his temples, his cheeks, his lips, when he knows no one is watching. They’re so careful, but their love blossoms nonetheless and leaving one another at the end of the war is like losing a limb.
SIR! Respectfully, lovingly, fuck right the fuck off for this. It's brilliant and life giving and soul shifting. Huddling in barns? Linking pinkies? Kissing (and more!) in secret? CODED MESSAGES WHEN THEY’RE SEPARATED?! Tommy being Concerned™️ for Eddie? Eddie treating Tommy's wounds? SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP
JFC, James, I love this so hard 😭 (and you KNOW I have stuff to finish and this is Not helping!) Head pats and forehead kisses for you. Please feel free to assault my asks and emotions anytime for this 😘
@peppermintquartz @swiftiefirefighters
#hippo gets mail#teddie ww2 fic#james tag 💍#please god lemme finish mer!buck and still have beans for this
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Rings of Power S2|E2 reaction
💍
Fucking brutal way to start ngl 💘
"Don't you dare break No Contact with you ex girl!!" said Gil Galad to Galadriel
"Halbra-"
SAURON!!
guys Gil Galad is a Saurondriel girlie
Sauron:
NOT THE HORSE TOO!
NOOOOO..!!
Eminem's back in town boys!
Chloe or Sam or Sophia or Marcus
NO not the SNAKE!! wtf!!
Dwarves know Geology too!! Dr. Gimli meet PhD Narvi :D
"You're giving me indigestion"
"Good, now listen to your gut!"
Dwarves have the BEST back & forths in this whole series! Fight me!
Elrond freaking Peredhel with his gorgeous curly hair:
Elrond dropping truth bombs before invention of gunpowder
iconic behaviour 🙌🏽
JFC not the Haladriel flashback!!
If this is not a bad breakup I don't know what is ahjgdhsafggk #bind yourself to me forever
Angy Elrond is somehow 10000000000x cuter!!
HELP!!
fucking ELF SHAVING!!
CIRDAN THE FUCKING SHIPWRIGHT SHAVING WITH A FUCKING SHELL!!
JD & Patrick you sneaky little Hobbitses!!
Robert's Elrond is SO beautiful, he needs to be pressed & preserved in a book forever.
Experiencing even a fraction of Celebrimbor's happiness this episode will fix me
Perfectly fine 1st age wine wasted! L
I'd have fallen for Celegorm Jesus too ngl
Rebound Relationship & what not
WARRIOR HAIRCUT ELROND ALERT!!
I repeat
SHAVED SIDEBURNS ELROND ALERT!!
Gil Galad must be so proud :'D
Charlie & Charlie Ltd.®
S2|E1 S2|E3 S2|E4
#I've no idea of that Taylor Swift song meaning#the rings of power#rings of power#trop#rop#sauron#tolkien#elrond#galadriel#halbrand#celebrimbor#durin#disa#nori brandyfoot#poppy proudfellow#the stranger#cirdan#annatar#trop spoilers#trop season 2#trop s2#rop spoilers#rop season 2#rop s2#saurondriel#haladriel#ROP reactions
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WIP Wednesday (6/12/2024)
Fandom: Call of Duty: Modern Warfare Reboot
Working Title: Museum Muse
Pairing: John 'Soap' MacTavish x OFC Darlene 'Daisy' Houghton
Rating: E
Story CW: BDSM, Kink, puppy play (Soap's the Dom, do not come for me), nudity, TBD others Snippet CW: Implied D/s dynamic
Synopsis: Darlene Houghton has been working as a Museum Curator and Docent at <Museum Name> for a few years. She's your go-to person for talks and tours, touted as one of the most lively speakers the museum has. When one of her colleagues asks her to be the live model for the "Human Art Studies" program, she has to face a slew of insecurities she'd long shoved to the back of the closet.
And really, it wouldn't be a problem - she'd show up, grit her teeth, and leave as fast as she could. Except that plan goes tits up in the first five minutes when she comes to sprawled flat on the ground, a pair of bright blue eyes checking her over for injuries.
Something something something learning to be loved through art and kink. Body painting. Puppy play. A bunch of god-awful flirting. (I ran out of steam, don't get mad.)
AKA: ....pure indulgent bullshit I'm probably going to be reworking because I just had an idea writing this up to make it the classic BDSM "anonymous identity" conversations vs platonic relationship (with pining and mistaken identities) dual timeline thing. And I wanted to explore the idea of the really sharp and smart Sgt MacTavish with an equally smart girlfriend. (And I may or may not be self-inserting into this as someone who's kind of toying around with puppy play IRL.) Okay you can stop perceiving me, jfc.
I just realized I forgot to actually name the museum. Hells bells I'm a wreck atm.
Concept spawned from @dragonnarrative-writes's Transferrable Skills (Ghost x You, Tumblr) and Aessedia's newest story Darkest Eyes Meet Under The Sky (Ghost x Soap, AO3).
Divider by @saradika-graphics
With a soft hum, Daisy pushed her lips against his. It started out soft and chaste, lips meeting before becoming more urgent. Johnny’s hand slid up her back, tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. She whimpered softly as he nudged her against the brick of the building, caging her in.
He released her lips, looking down at her. “Y’late, pup.”
Daisy pouted, hands coming up to rest behind his neck. “I told you I got caught with a random inspection at the gate!”
“Aye, but you should have planned for the possibility.” He nudged her chin up, his blue eyes showing he held no anger against her. “You’re the one that asked for me to hold you to time.”
“I brought you coffee though,” she whined into his neck.
“Aye, you did? I see no coffee, lass.” He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, chuckling softly. “And you know bribery doesn’t get you out of punishment.”
Daisy grumbled a bit more, “They were with the snacks. Gaz must have taken them in.” She nipped his neck softly, following it up with a little lap of her tongue.
“Ach, no biting, pup. You know better.” He tapped her nose gently, looking down at her with a grin. “I leave for three months and you forget all your manners, eh?”
#gemma writes fanfic#Gemma talks WIPS#Museum Muse WIP#WIP Wednesday#Will this make it into the end version? TBD#Going to go (maybe) write the outline out now?#This is obviously after they've gotten together
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I have nothing, I repeat, NOTHING, against stealing from large big box companies, but I do have three main complaints about all the positivity and encouragement I'm seeing circulated all the time.
Please remember that you can always get caught. No one is perfect, and being caught will result in actual, criminal charges. These charges can ruin your fucking life. Colleges can expel you, jobs can fire you without notice, and it can keep you from getting future jobs. You can even be denied for loans or credit cards. And don't forget, if you're a POC, they WILL throw the book at you. The "justice" system always comes down harder on non-white people, queer people, and non-xtians. You will face high fines, probation under unfair and expensive restrictions and conditions. And you may even face heavy jail time. Be aware of these dangers. Not only that, but as someone who's worked with and in asset protection, a lot of stores do know you're stealing. They're keeping a tally. Stores like WalMart purposely wait until they have proof you stole over a certain monetary limit so that they can press higher charges over you. From misdemeanor to burglary charges in my home state, often. This allows them to then sue you for damages and not only get their money back, but more, including court costs and the cost of the hours/employee wages that were used to follow and document your crimes. Never assume you've gotten away scott-free just because you got out of the store. Don't make a habit of stealing from the exact same location regularly. Small, infrequent hits.
Mom and Pop stores are NOT big box stores. They are often barely making ends meet in this current economy. Don't steal from small businesses, period. Don't file charge-backs on artists, don't fuck over sex workers, don't fuck with that small convenience store run by a single family. Shoplifting is moral and good- against large corporations and evil ass megabrands.
DO NOT POST YOUR SCORES ONLINE. JFC. I have seen so many posts of "theft hauls" and "look what I stole" posts. These can literally and will be used against you in court. It is not unheard of for police to track social media posts back to their owners and proceed with charges from there. In fact, it's even used by the IRS to audit families that flash a lot of cash or goods they aren't claiming in their taxes. If you're committing a crime, shut the fuck up. Don't state things outright online. Don't take pics of your stolen goods. Don't brag about the security holes in the stores you're robbing.
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Okey but Curtis asking "are you going to come for me already? So good. Just because I told you to? There you go." 🫠😶🌫️
JFC this is a whole lot of YES PLEASE AND THANK YOU SIR. LEMME JUST-
He was a massive force above you, a single hand had your wrists pinned against the floor.
There was no escaping him, not that you wanted that. No, you had your powerful thighs wrapped around his waist, using each other to get off. Your steady moans were getting drawn out expertly from him, he knew all your weakest places.
Places that made your body give into pleasure till you melted beneath him and only then would he allow himself the same momentary freedom that he blessed you with.
Nothing could touch you when your orgasm took over.
And today was no exception, already your head was thrown back with a slight sob of release. "Are you going to come for me already?"
Yes, yes you were. Your body was already drawing into that tight knot, dragging you to the edge, about to throw you off. And how you wanted it, wanted to crash so hard underneath him that it broke you. "So good." He grunted with another jarring snap of his hips, his cock driving into your giving body.
You nodded, twisting your face to meet his, capturing his lips with a urgency. Your tongue stroked into his mouth, feverish in these final moments. His hand twisted in your hair, ripping your head back away so he could travel your throat. How sweet you tasted all streaked tears and sweaty desire, his tongue pressed against the column, sinking his teeth in with a grunt.
You were not the only one being driven to the brink. "Just because I told you too?"
Your sob was his answer, your hands clinging to his muscled back as you were right there, it was so close to coming that when you plunged, you didn't know when you will be back to your senses. He seemed to know, his fingers slipping between you two to rub your clit.
Not only was he sending you there, he was giving that final push to end you. When you gushed around his cock, squeezing him tight enough for him to stutter his movements, his eyes rolled a bit, fuck you felt so fucking good breaking for him.
"There you go, that's my girl."
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Foaming at the mouth for the young Dream who's Death's little brother
What if, when Hob first learnt that Death had a younger brother she was sort of raising, he assumed Dream wouldn't be THAT young? Like, sure, maybe a couple of years, but he takes it more as "young professional living with his older sister" rather than "older sister being the legal guardian because he's still a minor"-young
It doesn't help that when Hob meets him for the first time it's in passing because Dream is on his way out to meet some friends and all Hob sees is a goth twink in heels too high to walk in and a lot of sultry makeup, sticking his head through the doorway to say by to Death
So he thinks, sure, he's a bit young but damn if Hob doesn't like pretty goth twinks...
And then he meets him properly for the first time and nearly dies because jfc Dream's a kid. Literally! Sure, he's already at uni (which Hob knew) but that's because he skipped a couple of grades because he's insanely smart. Still, time to stop fantasizing about him then
but Dream makes it soooo hard (pun intended) for poor Hob. When he starts somewhat following Hob around, Death initially jokes that he's imprinted like a duckling. He grew up without a healthy relationship with a male role model, you know how it goes.
But of course, it's totally different. Hob knows it. Dream knows it. Hob just can't bring himself to tell Death because that's her little brother. Hob's sure she doesn't want to know what Dream's done now. And what he's done...
Sure, he brings Hob coffee to his office on campus and claims it's because he was in the area and he wanted to say hi and maybe have a chat, but then why doesn't he sit in the chair across Hob's desk? Why does he sit ON TOP of Hob's desk, impossibly long legs crossed so that they fit right between Hob's legs?
(No, he can't wheel his chair back. There's a window. Though throwing himself out the window might be the only way to make these images stop where he just grabs Dream's thighs and spreads them. The images are especially horrible on the day Dream showed up wearing a goddamn skirt that rode up along his thighs so far, that Hob's sure, Dream's not wearing anything underneath.)
And he asks all these questions... They're in between innocent questions about Hob and uni and "were the last essays better than the ones you complained about at the beginning of term?" but they are there. And maybe he does ask because he's lacked a male role model so far, so Hob answers, but it's truly not helping when Dream asks if he's weird for liking if his partner chokes him during sex.
The moment either of them has class (or the occasional student drops by, whom Hob intends to award a couple extra points just for the break they're giving him) should be a blessing, but it's so much worse than the questions and the innocent looks from under very long eyelashes. Hob's a physical kinda guy, but the way Dream clings to him-
He's basically dry-humping him while a student's waiting right outside Hob's door, or while Death is in the kitchen when Hob comes round for dinner! Dream's pressing his entire body against Hobs, basically grinding against him, shuddering and sighing with pleasure when he buries his nose in the crook of Hob's neck and it's just a lot. It's too much. How's Hob supposed to survive this?
And it's going on and on and on. The years pass and Dream doesn't let up. The outfits get more and more revealing (once, which was thankfully at Death's place and not in public, he opened the door in a satin kimono that was basically see-through), the innuendoes less ambiguous, the looks Dream throws Hob more and more pointed. Dream talks about the guys he hooks up with on the weekends and how he wished they would just throw him around a little- Hob has to cut office hours short and rush home so he can have a wank in the shower before he suffers permanent damage from being blue balled all the time.
Fuck, but he gets a semi every time he hears Dream's heels click on the cheep floor of the hallway his office is situated in.
The smartest solution would be to just tell Dream they can't meet anymore, but Hob can't bring himself to do it. Dream's just so lovely and their interests align so perfectly and, really, they seem to make each other better people. And he's halfway in love with him, which feels like the ultimate betrayal of Death but Hob can't stop himself.
Anyway, that turns out to be a non-issue, so when Dream visits him at the office the next time (not even pretending it's for coffee) Hob get's to lock the door and dive beneath Dream's skirt like he's imagined for a good while now.
This is sooo good honestly I can't find a single way to improve it!!!! I'm obsessed with Hob going through mental torment as he looks at Dream and tries to remind himself that that is a 16 year old. He's such a perv for wanting a teenager, he's a terrible person... He tries to stay away, but Dream keeps popping up in his life... and suddenly he's 18 and wagging his arse in Hob’s face. He practically taunts Hob for missing out on being the one to take his virginity.
But also, they get on well?? They’re practically best friends by the time Dream is 20. Hob feels weird again for it but tells himself it's fine, he's never been inappropriate with Dream. They can be friends, even if Hob is 20 years older than him. It's nice, they argue about literature and music and Hob goes thrifting with Dream to find fun new outfits for him to show off in.
He's mad at the universe because it they'd been the same age, they could have been dating for years and be getting married by now. Instead Hob can't date anyone else because he's in love with his friend's little brother. And all he can think about is Dream in a slutty goth wedding dress, lifting up his skirts for Hob to go down on him...
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Welcome to New York (DR3 one shot)
I am very keen on writing for Danny as you can see so here is it :D
Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x original female character
Word count: 5803
warning: none
Synopsis: Daniel lands in New York for redbull's car launch and meets his best friend but the lines kept getting blurred
She impatiently paced the JFC airport, waiting for Daniel to show up. She missed him dearly, they haven’t seen each other since the Austin GP that she travelled for.
On the other hand Daniel’s heart was bursting out of his chest at the thought of seeing his best friend after months, he would’ve go to her much sooner if he didn’t intend to spend time in Australia as much as he did but they tried their best to keep in contact and it created a never ending cycle of Daniel calling her at midnight when it was only noon in Australia, then apologizing rapidly and saying he’d call another time but she knew he is calling to show her his talent in dirt bike or riding a horse and how could she deny the smile shinier than the sun behind him? They’d end up speaking until 2-3 AM and finally she’d excuse herself to get few hours of sleep before work.
Daniel was bouncy like a child to finally reunite with his best friend, he started waving his hand like crazy as soon as he saw her small figure in layers of wintry clothes due to how cold New York was. She noticed his action and smiled, waving back.
As soon as they stood in front of each other, without exchanging any words they embraced each other, his large hands fitted her comfortably as she struggled to hug all of him with her short arms. both unknowingly being touch starved. Daniel looked at her face, staring at her deep blue eyes and smiling wide “hey there, you look even smaller in these clothes” Daniel took pride in the fact that he was the only one who was allowed to tease her about it and wouldn’t waste a moment to take the privilege for granted.
She slapped his hand away from her shoulder and spoke “really Daniel? You see the greatest friend the world has gave you after months and this is how you treat her?”
He knew she wasn’t deeply offended “then what does the greatest friend the world has gave me, wants me to say to satisfy her?” He said with a laugh
“Oh I don’t know how about I’ve missed you so much and I can’t wait to spend time in your company?” She said, pretending she is thinking too deep.
Daniel laughed louder and pulled her into a tighter hug “I have missed you so much and I indeed can’t wait to spend time in your company, pun intended”
Her laugh was muffled by her face pressed against him, despite the fact that he hated cold he was always warm “no way I’m taking you to the company, it’s not bring your child to work day or something”
They started walking to take his bags as he talked “what? So you just gonna leave me unsupervised? That’s brutal”
Her hand slid down from gripping his arm to his wrist, fingers wrapped around his skin and she took him with her “come, we gonna be late for lunch”
They were finally in safety of the car from the rain and brutal wind, she settled back and waited for him to start the car, enjoying the warmth her hoodie and oversized coat was providing her.
“What are you waiting for, Daniel? Start the car” she said, after sitting there aimlessly.
Daniel pouted “you didn’t say it back”
She looked puzzled “say back what-? Oh I’m so sorry I thought it was pretty obvious how much I’ve missed you considering I drove all the way from Tribeca to Queens all by myself to see your pretty ass” she said the whole line pretty seriously.
Daniel was trying to hide the smile but failed and soon his face was adorned with his dimples “aw that’s why you’re the best” and he drove away. She told him the car is all his and he did use the opportunity, he played with the radio button until he found a channel playing those country western songs he loved and he made sure to sing along to every single one of them even though he just got off a 21 hour flight.
Both of them let out a sigh out of relief when they sat back on red leather sofa in restaurant, waiting for food to arrive. The rain was hitting the window and made them feel cozier in the space they were in. They didn’t know what to say so they just stared at each other, both feeling blessed that they got to stare at a beautiful human being in front of them. Daniel broke the silence, corner of his lips almost forming a smirk “so which hotel am I driving myself?” She yawned before replying “oh shut up you’re not staying in a hotel, I cleaned up a room for you. No way I’m letting you out of my sight”
That was her way of showing emotions and Daniel loved how indirect but genuine it always was, she would never bother to use pet names and sweet words but instead would do it with actions no matter how small or big.
“I mean we’re going to the same place at the end of the day aren’t we?” She said, shrugging her shoulders.
“What? You’ll be at car launch?”
“Yeah? They’re announcing me as new sponsor so I might as well come”
That’s how they met, she was an sponsor in his Redbull days and as he kept attending events they grew closer, they got close enough that she followed Daniel in every team he went and after a long circle they both ended up where they started.
Daniel had plenty of calls from Christian and Blake asking him to go to the hotel but he refused all of it, he didn’t want to mess up his stay with her after months. Staying with her felt warm and cozy, almost like he was back in his farm in Australia and he wouldn’t trade it with a repetitive hotel room with cold bed.
She unlocked the door and they both got in, Daniel headed for the windows to see the spectacular Tribeca view “rich lifestyle looks good on you” he teased, his face half facing her as he kept his eyes on the view of the skyline and the buildings ahead. She threw herself on the sofa, legs dangling above the floor so she wouldn’t get dirt on it, face hidden between the cushions as she spoke “rich lifestyle? Says the guy with 3 houses in three different continents, who owns 7 cars and got paid millions”
Daniel briefly turned his head to look at her, only to find her hidden in her extremely over sized winter clothes on the sofa with her head being the most obvious thing, his gaze was soon back to the view but he continued speaking “yeah need I remind you, you bought this house from Lewis for what, like $70 millions?”
With her head still buried, she showed him a middle finger “touché”
He saw her reaction through the reflection on the window and laughed, a loud genuine laugh that echoed through the empty house and made her feel better, it’s been a while since she heard him laughing as nice in her presence and she smiled to herself at the fact that he just seemed better and healthier. She left her spot and walked to him, slapping his ass to get his attention causing him to yelp “I didn’t know you have it bad for spanking”
“If i were you I’d be thankful I have it bad for spanking and not choking” she said, raising eyebrows and waited for him until the realization settled on his face “savage”
“I know Daniel, I know. Why don’t I show you your room and while you’re settling down I’ll think of dinner?” She offered, putting a hand on his lower back as she started guiding him to the elevator.
It was late, neither troubled themselves by checking the clock and they couldn’t careless. She carried two wine glasses and laid back on the bigger sofa, she heard footsteps on the stairs and soon Daniel came into the view with nothing but underwear and the burgundy silk robe she ordered for him with “DR3” sewed on its chest, he put two wine bottles on the table and filled both glasses, the sound of the glasses making contact broke the silence but neither said anything until she drank it, humming in approval “this is nice but I prefer my wine a bit more sour, this tastes a bit too sweet for me” she observed, and finished the glass nonetheless.
“So you wouldn’t mind if I take away both bottles?” Daniel teased and slurped his wine, eyes not leaving her figure. Even under the low lights it wasn’t too hard for him to notice her dark green sleepwear. Deep down he considered himself the luckiest for witnessing her sleeping on her back in nothing but a thin dark green silk that if the lights were on, he’d be seeing much more due to the sheer materia. He also knew he doesn’t need bright light to know she looks hella good in it and he’d have trouble to convince himself that he should be keeping his hands off from trying to get a small taste. He threw his tattooed leg over the other and didn’t take his eyes off her, it would be a crime to do it.
She held herself on her elbow and looked at him, frowning while actively tried to balance the wine glass so it wouldn’t spill on her flawless white sofa “what? No bitch those are mine they stay until one bottle is completely empty”
He laughed while taking more sips, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand as his eyes tried to regain focus in darkness, god he missed her so much “whatever you say your highness, you know you can order more if you want right? You were there when we launched it for US” he made a valid point and pointed at the bottles on the table.
Her eyes briefly drifted to his thighs and the colored ink but she didn’t let it linger. She’d never admit it in a presence of another human being but it was her deepest desire to sit between his legs and get a close detailed look of the inks and ask him one by one what does every single one of them means, for now she’d settle with a view in the dark. She narrowed her eyes, hoping he’d see “now why would I do that when my best friend can get me a bottle filled with eternal love and friendship?”
Daniel didn’t bother to tie back his robe as it was loosen due to him constantly sinking deeper into the sofa “ just accept that you’re too stingy to pay”
She sat straight and poured herself another glass, before drinking she spared him a glance “sei incredibile” and gulped down the entire thing.
Daniel couldn’t say much but to laugh again at her.
The glass was filled again and she leaned back, letting her hair to fall on her bare shoulders “you know it’s nice”
“What is?” He asked innocently, Daniel knew the answer, he just wanted to hear her say it, he wanted something exclusive from her for himself to hold on to, something to let his mind to linger on when he had nothing to think about.
She laughed softly, shaking her head at him “you gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” and then she looked him as if the darkness had no effect on her eyes and she could see all of him, with a smile that he could see even if all the lights were off. He knew he’d do anything and everything to relive this moment over and over again.
She put the glass on the table and tangled her legs, her hand supporting her head “fine I will, it’s really nice to have you over here, satisfied?”
He smiled widely at her, the corner of his eyes crinkled “very, very satisfied”
He pointed at the loose robe “was the robe part of the plan? Be honest you just wanted to see all of this glory” he pointed at himself and his abs.
She was indeed enjoying the view, Daniel was one of the most good looking guy in her life, she had seen him all naked considering the multiple times they’ve shared a hotel room or went skinny dipping, but there was something in seeing him sitting in front of her, wine glass in his hand and a teasing smile on those perfect lips while half of his tattoo was hidden by his underwear and he sculpted body was only visible cause the robe was loose, it kept her guessing and asking for more but only in her mind.
“I could only hope you’re enjoying all of this glory as well” she threw back his line at him, the wine in her system making her not to care how much she’d flirt.
He sipped more of his wine, it felt good to finally drink in a presence of someone he deeply craved, and he wasn’t committed to the sport before so alcohol couldn’t really hurt. Through the low light he could see the perfect skin of her legs and hands, bare shoulders hidden underneath an army of long hair, no trace of makeup could be seen on her face, he knew she only appears like that in front of him and him only. She’d never say it loud but he also knew it’s because she feels a deep insecurity towards her face even though he would definitely say she is the most beautiful woman his eyes had the pleasure of seeing, he tilted his head to the side and kept looking at her “you” he said, laughing silently.
“Me?” She asked, slightly confused by his one word statement.
He laid his head on the sofa and blinked, the wine starting to make its affect obvious “yes, you. Just you. I don’t think anything else can do you justice”
It was only then that he noticed something else, wine wasn’t the drink she’d go to when the purpose was getting drunk, unless she wanted to stay drunk more than usual, the empty wine bottle makes his suspicious even more evident and he started to think something was wrong that she was actively ignoring.
“I think I’m going to bed now, sleep well Daniel” she said, before he gets the chance to ask something.
He rubbed his eyes and blinked rapidly “hey, hey wait” he called out before she gets into the elevator.
She stopped in her truck and turned around, watching him taking long steps towards her. He stopped and looked her down, eyes searching to see if he can find anything in those icy blue eyes, his hands resting on his sides. He subconsciously brought up his hand to put it on her face but changed his mind the last minute and pulled back, closing his fist. She didn’t miss any of this, her eyes fixed on his hand “you know, I don’t bite. Not you at least” she murmured, gulping loudly.
He stepped closer, his knuckles ghosting over her cheek “are you well?”
It was a simple question but with no simple answer for her, she blinked up at him, placing her hand on his bicep “I’m ok Danny”
He placed the palm of his hand on her face, she already loved the warmth and softness it gave her and she leaned into the touch much to his surprise. He traced the skin with her thumb and his face dropped lower, he noticed the strap of her nightgown fell and he reached with two fingers grabbing the strap and dragging it back on her shoulder, his fingers leaving goosebumps behind, he talked quietly “but I can tell something is wrong, it’s me, I’m not an stranger�� he dared himself and put his other hand on her waist while dragging the hand resting on her cheek to her neck. She closed her eyes to fully enjoy his touch and long finger, letting herself to get lost in the warmth. Her reaction made him ballsy and he pulled her closer, his hand running up and down her side, feeling her hot skin through her nightgown. She hummed in response and didn’t move, not wanting the moment to end.
His hand moved from the side of her neck to grip the back of her head, his fingers digging into the muscle and kneading it, giving her a much needed release, he moved his hand higher and tangled her hair, she immediately leaned back into the touch. The sound that left her mouth hits him too hard and his grip tightened, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against her, closing his eyes to enjoy their closeness “talk to me, please, I’m worried about you”
She smiled at his words, it’s been a long time since someone has said words like that to her, the sweetness and feelings behind those words had her stomach dropping and tears gathering at the corner of her eyes, she put her hand on his face, feeling the roughness of his beard, his actions had her heart racing like crazy.
She nuzzled her nose to him “this is all about you, my issues doesn’t matter. I’m...I’m fine” she tried so hard to keep her voice steady but failed miserably. His eyes opened immediately at her broken voice and he decided not to push it more. They both looked at each other, his heart shattered in his chest at the sight of her blue eyes filled with tears. In all the years of their friendship he has never seen her as broken as now, not even when he was having the shittiest day ever she was the one who held him, made jokes and played music to lift him up. She accepted the hug with no hesitation, her hands wrapped around him as tight as she could and hands gripping the soft material of his robe harshly, her face hiding in his neck.
He softly kissed her cheek and wrapped his arms securely around her, keeping her as close as possible and felt her rapid heartbeat.
“It’s ok, you can let it go, I’m here” he murmured to her as softly as possible.
She felt like she has kept it all inside for too long and she finally had the chance to let it all go.
In that moment Daniel would do anything for her to stop sobbing uncontrollably, the sound of her was so heartbreaking for him to endure. He just stood there and held her in his arms, rubbing her back and saying he is always there for her and it’s ok while leaving small kisses wherever he could reach. They don’t know how long they stood there and she cried in his arms, he only let go when her body stopped shaking and he no longer could hear her heart wrenching sobs.
She looked up at him with teary eyes and wet face, his thumb wiped away the tears and both smiled at each other.
“Come, let’s wash your face and tuck you in” he said with a smiling face, booping her nose and throwing his hand over her shoulder as she smiled sheepishly.
The pair only got a good look at each other when he flicked the light on. They both stood in front of the mirror and she stared at their reflection, taking in how good they looked and more importantly how much healthier and happier Daniel was and it warmed her heart.
He moved behind her and gathered her hair, humming a song under his breath.
“You look good” she said, smiling at him.
He peaked from behind her “aw thanks, you look good too”
“This is going to look so weird but a man gotta do what he gotta do” he said before wrapping her entire hair around his fist causing her to laugh loud.
“I didn’t know you’re into that” she didn’t get the chance to say anything else as he pushed her head down by his fist and splashed cold water on her face.
“Oh you were saying?” He said staring at her wet face, she looked like a fish.
“Literally fuck you Daniel that was cold” she gritted between her teeth and grabbed the towel. “I know, but don’t you feel better already?” He tried to make a point.
“I’d much prefer warm water in winter” she opened a cabinet, grabbing hand cream and lip balm.
Daniel tried to be a good friend and not to stare at her when she stood in front of him, wearing the thinnest material of sleep gown she could find not to mention how well the color looked on her skin, he could swore if his eyes goes down lower than her neck, the things he would see gonna keep him all night with his hand dipped in his underwear.
He stood in front of her, his hands keeping her face straight so he could look at her “seriously, how are we feeling? And don’t tell me fine”
“I’m better now, satisfied?” She said, not wanting to look away from his handsome face.
He left a kiss on her forehead, lingering his lips before speaking “that’s good to know”
She reached and grabbed the lip balm, opening the tube and applying some to her fingertips “don’t you moisturize those pretty lips of yours Danny?”
The sentence made his brain glitch, and a blush made it’s way on his sun kissed cheeks, the thought that she found his lips pretty danced in his mind ruthlessly.
She laughed at his face as she touched his cheek “Danny? Oh my god, did I just make the great Daniel Ricciardo blush? What a day to be alive”
“Oh shut up you, you don’t see me making comments about you in this thing you’re wearing, what are you gonna do anyway” he scolded her, arms folded in front of his chest.
She raised her eyebrows, challenging him with the ice in her eyes “maybe you should” She stepped closer “stay still”
“What? No”
“Why no?”
“I’m a grown man I can apply my own lip balm”
“If you could, your lips wouldn’t look like you just escaped Sahara desert, it’s midnight cmon it’s just a lip balm it won’t hurt your fragile masculinity” this time she scolded him.
Daniel didn’t know how he was gonna get through her touching his lips but he shook his head as yes. She stood on her tiptoes and ran her finger on his chapped lips, he just stood there and reveled in her soft finger touching his lips ever so delicately.
“Look it’s over, you can go to sleep now”
“Yeah let’s tuck you in first”
He wasn’t joking about tucking her in, he helped her to get on bed, pulled the blanket over her body and made her promise if she ever felt like she isn’t ok in the middle of the night, she’d go to his room without a second thought.
Daniel was never happier about seeing a bed and being alone in a bedroom as much as he was in that moment. How was he supposed to get over tonight?
Her head was comfortably between two pillows and she was enjoying the warmth of the blanket until her phone ranged under her pillow, she whined and reached her hand to pick the phone, answering it with closed eyes “what the fuck do you want so early in the morning?”
“Early? Girl it’s 10 am and you were supposed to be here 2 hours ago” a male voice who belonged to her assistant spoke
She face palmed herself “what? Oh god sorry I was a bit wine drunk last night and-“
“And you forgot to tell me you won’t be coming in today cause you have guest over” he finished the sentence for her
“Well yes” she admitted
“I figured, enjoy your day and tomorrow, and weekend. I wouldn’t say no if you decide to show up though” he said, while laughing
“You dick, figure it out yourself, I don’t know forge my signature” she suggested
“That’s what I’ve been doing but I feel better now knowing you allow it, enjoy” and the line went quiet.
She got out of the bed, not caring enough about bed hair and went down stairs.
Daniel was in the hall, still in his underwear and a big box in front of him, he turned to her with his usual smile “hello pretty, good morning, slept well?”
She blinked multiple times at the pet name but brushed it off fast “morning, what’s that?”
He happily brought out a dark blue RedBull shirt “2023 team kit, I gave your address and it came in this morning”
She made her way to the kitchen to make breakfast “that’s why you’re standing naked in my hall at 10 am?” She threw him a look, letting her eyes enjoy the glory in front of her.
“Naked? You plan all of this to get me naked?” His hand teasingly moved to his underwear waistband and grabbed it with his two fingers, carefully sliding one side down and showing his hip bone.
She just watched with dry mouth and heart rate so loud she could hear it in her ear.
She opened her mouth to speak but the silence was broken by her Apple Watch giving high heart rate notifications, she slammed her hand over the watch trying to shut the alarm and screamed “fuck fuck fuck”
Daniel watched it all with an amusement in his eyes and a knowing smirk telling her it’s useless to try and make any excuses “I assume if I proceeded with the rest you’d have a cardiac arrest”
She silenced the watch and looked at him, not knowing what to do or say and went back to the breakfast.
She put the plates on the table “it’s too hot now, let it cool down then we can eat together” and made her way into the hall, standing next to him and peaking into the box.
Daniel didn’t miss the chance to enjoy the close approximate, she ruffled through the box and picked a hat. He breathed deep, she smelled natural without any odor, his eyes followed the lines on her neck and it stopped on her shoulder, watching the way the green strap fell from her shoulder. She took away her eyes from the box and glanced at the strap, then at his face, he felt her eyes on him but didn’t stop looking at the shoulder.
“What’s stopping you?” She commented, hinting last night.
He put his hand on her wrist, fingers dragging on her soft skin, he felt like he was dancing around something but didn’t stop until he felt the silk. He hooked his finger on the strap and made sure to tease a little before pulling it up “I really should buy you some new ones” he commented.
She let out a breath she kept and hoped to god it was not obvious, secretly wishing her watch wouldn’t make another fuss “come on, the pancakes are getting cold”
He bullied her into sitting on the chair, creating the scene in movies where someone would constantly change clothes and another one would give opinions sitting on a chair. Daniel was fresh out of the shower, hair sticking to his head and water dripping as he held two pairs of suits for his appearance on tonight’s show. One was the typical black tux and the other one was a green suit with a simple white buttoned up shirt.
She looked at both pairs thoughtfully, and pointed to the green one quietly.
“Fantastico madam, enchanté” he bowed.
“So you gonna watch me get naked and dress up or-?” He mentioned her presence in his room, then it strikes him that there’s a walk in closet “ok you know what, never mind”
He went inside and she waited, but not too long after he ran out, shirt undone and green pants on “I’m gonna look like an olive, let’s do the classic black one please”
She smiled and walked to him, smoothing the shirt with her hands “you will not look like an olive, now let me handle the rest” next she started to button up the shirt, her roaming eyes not missing the custom made 3 necklace she got him from his favorite designer matched with a chain but she kept the comment to herself.
He looked at her, holding back the urge to kiss her lips. He leaned down, lips hovering over her cheeks and he left a peck, causing her to look at look up at him with a smile.
Soon, he was fully ready and he looked as delicious as an olive. Lucious curls wild around his head that made her wanna run her hands through it and play with curls while comfortably sitting on his thighs but she put the idea behind “I might rent an ambulance and send it behind you cause all the ladies gonna swoon and drool” she complimented him, taking his hand so he can spin.
Currently they were running around the house trying to make it on time to the launch.
“I don’t understand why a car launch must be so early in the morning, what was wrong with 3 pm or something” she whined, untangling her hair cause she didn’t like the brain.
Daniel hurriedly slipped into a Redbull shirt “yeah I’ll make sure to bring that to Christian’s attention” the truth was they both overslept.
“Come on we should go, Max arrived at 7 AM” Daniel noted, already at the door waiting for her
“For christ’s sake he is just a fan boy, I love my sleep” she picked her bag “ok choose a car”
“Choose? It doesn’t matter we should go” Daniel urged her to pick one
“Daniel no this is important, we can pick something with driver like a Cadillac, something classic like Mustang or shelby cobra, or we can just get a good old BMW” she thoughtfully gave him a speech, but he reached and picked the BMW keys, both finally heading out.
She mostly stood backstage, watching Daniel jumping around and smiling so hard that his jaw must be hurting. She had no way to explain how good it felt to see him happy instead of pain and misery, a feeling settled at the pit of her stomach anytime she’d glance and see his smile reaching his eyes.
He walked backstage, quietly laughing to himself, he felt like he can’t contain himself due to how well he felt. He stood in front of her but neither said a word.
She placed her hands on his cheeks, feeling the stubbles, alooking at him smiling with bright eyes. She didn’t think twice, she stood on her tiptoes and pecked his lips, it was a light kiss just for the sake of feeling something.
She blinked “nah that wasn’t enough” this time she did it more delicately, making sure their lips are completely connecting. His lips tasted like the Redbull they had before the show.
He embraced the kiss wholeheartedly, a moan left her throat but neither broke the kiss, he saw an opening and his tongue entered her mouth, exploring every corner, lips nipping and biting shamelessly. He enjoyed every second of their lips connected but they finally separated. Neither truly wanted to end it, they stayed close and brushed their lips one last time, breathing each other’s air. She didn’t know why she did it but that was the best kiss she ever had.
Daniel dared to say he had never seen her as red as she was in that moment, lips swollen from kiss and he had to physically restrain himself from kissing her pretty lips again. but he knew it wasn’t the right moment to make a joke so he just pulled her into his chest, hugging her, she heard the loud thumping of his heart beating against his ribcage but didn’t make a comment about it.
“I kinda don’t know what to say right now” she said, confused.
He touched the back of her head, letting his hand to massage her scalp “you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to”
Before she says anything else, he was called again on stage “we uh talk about it later?”
“Yes, if you want to” he smiled to show her that it’s all good.
After the kiss he didn’t expect her to hang around but she stood even when he had to record a podcast. She picked a chair and placed it behind the equipments, smiling and waving anytime he’d catch his eyes.
They were about to leave when Christian found them “we’re having a dinner at the hotel tonight, I’m expecting both of you, no excuses”
She gave him a salut “yes captain, roger that” and laughed.
“I really missed you two, see you at dinner”
They didn’t have time to go home and change so they went straight to the Hard Rock hotel. The restaurant only included Redbull staffs, between sea of people and tables it wasn’t hard to find the two remaining empty chairs for them.
Daniel being the gentleman, pulled back the chair until she was settled in, his act cause the table to clap and cheer his name, Max slapped his back “nice one mate”.
Drinks were put in front of them and soon both flew in the conversation as if they were part of the family and no one made them feel otherwise.
It was close to midnight when she excused herself and went outside for a smoke, getting a fresh air have never felt better.
“I thought you quit” Daniel’s voice said from behind her.
“I thought I did too but don’t knock it till you’ve tried it boy” she teased, poking the cigarette. He threw his arm around her, tucking her in his embrace and resting his head on her hair “are we ok, Danny?” She asked, trying to get herself closer to his heat.
“Why wouldn’t we be?” He asked, playing it cool.
“Well you know, the kiss and stuffs”
He left a kiss on her temple, rubbing her hands to warm her “yes of course we are”
“It was such a damn good kiss though wasn’t it?” She scoffed
“Now that you brought it up, I can’t be opposed to that”
“We should do it more often”
“Now that you brought this up, I absolutely can’t be opposed to that, and next time I'm making it nasty.
I loved this one so much! Now I’m stuck if I should do another chapter and make it smutty or just leave it at that?
#daniel ricciardo#danny ric#daniel ricciardo x reader#f1#formula 1#redbull#renault#daniel ricciardo one shot#daniel ricciardo x you
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[Corrupted Anon] jfc i cant press buttons yes im on laptop.
idek wat i wrote, welcome to shortcut CA bc I cba to write words. Anyways let me break it down if I can.
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141 + LV meets GB!141 + LV
In the GB!Universe, ofc, reader you are opposite of what uh...gender you are (if non-binary, use opposite/difference pronouns).
GB!141 + LV sees you. Falls in love with you, in this universe, obviously they flirt and all that.
141 + LV gets jealous and tells them to back tf off because they don't wanna share with these... female versions of them. (there's an alt one where they actually peg/fuck you but I'll write that one when I'm better)
They hold a competition. Normal vs GB. Surprisingly, GB!141+LV won, and were about to claim their prize (you) but magically... they were returned to their world, all naked and stuff, leaving you naked too... and with your 141+LV (let's just say you got stuffed either way).
GB!141 + LV return to their world, and back to GB!You. All of them thinking like "Well... that was weird and disappointing" sees GB!You and was like, yeah, they're gonna get their fill anyways, if you catch my drift.
oh mah gawd, I wrote words-
YOU WROTE WORDS
AND THEY'RE GOOD
(NOT THAT THE OTHERS WEREN'T, BUT NOW THEY'RE MORE COHERENT, YOU KNOW???????)
GOOD JOB!!!
PLEASE REST UP PLS PLS
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