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writingstoraes · 1 year ago

Text

three words, eight letters 💌

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: written imagine

word count: 4.01k (got carried away)

notes: ok ik there are several of this prompt here but i wanted to give it a whirl :]] also in a slump with my ig imagines so i figured i should finish this since its been a draft for such a looong time lolol no warnings, this is just very fluff-coded!

about: the three times charles almost said "i love you," and the one time he finally did.

Charles wanted to tell you the three aching words he's stored in containment. All he wanted was the right time and the perfect moment, but for the love of his and his alone, he just cannot find it.

He had been racking his brain on how to tell you - because when he looks at you, it's like those three words are just going to explode out of his chest. Every time you smile, laugh, or even breathe in his direction, he realizes just how smitten he was for you. He thought about just saying it out of the blue, unplanned but also when the time felt right. But he also thought about going about it as if it were a proposal because you deserve nothing less than the best he can give.

There were times he thought it was too early to say.

You had just been dating a few months in, and though he felt strongly for you and he did love you, he didn't want to say it too fast or too early out of the fear that it might drive you away.

It's no secret Charles was no chef. He gets a good laugh when other drivers tease him about it but he doesn't pay it any mind. Some people are just good at other things, like how he sucks at cooking but can drive a car that goes as fast as lightning. It is also no secret that he wanted to impress you with skills other than driving - so he doesn't know what entered his mind when he realizes he's on his way to the supermarket as he decides to try and cook dinner.

He scoured the internet for an easy recipe, finally smiling to himself when he finds a simple pasta dish he thinks he can do. To an average person, the dish was really easy to make. So simple that an unsupervised child could follow it. Directions were clear and the website had pictures - he just needs to make a simple sauce, cook some pasta, and grate some cheese. He tells himself nothing could go wrong, what he was about to cook was absolutely just elementary. But he's not an average person, he was Charles, and he is a terrible cook through and through.

Having convinced himself he could cook something so simple, he had forgotten how he messed everything up. He's pretty sure he blacked out, because when he came to his senses, the pasta was overcooked, and the sauce mysteriously evaporated into the air so the pan was just red drops with charred pieces of cheese on the side. He tried to taste it, and he deems it inedible. He was so occupied with cooking it had slipped out of his mind that you were coming over, so the next thing he hears is the sound of your soft knock on his door.

The kitchen was an absolute mess and the apron he wore was extremely dirty — he almost thought about pretending he wasn't home and not answering the door. Of course, he doesn't do that, so he lets you in and the first thing you smell, is cheese.

"Were you cooking?" was the first thing you ask him.

He didn't answer, instead, he planted a chaste kiss on your lips and hurriedly walked back to the kitchen.

He had expected you to laugh once you saw the mess he made by trying to cook just to impress you, but surprisingly, no chuckle erupted out of you.

"Sorry," he says softly, taking off his apron and quickly cleaning up the pots and the bowls he used up.

"I wanted to cook you dinner. I found this recipe online and I thought it was easy," he sighs. "Cooking absolutely hates me. You're okay with getting takeout for now?"

He really did expect you to laugh.

But the second sentence that came out of your mouth: "I'll help you clean up."

It didn't take a lot of time to clean everything up. Thanks to Charles' inability to measure things, he had a ton of extra ingredients, and since he seemed to really like the dish he aspired to cook, you decide to make it for him.

Charles sat at the counter watching you calmly cook the recipe he'd intended to accomplish, your hair parted to the side while you wear the ridiculously messy apron he had worn earlier. He watches you cook the pasta and the sauce at the same time, able to keep your eye on both without neglecting the other. To your defense — the recipe really was easy. But Charles didn't seem to think so, which was why he was sitting on the counter with heart-shaped eyes.

"See, this is what it should look like when the pasta is done cooking," you hold up a piece, cutting it in the middle to show Charles it has cooked through.

"It helps if you check it from time to time if you're not sure. For the sauce, I think you just had your heat on a little too high, but that's okay — you can do it right next time." you smile softly at him, eyes squinting before you shift your attention back to the pan.

Charles had tried cooking before. But up to this day, you were the only one patient enough to actually teach him how. And it didn't help that you looked so beautiful while doing so; hair parted to the side, apron hanging a bit loose on your body, and a smile so captivating it blinds him a little. You weren't perfect, you did laugh at him eventually, but not before guiding him through the recipe he'd chosen. And quite surprisingly, he could cook this same exact dish properly for Arthur next week.

It was clear Charles was no help in the kitchen, so he resorts to hugging you from behind, head resting on your shoulder, breathing slow and steady. He gets a whiff of your shampoo and your perfume he absolutely loved. Your hands soon make their way on top of his that rested on your stomach, thumb rubbing circles on his. Charles was pretty sure you could feel him smile widely behind you, a thought he chooses to ignore because he didn't care anyway, he was at his happiest.

"I lo—" he starts, catching himself off-guard. For a moment, time stops; and he's not sure what to say next. He thought it was too early, but he wanted to say it.

"I love pasta, you know that?" Charles continues, trying to save whatever he's left with. Thankfully, you didn't notice his desperate attempt to cover his supposed mistake.

He tells himself: maybe next time.

Charles' mother had been pestering him for a long time about meeting you. Every time he came home, he was greeted with, "When am I going to meet your girlfriend?"

Even his brothers, Lorenzo and Arthur, were all so ecstatic about meeting you properly for the first time. The two see you around the track for brief periods of time, but in their defense, you haven't introduced yourself properly to Charles' family. It didn't help that Charles himself talked about you like you hung the moon and stars, and made the universe using your own bare hands, because his whole family, mother and brothers aside, all wanted to meet you.

The two of you were finally headed to Charles' childhood home, finally about to meet his entire family. And the word entire was an understatement because everybody was there. From aunts, cousins, and his nieces and nephews, all of them were anticipating your arrival. A lump forms in your throat just by the thought, but you try to battle it with a deep breath as you fixate your eyes on the mirror.

"Do you think they're going to look at this dress and think it's too revealing? Or too short?" you shout from the closet, straightening out the creases of the crisp white dress you were wearing.

Charles enters the room and he swears he could have just died right then and there. How you manage to take his breath away with minimal effort remained a mystery to him.

"I think..." he drags the second word. "I think they are going to be completely in love with you."

"Hopefully not in the same way I am, because I don't plan on sharing you." he softly chuckles, giving you a reassuring smile.

Technically he had said the l word already but to him, it didn't count, only because he didn't say it to you directly.

An hour into meeting you, the entirety of Charles' family adored you wholeheartedly. He didn't want to give credit to himself but he knew they would find no reason to not love you, though he reminds himself to tell you he told you so when you get some time alone together later. He could listen to his family members praise you all day. You had managed to meet each and every one of his side of the family present at the dinner and Charles could not help but admire how carefree you were at interacting with people he held close to his heart. His mom could not stop raving about how great you were and kept asking why he did not introduce you earlier that it makes her slightly mad, which was followed by a hearty laugh and an assurance that she loved you to bits.

You just managed to dazzle and charm every person you talked to. His brothers adored you and you managed to get along so well with them even if your most apparent common denominator with them was racing. His aunts could not stop telling Charles how beautiful you were and how you seemed to be so kind and fit so well with him. They were already asking Charles when's the next time you visit and you haven't even left his home yet. For some odd reason, you got along well with his uncles, too.

But the cherry on top, the last straw, and the tipping point that tugged the heaviest on the strings of Charles' heart were seeing you with his nieces and nephews. He was fond of children, gleeful every time he sees one on the paddock, especially when they are clad in colors of red and yellow, his team's staple color scheme. However, he never knew how disastrous it would be for him to see you with children.

There you sat on the patio, his niece behind you as she messily tried to braid your hair. You had a big smile on your face, laughing at the somewhat theatrical act his other nephew was performing in front of you. In your hands was a glass cup with gelato and a small spoon, raising the spoon occasionally to feed the little girl tying your hair. His lips slowly form a smile and he feels his chest was bound to explode any time soon. He stood there and realized that he was completely, utterly, and irrevocably in love with all that you are. In other words, he was down bad, and he wouldn't even dare deny it.

After the festivities of getting to know each member of his family, you and Charles were finally given time alone in the kitchen. Everyone else was occupied setting the table and fixing everything up for dinner. You were part of it though, he just found you getting the pies in the oven after you volunteered to do so.

"I told you so," he says, slightly taking you by surprise, not enough you drop the pies though.

You turn to him with a sheepish smile, "Told me what?"

"That they would love you," he replies.

"Well, I am very loveable. Can't blame them."

"I know you are. That's why I lov-" he transitions into telling you what might be one of the most important things he's ever going to say in his life.

"Charles, dinner's ready!" Arthur calls out, cutting his train of thought. The two of you shift your gaze to the dining area, seeing Arthur and Lorenzo waiting for the two of you.

That's why I love you. That was what he wanted to say.

Charles sighs, telling himself that maybe getting cut off was a sign that this was not the right time. He'd repeat himself, but he thinks there are other times when he could tell you he loved you without interruptions.

"What were you saying?" you ask, not wanting to hang him out to dry.

"Oh. I said I know you're loveable. That's why I love seeing you charm every single member of my family."

Charles was not having the best day. His own team had botched his home race for him once again and on top of that, he had gotten a 3-place grid penalty in Monaco. Don't get him wrong, he was ecstatic to be home. The warm welcome of the fans was unbeatable. Banners, posters, and the Monaco flag waved around the streets of Monte Carlo.

This season has not been good to him so far. So just once, he wishes to catch a break.

The two of you were walking around the paddock as Charles was headed to the Ferrari motorhome to prepare for the race. His hand was on your waist as he guided you in the sea of people. The track was entirely at capacity - engineers, celebrities, VIPs, reporters, you name it. A few meters from the garage, a reporter from a well-known sports channel calls his attention.

It was routine, and Charles was used to it. You were standing not too close beside the cameraman, just watching Charles answer the questions he was asked. The reporter's inquiries were the usual, he had asked how Charles felt about the penalty, how he thinks the car will perform, what upgrades Ferrari is planning on implementing, and all the likes. You watch intently, giving Charles a small smile every time his gaze went your way.

Though the reporter fixated on Charles' "disappointing home race", his words, Charles knew how to handle the questions and answered them composed and professionally. After all, he has been doing this for quite some time. Deep down, it stirred you slightly as it seemed like the reporter was only recognizing the lapses on Charles' side and insinuating that it was entirely his fault.

You tried to pay it no mind until he makes a passing careless and offensive commentary that you could not just let pass.

"I guess some fans were right - monegasques today have nothing to look forward to. Wonder how they feel when their only driver is not only in a horrible car but is tussling with being nothing special."

Nothing special.

Nothing to look forward to.

Something in your ears rang and your vision went dark. You could see Charles' face drop from where you were standing and your heart absolutely broke for him. He proceeds to nod his head toward the cameraman and made haste and you did not hesitate to follow him right away. If you felt distraught and angered after that comment, you wonder just how he felt after hearing it, and at his home race, nonetheless.

"Charles, wait," you jog slightly, seeing as his pace was a lot faster than you. You could tell he just wanted to get out of there. You reach for his hand, tightly grasping it and he stops walking.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he says lowly, upset written on his face.

"Why are you sorry? It's his fault. He was offensive and careless. He humiliated you and worse, what he was saying was not true."

"C'est bon." It's okay. You two were finally at the garage, a little far from the reporter. Deep down, though Charles wanted to at least defend himself, he feels all the energy he has left had been sucked out of his body.

"No, it's not. He doesn't know what he's saying. I don't want to let him get away with that, he can't just go around telling people things like that. You may be too nice to tell him off but I'm not."

"You don't deserve this," you say with conviction, walking away from the garage and prepared to give the reporter a piece of your mind.

You don't plan to cause a scene, you knew better than that. You weren't going to shout or curse, but you wanted to get your point across. Soon after Charles follows you, clearly trying to stop you but was too late when he saw you already talking to the reporter. He had no choice but to walk closer to you, grasping on what you were saying.

Your voice wasn’t loud. From where he was standing, he could see how calm and composed you were while you gave the reporter the lecture he was probably not expecting. The track was fairly busy and noisy. You could hear engines starting, and conversations of people he doesn’t know, which caused his inability to understand and hear what you were saying.

He just stood there - watching you defend him from the asshole of an interviewer, your hands making small gestures for emphasis. The reporter’s face slowly displayed guilt and resentment as if he was clearly affected by whatever it is you said. Soon, the noise around him subsided and the only thing he was able to hear was the last thing you told the reporter.

“I don’t ever want to hear you talk like that about Charles ever again. If you’re only going to disrespect one of the most hard-working people I know, better to not approach him in the slightest. He did not pour blood, sweat, and tears into this sport just for you to utter those words to him.”

Your voice remained soft but it was steady. You turned your heel against the reporter and a cameraman who was clearly surprised by what he just witnessed. You walk back to him, giving him a small smile.

He wanted to just stand there and stare at you. No one has ever done that for him before. He had his fair share of disrespectful interviewers and questions that downright offended every fiber of his being but he always chose to not pay it any mind. It did not help that you were the kindest person he knew — so seeing you decide right away to defend him like that just made him feel all sorts of things.

The two of you proceed to walk back to the Ferrari garage, your hand tightly grasped by Charles. At the time, he desperately wanted to embrace you and whisper just how much he loved you. He wanted to drag you to a discreet corner and just hold your face while he tells you the three words he’d been keeping to himself.

But he remained frozen in awe of you, and so he fails to tell you once again.

“Can I-” Charles starts, trying his best to get up from the couch.

“I already told you. The answer is no,” you reply firmly, shifting your gaze to the man with the slightly swollen cheek.

He huffs a little bit loudly, wanting to show his disappointment.

“Baby, the doctor said no strenuous activities. You just had your wisdom tooth extracted, so no, you can’t go skiing with Joris.” you say as you walk toward the couch, fluffing the pillow his head rested on and putting a soft blanket on top of him.

“Please just rest. You lie down right where you are and I will be preparing dinner soon. I just have to finish something first.”

“My favorite?” he asks, putting on the sweet tone you were always soft for.

“Anything for you, my patient.” you smile, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Okay. I’ll rest,” he sighs, adjusting himself on the couch to face sideways. “You take care of me so well.”

Charles was under a lot of painkillers. His dentist appointment had been rescheduled hundreds of times as he claims to be too “busy” to get his wisdom tooth extracted. If it weren’t for your incessant nagging because he was already in pain, he probably wouldn’t have pushed through with it. He tried his best to look tough in front of you, but as someone who drove cars that are as fast as lightning, you could tell he was nervous.

The doctor had to reassure him that there would be anesthesia plus painkillers to combat the pain he would be feeling after. After finding out he was medically allowed to eat a ton of ice cream after the procedure, he was more than happy to oblige.

However, the combination of Charles, anesthesia that’s wearing off, plus painkillers is not equal to a drowsy Charles. He had more energy than usual and was naughtier than normal. In other words, he was hyper. He was not muttering nonsense like the famous wisdom tooth aftermath videos on YouTube nor did he want to sleep all day. He wanted to do so many things he was about to get overstimulated. So no matter how weak in the knees Charles usually made you nor how you always give in when he asks you for something, skiing and going to the gym for a heavy workout after he just had his tooth extracted were just things you cannot say yes to.

Not long after, the ever so fueled with energy of a boyfriend you had was deep in slumber on the couch. He probably tired himself out from listing a thousand reasons why you have to let him go with Joris and his friends today. He was ceaseless, after all. His lower body was covered with the blanket that you put on him earlier, chest slowly heaving up and down, mouth slightly apart, and lightly snoring.

He looked so peaceful. For a while, you just sat beside him and went on to study the features of his face. The pointed nose, the tiny freckles that are most evident when the sun hits them, and the eyes that seem to contain galaxies and universes in it.

“I know you’re staring, chérie,” he quietly says, eyes still closed.

“No. I’m just checking to see if your face is still swollen.” you reply, playfully rolling your eyes at him.

“Not swollen. Just say you’re looking for an excuse to study my beautiful face.” he teases, shifting himself so he’s now in a seated position.

“That’s the anesthesia talking, Charlie,”

“Wore off already.”

“Fine, I was staring. You’re so pretty, how could I not?” you say, shrugging your shoulders before standing up to prepare dinner.

“I love you.” Charles says before you could even move away far from the couch where he was seated.

I love you.

You stop in your tracks, your back still facing the Monegasque who was clearly waiting for a response yet slightly relieved he told you what he had been wanting to say for a while now.

“I already know what’s going through your mind,” he says, lightly laughing. “This is not the painkillers nor the anesthesia talking. I’d spent so much time debating on when to tell you.”

“So many accidental “I love you’s” thrown away. Figured there’s never a right time. I love you every single day so why wait for a perfect moment?”

“I love you. So so much.” he repeats.

You turn to him with a smile you can’t contain, walking over to him and engulfing him in what seemed to be the tightest hug you’d ever given anybody.

“I hope you know I’m still saying no to the skiing.” you laugh.

Charles chuckles, and you could feel the vibrations of his laughter from his chest. His grip on you only tightens, sighing in relief.

“That’s okay. I’d rather be with you anyway.” he says, squeezing you once more before breaking away from your embrace.

“Hmm, swaying me with pretty words, Leclerc?” you raise a brow.

“Never!” Charles smiles sheepishly as he puts both his hands up in defense.

“For what it’s worth — though you’re like a child hopped up on sugar earlier, I love you too.”

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tagging: @slytherheign <3

notes: i think this is my first time writing something this long! i also have a 3.5k word work in progress but i cant find the will to finish it lol very angsty though!

thank u sm for reading and lmk what u think hehe <3 also pls send requests for ig imagines for charles! will try to do it as soon as i can!

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crackedpumpkin · 4 months ago

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𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝟎𝟓 |

a/n: okok im sorry this series is lowkey super slow i promise it gets better without compromising on the soulmate stuff aight <3

[ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 ] | [ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ] | [ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

“Should I grapes?”

Your dad blinks. “I beg your pardon?” Squinting at the bunch of grapes in your hand, your foggy mind tries to comprehend what you are trying to ask. Eventually, you get there, the lost words finding their way back to you.

“Should I eat grapes?”

“If you want, just be sure not to be late for school.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. He holds it out, offering some to you. Shaking your head dismissively, you tiptoe and grab the container of ground coffee, placing it down on the counter. “Order up,” He jokes, watching you prep the coffee for the espresso machine.

You’d gotten it as a gift on your nineteenth birthday, having picked it out yourself online before heading down to the store with your dad to buy it. It’s your baby, your pride and joy, and you’d use it to its fullest potential each time.

There’s even a dedicated rack of syrups and other things you’d purchased online, but you always made an iced latte in the mornings. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have the strength to get through the day.

“I’ve got my first session today with Master Wu, so I’ll probably be back late.” You inform him, sitting down at the table after making yourself a vanilla latte. Emily's already made a plate of French toast that he’s munching on, having saved two slices for you.

You eat it regardless, choosing not to acknowledge this fact. A glance at the clock tells you that you’ve got plenty of time to finish up and make your way over to the university. You mentally tick off the checklist in your head, assured that you’ve completed most of, if not all, your work and assignments.

Although, that wouldn’t stay true for very long. The professor in your third lesson would probably give you yet another essay. At least you get off school early, which means that you’d have plenty of time before your lessons with Master Wu would start.

“Have you made any new friends yet?”

The remains of toast in your hands halt halfway to your mouth, eyes flitting from it to your dad’s inquisitive gaze. Slowly, you bring it to your mouth and bite off a piece, averting your gaze and chewing slowly.

He sets down his phone, the morning news displayed on the bright screen. Clearing his throat, he takes another swig of coffee before massaging the area between his eyes. “Did you get into a fight? At least tell me you won.”

“I did not get into a fight,” you say with mild outrage, offended he’d even consider the option. “And for your information, I have made two new friends.” you point the crust of the french toast at him with a frown.

He leans back in his chair with a raised brow. ��What are their names?”

Crap.

“For your information, they prefer to not have their names disclosed. Confidentiality reasons.” To be fair, you aren’t exactly lying, per se. It’s somewhat true. The ninja are technically your new friends now, right? And you can’t just reveal their names, it’d destroy the whole point of a secret identity.

You nod absentmindedly, your thoughts making perfect logical sense in your head. The coffee is almost gone from your cup, and you peek at the espresso machine that’s practically calling your name. Surely there’s time for another cup, right?

“Sometimes I wonder if I dropped you on the head as a baby.” He mumbles with a tilt of his head, though the corners of his mouth hint at an amused smile. “Even if I did, I’m pretty sure I’d have taken you to the doctor’s. I think.”

Casting him an odd look, you shrug and quickly do the dishes. Realising there isn’t enough time to make another cup of coffee, you decide to head out to your first few classes of the day.

“Be back by 8!” You call out at the doorway, slipping a finger into the back of your sneakers to help shove them over your heel. The tote bag almost hits you in the face as you lean down, narrowly avoiding it and swinging open the door.

Warm sunlight greets your skin, happiness rushing through your veins as you pop in your earbuds and make your way to the university. Each step has a slight spring to it, and the colours all around are surprisingly more vibrant than usual. Delicious scents warm the air as you pass by Chinatown, mentally marking it down to visit another day.

With your entire being brimming with joy, there’s surely nothing that can go wrong, right?

— — — — —

Wrong.

This is all very wrong.

“And I was telling her all about how the professor is a total quack! Right?” Your body tilts to the side as someone shoves it teasingly, almost falling off the chair then and there. Mustering all the energy you have left, you lift your head and take a deep breath, plastering on the brightest smile you can muster.

Abby sits next to you, the table crowded with students. “Anyway, did you know she’s taking lessons from Master Wu??” The entire table gasps in shock, you included (sarcastically, of course. But it went unnoticed, unfortunately).

She gives you an odd look, tossing your response aside in favour of talking excitedly about how one time one of the ninjas saved her from a falling building or something of the like - you weren’t paying attention.

Instead, you’re busy planning for a way to escape from the group. You’re not even sure how you ended up here in the first place. One moment, you got paired up for an assignment with Abby, and the next, you’re sitting down in one of the food courts around campus after she found out you had lessons with Master Wu after school.

In hindsight, it was stupid of you to reveal that. Back home, no one cared if you had connections to a celebrity, unless they actually showed up. You’d subconsciously let down your guard, and now everyone’s bombarding you with questions about the ninja.

“So, is it true that Kai uses hairspray and not gel?”

“Does Zane eat?”

“Can you help me get Nya’s shirt??”

That was probably the final straw. You clear your throat and instantly everyone quiets down, waiting with bated breath for your reply. Pausing for a moment, you smile as you part your lips to speak.

“I’m gonna be late for class.”

Taking advantage of the silence that follows while they process your short reply, you grab your bag and run, leaving them behind. It’s not long before chagrined voices start to complain, feeling only slightly guilty for Abby who’s left behind to salvage the social situation.

That wouldn’t be hard for her though, you suspect. She seems to be a social butterfly, which works out great, but also horrible, considering that she pretty much dragged you there. Wanting to make friends is a goal you want to cross off, but not this way.

The rest of the morning passes by fast, but your mental stamina starts to drain more and more with each passing hour. Finally, the professor releases you for the day, with the bright and cheery smile she gets from seeing her students suffer, like all professors do.

The classroom fills with chatter as the students all leave until you’re the only one left trying to stuff the laptop into your tote bag. A sudden tap on your shoulder makes you flinch, turning in surprise to see a brunette standing behind you.

She fiddles with something in her hands, eyes darting everywhere but at you. “Can I help you?” The moment you speak, she flinches a little, taking a visible breath before pressing her lips together determinedly.

“Hi, I’m Holly. You left this behind in the food court earlier…I was sitting at another table.”

“Oh, thanks,” you say with mild surprise, taking the student pass she holds out with a grateful smile. “I wouldn’t be able to get in the classrooms tomorrow if not for you,” you joke, waving it at her with a wink.

She seems to ease up, shoulders visibly relaxing as she laughs. “How’d you get into the classroom today then?” You shrug.

“I was behind someone else who was headed in the same direction and got too lazy to pull out the card, so I asked them to open it for me. Luckily, he was in the same class.”

“That’s so fair,” She replies with a wise nod. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you. I’m in this class too. It’d be great if you could consider me as a project partner sometime!”

Humming, you thoughtfully mull the idea over before nodding. “Sounds good to me. I gotta head off now though. I’ll see you around Holly.”

“See you!” She waves you off as you rush out the door, an odd warmth in your chest. Thinking back to your interaction with her makes you smile. She hadn’t asked about Master Wu or the ninja…

Maybe she might just be your first friend.

— — — — —

The climb up the steep steps of the mountain is the usual, though this time you’re supercharged by the thought of having potentially met your very first friend in school. Even your loud knock on the monastery doors sounds cheery.

Zane opens the door, surprise written on his face at your bright smile, though maybe your flushed cheeks and beads of sweat rolling down your face don’t help convey it. “Hey there buddy,” you greet.

“Hello there friend! You arrived early today. Do you need a shower?”

You shake your head, walking inside and instantly being greeted by the regulated cooling system that keeps everything at the ideal temperature they decided. “I’ll just sweat it all out. Hey, is Cole around? I gotta return something to him.”

“He’ll be back soon from patrol. In the meantime, why don’t you come and grab a drink?” Zane offers, leading the way at your eager nod. The moment you walk to the doorway leading inside, Zane pauses, turning to stare at you.

“...Can I help you?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if contemplating what to say. “I do not mean to offend you, but I strongly advise taking a shower. It is not that you smell bad, but you will need it, based on my personal experience.”

Crossing your arms, you raise a brow at him. "Are you saying I smell like a gym sock?"

He hesitates. "...No. I'm just saying that most people who climb up the mountain end up smelling like a gym sock and usually shower afterwards."

Flinching slightly, you press your lips together into a thin line. "Touché, ninja. Touché."

You take the lead, your body vaguely remembering where the bathroom is from your last visit. The shower is a separate room inside the bathroom, ensuring the utmost privacy for whoever uses it.

“Here, you can change into these after.” Zane hands a set of clothes toward you from a drawer. Accepting them gladly, you head to the bathroom and lock the door. Taking a quick shower, your body welcomes the lukewarm water that flows down your skin, dripping off your fingertips.

Upon changing into the loose black shirt and training pants, you secure the latter by pulling the strings and tying them tightly so they won’t fall. Zane nods in approval once you step out more refreshed than before, tossing the towel in the laundry basket off to the side.

“Thanks, I’ll be sure to wash and return these.” Lifting your arms and swinging them back and forth a little creates a slight gust of wind that cools down your armpits wonderfully. That, combined with the sunny weather outside, is a picturesque scene for training.

He shakes his head with a smile. “There is no need. Feel free to keep them. We have too many clothes here, and it’s better to give them freely.”

Slightly odd response, but who are you to question their recycling decisions? Choosing to take it as is, you grin and continue the walk to the dojo. Zane waves goodbye to you, sliding the door shut.

Master Wu sits in the middle of the room with a cup of tea, sipping away in peace and calm. Approaching him, you automatically bow a full ninety degrees. The practice was drilled into you until it was almost instinct, especially if you were indirectly rude. Sometimes, you can still feel the screaming pain of your thighs crying out for mercy, forced to remain in a training position as punishment.

Rising from the bow, you hesitate slightly, waiting for Master Wu to acknowledge your presence. His eyes remain closed, his breathing deep and steady, embodying the very essence of tranquillity. After what feels like an eternity, he opens his eyes and meets your gaze with a serene smile.

“Sit,” he says softly, gesturing to the mat across from him. You comply, folding your legs underneath you and trying to mirror his calm.

“You have come far in your journey,” Master Wu begins, setting down his cup. “But there is always more to learn. You are skilled with the blade, but true mastery requires understanding beyond the sword.”

He rises gracefully. “Today, we will focus on adaptability,” Master Wu explains, “Kendo teaches you to be direct and powerful, but sometimes, you must flow like water.” He walks over to the empty wall and presses a hidden button.

A section of the wall moves, smoothly rotating to reveal a wall or neatly displayed weapons on the other side. He grabs two wooden swords, throwing one at you. Your hands reach out to grab it as you stand, shifting into your stance.

“Now, we shall spar.”

What?

Before you can blink, a sharp pain blooms on the side of your torso. Stumbling back a few steps, you gulp in a mouthful of air as you process what’s just happened. Master Wu is only a few steps away from you, the sword in his hand no longer there for a light demonstration.

You ready yourself, thankful he’s given you a few moments to breathe. The pain still throbs, ignoring it to focus on him. The blade stills in your vision, fingers tightly gripping the handle. It’s barely another second before you swing the blade, charging toward his nonchalant figure.

With a swift, fluid motion, Master Wu deflects your strike effortlessly, redirecting your momentum and causing you to stumble past him. His movements are smooth and unhurried, a stark contrast to your forceful approach.

"Adapt," he advises calmly, "Use your opponent's energy against them."

You turn quickly, regaining your balance and taking a deep breath. This time, you focus on the flow of his movements, watching for an opening. He remains relaxed, his stance fluid and ready. You feint to the right, then pivot to the left, aiming a strike at his side.

He counters with ease, the wooden swords clacking together sharply. Instead of resisting, you let the force of his parry guide your movements, spinning around and striking from a different angle. His eyes light up with approval as he blocks again, your movements starting to resemble a dance more than a duel.

"Good," he says, his voice steady. "Feel the flow. Do not fight it."

You continue sparring, each strike and block becoming more instinctive. He still lands more than his fair share of hits, while your wooden blade barely brushes against the fabric of his robes. Gritting your teeth at the sharp blow dealt to your leg, you tense every muscle in your body and continue to spar.

The sounds of your wooden blades clashing fill the air, your heavy breathing included. The fluidity and grace in his motions piss you off, a stark contrast to the rigid discipline of Kendo.

Why won’t he let me hithimgodfuckingdamnit-

A slight bonk on the side of your head snaps you out of your thoughts, skidding back and breathing heavily as you process it. “...Did you just hit my head?”

Master Wu blinks. “Yes.”

Then he strikes again, this time a slightly gentler hit on your calf, compared to the previous ones. You’re not sure whether to be thankful or frustrated - he’d just shown you how severely lacking you are, after all.

“We shall take a break,” he announces. It’s only then when you lower your sword that you notice the abundance of sweat dripping down your face, your back completely soaked. You collapse to the ground, legs sprawled out as you finally get the chance to catch your breath.

As you continue to practically gulp in mouthfuls of air, you turn to look at Master Wu who’s sitting down with another cup of tea. “I have a question.” He hums curiously, raising a brow. “Why’re you teaching me this and not Kendo?”

Hell yeah, drop that old man wisdom on me.

“The strikes and stances of kendo are ingrained in your muscles,” He explains, “but it does not mean you are invincible. Kendo has its strengths, but it also has its weaknesses. By learning to be fluid with your movements, you will become a better fighter than before.”

He tilts the teapot, pouring tea into a separate cup which he then holds out to you. Summoning all the strength in your body to crawl (yes, crawl. It’s embarrassing, but you’re truly too tired to care) to the small table, you pull yourself up and sit opposite him.

Without thinking twice, you tilt the cup back and down it in a single gulp, exhaling happily as it goes down your throat and warms your body.

Opening your eyes, you spot Master Wu’s bemused gaze, freezing momentarily before offering him the empty cup with a sheepish smile.

He fills it up at your silent request, letting it pass. “Your body is that of a cup. It can only hold so much, but once you break past your limits, you can expand its capacity.”

You nod slowly, the warmth of the tea seeping into your bones, easing the aches from your recent sparring. "So, I need to break my limbs?" That’s probably not what he's trying to get at, from the way his eyes widen at your response.

“Not at all,” he chuckles, “challenge yourself. Learn as much as you can. Then, make it your own. That is why I am teaching you. Not just because of your stepmother, and not just in the name of self-defence. You enjoy it, don’t you?”

Pursing your lips, you choose to sip quietly. He’d seen through you as easily as glass. You wouldn’t easily admit it to anyone, but you missed the intense training and the time spent sparring with your previous master.

The blood rushing through your veins and the sweat dripping down your brow every time gave you a rush of adrenaline you’d grown addicted to.

Now, it’s hard to refrain from. That’s not to say you’d do it every day of the week of course, but at its core, you found it fun.

“Ah, Cole.” He greets, raising his cup. You tense, turning back to see the Earth Ninja all dressed up in his gi. He takes off the hood, mirroring the baffled expression on your face. “Just in time.”

Cole approaches the both of you, bowing to Master Wu and sitting beside you. He looks over, eyes filled with surprise at your presence. Lifting your cup, you offer it to him in a show of good relations. “Tea?”

He shakes his head in refusal. Shrugging, you retract your offer and sip away.

Only to choke when you see him take out a cup of his own. Master Wu seems unfazed, pouring the tea into his cup as if it were the norm to carry it around. “Dude, do you keep that on you?”

He raises a brow at the pure amusement in your voice. “You got a problem with that?”

“No, not at all.” You reply, pressing your lips together to hide the growing smile on your face. “I’m sure you’ve good reason to do so. Like urgent tea sessions or when the kitchen doesn’t have any more vessels for beverages.” You add with a solemn nod.

First Papa’s, now this? What next, an emergency blanket?

“Okay, snob. I bet you don’t have your own cup, anyway.” He retorts with a huff, rolling his eyes.

“For your information, I happen to have the best mug in the world. It was a birthday gift, not sure if you’ve ever had one though.”

“A mug? As a birthday gift? What are you, lame?” He snorts, shaking his head in amusement.

“Where the hell do you keep it anyway? Won’t it get crushed because of all the fighting and stuff?” You ask, choosing to change the topic. He goes along with it (thank god), taking a sip before explaining that he puts it in a pouch that’s designed to turn stiff when pressure is placed on it.

Master Wu interrupts your discussion by clearing his throat and peeking an eye open. Cole Instantly straightens his back, delivering his report on the day’s patrol. “Anyway, I’ll get going now.” He starts to get up, only to pause when Master Wu puts forth a suggestion.

“Why don’t you stay and have a spar with her?”

“Me? Spar with her?” He looks you up and down, taking in your flushed cheeks and sweat-ridden body. “Won’t she collapse?”

Your lips part in a silent gasp, offended by his tone. “Excuse me,” you haul yourself off the floor with a grunt, taking a step forward and jabbing a finger into his chest. “I’ll have you know that I can beat your ass any day.”

He smirks, pushing aside your arm and taking a step forward, leaving barely any space between your bodies. “I’d like to see you try.” Your eyes narrow into a glare, infuriated by the smugness in his eyes.

Another cough interrupts you both, breaking your gaze and turning to see Master Wu’s raised brows as he stares at the both of you. You hastily take a step back, pushing him away in the process.

He lifts a hand and brushes off the imaginary dust left by your finger. You glare at him, grabbing the sword that lies at Master Wu’s side. You toss it to him, frowning when he catches it with ease without being caught off guard by the sudden toss.

Walking over to an empty spot in the dojo, you breathe in slowly, sucking in the cool air through your teeth. “Remember, true strength lies not just in power, but in the ability to adapt and flow,” Master Wu advises from the side, using his cane as a division between you both.

Your form is almost perfect, every muscle tense as you grip the handle of your sword with determination. You would not let this bastard get the upper hand on you. Even if he is a ninja, he can’t always be on his toes the whole time.

“Begin.”

In the split moment that Master Wu’s command rings through the air, you lift the sword and strike. Cole manages to barely dodge it, the gust of wind generated by the powerful blow moving a few strands of his hair across his face.

He does a backflip, landing perfectly on his feet and holding the sword out in defence. He chuckles wryly. “Not bad for a musketeer.” Your cheeks warm at the reference, recalling the night he’d found you in that hole not too long ago caused by the very thief who snuck into the fundraiser.

“Very funny, Earth Ninja. Am I supposed to applaud?” You ask sarcastically, lunging forward and striking once more. He parries easily, only for you to use the momentum to aim a kick at the back of his legs.

He stumbles to the ground, landing on his knees before bolting back up again with a glint in his eyes. “Fair point. I guess we’ll be doing this seriously after all. Don’t chicken out.”

“Are you sure you should be saying that?” You fake a sympathetic pout, tilting your head in pity. “Don’t you need ointment for those bruises first?”

The ghost of an amused smile flickers across his face, holding his sword up and moving toward you once more. The blades clash with a resounding knock, the vibrations travelling through the wood and into your hands. They tremble slightly, neither of you willing to give way to the other.

“Wanna make a bet?” He suggests through gritted teeth, though you can tell he probably isn’t using his full strength. You’d heard about his supposed ‘super-strength’ through Melody’s rambles, and you’d rather die than admit that you’re grateful he isn’t using it.

Contemplating it through heavy breaths and aching muscles, you decide to accept. Not readily though, of course. “What’re the stakes?” You ask, before using his weight against him and side-stepping out of the way to nail a punch at his side.

He dodges it easily, leaving you to groan in frustration before putting some distance between you both. Barely a second later, your swords clash again, this time with an emotion resembling that of humour behind either of your intentions.

“Loser buys dinner.”

Deeming it an acceptable bet with a nod, your mind races with ways that you could potentially win. Drop the sword and surprise him with a punch? Try to kick his feet? Deal more strikes, but swifter and faster than before?

Unfortunately, fate is unkind to you as always. Before you can react fast enough, he twists his body sideways, bending low and using the blunt of the blade to deal a sharp hit to your abdomen.

It knocks the wind out of you. You’re barely able to defend yourself before he sweeps his leg, knocking yours from under you and making you land on your back. Your body erupts with coughs as you try to catch your breath, your chest heaving.

“Looks like I’ve won.” He shrugs, nonchalant words accompanied by the smug grin on his face you wish you could wipe off.

With the tip of the blade pointed at your throat, you raise your hands in surrender, rolling your eyes in the process. “Motherfucker,” you mumble under your breath, accepting the hand he holds out to you regardless.

He helps you up, ignoring the way you purposely put more weight behind your grip in an attempt to drag him to the ground. Giving up, you stand of your own accord, hissing in pain at the way your chest stings from that last blow dealt.

“Well done, both of you. Your lesson is now over. I will see you again next week. Perhaps Cole too, if he wishes to join” Master Wu states with a knowing smile, exiting through another door and leaving the both of you behind.

You share a look, staring at the door he’s just left through.

“You don’t think…”

“Nah,” you shake your head with a nervous laugh. “There’s no way he knows. You didn’t tell him, right?”

“No way,” Cole denies instantly, shaking his head aggressively.

“Okay, damn. Don’t gotta be so strung up about it…” You grumble, crossing your arms. A twinge of hurt blooms in the pit of your stomach, but you choose to push it away, focusing on putting the weapons back onto the wall. Fumbling around for the hidden switch, you’re interrupted by a familiar hand pressing its exact spot, the wall rotating back to hide them once more.

He turns back to you with an expectant look. Tensing, you can already hear the money in your bank account beginning to fly away. Releasing a breath, you pinch the space between your brows. “Where to?” You ask in defeat.

“I’ll tell you that after you shower.” Looking up to see Cole’s wrinkled nose, you spot him subtly fanning the air. “You’re stinkin’ up the place right now.”

That’s it. I’m gonna punch him, ninja or not.

— — — — —

Taglist: @candyquokka @mattchka @em-100 @cursedreader @alicesmile1 @alexa24 @raegreenie4 @burdeningbitch @viennasthings @cadencannot @ml3czqo @nanasemo @certified-cole-simp @beescomet @theblindhag @mitbin24 @sweetlittlebumblebree @brooklyniswriting @cantbecreative @something-else3 @iinlovewithfictionalppl @itz-moonlight

#ninjago #lego ninjago #cole brookestone #cole brookstone x reader #cole x reader #ninjago x reader #cole ninjago #lego ninjago x reader

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oceaneyesinla · 6 months ago

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Helping Hand

I am convinced Sanemi would be the best partner and he would look after you so well, especially if you were struggling. Which is what inspired this fic

This is the first x reader fic I've ever written, so CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is welcome (please don't be mean to me I'll cry)

Also on AO3

Hope you enjoy!

divider by @cafekitsune

Whether you wanted to scream, cry, or burrow so far into the earth you hit magma, you weren't sure. What you were sure of was that if something didn't give soon, you were going to explode. The labours of everyday life were creeping up on you, and their weight was threatening to crush you.

Of no help was the separate pressure of your job, one you loved but one which was beginning to suck away at your spirit. You went into every shift dreading the day, and you left every shift feeling a mix of frustration and hopelessness, desperately pushing against problems you had no hope of solving.

Arriving home, you slowly fumbled with your keys, unlocking the door and taking a second before stepping over the threshold. You knew what awaited you - dirty dishes in the sink, laundry piling up in the bathroom and the boxes of your last online purchase still sitting on the bedroom floor, taunting you every time you passed them without breaking them down. You would have, if you had the energy and the motivation, but both escaped you more often than not.

A little clatter caught your attention and you were on high alert until you noticed the pair of shoes tucked beside your own in the hallway, far too big for your feet. You knew those shoes; you were with your boyfriend when he bought them.

You weren't expecting Sanemi that night, but you wouldn't complain at seeing him. All you wanted was to fall into a shower then your bed, and it would be infinitely better if his arms were wrapped around you once you had.

You stepped through into the living room and stopped dead, blinking. There, in a neat pile next to the couch, was the flattened remains of your cardboard boxes. Your little recycling box was right next to it, full of all the things you had been meaning to sort but hadn't had the chance.

A strange feeling settled in your chest as you ventured further into the apartment, following the sounds of your boyfriend moving around. Tears welled in your eyes as you hovered in the doorway to the kitchen.

Sanemi had donned yellow Marigolds, the thick muscle of his forearms almost bursting out of the rubber as he scrubbed away at the counter top. On the drying rack next to the sink, all the dishes you had let linger were washed up, and you even spotted the bowl and glass you hadn't bothered to move from where you left them by your computer. At the time, it felt easier to leave them there and then you just kept forgetting to bring them through to the kitchen.

You could hear the washing machine churning away, and you just knew that if you went into the bathroom, it would be neat and tidy again, just like the living room and the kitchen.

You couldn't help the sob that escaped you, a mix of pure relief and extreme shame forcing the emotion out of you. You were an adult, one with no dependents, no responsibility other than going to work. You were supposed to be able to do this for yourself. Part of you knew, though, that you were overwhelmed, and you had been stuck in this cycle of desperately needing help but being too ashamed to ask for it for too long.

Worried eyes met your own, and it was almost comical how Sanemi struggled with his rubber gloves, all but ripping them off so he could close the distance between you and tug you into his warm embrace.

“Hey, what's going on, Y/N? What's with the waterworks, huh?”

Through your sobbing, the only thing you could choke out was, “You w-washed the dishes.”

You weren't sure if he would understand all the meanings hidden behind those simple words, but the way he softened, stroking at your hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head suggested he did.

“Yeah, I washed the dishes, baby.” He kept up the comforting motion, one hand cradling your head against his chest and the other sliding up and down your back. The only sounds in the room were your quiet sobs and the gentle shushes Sanemi was releasing.

Slowly, you calmed down, relaxing into his arms and letting the steady beat of his heart fill your ears. You pressed a soft kiss to his pec, right over his heart before you pulled out of his hold, rubbing at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt.

A warm hand cupped your face, and a rough thumb gently wiped a couple of tears from the apple of your cheek. You looked up to meet Sanemi’s eye and found him already staring down at you. Heat pooled in your cheeks at the steady attention and he smiled in response, patting your cheek.

“Go and shower, baby. I'll get some food ready for when you're done.”

You tried to protest; he had already done more than enough, but he just brushed off your fretting, turning you around and giving you the gentlest of pushes, “Don't make me carry you in there.” You looked over your shoulder at him, and he was still wearing that fond smile.

Another couple of tears slipped down your cheeks, but instead of sadness, your overwhelming emotion was love. Your own lips turned up into a smile, your first genuine one of the day, “Thank you, Sanemi.”

***********

You felt a million times better after your shower, and when you stepped out from under the spray, you realised Sanemi had already set out clothes for you to put on - your favourite sleep shorts, and one of his t-shirts. You smiled as you slipped the t-shirt over your head; you could faintly smell his laundry detergent.

Sanemi looked up as you padded into the living room, towel around your shoulders like a cape. Two plates were on the table in front of him, and of course your angel of a boyfriend had cooked your favourite. You sat down with a smile, tummy rumbling - you hadn’t had chance to eat at work, the shift too busy for you to step away for even a moment.

Sanemi watched you take the first few bites before starting his own, seemingly satisfied that you were taken care of. After a minute of silent enjoyment, he posed a question, eyes watching you for a reaction, “Wanna talk about it?”

Immediately, you were shaking your head. You wanted to do anything but think about everything bogging you down, at least for now. For the first time in weeks, you felt truly relaxed, soothed by your sweet boyfriend and his endless care for you. You knew you would need to talk about it eventually but right now, you just wanted him and a little bit of normality.

“Alright then. Hey, did I tell you about Sumi’s gymnastics competition?” You had to smile as Sanemi updated you on everything going on in his sibling’s lives. He was such a good big brother; always so invested in them and their hobbies, making sure they had everything they could want and more.

When you were both finished with your food, you tried to collect up the plates, but your hand was batted away before you could even get close. Sanemi did the job instead, leaning over to kiss your head as he passed you, heading into the kitchen. Following him, you squeaked in shock as he lifted you up, sitting you on the counter with a smirk, “Sit pretty and keep me company, yeah? How’s Kanae?”

You were well aware he didn’t need you to tell him that - she was a teacher at the same school as him, and they were good friends before you even met him. In fact, it was her who introduced you. The gesture was appreciated, though. He was giving you something easy to talk about, something light and happy.

It worked, too. You told him all about your recent shopping trip, and the meal you went out for and he listened to it all with a smile on his face. So invested in your story, you barely noticed him finish washing up and so you jumped when his hands landed on your thighs, his torso slotting between your legs. His palms were warm as they slowly travelled over your skin, relaxing you further with every pass.

“Ready for a movie in bed? Your pick.”

You suggested your favourite movie, grinning when he nodded. He lifted you up, patting your thigh as a prompt to wrap your legs around him. You loved when he did this; carrying you around with strong arms, holding you close. He deposited you on the bed before heading to the bathroom, leaving you alone. As your eyes scanned the room, you felt like crying all over again - the sheets under your body were fresh (and your favourite) and he had even dusted your shelves and the trinkets you kept there. All of his work must have taken hours, and he had done it all without you saying a word. You always thought there was no way you could love him more, and he always managed to prove you wrong.

You settled yourself under the covers, snuggling into the fresh smelling duvet with a satisfied smile. It didn’t take Sanemi long to return and you let your eyes wander over his exposed muscles. He was so beautiful, and he had a heart to match.

He set up the movie and put the remote on the bedside table before sliding under the covers next to you. He pulled you closer, arms wrapped around you as he manoeuvred you into a comfortable position. When he was done, you were practically on top of him, head over his heart and his hand rubbing soothing circles into your back. A yawn escaped you as you breathed in the scent of his body wash and he let out a little laugh.

Yeah, you were tired, but you needed to know, “Why did you come over today? Not that I mind, but …” In all honesty, you had been trying to hide just how much you were struggling. Sanemi already had enough on his plate between his teaching job and his responsibility to his family. You didn’t want to be one more burden.

“I could tell something wasn’t right. You haven’t been as bright lately. Plus, you always end up humming when you’re concentrating, and you haven’t done that in weeks.”

He really paid that much attention? The humming was an old habit, and even you only noticed its absence after it made a reappearance.

“Sanemi …” You didn’t know what to say. Were there even words for how you felt right now?

His hand never stopped its steady stroke along your spine, even as his arms tightened around you a little, “You don’t need to say anything, Y/N. I love you. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy.” You felt a little chuckle rumble through his chest, “Now go to sleep - I can see your eyes drooping.”

He was right - between his soothing touch and his warm hold, you were quickly being lulled into sleep. You snuggled further into his chest, pressing a kiss over his heart as you mumbled, “Love you too.”

The last thing you heard before sleep overtook you was a quiet, “Sleep well, baby.”

#sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #shinazugawa sanemi #demon slayer #kny #kny fanfic #demon slayer fanfic #sanemi shinazugawa x reader

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vhoorlpool · 2 months ago

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imagine introducing a monster to the mundane, but soft parts to a relationship/friendship.

clothes shopping together and finding what styles and sizes the both of you prefer. does their horns or tail get stuck in the racking? perhaps an extra arm or appendage does not fit into the sleeve— leading to a barrage of teasing and giggles from the both of you. maybe they can’t even fit into normal clothes at all, and you’ll have to make an extra trip to a tailor or do a little online shopping later after a much needed lunch break to see what selections are there instead.

cooking together, whether they’re able to reach the top shelf for you or having to use a step-stool to let your monstrous lover reach the stove. maybe they’re exceptional at it, barreling to you with arms full of treats and dishes they’ve made for you to try. …or maybe the pot boils over or a grease fire starts, and they’ll learn the importance of a well put fire extinguisher on the countertop… (^_^;) whoopsie!

but at the end of the day, it’s about the memories and experiences you two share that matter most. curled up together in bed sharing secrets and whispering sweet nothings, or playing footsies on the sofa as you binge a series together; your monster will always be there for you.

#can you guys tell i’m yearning rn #like… give me my monster bf now!!! argh!!!! (● ˃̶͈̀ロ˂̶͈́)੭ꠥ⁾⁾#monster x reader #monster x human

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swisccfinds · 10 months ago

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TOP 5 MUST HAVE Sims 4 Career Mods

These are my most personal Career mods for the sims 4, please don't forget to show love and support to the creators.

1- Youtube Career Mod by itsmeTroiYT

There is so many interactions with this mod it is unbelievable! If you head to the download button below it will bring you to the creator's post which will show all the type of things you can do with this mod but for now to keep the Tumblr photo limit here is some of the creator's notes that explain the levels and the branches

Gamer (6-10) PC Noob $100/hr Streamer $200/hr Daily Uploader $300/hr Tagline Genius $600/hr Prestige Gamer $1500/hr

Vlogger (6-10) Viner $100/hr Prank Wars Vlogger $200/hr Unbox Therapy $300/hr Vlogger $600/hr Daily Vlogger $1600/hr

DIY Hot Glue Gun Mess $250/hr Creative Weirdo $350/hr Hacks Master $600/hr DIY Superstar $650/hr [Something] DIY $1500/hr

MUA Fenty Beauty Counter Rep $200/hr Brand Tester $300/hr Makeup Brand Collab $350/hr Personal Makeup Artist $750/hr MUA $1500/hr

Cooking One Pan Cook $150/hr Made from TV/Movies $300/hr Remixed Recipe Cook $345/hr Guest Host Cook $625/hr Master Cook $1500/hr

FX Makeup Artist NYX Face Awards $120/hr Halloween Royalty $200/hr FX on a Budget $350/hr Workshop Personality $645/hr Glam & Gore $1450/hr

download

2- Modeling Career Mod by KPC0528

This is an amazing mod! If you want your sim to become a model this is the mod for you! This does require the City living & Get Famous expansion packs, so be aware. Here are the creator's notes about the levels and branches;

1. Volunteer Model--there is no pay for the beginning of this career. I wanted to make it as realistic as possible, so level 1 is all about building a portfolio and gaining exposure. Mood: Confident M - W - F S S

2. Local Model -- Your sim will be part of the "mall crowd" participating in local fashion shows. These jobs aren't very selective... $15/hr. Skills: Charisma 1 Mood: Confident - T - T F S S

3. Hand Model-- Keep those hands soft and supple as your sims model rings, bracelets, and watches for local jewelry designers! $18/hr. Skills: Charisma 2 Mood: Confident - T - T F S S

4. Hair Model-- Cutting, coloring, styling. Your Sims's hair will be put through it all in exchange for some simoleons and their pictures to be featured in hair dressers' portfolios. $20/hr. Skills: Charisma 3, Fitness 3 Mood: Confident - T - T F S S

Choose track: Commercial Model or High Fashion Model

Commercial Model track: Commercial models are the models you would see in shopping catalogs and local commercials. The sim-next-door look is desired, so your sim will need attractive looks as well as an attractive personality to do well in this career track.

5. Commercial Catalog Model--Your sim will be showcasing the newest collections by the most popular stores, like Sim Navy and JC Simmy. $50/hr. Skills: Charisma 4, Fitness 4 Mood: Confident M T W - F S -

6. Fitness Model-- Fitness is the name of the game here. Your sim must continue to sculpt his/her body to perfection in order to sell the newest workout gear and sports drinks. $65/hr. Skills: Charisma 5, Fitness 7 Mood: Energetic M T W T - S -

7. Social Media Model-- Your sim's face is getting popular online! He/she will be modeling the hottest makeup, jewelry, and clothing through various social media platforms like Simstagram. $80/hr. Skills: Charisma 7 Mood: Confident - - W - F S S

8. Music Video Model-- Who wouldn't want to be a model in a famous music video? Your sim must hone in their dance skills so they don't embarrass themselves in front of the musical superstars.... $90/hr. Skills: Charisma 8, Dancing 3 Mood: Confident M T - T F S - 9. Television Model-- Television! Your sim will be featured on all sorts of commercials, from clothing and perfume, to cookware and living room furniture. $130/hr. Skills: Charisma 10 Mood: Confident M T W - F S -

10. Coversim-- The ultimate goal! Your sim is on every grocery store magazine rack, dishing the newest gossip about his/her love life, as well as modeling the hippest designs. Congrats, superstar! $300/hr. Mood: Confident M T W - F S -

High Fashion Model track: This track is for the serious fashionista. In order to gain celebrity as a high fashion model, your sim must be both gorgeous and interesting, as well as charismatic and athletic. Reaching the end of this track means worldwide fame and luxury! 5. Swimsuit Model-- Swimsuit models are photographed even in the winter months, so this isn't just for fun! Your sim must be in excellent shape to make it as a swimsuit model. $55/hr. Skills: Charisma 5, Fitness 6 Mood: Flirty M T W - F S -

6. Lingerie Model-- No room for shy sims here! Upscale lingerie is a mega-money-making business, so only the most alluring sims will be successful. $75/hr. Skills: Charisma 6, Fitness 8 Mood: Flirty M T W - F S -

7. Fashion Catalog Model-- High-end fashion is extremely expensive, so the stakes are high. Your sim must continue to perfect his/her body and personality in order to sell these interesting-looking clothes in the highest end fashion magazines. $90/hr. Skills: Charisma 7, Fitness 9 Mood: Confident M T - T F S -

8. Runway Model--Don't trip! All eyes are on your sim as he/she struts their stuff on the catwalk. Sims watching and cameras flashing can be nerve-wracking for even the most confident sim, but this is a necessary step in order to become a supermodel. $120/hr. Skills: Charisma 8, Fitness 10 Mood: Confident - T W - F S S

9. Editorial Model--Sim Vogue. Your sim is on the cover, looking fierce as fierce can be! Your sim is the epitome of a style icon, and everyone is looking at him/her for style inspiration. $300/hr. Skills: Charisma 10 Mood: Confident M T W - F S -

10. International Supermodel--Traveling the world for fashion shows? Check. Hosting reality style shows? Check. Getting paid to be famous? Check. Your sim is THE top model, as long as a newer, hotter thing doesn't come around. $450/hr. Mood: Confident M - W - - S -

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3- Social Services Career Mod by missmani09

This is a great mod if your interested in having your sim work in social services for a backstory or maybe its just what you mapped out they would be in your head. Here are some of the creator's notes about this mod;

Social Serivices:

1) Clerical Staff Extra Help -Responsible for copying and filing documents, sorting documents

2) Administrative Specialist I -answer phones, answer client's questions, file, sort

3) Administrative Specialist II -Key application, answer telephones, work front desk window correspond emails

4) Administrative Specialist Supervisor Supervise all clerical staff ensure front desk runs smoothly ensure applications are keyed correctly ensure office machinery is working properly assign staff job duties

------------------------------------------------------------ ---(AA) ---- Division of Sim County Operations ------- ----------------------------------------------------------

5A) Program Eligibilty Specialist I - SNAP Process Sim food stamp program applications. Interview & verify resources Assist homeless sims Determine eligibilty for supplemental nutrition program

6A) Program Eligbiliy Specialist II Process sim program applications Determine eligibilty for Sim daycare voucher applications Determine eligibilty for supplemental nutrition program

7A) Family Health Care Case Manager -Family Medicaid Process Sims' medicaid applications. Determine medical coverage eligibilty for Sims including Working Sims' medical coverage, SimKids Care A or SimKids Care B

8A) Aged Sim Health Care Case Manager Process Aged, Retired, and Disabled elder sims' medicare applications Determine disability

9A) Sim Social Services County Administrator oversee especific sim world in which sim currently lives

10A) Sim Social Services National Director oversee all sim worlds

----------------------------------------------------------------

---(BB) Division of Child Protective Services -------------------------------------------------------------- job is to protect and ensure the health, safety, and well being off all sim children.

5B) Child Protective Service Worker Visit homes. Provide struggling parents with resources and tools to become effective parents. Remove children from home if necessary to the childs health & safety

6B) Child Abuse&Neglect Investigator visit homes. on call rotation investigate suspected sim child neglect/abuse that comes into the hotline issue warnings to parent's who a nearing neglectful standards Remove children from home if necessary to the childs health & safety

7B) Foster Care Case Manager On call rotation. Manage Sim children's cases who have been removed from their home due to neglect/abuse. write extensive case notes

8B) Adoption Specialist process adoption applications. match waiting foster children and place into adoptive home

9B) Sim County CPS Supervisor Oversee foster care and CPS case managers

10B) Sim CPS National Director

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4- Psychologist Career mod by Kittyblue

This is career mod is actually my favorite for storytelling! In this mod there are two branches which are Counseling Psychology and Forensic Psychologist.

download

5- Tattoo Artist Career mod by MesmericSimmer

I love this one so much, mainly because I want one of my sim's backstory to include this career. They have this career option for both adults and teens!

download & more info

177 notes · View notes

femininenachos · 5 months ago

Note

Thank you so much Queen for the vacation au update, much appreciated 🫡 Clarke is a lot of talk no action w that p eating tho

Ye of little faith…

Previously: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Once again, Clarke finds herself led by the hand through a warren of side streets, the irregular-shaped stone paving burning beneath the cork soles of her flip-flops. She’s still flying high from the exhilaration of the boat trip, but between the blistering afternoon heat and the effects of low blood sugar, she feels flushed and a little light-headed.

As though she read Clarke’s mind, Lexa pulls them to a stop under the shaded awning of an unassuming bakery. The aroma of freshly-baked bread, hot out the oven wafts from the open doorway.

Lexa tips her head in invitation. “Want to grab a bite to go?”

“You did make me work up an appetite.”

And if things shake out like Lexa implied back at the cove, Clarke will definitely need to carb-load for what lies ahead.

They trade smirks as Lexa tugs them over the threshold.

If it’s oppressively hot outdoors then it’s like stepping into a blast furnace inside. Even so, Clarke is drawn straight away to the pastries and savoury treats in the display counter. Emerging noisily from somewhere out back, a great, bearded bear of man enters carrying a large tray of bread rolls. He sets them on the cooling rack before ambling over, a broad smile in place.

“Leksa! Ha yu?” He glances between the two of them, a kind twinkle in his eyes. “Chon ste oyu brana lukot?”

“Dishe ste Klark.” Then in English, “Clarke, meet Gustus. My uncle.”

“Aulana?” He scrutinises Clarke for a second, an eyebrow going up. “American?”

What gives it away, she wonders, a little paranoid that she has a neon sign above her head that screams ‘obnoxious Yank’ in star-spangled red, white and blue.

Still, she pastes on her most winning smile, keen to make a good impression.

“Thanks for letting us borrow your boat this morning. We had such a great time.”

He says something in his own language, most of which Clarke doesn’t catch except “sadrona” (which she makes a mental note to look up later online), but she observes with interest that Lexa’s eyes slide away to fixate elsewhere while a rosy tint stains her high cheekbones.

“What can I get for you?” He directs the question at Clarke, his voice a warm rumble.

She adjusts the sunglasses perched on the top of her head and peers at the array of delicious-looking bakes through the glass. “Hard to choose when it all smells so amazing.”

“Try the fleivatous,” Lexa suggests. “It’s a Polisian speciality, and my favourite: a flatbread stuffed with spices, nuts and dried berries.”

“Can’t beat that glowing recommendation.”

Gustus loosens a chuckle. “Lexa has always had a sweet tooth.”

“That’s not all that’s sweet about her,” Clarke says, low enough only for Lexa to hear. Secretly pleased when Lexa’s face reddens further.

To Gustus, Clarke says: “I’ll take two slices, and a couple of...” She points at a stack of parcel-shaped golden pastries with a beautifully shiny glaze. “What are these?”

”Fetabeik. Phyllo pastry layered with cheese.”

“Oh, yum. Yes, please.”

“I like this one, Lexa,” Gustus says with a wink as he boxes the pastries together.

Lexa sends him a forbidding look that only results in a hearty laugh. For her part, Clarke feels weirdly at ease and unflappable in the face of this man’s gentle ribbing. It’s all she can do to stop herself from beaming at the scowl on Lexa’s face.

“How much do I owe?” Clarke asks.

Gustus holds up his palms, backing away. “No charge.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he waves her off, saying, “No, no. I insist. Just be good to my niece and that’s payment enough for me.”

“Uncle,” Lexa says, groaning.

She snatches the box off the counter and grabs Clarke’s hand too. “We’re going now.”

“Bye!” Clarke tosses over her shoulder with a small wave but she’s already halfway out the door, his laughter trailing after them.

“He was nice,” she says with an impish grin as they continue walking.

Lexa’s lips are pursed, but she says nothing. So Clarke bumps their shoulders and squeezes the fingers entwined with hers. Wraps her free hand around the bend in Lexa’s arm, stroking the soft, warm skin beneath her thumb. “Has anyone ever told you you’re cute when you’re embarrassed?”

It earns a grudging sigh, but then Lexa glances at her and relents. She rolls her eyes a little.

“Wait until I visit you in DC and the shoe will be on the other foot.”

For a moment Clarke imagines introducing Lexa to her own nearest and dearest and how that might go. It doesn’t fill her with as much apprehension as she might expect.

“No risk of running into my family there. My mom teaches at Cornell in upstate New York and my dad’s in Texas for work. They divorced when I was a kid.”

Lexa offers a soft look of sympathy that Clarke meets with a reassuring smile.

“It’s fine. Fortunately, it was amicable.” She pauses. “I mean, it was still confusing and upsetting for me as an eight year-old, but they’re the best of friends now. Both remarried. We spend Thanksgiving and the holidays together.”

“So… what I’m hearing is I should come in late November or December.”

Clarke’s mouth twists. “Do you crack under interrogation? Because my mom won’t give you an easy time.”

“Parents adore me. I’m polite and respectful and very attentive to their daughter.”

“‘Attentive.’” She eyes Lexa amusedly. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

~*~

At the farthest edge of the town new residential developments have sprung up, modern buildings that are more or less in harmony with the surrounding traditional houses: all whitewashed walls and cobalt blue shutters, the flowering hanging baskets that frame the doorways providing vibrant pops of colour in purple and pink. A backdrop of rugged, scrub-covered mountains looms in the distance while a slice of jagged coastline is visible to the west, and it all feels pleasantly removed from the historic quarter where the tourists flock in their droves.

“Here we are. This is my home,” Lexa says, nodding toward a two-storey apartment block.

“Any roommates?”

“No, I live alone.”

“Good.”

The look they exchange makes Clarke’s skin prickle and her pulse kick up a notch.

They climb the stoop and two flights of stairs and Clarke follows Lexa inside. The place is small, the kitchen opening out into a sparsely furnished lounge area, but the high ceilings and sunlight flooding in through the double aspect windows gives it a bright and airy feel. The kitchen window is cracked open, just enough to allow a faint sea breeze in, and the wind chime that dangles above it tinkles musically every now and again.

“Sorry about the mess,” Lexa says, putting the pastry box on the counter.

There’s a solitary coffee mug by the sink with a spoon in it—rinsed out already. Try as she might, Clarke can’t pick fault or see anything else that’s out of place.

“If this is what qualifies as quote-unquote mess then I’m doing adulthood all wrong. My apartment looks like a bomb site compared to yours.”

“Blame military service. Some parts of the regimented lifestyle are difficult to let go.”

“Now you’ve got me picturing you in uniform, and I’m not mad about it.”

A coy little smile sits on Lexa’s lips, and the sight of it propels Clarke forward. She crosses the tiled floor to wordlessly crowd Lexa against the counter and kiss her, both hands gripping the back of her neck as they open their mouths. Warm, sure hands roam down Clarke’s sides to grasp her by the hips and before she knows it, Lexa has her spun around.

Pinned between the counter and Lexa’s frame, back to front, Clarke feels humid breath ghost over her ear, her neck, the join where it meets her shoulder, lips hovering close yet still withholding, and it’s enough to make her knees buckle slightly.

She reaches behind to guide Lexa’s mouth back to hers, greedy for more. A blissful sigh escapes when Lexa runs her palms up, curving around her breasts, only for Clarke to be frustrated by the inconvenient layers of cotton and spandex between them.

They need to be naked. Now.

Driven by that imperative, Clarke twists back around and yanks Lexa’s button-down off her shoulders. The tank top swiftly follows, landing in a heap at their feet, and their lips remain fused while she walks Lexa backwards until they bump into the couch.

Clarke shoves Lexa down and remains standing, gratified by the wide, hungry eyes staring up at her.

Too impatient to put on a performance, she whips off her t-shirt and steps out of her shorts. They’re still caught on her ankle when Lexa grabs her by the waist, pulling Clarke onto her lap and back to her waiting lips.

While their mouths are busy, Clarke lets her hands travel over Lexa’s chest. Feeling her way. Circling hard nipples with her thumbs. A whimper catches in Lexa’s throat and it thrills Clarke to the core. The tugging ache of arousal hasn’t left her since they fled the cove and her belly twists sharply with want as she slips to the floor on her knees between the spread of Lexa’s legs.

Clarke kisses down Lexa’s abdomen, smirking as muscles twitch and contract under her lips, still able to taste the sun and sea on Lexa’s skin. She doesn’t abandon her grip on Lexa’s breasts until her chin grazes the waistband of Lexa’s shorts and she hears the deep breath Lexa draws in, feels her tense in anticipation.

Hooking her thumbs under the elastic, Clarke looks up the length of Lexa’s body, eyes fastening on her chest and the tempting jut of her nipples. Unable to resist, she leans up and takes one between her lips. Runs her tongue around the pebbled areola. Slow swirls at first then faster as she narrows in on the tip and sucks hard. Lexa’s low groan, how she arches into it, fingers sinking into Clarke’s hair, gathering a fistful at her nape, only adds to her excitement.

She meets Lexa’s lidded gaze and the air seems to sizzle, those darkened eyes burning, hungrily watching Clarke’s every move.

Under that rapt attention, she switches to Lexa’s other breast. Mouths all around, eyes remaining glued to Lexa’s while she licks a wet path to the straining nipple, catching it on the flat of her tongue, flicking the tip before sucking it into her mouth.

For the next long while, Clarke gorges herself on every inch of soft flesh until Lexa’s tits are shiny with saliva and a stream of breathy little moans are dropping from her lips. She keeps moving her hips, rocking into Clarke in the pursuit of friction, sighing heavily when she edges away.

Feeling much too smug about the effect she’s having, Clarke wants to grin ear to ear, but she briefly smothers her smile in the curve of one breast. Flattens her hand between their bodies and slips inside Lexa’s shorts.

They both groan as Clarke skims through the wetness, gliding over Lexa’s clit and making her hips jump.

“What do you want first?” Clarke asks, swirling the tip of one finger at Lexa’s entrance. “This or…?”

Lexa’s throat works before she replies with, “Mouth. Please.”

“So polite.”

There’s a teasing undertone, but Clarke has no desire to drag this out and make Lexa beg, not when she’s so tightly wound herself. It’s for both their sakes that she quickly shuffles to the side and tugs the shorts down Lexa’s impossibly long legs.

Clarke can’t help but stare, soaking up the sight of all that glowing tan skin on display. In the haze of lust, she moves on autopilot. She trails her hands up Lexa’s shins to grip her knees. Gently pushes them apart and situates herself between. Her breath catches when her eyes settle low, on Lexa, wet and swollen for her.

It’s Clarke’s new favourite view this island has to offer.

Lexa opens her legs wider.

All the encouragement Clarke needs to hook her hands under Lexa’s thighs and drag her to the edge of the couch. The air is thick with the heady, musky scent of arousal and Clarke breathes it in, filling her lungs. Powerless not to flow forward, to press her open mouth there and drink from the source.

A shiver racks Lexa’s body and she bites off a curse when Clarke’s tongue eases in. Hands tangle in her hair, winding tighter against her scalp, and Clarke relaxes her jaw to work deeper, curling her tongue to draw more wetness into her mouth, the tang filling every space as she emits an appreciative groan. Maybe it’s a product of the local diet, but Lexa is by far the best flavour Clarke has ever had on her tongue.

Pulling back an inch, she pins Lexa by the hips and licks her slowly, deliberately, dragging her tongue up to trace patterns around Lexa’s clit. She mixes firm laps with gentle suction and little nudges with her nose, sometimes lifting her mouth away just to breathe on Lexa while she strains to get closer.

All the while Lexa is practically writhing on the receiving end, gasping and stifling a moan each time Clarke presses her tongue inside, limited by its reach and the growing ache in her jaw to just a few shallow thrusts that Lexa urgently rocks down to meet.

And when Clarke’s eyes flick up to watch, she’s mesmerised by Lexa in the throes. Her hair has dried into a mass of marvellous curls, and Clarke is wholly infatuated with it. That, and the way the sunlight pouring through the windows paints her golden skin, catching the beads of perspiration that dot her throat and chest as she arches her spine and spreads herself even wider, directing Clarke by the grip on her hair.

Lexa’s calves tremble with exertion as she picks up the pace, her gasping breaths becoming thinner and more ragged as she chases the pleasure.

Sensing the unspoken need, Clarke reaches for Lexa’s clit, using the soft pad of her thumb to rub tight, firm circles while she extends her tongue, pushing in as far as possible. Her jaw has gone numb but she powers through, determined not to falter.

As Lexa rocks her hips and Clarke plunges in and drags back out, their eyes lock and hold. In that moment of connection, Clarke sees her name form on Lexa’s lips before she throws her head back against the cushions and stiffens sharply, shuddering into Clarke’s mouth and flooding her tongue.

Lexa is near silent for the big finish, except for the gulping breaths she pulls in as she clenches and shivers and scrapes her nails against Clarke’s scalp.

After a few more lazy thrusts, Clarke withdraws with a rude slurp and takes her thumb off Lexa’s clit. She bends close again, intending to lick up the spill, but a weak tug on her hair draws her focus up. Lexa looks dazed, her mouth hanging open as her heavy eyes search Clarke’s face.

She doesn’t even get a chance to wipe her chin before Lexa urges her up onto her lap and into a deep and dirty kiss, a muffled groan vibrating between them. Palms scorch up Clarke’s ribs to cover her tits, kneading, teasing her nipples while she shamelessly grinds on Lexa.

It’s good, but not enough.

Breaking off the kiss, Clarke sits back on her haunches and reaches for the top piece of her swimsuit.

“Help me out of this?”

Together, they pull it up and over Clarke’s head.

She almost laughs at the reverential look on Lexa’s face once her tits are freed, like Lexa has been blessed with the greatest gift to lesbiankind. Clarke isn’t so conceited as to believe her breasts are a quasi-religious experience, but Lexa sure makes it seem that way.

After a second, Lexa snaps out of her trance and slips her hand behind Clarke’s neck to reconnect their lips. They both whimper into the kiss as they crush closer. The graze of their nipples feels electric, lighting sparks under Clarke’s skin and sending another jolt between her legs.

The muggy heat inside the apartment is stifling by now. Their stomachs and thighs stick together, slicked in sweat, but neither are inclined to separate, locked in a fervent makeout. Clarke is breathing hard by the time Lexa rolls her over and peels the rest of her swimsuit off.

Unselfconscious, Clarke lets her thighs fall open, and Lexa needs no greater incentive to drop to her knees. A moan slips out before Lexa even puts her mouth on her, so hyper-aware is Clarke of the gentle fan of warm breath over her vulva. But at the very last second Lexa veers away to plant kisses on the insides of Clarke’s thighs and she isn’t capable of containing her huff of frustration.

She feels the stretch of Lexa’s smile, but before Clarke can vocalise any complaints, Lexa turns her face and licks up the length of her. Unprepared for the shock of direct contact when it’s been sorely missing, her hips fly off the couch, almost colliding with Lexa’s nose.

“Oh, fuck,” Clarke croaks, a hand shooting out to clutch Lexa’s shoulder, the other grabbing a fistful of the cushion behind her head. “Fuck.”

“I will,” Lexa says, a glint in her eye when she catches Clarke’s. Then she holds Clarke down by the hip bones and lowers her mouth once more.

Clarke’s breath escapes her in a rush, eyes slamming shut. Her body reacts, engulfed by sensation. All scorching heat and the soft, wet glide of Lexa’s tongue as it weaves up through the slick, circles her clit, before dipping low to drag over her again and again, keeping Clarke squirming for minutes on end, rotating her hips in a frantic grind.

She peels her eyes open to look, craning her neck to witness the complete and utter rapture on Lexa’s face. She’s covered in Clarke, lips and cheeks all shiny. And her tongue... Clarke shivers and clenches around nothing at the glimpse of pink muscle lapping at her with purpose, heat coiling tighter in her gut with each deft stroke. Every now and then Lexa presses inside, just far enough to make Clarke choke on a moan and rut her hips up in a useless attempt to force Lexa deeper. When Lexa retreats she uses a little less pressure on the next lick, too gentle and fleeting to give Clarke what she craves.

“Lex,” she pants, a hint of aggravation bleeding into her tone after the fifth or sixth time it happens. She squeezes Lexa’s shoulder.

“What?” Lexa asks lightly, her parted lips brushing against Clarke so intimately that she feels the question breathed into her body.

She stifles a noise of pure need and grits her teeth.

Nearly howls when Lexa takes her mouth away.

“You only have to ask, Clarke.” Dark, dark eyes hold her gaze. “Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

It’s clear Lexa isn’t toying now. There’s something in the depths of her eyes that speaks of sincere devotion, like it’s her true calling and sacred duty to surpass herself and give Clarke the best damn orgasm of her life. From anyone else, that intensity might be a little frightening, but coming from Lexa? It’s the biggest turn-on, and Clarke is more than willing to put her through her paces.

She throws down the gauntlet with all the cocky confidence she can muster in her current position.

“Isn’t it about time you brought out the strap?”

~*~

The ceiling fan rattles and whirs overhead, merely stirring the soupy, sweat-saturated air around the room. Despite having all the windows thrown open, the scant through-breeze does little to alleviate the dense humidity or disperse the scent of sex that hangs potent and heavy in the air.

Laid flat on her back on twisted sheets, Clarke sweeps the tangle of damp, frizzy hair out of her face with one hand, still trying to get her breathing under control. Her chest is heaving and her thighs haven’t stopped shaking in the aftermath of their last energetic tryst, the second since Lexa brought out the harness and a sparkly purple dildo and proceeded to screw her into the mattress with smooth, deep thrusts and small, quick jogs of her hips until she came with a strangled shout. Now Clarke’s mind is mush and her body aches in the best way, worn out and thoroughly sated—for the time being, at least.

Meanwhile, Lexa is stretched out alongside, flaunting a lazy half-smile as she unbuckles the harness. The bulbous head of the toy slaps wetly against Clarke’s hip bone before Lexa scoops it up and tosses the whole kit over the side of the bed to be dealt with later.

Propping her temple on her fist, Lexa trails her fingers down Clarke’s side, following the curve of her breast and the slope of her ribs down to the dip in her waist, retracing the same path on the return journey, and Clarke can’t control the way her body responds to the stimulus, goosebumps rising on her skin despite the unbearable heat.

Every involuntary twitch makes Lexa’s little smirk edge wider, like she has a newfound fixation with testing Clarke’s reactions, laughing when Clarke finally squirms away from her touch.

“Are you ticklish?”

“Are you?” Clarke threatens, trying and failing not to be charmed by Lexa’s easy half grin, how she giggles and scrambles backwards when Clarke pretends to lunge. “Don’t make me fight you.”

Then she flops back against the pillows and kicks away the covers. “Ugh, it’s way too hot. I feel like I’m melting.”

“Water?”

“Please.”

Lexa slips off the bed and slinks out the room, fully nude and without a care in the world, and Clarke’s eyes stay trained on that audacious bubble butt as she goes, amazed not for the first time that Lexa is carrying all that junk in the trunk. Really, her perfect tush should be a serious contender for the number one visitor attraction in Polis. Clarke almost mourns its disappearance when Lexa turns the corner.

Left alone to examine her surroundings instead, Clarke lets her gaze drift around the room. Like the rest of the apartment, it’s neutrally decorated and spotlessly clean; everything put away. No ornaments, photographs or other personal touches that reflect Lexa’s taste except for a framed piece of art that depicts a lonely, ruined tower surrounded by lush forest. On the wall above the door hangs a distinctive ward that’s a staple of the island’s gift shops: a hand-painted stone with four concentric circles in the shape of a blue eye.

When Lexa returns from the kitchen with a large glass of water, Clarke levers up on one elbow and takes it from her gratefully. After a few greedy gulps, the cool liquid sliding down her throat, she nudges her chin toward the ‘evil eye’ symbol.

“Are you superstitious?”

Lexa joins her on the bed. Glances over her shoulder and gives a slight shrug. “It’s a peasant tradition going back thousands of years, but it doesn’t hurt to be protected from negative energy.” A faint smile graces her lips. “Especially Anya’s when I do something to piss her off.”

“I could’ve used something similar when I dropped by the taverna yesterday.”

“In her own misguided way, she tries to protect me too.”

“From who? Me?”

Lexa tilts her head side to side, neither confirming or denying. She studies Clarke for a moment, something indecipherable in her eyes. A muscle in Lexa’s jaw tightens, then she smiles again, if a touch more guardedly. “Mm. You have serial ‘heartbreaker’ written all over you.”

Clarke gapes at her, half shocked, half offended. She places the glass on the bedside table before she accidentally spills water on the mattress.

She scoffs, “That couldn’t be further from the truth. One, because I work 80-hour weeks on average so how would I even find the time? And two—which is related to point one—the only people I meet are at the hospital, and since they’re either coworkers or patients under my care, they’re strictly off-limits.”

Lexa quirks an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “You’re a doctor?” she asks, honing in on that part and ignoring the rest of Clarke’s protestations.

She runs her eyes over Clarke, like she’s the one fantasising about uniforms now, nevermind that a lab coat, surgical scrubs and a stethoscope aren’t in the same league as combat fatigues.

All the same, Clarke wouldn’t be opposed to some steamy ‘on-call’ room role play, which does an effective job of neutralising her outrage.

She reclines again.

“I am. Clarke Griffin MD, vascular surgeon in-training. About to begin my fourth year of residency.”

Lexa’s eyes, which had strayed below Clarke’s neck once more—so gay, so predictable—leap back up, widening a fraction.

“Sha?” Her gaze turns admiring. “Beauty and brains.”

“And a helluva rack, to boot.”

“The full package.”

A flush on her cheeks, Clarke accepts the compliment, enjoying the flattery.

“Sometimes I question my sanity for putting myself through the stress and the endless grind, working nights, weekends, and holidays while getting paid peanuts. Oh yeah, and not forgetting the mountain of student loan debt I graduated with from med school.”

With a doleful sigh, she stares off into space as she contemplates the decade of loan repayments ahead of her. But she snaps out of it and brightens up.

“Being a doctor is all I’ve ever wanted to do, though. Helping people. Making a difference in their lives.”

Silently, Lexa bobs her head in understanding, but Clarke can tell she’s slipped into her own thoughts.

“What about you?” Clarke asks in a softer voice. She picks up Lexa’s hand and plays with her fingers. “After travel and adventure, what do you dream of doing?”

Lexa lifts her shoulder and lets it drop.

“There aren’t many career opportunities here. The economy is shit, so I’d go to Barcelona or Berlin. Maybe Copenhagen.” She purses her lips as she mulls it over. “I’d like to finish my degree in Political Science. I went to university on the mainland after my year in the army, but” — a flicker in her eyes — “I had to quit halfway through.”

Clarke waits for Lexa to go on, sensing she has more to say when her face cycles through a series of complicated emotions.

“My mother got sick and I came home to help my father and Anya take care of her.” Her jaw works side to side in a microscopic movement before she swallows visibly, lashes lowering. “It was cancer.”

Clarke’s heart clutches.

“God, that’s rough. I’m sorry.”

During her rotation in oncology, she’d witnessed firsthand the devastating effects of a cancer diagnosis on patients and their loved ones; seen battles hard won and tragically lost. To think of Lexa’s mom going through that same hell, the profound emotional toll it must’ve taken on the family, on Lexa herself… Lacking the words, Clarke gives the hand in hers a gentle squeeze, hoping to convey her genuine care and concern.

It appears to shore Lexa up. Taking a fortifying breath, she lifts her eyes and offers the slightest of smiles.

“She’s better now. How do you say it?” She casts about for the translation.

“In remission?”

A nod.

“All clear for four years. And I remained in Polis. Too much time passed for me to return to university. But… I regret not completing my studies.”

Clarke feels for her. Lexa had to put her education and entire future on hold for her family and now she’s in limbo, her ambitions unrealised, hemmed in by circumstances and an income that’s reliant on seasonal tourism. Polis is a wonderful place, but it’s too small to contain someone like Lexa.

Before Clarke can offer any platitudes, Lexa pulls on their joined hands. “Come. Those pastries are calling to me.”

~*~

Out on the terrace, a fresh breeze brings cooler air down from the mountains. A table and two patio chairs overlook the cliffs and the shimmering expanse of sea, the water lit up in streaks of red and orange as the setting sun hangs low on the horizon, the sky a glorious haze of yellow and gold.

Wrapped only in a bedsheet, Clarke nibbles on a fetabeik, the buttery flakes melting in her mouth. She hums in appreciation.

“Good?” Lexa asks, mid-demolition of her own slice.

Clarke catches a crumb on her lip and licks it off her fingers. “So good. I’m gonna have to go back and get some for Wells and Octavia to try.”

“Your friends, are they doctors too?”

She shakes her head, no.

“I was classmates with Octavia’s brother in pre-med organic chemistry. He had a crush on me, but…” She makes a face, enough to get across it was entirely unreciprocated. “Junior year, I got introduced to O at a party on campus and we just clicked. Instant ride-or-die. Wells? He and I go way back. We grew up on the same street, went to high school together, shared some extra curriculars: mathletes, chess club. I’ve basically known him since we were rugrats and he hasn’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Lexa peers at her, nonplussed. “Mathletes?”

“It’s like, competitive math as a team sport. Facing off to solve equations against the clock.” It occurs to her that she just outed her teenage self as a giant nerd and now she has reputational damage to repair. “We won at Nationals three years in a row. Even got featured on the local TV news.”

The smile on Lexa’s face only gets bigger while Clarke digs a deeper hole for herself.

“It’s cooler than it sounds. We had jackets!”

“I’m glad to see you didn’t let the fame and accolades go to your head.”

She huffs.

Shoots a faux glare in Lexa’s direction.

“And I bet you ruled the school,” Clarke says. “Probably had that effortless, cool, collected, zero-fucks-given attitude down as soon as you could walk.”

Lexa dips her chin, still smiling. She plucks at the hem of the loose shorts that sit low on her hips. “Honestly, I was quiet and kind of a loner. It wasn’t until I joined the swim team that I found my confidence and my people.”

Clarke taps her knuckles on the table.

“So you were a jock. Called it.”

Those abs aren’t the product of a weak workout regime.

“Years ago.” Lexa’s lips take on a proud tilt. She catches Clarke’s eye. “But I still like to stay in shape.”

Brazenly, Clarke lets her gaze travel over a trim, toned stomach up to Lexa’s snug black sports bra and the biteable lines of her collarbones.

She casts her mind back to the two rounds with the strap and clicks her tongue. “Well, I’m no fan of the gym, but luckily sex is great cardio. So, in my professional opinion, we should do more of that.”

“How much more?”

She tilts her head, pretending to ponder it.

“Oh… a minimum of two orgasms at least once a day.”

Lexa looks at her at length.

“And when you go? How am I supposed to cope without my fix?”

Part of Clarke dares to hope Lexa isn’t just referring to missing her body once they’re thousands of miles apart.

A hint of nerves enters her voice. “I haven’t figured that out for myself yet.”

Lexa’s eyes don’t leave hers.

“Will you stay?” Off the flash of alarm on Clarke’s face, Lexa appends calmly, “Here, tonight.”

Right.

Of course that’s what she meant. It wasn’t an invitation for Clarke to fucking emigrate.

It takes several seconds for her heart to stop pounding and the heat to dissipate from her cheeks. She weighs the options: functional air conditioning and the guarantee of a restful sleep in crisp, cool sheets at the villa versus waking up in an unfamiliar bed, sweaty, hair in her face and her nose in the crook of Lexa’s neck.

No contest, really.

“Depends. What are you making me for breakfast?”

#cool for the summer #vacation au #clexa fic #clexa #my fic

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incorrectbatfam · 2 years ago

Note

Now batfam as LEGAL life hacks

Dick: Regardless of your gender or sexuality, set your dating profile preferences to everyone. The more likes you get, the higher up the algorithm you'll be boosted

Jason: You can hit anyone as hard as you want if you glue a dead wasp to your hand

Tim: Don't like doing dishes? Grab some clean ones, run them under water, put them on the drying rack, and tell your family to do "the rest"

Damian: Start a raccoon removal business by releasing raccoons around someone's property before offering your services

Duke: If you want to see a movie in theaters without financially supporting it, get a ticket to a different movie showing at the same time

Cullen: Buy the cheapest ticket to a concert and once you're in, check Ticketmaster to see which seats haven't sold and move to the best one

Stephanie: No one will notice if you stop by a hotel in the morning for their free continental breakfast

Cassandra: Before snooping through someone's belongings, take a picture so you can put everything back the way it was

Barbara: Have a common name? There are probably people on LinkedIn who have a better CV than you. Their references are now yours

Harper: Selling a car? Take pictures of it in a nice neighborhood to make it seem classy and well-maintained

Carrie: If you miss an online sale by a few hours, use a VPN to switch to a timezone where it's still going on

Kate: End an unwanted phone call by turning on airplane mode—the other person will see it as the call dropped rather than you hanging up

Alfred: If someone's unexpectedly at the door and you're not sure if you need a weapon, a freshly boiled kettle is both the most threatening and inviting thing you can have in your hand

Selina: If you see someone shoplifting: no the fuck you didn't

Bruce: The number of living grandparents you have resets to 4 every time you get a new job

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 6 months ago

Text

rich girl 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as bullying, manipulation, cheating, noncon/dubcon, Lloyd being Lloyd, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your long awaited ascension to the Home Owners Association proves more than you bargained for. (Silverfox AU)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, side of Cole Turner

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

You go home but can’t forget about what happened. You’ve never in your life dealt with someone like that man. He was so bold and brazen and shameless. Much different than your husband.

Even if you still don’t know what he did to land in the crosshairs of the HOA, you can assume it wasn’t very dissimilar to your own encounter. You hope they’ll understand when you tell them you couldn’t get a signature. You delivered the message but you can’t help that that man didn’t want to listen.

You find it hard to calm down as you try to focus on chores instead of your failure. All this time you spent trying to be a part of the in-crowd and now you’re falling flat on your face. Maybe you aren’t cut out for this. Maybe Cole is wrong.

As you scrub dishes, the lazy tones of your music playing from the little bluetooth stuck to the tile, a sudden squeeze around your hips makes you jump. You cry out and spin, splashing your husband as he stands behind you. He closes his eyes as the water soaks the front of his shirt, your yellow gloves dripping with soap bubbles.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you,” you squeal.

“It’s fine,” he uses his sleeve to wipe his face, “I know you didn’t. I wanted to scare you.”

“Ugh, you know I hate that,” you pout.

“So,” he grabs the dish towel from the rack and dabs at his button-up, “tell me all about it. How was your first meeting?”

He turns to lean in the crook of the counter, watching you expectantly. You seal your lips and face the sink again. You plunge your hands into the water and shrug.

“It was okay,” you say, “I... I have an assignment so... uh...” you don’t know how to tell him what happened. You think maybe it’s better he doesn’t know. “I’m working on it.”

“An assignment?” He tilts his head, “exciting. What is it?”

You chew your lip and put another plate in the dishwasher, “just you know this guy...” you gulp dryly as you grasp for a lie, “he has this thing on his lawn so I’m just supposed to you know, get him to move it.”

“Wow, hard-hitting stuff,” he chuckles, “you’re like a police officer or something.”

“Not really. I mean, he could just ignore me,” you frown guiltily. That’s exactly what happened.

“Hm, I’m sure you’ll do just fine, baby,” he coos as he stands straight, “what’s for dinner?”

“Oh, shoot. I forgot the roast,” you strip the gloves off your hands and shut off the faucet, “I guess... I could do chops?”

“Ah, sounds delicious,” he creeps closer as you open the fridge, “and dessert?”

“Dessert? Well, erm, I could do like sorbet or sponge cake--”

He comes around the door and hugs you from behind, “I’m not talking about food, honey,” he rocks you and reaches to close the fridge door. He taps on the calendar, “ovulating... right?”

You look at the days circled with hearts. Oh yeah. Your heart flutters and you turn in his arms, touching his chest. You’re almost too anxious to get into it but you missed it last month. You can’t risk it again.

“Yeah, I uh, sure am,” you chime.

“Mm,” his blue eyes turn smoky, “do I really have to wait until after dinner to have my dessert?”

You giggle, more uneasy than aroused. You’re just not ready for it but you also don’t have the heart to deny him. Besides, you’ll just be too tired later.

“That’s up to you,” you run your hands across his shoulders, “are you feeling peckish?”

“Starving,” he snarls and his hands circle your waist, “babe, I wanna try something new.”

“New?” You ask.

“Mm hmm,” he bites his lip, “take your clothes off... but keep the apron on.”

You look down and back at him. You grin crookedly, “oh?”

“Trust me?”

“Of course,” you quaver and step away from the fridge, the door falling shut behind you.

He stands back and crosses his arms. You notice his pants twitch as he watches you. You untie the apron and let it hand loosely from your neck. You reach to unzip your dress and shimmy out of it. As you go to roll down your nylons, he tuts.

“You can keep those too.”

Your cheeks are on fire as you unhook your bra and pull it out from under the apron. As you roll down your panties, he lets out a gritty breath. His hand covers the bulge in his pants. You tie a bow in the back of the apron, cinching your waist as your tits threaten to spill out and the cool air tickles your bare bum.

“Will you use your mouth?” He asks as he unbuckles his belt, his hands eagerly clumsy.

“Is that what you want?” You ask. He’s not usually this adventurous. In the kitchen?

“Sure,” he pushes his pants down and groans as his dick catches in the elastic of his briefs, “god, I’ve been thinking of this all day.” He frees himself and sighs, “of you, baby.”

He beckons you forward as he pumps himself. You bend your knee and he tisks again. He pets your chin and looks you up and down.

“Not on your knees, just bend over,” he directs, “I wanna see your ass.”

You nearly gasp. He doesn’t often swear, even in the heat of the moment. You do as he says, bending and craning your head to level yourself with his tip as he aims it towards you. He’s pressing against you before you can even open your mouth.

His other hand comes up to grip your head, clamping your hair in a fist, as he forces you onto him. You gag and catch yourself on his thighs, teetering as you arch your feet. He rocks his hips, holding you still as he falls into a steady tempo, not waiting for you to warm him up.

His dick scrapes in your dry mouth. He groans as he tilts into you, deeper and deeper. You trail your hand up to cling to his shirt, moaning as you try to signal him to slow down. You can tell he’s been waiting but you’re not ready. You need a little longer to warm up.

“Mm, honey, you look so good,” he touches your back as he rocks you, “mm, yeah.”

He pushes further in, hitting the resistance at the back of your throat. He tugs your hair, angling your head as he buries himself in your throat. You spasm and choke around him. He’s never gone that deep. He lets out a shuddery growl.

“Yeah, so good,” he praises and slows, making long thrusts as moves his hand around your neck, feeling his intrusion. Your eyes well and you slap his chest. You can’t breathe. “Just a little more.”

He pushes until your lips are to his pelvis and slobber smears around your mouth. He relents as you clutch the front of his shirt and slides out completely. You cough and drag yourself up as you cling to him. You bat your lashes at him and press the back of your hand to your mouth.

His long lashes flutter, “sorry, baby, was that too much?”

You clear your throat and shake, nodding.

“I’m sorry, I was just excited,” he touches your shoulders, “come on, better not waste it. I feel it, this is the time.”

You wobble forward as he nudges you towards the counter. He turns to stand behind you, surprising you again. You’re always facing him, usually under him. He has all sorts of new ideas. He tickles your spine then grips your shoulder, leaning into you until you bend against the counter.

He rubs his tip along your butt, tracing the shape down to your folds. He bends his knees and comes up under you, prodding at your entrance until he dips inside. You whimper as he stretches you. You’re barely wet yet. You're so dizzy you can’t get into it.

He rams to his limit and you’re back on your toes. You brace the counter as he falls into a rapid motion, pounding against your ass. Flesh slaps loudly as he ruts without restraint, a hand on your hip to keep you from slipping off.

“Slow, please,” you beg through pained huffs, “Cole, you’re hurting--”

He grabs the back of your head and pushes it down, your cheek touching the marble as he rolls his pelvis into you. He hammers until your walls feel ready to split and roars as he empties himself into you. He slows only as the slickness coats you and seeps out around him.

He holds himself as deep as you can take him. You shake and keep one hand over the lip to the counter as you reach with your other between your legs. Ow.

“Was that good?” He exhales.

You shake and extend your arm back to flick him away. He slides out and his cum drips onto the floor between your feet. You stand and cup your cunt as you face him.

“That was... a lot,” you babble.

“Oh,” he seems genuinely shocked, “I’m sorry, honey, I guess I got carried away.”

“Mm, I know but... that was so... different,” you hiss at the rawness in your folds.

“I... I thought you’d like it.”

“I...” you look at him and frown. You don’t want to ever disappoint him. “I did, it’s just... it was so fast.”

“Right,” he lets out a breath, “I can make it up to you. How about tomorrow?”

You smile and nod. He has a business dinner tomorrow. He won’t be home until later, but you know he’ll get to it. When he can.

#lloyd hansen #cole turner #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #the gray man #ghosted #au #drabble #silverfox au #series #rich girl

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ahimhere · 7 months ago

Text

Bad Maid

genre: smut

pairing: dom!Seonghwaxfem!reader

au/summary : You cleaned the best you could

waring: explicit smut

rating: 18+

wc: 1916

"Who told you to be such a bad maid huh?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waring: Dom Seonghwa (Sir) , cosplay(maid outfit), spanking, degradation kink, oral (male receiving), Pet names (doll), deep throating, fingering

Did you like cleaning houses? No, but bills had to be paid somehow.

You received the request a few nights ago. It wasn't a previous client, you would've remembered this one. He asked that you clean top to bottom, dusting the cleanings then wiping the desks and finally the floor. That was normal, but the floor requirements, now that was new.

First go over with a lint roller, then sweep, mop and finally the lint roller again. Who does all of this?

You were going to deny it as it didn't seem worth it but then you saw the note.

"I'll pay 5x your rate, 10x if you wear a maid outfit and a bonus."

A bonus? A maid outfit? Was this a kink? Most definitely but man did you need the money and what he was offering was 3 months worth of rent, you just couldn't say no. You went online and brought the outfit and then booked the appointment for next week.

You arrived at his apartment, wearing a huge jacket to cover the embarrassing outfit. You punched in the code and entered.

After removing your shoes and slipping on your slippers, you carried your equipment inside and took a look around. "Wha-"

It. Was. Spointless. I mean you couldn't believed someone lives here. There wasn't dishes, or dust or dirt. Just clean. You weren't really sure why you were here. What could you really do?

You sighed and decided to try, that's why you were here. You hung your jacket on the coat rack and began to work, doing exactly as requested.

The dress felt weird, you felt exposed while dusting but when it came to using the lint roller it was great having freedom on your legs.

After waiting for the floor to dry, you started the lint rolling process again, that's when you heard the door open again. It's normal for clients to return or even be in the home while you're working so you weren't scared until you remembered what you were wearing.

You were about to run and try to hide until he came into the living room. "I see you're finishing up."

"Ah, yes Mr. Park, just using the lint roller again."

He hummed with approval. "Do you mind if I look around and check?"

"Oh no. Not at all sir." You smiled at him as he walked around his apartment.

You returned to the floor, finishing the last of it. Once you finished you packed your supplies up and waited for your client.

"Is everything to your liking Mr. Park?" You asked.

He stood in front of you and glanced at your outfit. "You wore the maid outfit."

You were hoping he somehow didn't notice and became embarrassed. "Oh, um yeah I did." You laughed, trying to hide your embarrassment. "Is everything to your liking?" You asked again, ready to run back to your home.

"The bonus. Do you want it?" He asked, his eyes not leaving your face.

"Ah yes!" You completely forgot about that. "What is it?"

"I want to have sex. You can say no, you'll still be paid." He looked you in your eyes, showing that this wasn't a joke.

"I knew it was a kink!" You said to yourself but processing what he said. Sex? What kind of service does he think this is?

"I don't offer those services. Pay me and I'll be on my way." He nodded and pulled out his phone. A few moments later your phone vibrated. You pulled it out and saw he sent the pay. 10x your rate as promised. You bowed and left his apartment.

You stepped into the elevator and sighed. "At least he was attractive." His request played in your head as the elevator descended. It's been a while since you were intimate with someone and god was it tempting. He was tempting.

You reached the lobby before sighing and returning to his floor. 'Why not?' You thought. You rang his bell and he answered. "You're not paying me for this."

"Of course."

"We're just two adults."

"Naturally." He stepped away from the door and allowed you to enter. You closed the door and set your stuff down before removing your jacket.

He grabbed your hand and led you into the bedroom, the one you just cleaned. "Are you okay with me spanking you?"

You are stunned. This man is straightforward and god it was doing something to you. "That's fine." You answered.

"It's a yes or no doll."

"Oh, Yes."

"Yes sir?"

"Yes sir." It was a great choice to come back.

"Good." Seonghwa sat at the foot of his bed and made you stand in front of him. "Do you know what you did wrong today?"

You were stunned? Today? Did you do something wrong yesterday? This was your first time meeting him. You weren't sure how to answer.

"Can't talk now doll?" He cocked his head to the side and stared at you. Oh he wants an answer.

"No sir, I don't know." He shook his head. That wasn't the right answer.

"Lay across my lap." You swallowed your saliva and did as he told. This was new, this was exciting. The anticipation of what to come was killing you. Your line of thought was broken when he removed your underwear and threw it to the floor. "Wet already? Shameful."

Were you really? While you were lost in thought, Seonghwa took two fingers and slowly dragged them along your slit before dipping them into your hole. A quiet moan escaped your lips as you felt his finger enter you. Just before you could enjoy the feeling, he removed his fingers and slide them down towards your clit

What was he doing? You didn't have long to wonder before his hand came across your bare ass. "Ouch!"

"I come home and there's a mess everywhere" He slaps your ass again, ensuring to rub it after each slap.

"How can one person-" Again.

"Make such a huge mess." And again. It hurt, you weren't sure what he was talking about, his place is spotless.

"But sir-" Another slap.

"Did I say you can talk?"

"No si-" And another.

"Huh, since you like talking so much, get up. On your knees." You did as he said and got up from his lap and sat on your knees in front of him. "Open your mouth, nice and wide."

You opened your mouth and watched him remove his pants and pull out his cock. While you were staring at him, trying not to drool over the man in front of you, Seonghwa shoved his cock down your throat.

You began to choke, tears flowing from your eyes and drool sliding down your chin. "Who told you to be such a bad maid huh?" He pulled away, allowing you to catch your breath. "I asked you to clean and instead you make a mess. It's okay, I'm going to it today."

"Suck." He commanded.

You placed your hands on his cock before he moved them away. "I said suck. Don't use your hands." You nodded before sucking his tip, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head.

Soft groans came from him and it made you proud. You continued the acting before taking his length in, slowly bobbing your head up and down.

The groaning above became louder and longer causing you to pool up under your skirt. You slipped a finger into yourself and pumped it in and out of you. You bobbed your head faster, matching the speed of your fingers.

It was hard to contain your own pleasure, before you knew it, you were moaning against his dick. He felt the vibrations and looked down at you. "Look at you, pathetic. You just couldn't wait huh." He pulled away from your mouth and lifted your chin up with his finger.

"You must not need my dick then." No you did, the wait was killing you.

"Please sir. I need it sir." He smirked at you. He stood up and laid on the bed. He grabbed a condom from his night stand and slipped in on himself

"Do it yourself. Get on the bed and fuck yourself."

The embarrassment arose again, but you didn't want it to stop so you stood up, got on the bed and sat on his waist. You took in a deep breath before raising yourself up and lowering down onto his dick.

A moan erupted out of you as he sterached you. How long has it been? It didn't matter now, he was filling you up and damn did it feel good. You took a deep breath and looked at the man underneath you. He smirked proudly, glad to see you like this.

You placed your hands on his hips and began bouncing on top of him. The slow place allows you to hit that oh so sweet spot. Your moans loud and vibrant as you pleasured yourself with his cock.

"That's right, keep going." Seonghwa sais in a low, husk tone. Just hearing his voice made your walls clenched up. He chuckled felling you and moved his hands on top your thighs, slowing rubbing them up and down causing you to clench up more

"More sir, please." You begged. You wanted him to fuck you, you needed him too. "I did such a bad job earlier, didn't I ?" You weren't sure what came over you and caused you to say that, but god you were thankful.

Something clicked in Seonghwa's head, a light switch was flipped. He moved his hands off your thigh and onto your waist. He placed his feet flat down on the bed. Before you could process what was happening, he began thrusting up into you, continuing to hit that sweet spot but at a much faster pace.

"You are absolutely right." He said between groans. "You've been bad, you need to be punished, isn't that right." His fingers began to dig into your sides but you didn't mind, you couldn't. The way he was making you feel, that way your walls stretched around him, the moans he forced out your body, and he was too damn good looking, this was heaven.

"Yes sir! Please punish me." Your mouth spoke on its own. Your brain could only focus on the pleasure that your body was receiving and just when you thought you could handle it, he surprises you again.

He moved one hand and placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it in circles. "You better cum when I tell you to. You hear me doll."

You nod your head furiously, words no longer being your friends. "Y-yes sir!"

Seonghwa smiled at you, seeing you become undone on top of him made him happy. He continued his vicious attack against your hole and you clit as his own pleasure built up. It was hard for him to hold back his own orgasm.

"Fuck, cum. Cum on me doll, Fuck." He groaned while he cummed himself.

That was all you needed to hear before cumming yourself. A silent moan escaped your open mouth while you threw your head back. Your legs shook violently as he continued to rub your clit.

"S-sir.."

He understood and wrapped his arms around you and laid you on his chest. He slipped out of you, allowing your fluids to flow out and onto him. He rubbed small circles around your back while you caught your breath.

It was better to be a bad maid.

—————

I hope you guys enjoy this one! I did proof read so i hope there's not many errors! Thank you for reading !

Edit: I meant to add a pic !-!

~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

#ateez imagines #ateez hard hours #seonghwa #park seonghwa #seonghwa smut #seonghwa imagines #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa fanfic

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noonaishere · 4 months ago

Text

Online/Offline [C.S] - sixty-five | an absolutely zero-cheeked up on a monday night, drinking to forget kind of a bitch

You were exhausted. Not just a regular amount of exhausted from working a full week, but fucking exhausted from being on edge the whole time. You finally understood how paleolithic animals must have felt as humans walked them into exhaustion; following them for miles at a gentle pace until they couldn’t walk anymore, dying easily at their hands afterward if they didn’t collapse before that.

You felt like your last few days of streaming were shit, too - between feeling so tired from working all day, and having someone hurl abuse at you - and decided to take the night off to recuperate. Seonghwa and San had brought back everyone’s presents - nice, high-proof wine from a place they toured for fun - and you vaguely debated drinking all of it in one shot…but you didn’t want to waste something so nice by drinking it while you were upset.

You took the bottles of soju you had out of your fridge instead and cracked the seal on one of them, pouring yourself a hefty glass.

The doorbell rang and you, somewhat wobbly, got up and manhandled the button for the intercom screen. When you saw it was San, you opened the door.

“Hiiii… welcome to Casa de la SHIT.”

San’s eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.

“Come in, come in,” you gestured. “I never finished cleaning my fucking dishes because I was crying about the light on a cup, so we’re having a real normal one today.”

He walked past you and into the apartment, going over to the sink to check the dishes. You noticed the bag in his hand.

“What’s that?”

He plopped it onto the table, shaking the bottle and glass on it.

You shut the door. “Oh my god, cause an earthquake why don’t you?”

He smiled at you as he took out the boxes. “Have you eaten?”

“Not since lunch… which would explain why I got drunk so fast.”

“I brought you the best thing you could eat while drunk,” he opened one of the boxes, “fried chicken.”

You sat down. “Choi San, you’re a godsend.”

He smiled. He went to the sink and took a cup from the drying rack out of it and filled it with water, parking it in front of you. You looked up at him and he nodded towards the cup, telling you to drink it. As he went back to the sink and got to washing the rest of the dishes, you sighed and drank the water.

“What’s the other bag?”

“Soju for me. How much did you drink so far?”

“Like…” you grabbed the bottle on the table and swirled the tiny bit that was in the bottom.

He looked up from his washing. “A bottle?”

You got up and walked over to the recycling bin and pulled two empty bottles out by their necks and showed him, clinking them together in your hand. “Three.”

“Oh… okay.”

You dropped the bottles back into the bin and went to the fridge to find pull a new one out. “But I have more.”

He looked at you and raised his eyebrows. “You should finish that water first.”

“Pfft. Okay, dad.”

He frowned. “Give me a chance to catch up.”

Once he had finished washing the dishes, he could catch up with you, and catch up he did. Both of you had moved to the living room, leaning back against the couch as you sat on the floor.

“I just… I don’t…I don’t get it,” you said in between bites of chicken before putting it down. “Like, why me? And why is this happening?”

San watched you quietly as you ranted.

“And why aren’t women just issued a gun? Just-- a government issued gun.” You slammed your fist into your hand, punctuating your sentence, “Give. Women. A gun.”

He laughed softly.

“Give women a pink gun or-- you know-- it can be whatever color she wants. Give each woman a gun and men are not allowed to have guns and then maybe they’d fucking think twice if they knew they’d get shot in the face for harassing a woman.” You finished your thought and looked at the floor, but realized you had an amendment: “Trans women get two guns.”

He laughed again as you went back to your chicken. “I have to say, I think I agree.”

You nodded as you chewed. “Like, I didn’t do anything wrong, right? I just invited someone I knew to replace my normal streaming partner, and this guy is just freaking out in my chat.”

San nodded.

“Calling me a whore and a slut-- Quack sent me a screencap of the shit she’s been deleting… like… find a hobby you sick fuck!”

“Was it bad?”

“He was calling you a simp and a beta cuck and a loser and shit, and I was a whore and a slut and like, like, no good and a cheater-- cheater? Cheater? Everyone knows that Keeho and I aren’t dating! We have never dated and will never date! We’ve said it like a million times!”

San nodded.

“He even had his fucking company make a statement - twice - so people would leave me alone! Like, men and women can’t even be friends because some people think that the gender opposite from theirs is only there for… fucking… well, for fucking! And that’s it! Not like we’re all just people or anything and deserve respect inherently because we fucking…” you gestured wildly “...exist!”

San handed you a napkin and you wiped your mouth.

“I’m so… I’m just so tired. I’m so fucking tired.”

“There’s nothing you or Quack can do about it?”

“No, the dude is like, using a bot farm so it's multiple accounts with multiple IPs-- like, it’d almost somehow be better if he was another streamer and was targeting me, because then his channel could be banned for violating TOS! Like… I can’t believe I’m wishing it were worse so something could actually be done about it.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought that about the guy at work like that too and it’s like… how fucked is that, you know? Why does it have to be worse for it to be taken seriously?”

“We’re all taking you seriously.”

“Yeah, but I mean the cops. I mean the actual fucking… law. Who are supposed to something. They literally told Seonghwa that they can’t do anything because he hasn’t ‘done anything,’ but he’s showing up every time I’m there and trying to talk to me! And staring at me when he doesn’t try to talk to me! That’s something! If I told that to any woman they’d be like, ‘Yeah, he’s definitely a stalker.’” You shrugged at him angrily as if to say ‘Everyone else knows this!’

San nodded.

“Why does he have to escalate or get violent for me to have a real case against him? The dude is showing up to my place of work and waiting around for me! If someone did that to one of the cops they’d just arrest them without question!”

San nodded again.

You sighed. “Oh! Seonghwa asked me about it and said that you randomized my schedule and started putting me on more with you.”

“Oh-- yeah. I thought he might hang around less if I were around.”

“He seems to leave sooner on days you’re there. So, thanks for that.”

“Hey, it’s no problem.”

“Seonghwa said he’d also work behind the counter too if I tell him the guy is there.”

He nodded.

“And I asked him to cover for me and he did.”

He nodded again.

“I’m sorry to like… become a fucking burden like this. I’m so sorry.”

You covered your face with your hands. You didn't’ want him to look at you while you felt like a Grade-A mess, but covering your face had an unintended effect that you knew was going to happen at some point: you started crying.

“Woah, hey,” San moved towards you and pulled you into a hug. “You’re not a burden.”

“Yes I am. I just showed up and got this job and now this guy is hanging around the café because of me. And what if Seonghwa fires me--”

“No, no, no. He’s not going to fire you, it’s not your fault.”

“But it is. He’s there because of me.”

“Did you ask him to come in and bother you?”

“N-no.”

“Then how can it be your fault? It’s his fault for following someone around who doesn’t want to be followed.”

“I feel so fucking stupid.”

“What? Why are you stupid?”

“I don’t know, like, why do I have these guys coming after me? Online and in real life… I didn’t do anything. Why am I being punished?”

“I know…”

He held you, rubbing your arm with his free hand to reassure you. It was nice, leaning against him, his shoulders were broad and his arms encompassed you easily, his chest was solid and nice to lean against. You couldn’t believe you were having such thoughts while he was holding you while you cried. You were so dumb, what the fuck was wrong with you?

The unintended feelings of affection towards San coupled with your already fragile state just made you spiral harder. Your hands curled into fists and you shook as you unsuccessfully tried to stop crying. You hiccuped a sob.

“Hey…” San said as he hugged you tighter. “You seemed to be calming down, what happened?”

You could barely breathe from hyperventilating. “I’m-- I’m-- I’m sorry I’m just a-- a-- bunch of bro--broken pieces for you to pick up.”

“You’re not pieces.”

“I feel like I’m pieces.” You hiccuped again.

“You’re not pieces--”

“I’m pieces.”

He leaned his cheek against your head for a few moments while he thought. “You’re a person having a hard time. And even if you were pieces, I don’t mind picking you up and holding you together until you reattach on your own.”

“You wouldn’t reattach me?”

He shook his head. “Because I can’t. Only you can decide to do that. But I can sit here and hold you together until you do.”

“I-- I still feel stupid.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m crying about something I can’t fix.”

“Well… what else are you supposed to do?”

“I don’t know.”

He chuckled softly. “No, I mean: if you can’t do anything else then all you can do is cry, right?”

“I guess.” You sniffed hard and he handed you a napkin from the bag with the boxes of chicken. You blew your nose. “When was the last time you cried?”

“You mean aside from sad things in movies?”

“You cry at movies?”

“Mmm… not always. But sad movies are sad for a reason, aren’t they? I wouldn’t be doing something wrong if I cried at one.” He chuckled.

You laughed a little. “Yeah.”

“Hmm… I think it was the last time I saw my little siblings. A few years ago.”

“What happened?”

“I... I had to leave. I cried because I knew I’d probably never see them again.”

“Oh? Why?”

You tried to look up at him but he held you closer, so you couldn’t. You could feel him shake his head and then rest his chin on top of your head.

“I went through some stuff with my parents… I ended up leaving.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was nothing I could control. I was powerless.”

You nodded and let him hold you.

“But see? Sometimes when you can’t do anything else, all you can do is cry. At least it gets the emotions out.”

“I guess. I just wish I could do something that isn’t just crying about it.”

“I know.”

“Because even if it makes me feel better it’s still happening and I have to deal with it anyway… So then what happens? I just keep crying about it but still can’t do anything? Should I just live, stuck in a perpetual cycle of being bothered by people - unjustly - and then crying about it?”

“Hopefully we can think of something soon.”

“But what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“... Will you let me know when you think of something?”

“Of course.”

You resigned yourself to staying in his arms a while longer, trying to calm yourself down as he held you. He was warm and it felt nice to lean against him.

“Mmm… I remember,” he said, “when I was younger, I used to think that if I cried, I'd collapse. And so I never wanted to cry because I felt so weak. It took me a long time to realize that crying doesn't make a person weak. Now that I have good friends, I know that there are people to hold on to when I feel that way. So now, I know that even if I cry, I won't break.”

He shifted so he could look at you and you nodded and buried your face further into his chest. “I just feel like my whole life is falling apart.”

“I can see why you feel that way, it definitely looks like that if you look too close, but… you still have a roof over your head. You’re still streaming, and you have friends there; you have the café, and your coworkers are there… you have me. I know that both of your jobs are tarnished right now by what’s happening, but we’ll figure it out. They’ll go back to being how they were before.”

You nodded. You knew that he was probably right, even though it didn't feel that way yet. You let him continue to hold you, his presence a source of strength, his embrace a source of renewing energy. And, while you didn’t feel particularly strong or renewed yet, you did feel a tiny bit better in having him around. You had missed him while he was gone for the week, and not just because his presence helped deter the stalker.

Your mind had wandered so far that you almost didn’t notice your phone lighting up on the table. You sat up and looked at it.

“Fuck.”

“What?”

“My dad is calling me.”

“I thought you liked your parents?”

“I do, but I haven’t told them what was happening because I didn’t want them to worry.”

The call went to voicemail.

“Why didn’t you pick up? You didn’t have to tell him about it.”

“I know, I just… I don’t know if I can talk at all right now.”

San watched you silently.

“But… I want to talk to them. I miss them.” He didn’t say anything.

“I… if I call them back, could you… could you hold my hand, maybe?”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

You nodded. You used a napkin and blew your nose, inhaling deeply to see how well you could breathe; you didn’t want to sound like you had just been crying. You sat back next to San and readied yourself with another deep breath. You hit the Dial button and waited for your dad to pick up. San held out his hand to you and you put yours in his. He gripped yours gently but firmly, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, kiddo!” Your dad answered happily.

“Hi dad.” Your voice shook a little.

San squeezed your hand reassuringly, smiling at you. You smiled back.

“How are you and mom?”

The call with your parents ended, you and San were still sitting on the floor, the soju and chicken nearly finished. You had managed to avoid telling them about what was happening in either area of your life, and promised them that they could visit the café at some point in the future to meet your coworkers. Of course, you didn’t tell them the reason why they couldn’t visit now.

Sitting in silence like you had been since you hung up with them a few minutes ago, you were still feeling contemplative.

“Do you ever think about love?”

“Love?”

You nodded.

“Umm… sometimes. I haven’t in a while though.”

“Really? Why not?”

San shrugged. “I’ve mostly been… working at the café, gaming, that kind of stuff.”

You nodded again.

“Why?”

“All this… stalking stuff. It’s been sort of bringing up bad memories of an ex of mine.”

He watched you silently as you thought to yourself. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“And if I do? Will you listen?”

“Of course I will.”

You nodded. “I think it just… I guess something about it just made my brain ping it as seeming like his abuse. Like… when you first meet someone and they don’t say something explicitly racist, but it’s like… tangential to a racist comment? And your brain kind of pings it as like, ‘Watch out for that,’ you know?”

Though his face was soft with compassion, his brows furrowed. “Was it… physical? The abuse.”

“It was more mental and emotional… though he did throw things when he was mad. He never hit me, but friends I knew who had been in physically abusive relationships said it was only a matter of time.”

San nodded. “I don’t know what to say.”

“He punched a wall once.”

He opened his mouth to respond.

“He had backed me up against it. The hole was like, five inches from my head. His fist went through the drywall and somehow all he had was a bruise afterwards.”

You laughed nervously as you tried to fight back tears and he put his hand on yours.

“Do you… do you want me to find him and punch him in the face?” he asked.

You laughed. Earnestly this time.

He smiled at your reaction. “I could put him through a wall if you want.”

You shook your head. “No, I think enough walls have suffered because of him.”

He smiled softly at you, his hand not leaving yours, and his thumb stroking your skin.

“You know how Yeji always asks ‘internet questions’? Whatever everyone’s debating over at the time?”

“Like, ‘is a butt one or two’?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah.”

“Mhm.”

“While you were away for the week she found one that was like ‘is it better to be someone’s first or last love’? And we were all talking about it.”

“Ahh.”

“And with the stalker stuff reminding me of my ex… I guess I wish I could delete my first love. Or maybe get a do-over.”

He nodded. “I can see why, if that’s how he acted.”

“Yeah… I feel so dumb because, like, I really did love him. So much. And yet… all of that love couldn’t save me from how he treated me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“...Yeah.”

The two of you slipped into a comfortable silence as you both thought.

“Which would you want to be?” You asked.

“Which-- oh, first or last?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, um… Well, I haven’t really had a first love yet.”

“Really? You?”

He laughed bashfully. “My parents kind of… wanted me to meet someone early on and it sort of put me off dating.”

“Oh.”

“I’ve dated a little since then… but I think in general it’s just not something I really enjoy. The whole ‘dating game’… where you’re supposed to dress a certain way and act a certain way and it just reminds me of them and how they went about things.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “They’re the ones who should be saying that.”

You nodded and switched the position of your hands, putting his in yours. He looked at your hands for a few moments as you curled your fingers around his and put your other hand on top of it.

“I don’t think I know which would be better, but… I think I might be a little greedy.” He smiled to himself. “I’d want to be someone’s first and last love if I could.”

You exhaled sharply through your nose as you stifled a laugh. “That is pretty greedy.”

“Yeah… I guess I can’t escape the way my parents raised me.”

Your brows came together in the middle of your forehead as you tried to understand his meaning. As you opened your mouth to ask, he slipped his hand out of yours and stood.

“We should probably clean this mess up.”

“Oh--” you looked around at the empty bottles, the food containers, the crumpled, dirty napkins, and all the other garbage you two had strewn around as you drank and ate. You stood and helped him.

As the last bottle was put in the recycling bin, he put his jacket on and you saw him off at the door, you plucked up the courage to ask something.

“Um, San?”

“Yes?” He asked as he adjusted the collar of his jacket, frowning for a moment as he tried to figure out how it had flipped under, unable to see it.

“Um… Thank you for coming over to take care of me. It was…” you nodded. “Thank you.”

He finally fixed the collar and smiled. “Hey, anytime.”

“Um…” You lunged forward and threw your arms around his middle, hugging him tightly.

Surprised, he caught you, stumbling for a second before recovering with a laugh. “What’s this for?”

“I just wanted to thank you again. I’m sorry you haven’t found a first love yet.”

“Oh…” He reassured you with a pat to your head. “You don’t have to worry about that. It’s bound to happen.”

“I hope it does.”

As you pulled back to look at him you realized how odd it must seem that you hugged him so suddenly.

You pulled away completely. “Um, so yeah, thank you for making me feel better.”

He nodded. “It’s not a problem.”

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