#fish gets emotional over music | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunsetchicane · 1 month

Text

Postcards - Part 2 of 13 [LN4]

lando norris x [travel] journalist fem!reader

find the series here

word count: 7.3k

summary: The one where it's six months later and you still find yourself thinking about him. Maybe a another fated meeting will be the second chance you need.

warnings: fluff, banter, yearning, an unrealistic portrayal of London [probably], sexual innuendo, maybe a kiss or two idk, and...angst

author's note: Heyyy team. Back with another part for you. I think I really like this part and I hope you all enjoy! As always, feedback is appreciated!! So please feel free to leave any questions/concerns/comments you have. I hope you like it and keep your eyes peeled for what's coming next! Lots of love! [xoxo elle]

Summer Break July 2022

When walking down Camden Market, you can’t help but feel tucked into history. Life bustles in the walkways. Mothers corral starry-eyed children. Small bunches of friends are bent over their drinks while they taste each other’s. Couples promenade languidly, hands folded together and heads leaned in. Everything and nothing at all happens at Camden. Time stands still, holding tightly to memories and secrets. The brick that makes up the streets and walls stands proud and true, veterans at their trade. Music floats out of shops like dandelion seeds on a summer’s breeze, planting itself wherever fate leads.

It’s only your second day in London. You arrived late into the afternoon yesterday, not feeling up to checking out the subject matter of your project after traveling. Instead, you checked into the small townhouse that you’d be staying at for the duration of your trip and then wandered about the streets of London. You’ve never been to London before, but it was exactly as you’d imagined it. Tall red buses perused the streets. Towering buildings loomed over skinny walkways. But your favorite sight was the sun slipping just below the horizon, relinquishing the world to dusk, and the street lamps casting a warm glow over the summer night.

Today, however, you weren’t wandering the winding streets of the city, you’re acquainting yourself with one of London’s most well known attractions: Camden Market. When you were young, you saw pictures of it in some magazine you’d found in your school’s library. You’d adored the way the market looked on the page and promised yourself that you would see it for yourself someday and take pictures of your own. And now you are. The dream of a little girl flutters in your chest. You clutch onto your camera as your fingers tremble from the weight of your emotions. You really made it.

Closing your eyes and sighing, you bask in the moment for a second longer before fishing out your phone from your pocket. The market just opened, so you have the entire day to explore and find your story. The history of Camden is so rich that it can be found around every corner, tucked into every shop, and, most importantly, etched into the memories of the people.

Piecing together a story with stunning visuals here is difficult not for the lack of inspiration, but for the over abundance of it. How you’re going to choose what to share with the world, you have no idea.

This isn’t your first story with your publication, but it is your first major one. After working on small, local pieces, your boss finally caved and gave you a real assignment. It came in a nick of time, too, because you’d been getting antsy about staying in one place for so long. You needed to get out. But, there’s a lot of pressure to rise to the occasion. If you don’t do well on this piece, who knows when the next time you’ll be assigned something like this again.

You move through the market, stopping to watch or take pictures or talk with a shop owner here and there. The hustle and bustle keeps you moving, the current of moving bodies too strong to fight.

After a few hours of nonstop walking, you have dozens of ideas scribbled down and photos stored in your camera. You have a few specific shops and names written down to revisit when you come back with a more detailed idea of what your story is going to look like. The thoughts swirling through your brain move at lightspeed.

The only thing that breaks your intense concentration is the wafting smell of cooking food. Involuntarily, your stomach grumbles and your mouth waters at the savory smell. The only part of Camden that you haven’t sampled yet is the food. Suddenly, you’re desperate to find wherever that smell is coming from. You don’t think you’ve ever inhaled something so lovely.

After tucking away your notebook and slinging your camera off to your side, you hold your backpack over a shoulder and begin seeking out your lunch. There are a dozen different places to choose from, each producing a signature scent that crawls into the walkways. Signs that don each of the shop’s names does nothing to help you decide, everything speaking to your stomach in a different way. Frustration grows inside of you, fueled by hunger.

But then, as if the universe had a plan all along to keep you exactly where you were, you see him strolling down the walkway. Lando. Your breath catches in your chest, leaving you feeling lightheaded. Jaw slack and eyes wide, you take the sight of him.

His eyes are following the line of shops over his shoulder, seemingly focused on whatever they have to offer. He’s wearing a pair of jeans that hang from his hips and slouch against his sneakers. His plain black t-shirt hugs his arms and chest, but falls a little looser around his middle. To complete his look, he has a beat up black baseball cap atop his head. It pushes down his curls, framing his neck with soft brown coils. Even from this distance, you can see that his hair is much longer and healthier than when you saw him last.

The first thing you feel when you see him is immense exhilaration. Never were you expecting to see him again. After sending him his print and a postcard, there had been little in the way of communication. A few weeks after sending the package, you received a follow request from him on Instagram. Battling yourself for all of two seconds, you accepted it and then accidentally began stalking his page. He had posted a story only a couple minutes before requesting to follow you. Opening the story, you had found your photo of him tacked up on a wall in his home.

“My good side. Or so I’ve been told.”

The caption on the story had made you laugh. Staring at your phone, grinning like a fool, all for a boy a thousand miles and a different destiny away.

Following each other had been the only movement on either front. For a few weeks, you’d pull up his DM and write out message after message. Not one was ever sent. There was no reason for you to reach out to him. Plus, you didn’t know if he even wanted to hear from you. Following you on Instagram is a far cry from being cool with what happened between you half a year ago.

The night you spent together, though it was cut short, still haunts you and holds you.

You had been somewhat keeping up with this season of Formula One just to have a way to stay connected to him in a way. Even if you couldn’t see him or speak with him, at least you could watch from a distance. Every time you’ve tried to stop, tried to forget him, you’ve been unsuccessful. All of your tactics that you’ve been practicing your whole life haven’t been able to eradicate Lando from your system. He’s a bad habit that you can’t break.

You want him in a way that you’ve never wanted anything before. Slowly, you’re creeping to the edge of your own rules, wondering what fate looks like on the other side.

But, reality comes crashing in when his eyes lazily flick up to yours and the elation that was just coursing through your bloodstream turns icy cold. Terror seizes your chest in an iron grip. You can’t move, you can’t breathe, you can’t even run.

For a moment you both stand still, completely frozen in time while the world continues on without you. People rush in and out of view, obscuring your vision in millisecond intervals. Everytime you lose sight of him, you wonder if he’ll actually be there.

He is. He’s really there.

And now he’s walking toward you.

A million questions rush through your head in a panic. Is he still upset at you? What is he going to say? Will you be able to say goodbye again?

Caught in the spinning of your own thoughts, you miss him drawing closer and closer with a stupid grin splitting his face. When you finally snap back into reality, he’s standing right in front of you.

His arms wrap around your waist, hoisting you into the best hug you’ve ever experienced. Hands down. With his touch, every single thought, anxiety, and question evaporate. There’s nothing in this world except for the way his hands hold your waist and his arms flex against your back.

Dropping your bag from your shoulder, you can’t help but toss your arms around his neck, hugging him right back. Smiling wildly, you push your forehead into his shoulder. Your nose fills with the scent of him, sending you reeling all the way back to six months ago when you saw him last.

While you’re in his arms, it feels as though no time has passed. It’s simply the day after you met, both of you ready for your next adventure together.

Together.

The word feels odd to you. It’s so unused in your life. You’ve always been alone. Growing up in the foster care system, you never stayed with someone long enough to use the word ‘together.’ So, there’s never been a desire in you to ever experience ‘together’ with someone. Until now.

“Hi,” Lando says warmly. You can hear the smile in his voice. A rush of heat paints your cheeks red as you pull away from him. As much as you want to keep your hands on him, you drop your hands from his neck and take a small step back. He lets his hands slip away from your waist, your body suddenly cold from the lack of his touch.

“Hi,” you respond, unable to remove the smile on your lips.

For a couple of seconds you both stand in awe of each other. He’s grown so much, not that you didn’t already know that. His Instagram is regularly updated for race weekends and things in between, so you’ve watched him grow over the last six months. However, nothing compares to seeing him in person. The shitty part is that he looks so damn good. How are you supposed to say goodbye to that face, that smile, again?

“I can’t believe this,” Lando says while adjusting his cap that was thrown askew by the brute force of your embrace. “How have you been?”

“Good,” you say while watching his hands go about their work. “How are you?”

“Alright,” he says while nodding. “But great now. It’s been ages. What are you doing in London?”

Nerves buzz in your chest and fingertips. It almost sounds like he’s missed you. You’ve missed him. You’ve never missed anything the way that you miss him.

“I’m working on a story,” you say breathlessly. “About Camden.”

His face lights up as you tell him about your time in London so far. He seems excited when you tell him that you’re going to be here for a while and are looking forward to doing a little more sightseeing when you can. His eyes are wide and bright as he listens to you. Every once in a while you get caught stumbling over your words because you got lost in the curve of his jaw, or the smattering of freckles on his face, or by those damn eyes.

Unable to keep talking coherently, you ask him what he’s doing in London. He tells you that he’s on summer holiday and spending a little time with family. He flew into London this morning and came to do some gift shopping for his parents before driving to Bristol.

He’s standing so close to you that you could reach out with little effort and take his hand in yours. The memory of his hand ghosts along your fingers, urging you to just reach out.

But for all of your desires, you have to hold fast to what you know to be true. This is temporary. Everything between you and Lando will pass because it always does. These feelings only feel this full and vivid because he’s standing right in front of you. This is a chance meeting that should never have happened. It only makes things more complicated.

“What are you doing right now?” Lando asks suddenly, breaking you away from planning an exit strategy. Your heart sinks to your toes.

“I–well–” You’re floundering. You never flounder. How is this the time that you can’t come up with some witty response or a quick out?

“Would you like to grab lunch? Maybe do a little catching up?” he presses. There’s this look on his face that makes you die a little. His eyes are so bright, lit up by the softest of smiles on his face. He looks perfectly at peace in your presence. There’s a happiness that exudes from his aura, taking you captive in its warm arms.

“Yes.” It comes out in a whisper. You’re barely aware that you actually said it aloud. The answer fell from deep within your heart, spilling out because it had to. You’d like nothing more than to sit across a table from Lando and talk with him until the world comes to an end.

Immediately, you regret your answer. Agreeing to this means spending time with him and reopening the doors you’ve been struggling to keep shut. What you should be doing is locking those doors and throwing away the key. You should be doing everything in your power to do what you do best: to run. The urge is there, pulling you away from Lando and the fate that could be. The familiar safety of running away calls to you.

But it’s counteracted by the intense desire to stay.

For the second time in your entire life and for the same reason both times, you’re split in two. War rages inside you; mind versus heart; logic versus feeling; safety versus adventure.

Lando reaches over, snapping up your backpack and hauling it over his shoulder. He sends you a wink, which you roll your eyes at.

“Follow me,” he says while tilting his head back towards the food walkway. Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth to avoid smiling like a fool, you nod your head and fall in step with him.

Together you waltz along in front of the shops. Lando is looking down a little ways, obviously searching out a particular shop. You can’t help but be grateful that you didn’t have to choose which place to eat at. You probably would have spent the rest of the day hopping from spot to spot, tasting a little bit of everything.

After a short walk, Lando stops the two of you in front of a small stall. With a smile on his face, he explains what the shop serves. He obviously loves the place and can’t stop rambling on about it while you stand in line. Honestly, you only hear half of what he’s saying. You’re too busy watching the way his mouth moves and how his eyes dart around and the way he moves his hands while he speaks.

“So, what are you going to get?” he asks. You’d blanked out when he was explaining the menu to you.

“Just whatever you’re getting. I trust your judgment,” you say while shrugging, trying to be as normal as possible. You’d rather him not know that you’ve been ogling him this whole time. It doesn’t bode well for your attempts to get over him.

“You do?” he asks with a scoff. You laugh then, remembering the ice cream incident from six months ago. His choice was less than stellar, so why would it be different now? Maybe you should reconsider your options.

“No,” you say with a shake of your head. “But I’m giving you a chance at redemption.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but he’s swiftly cut off by the woman behind the counter calling the next customer. Lando walks up in front of you and orders for the both of you. He pays the tender before circling back to you.

“No going back now,” he says while handing you a cup of ice water. Shaking your head at him, you pluck the water from his hand gratefully.

“What do I owe you?” you ask while reaching for your wallet.

“Nothing,” he says with a smirk. You glare up at him, trying to fry that smug look off his face. The opposite happens, his smirk growing into a grin.

“I think I’ve got it covered,” he says, reminding you that he’s a millionaire with just six words. What a snob.

“Fine,” you say while stuffing your wallet back into your pocket. “Just trying to have manners. Ever heard of them?”

His jaw drops and his eyes narrow in a look of disbelief. He’s carrying your bag and paying for your food. He’s actually being quite the gentleman, but you still need to bust his chops a little. The smug idiot deserves it, just a little bit. Behind your amused look, there’s an affection that scares you.

Standing side by side, you wait for your food while making small talk. It shocks you how easy conversation flows between the two of you. Nothing has ever been this perfectly natural for you. It just feels right to be by his side while talking about simple nothings.

Just as your hunger starts to crest into annoyance, Lando’s number is called. Excusing himself, he jogs over and grabs the two boxes from the counter. The smell hits you before he even arrives back at your side. It takes everything in you not to rip the paper to-go box from his hands and devour the food right there. Instead, Lando leads you both over to an empty picnic table.

Lando plops down onto the bench, setting both boxes in front of him. For a moment, you think about rounding the table to sit across from him. It would put more distance between the two of you, a safety cushion of sorts.

You sit right next to him.

Smiling smally, he slides your food in front of you. With a needy sigh, you pop open the box and look at the meal in front of you. It’s chicken strips and fries. Raising your eyes to the sky, you begin to pray to the powers-that-be to keep you from laughing in his face.

“What?” Lando says through a mouth full of fries when he catches you barely holding back your laugh.

“I was wrong when I called you geriatric last December. I know now that you’re actually a child.” you strain to say. Lando simply cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Hater,” he says while popping off the lid to his dipping sauce. “Would a child eat chili mayo?”

Smiling wildly, you watch as he dunks his chicken strip into the mayo. After taking a bite of it, he has a little mayo on the corner of his mouth, not doing anything to negate the child accusations.

Instead of teasing him anymore, you dive into your own meal. You have to hand it to Lando because these are the best chicken strips you’ve ever had. You don’t tell him that, though. No need to inflate his ego anymore than it already is.

The two of you eat like you haven’t eaten in years. He polishes off the whole box before you and waits for you to finish.

“Stop watching, you creep,” you say while finishing off the end of your fries.

“I’m not watching you,” he lies. “I’m wondering if you’re going to have that last piece of chicken.”

Rolling your eyes, you toss it into his box. With a cheeky smile, he snatches it up and pops it into his mouth.

After you’ve both disposed of your trash, you begin taking a lazy walk around the market. There’s an unsaid agreement hanging between you to not acknowledge the fact that you’d only agreed to lunch together, not whatever this is.

“What are you doing for the rest of the day?” Lando asks while watching the shops as you pass them by. A dozen different excuses jump to the surface of why you can’t stay with him for the rest of the day. Shame fills you as you realize that your first instinct to a simple question is to get out of it. For someone who’s living is asking questions and getting answers, you’re horrible at being questioned.

There’s yet again the choice that you were poised with all those months ago. With Lando standing in front of you, do you do the right thing and say goodbye or do you say to hell with your rules and reach out.

You’ve already tried endlessly to forget him. Maybe you just need to get him out of your system. At least that’s how you justify your decision.

“Not much,” you answer honestly. All you were going to do today was do a little more exploring before returning to your home for the next few days to iron out your story.

Lando turns to you with a surprised look gracing his features. There’s something else there too, something that surprises you. There’s hope in the way his lips arch upwards and in the tilt of his head.

“What?” you say in response to the face he pulled, turning your eyes from him to the scenery around you. Looking at him like this has your stomach in knots for so many reasons.

“Nothing,” He says while shaking his head. He sounds so pleased it makes your chest ache.

“If you’re not busy, I can show you around a little,” Lando says distantly while turning to examine some jewelry sold by a nearby shop. His nonchalance is transparent, a false front put up to curb his enthusiasm. In a way, it puts you at ease. You’re both going to pretend that this is just some casual meet up between old friends. If you can’t make yourself run away, maybe you can keep yourself safe this way.

“Don’t you have to get to your parents’ house?” you ask, not wanting to impose on his plans. He shakes his head, telling you that he’ll just go a little later than planned.

“Alright,” you find yourself saying. Lando freezes, then finally turns around to face you.

“Alright?” he asks, making sure he heard you correctly.

“Where to first?”

—

For a while in the afternoon, you stroll around the market until Lando finds a present for his parents. Once he buys it and tucks it away into your bag, he tells you that it’s time to explore London.

He forces you onto one of those buses that has an open air seating area, informing you that it is the best way to see the streets of London. He tells you that when he was a kid, he and his friends used to come on these and mess about. You can’t help but imagine a small Lando running up and down the aisle, causing chaos with a gaggle of little boys while their parents watched on. Parts of him still hold onto that childlike joy and wonder, shining like sunspots through the man he’s becoming. He must have had a happy childhood. An ache that feels like envy pinches at your heart.

You can’t help but wonder who you would be if you grew up the way he did.

After riding around on the bus, he takes you to walk along the River Thames. Crowds of people go about their days around you while you and Lando create your own little world together. Every place that he points out will forever be a reminder of him. His words paint over the sights, coloring them a shade of him in your mind.

Once you get close to the London Bridge, the two of you walk up to the walkway’s railing that overlooks the river. Instinctively, you pull out your camera to snap a few shots. At first, you take a couple of just the bridge in all its glory. The clear summer sky is a beautiful backdrop to the brilliant bridge that watches over the busy river that flows under it.

Lando has his back to you, his head turned toward the bridge. He’s mumbling something about the ships that skim across the surface of the river. But your attention is turned toward focusing him into the frame. His brown curls blow softly in the wind. The shirt he’s wearing fills and flutters with the river’s breeze. He looks perfect as he leans up against the railing, his arms rested against the top and his hands loosely folded together. The photo you take feels so intimate. For all the business and life going on, the eye is completely drawn to him. He’s captivating.

“Lando,” you whisper, wanting to get his attention while your camera is still raised to your eye.

Turning around, his face is caught in a look that you’re eternally grateful you caught on camera. There’s the hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes are wide, and his eyebrows are drawn up. He’s ready to answer any question you have, ready to hear anything you have to say. It’s a look straight from a movie scene. The look on his face changes swiftly from pleased to surprised when he sees the camera pointed at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a laugh forcing his face into a proper smile.

“Taking pictures,” you answer matter-of-factly.

Rolling his eyes, he begins to make faces at the camera. Without missing a beat, you keep snapping photo after photo of him. After a minute or so, you turn the camera off and drop it back down to your side. Lando watches you carefully, his eyes tracking your every movement. The way he’s staring at you makes you feel exposed and analyzed. Distantly, you think you should be scared of his eyes on you this way. But that’s a problem for another time.

The rest of the day passes easily. Lando brings you to some of his favorite spots around the city. He tells you stories; you listen carefully, trying your best to learn everything you can about him. You can’t help but feel like you’ve known him for a hundred years. The ease at which you speak, the natural way you understand each other's ques and mannerisms, it all feels instinctual. And yet, there’s still that layer of nervous excitement that lights you on fire. Every time your hands brush as you walk or you catch eyes lingering on each other, there’s an electricity that shoots through your heart.

Lando brings you to a place to grab a bite to eat for supper. As you sit together for another meal, you find yourselves arguing lightheartedly about the stupidest things. All things aside, you realize you haven’t had a friend like this in so long. When you began rejecting relationships with people, it had been a hard adjustment. But over the years, you’d grown so used to being alone that you forgot how lonely you were. Sitting across from Lando, listening to him laugh with you and tease you, it dawns on you just how lonely you’ve been.

By the time you’re done eating, the sun is starting to sink into the horizon. Golden hues are splattered across the sky, painting the city in orange. Lando promised one more sight that would put all the others to shame. Apparently Big Ben is highlighted by the setting sun and is a must see while in London.

With ice cream cones in hand, he hauls you quickly down the street towards the clock tower. Clouds create ombre lines in the sky, bringing the old clock to life. It’s a sight like none other. Big Ben stands like an ancient soldier keeping watch over his city by harnessing the light and fire of the sun.

Wordlessly, you take a photo of the scene in front of you, but only one. Turning your camera off and holding it loosely at your side, you just take in the view. It’s perfect. Everything about today has been perfect. You haven’t been this happy in a long time.

Lando looms right next to you, his presence warm and full. A hand ghosts over yours, just the fleeting touches of fingers against your skin. Breathing suddenly becomes difficult, your lungs laboring to take in any oxygen. You don’t move a muscle, afraid that he’ll admit that it was an accident or worse.

But it happens again. One of his hands reaches towards your’s, plucking the camera from it. Then his other hand slides into your now empty one. Instantly, the sky isn’t the only thing on fire. Warmth envelops your body, everything stemming from where your hand fits in his.

Looking over to him, you watch as he slings the strap of your camera around his neck. He looks over to you, a small smile on his face. As your eyes scan over his tanned features, you catch a small bit of ice cream caught at the corner of his mouth. An amused smile crosses over your face. He’s really never beating those child accusations.

“What?” he says while his face twists from peaceful to concerned.

“Nothing you just have some-” You say while you instinctively reach to wipe his mouth with your thumb. As you make contact, you realize what you’re doing. But it’s too late. You’re close enough now that you can feel his breath on your face. Inches separate you, mere inches.

Slowly, you finish the job you set out to do and wipe the corner of his mouth with your thumb. Hooded eyes greet yours when you dare to look at him.

“Ice cream,” you finish your earlier statement as your hand lingers against his face. Stubble rubs against your fingers, but his skin is soft and warm under it.

There’s maybe a half a second between you trying to pull your hand away and his coming up to cup your jaw. His thumb props up your chin while his fingers press into the back of your neck. You’re barely able to suck in a breath before his lips are on yours. Sinking into him immediately, you kiss him back with matched passion. He feels divine pressed against you. Fire licks at your body, turning you molten in his grip.

For the first time possibly ever, you feel confident that where you stand is exactly where you want to be. Reaching out to him, you grab his neck with both hands to pull him closer.

The kiss is damning, his lips drawing you closer and closer. Letting go is not an option, the end of this isn’t even a thought in your mind. Everything you know is this kiss. The rest of the world has faded away; your past has faded into an obsolete flash. While his hands are on you, there’s hope. While your fingers press into his skin, there’s a future.

His hands start to drift, needing to feel more of you. With gentle but firm fingers, he explores your body. One of his hands comes to rest on your waist while the other splays out against your lower back, encouraging you to arch into him. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, causing you to gasp.

The momentary severing of your connection allows you to breathe for a second. Then your name falls from Lando’s lips in a whisper like honey and you’re submerged once again. Dusk wraps around you while you kiss like the world is ending.

Six months have been spent dreaming of moments like this. Lando has plagued you every day and every night for months. The steady ache that you thought would fade has just been set to rest and replaced with a roaring fire. Down to the very marrow of your bones you feel his kiss. You’re insatiable, needing more of him.

Neither of you know how long you’ve been standing there when you finally pull apart. Lando doesn’t give any sign that he’s removing his hands from you. Instead, he just holds you close while his head drops between your collar and jaw. A jolt runs down your spine when you feel him placing the gentlest of kisses up your neck.

“Thank you,” he says while pulling away to look you in the eyes. Reeling back a little, it strikes you as odd that that’s what he’s decided to say after you’ve just experienced the best make out of your entire life. Your reaction doesn’t phase Lando, of course. He just smiles down at you like he knows something you don’t.

“For the photo and the postcard,” he finishes, putting your shock to rest. A baffled laugh rises from your chest and you let your forehead fall against his chest. Laughing with you, he adjusts his arms around waist, pulling you tight against him.

“I can’t believe you’re bringing that up right now.” you laugh into his chest, dumbfounded that he was even thinking about it.

“Why? This is the perfect time to bring it up,” he defends. You pull back in his arms to look at him and give him a confused frown.

“I wanted to wait until I saw you in person so I could thank you properly. Now I have,” he says smugly as if this was his plan all along. Not only had he been thinking about and scheming this all day, he’d been waiting for months to do it. Chills cascade over your skin as you let the weight of that sink in. Maybe he missed you as much as you missed him. It’s an insane thought because you should never have felt that way after meeting him once. Rarely over the last six months have you let yourself hope that he felt the same way. Maybe you should have had a little faith.

But to what end?

The familiar feeling of doubt begins to creep in, but you refuse to ruin one of the best moments you’ve ever experienced. Even if you’ll pay for it later, you’re going to do your best to preserve whatever just passed between you and Lando.

“That’s so cheesy,” you find yourself laughing. Lando squeezes your sides, making you squeal and press into his chest.

“I think you meant ‘romantic,’” he corrects, emulating the conversation that you shared months ago. It makes you smile.

“Maybe I did,” you concede softly. Raising yourself up off his chest, you lean in a press the barest of kisses to his soft lips. He accepts your lips on his with equal tenderness.

Pulling away for the second time, you press your hands flat against his chest to push away from him. He lets you go, but it takes a few seconds. After you’re free from the circle of his arms, you pull one of his hands into yours and begin walking into the night.

The dying light gives way into a sultry purple and navy blue. The air flits over the water and through the trees on a gentle breeze. With Lando’s hand in yours and your lips still tingling from his kiss, you can chalk this up to the perfect night.

“Can I take a few pictures?” Lando asks as he pulls you in front of him, your camera held in his other hand. You’d completely forgotten that he had taken your camera from you.

“Sure,” you say while nodding. “Do you know how?”

“Yeah,” He scoffs smugly. “Point and click. Easy as that.”

Blinking at him, you’re slightly in awe of his absolute blind confidence. A man really just believes whatever he wants, doesn’t he.

“Alright,” you say while dropping his hand. “Take a few for me.”

Confidently, he smiles at you and brings the camera to his eye. Then pulls it away with a frown on his face.

“Lens cap,” you tell him while pointing to the end of the camera. His eyes flick to you while his confidence falters for just a second. Once he has the cap removed, he brings the camera back up to his eye. He’s obviously a little more pleased when he can actually see his surroundings through the viewfinder.

Silently, you watch as he struts about taking pictures of this and that. Watching on, you can’t help the smile that spreads onto your face. He’s like a kid in a candy store. Once something catches his eye, he walks over to it and spends minutes on making sure it’s just how he wants it.

While he gallivants about with your camera, you have a moment to really think about everything that’s happened today. Playing it over in your head, it seems like a movie or as if it wasn’t really happening to you. The person you are with Lando seems so different to the person that you know yourself to be. It’s like the person that you are when you’re around him is this fuller version of yourself. Your broken pieces seem to draw together, finally ready to heal. There’s a joy that you’ve never known when your hand is in his. It feels right; it feels real.

And in the nighttime streets of London, you feel a star of hope being born in your chest. And you hold it tight. Maybe there are some things that don’t have to be temporary. Running is all you’ve ever known. Once a place doesn’t fit your needs or desires, you run away to the next place. But what if there’s somewhere, or someone, out there that will always fit your needs and desires. What if it wasn’t chance that brought together again two people whose paths should never have crossed?

What if you didn’t have to run?

“How do you get them to come up on the screen?” Lando says while fast walking over to you and pulling you from your train of thought. When he reaches you, you pull the camera from his hands. He rounds behind you, placing his chin on your shoulder and his hands around your stomach. Pressing the play button, you bring the pictures onto the display screen. It starts with yours from the beginning of the day. The bright morning shot of the Camden Market sign seems like a lifetime ago.

You drag the wheel dial back, sending you to the last picture taken. It’s completely dark.

“What?” Lando mumbles into your shoulder, his body going rigid against you. You have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.

Slowly, you spin the dial backward to keep browsing through his pictures. Nearly every single one is too dark to make out.

Obviously frustrated, Lando huffs and presses his forehead into your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his display of exasperation. His lesson has been well learned.

“I don’t get it,” he says while you turn in his arms. He’s pouty now, his face pinched into a frown.

“Did you adjust the aperture, the ISO, and the shutter speed?” you ask pointedly. He doesn’t give you the dignity of a response. Instead, he pulls his lips into a line and squints his eyes at you. He’s not taking any of your bull shit. Deciding it's your turn to play the smug jerk, you smirk at him.

“Point and click, right?” you tease while slinging the camera around your neck. You reach into Lando’s front pocket while looking him in the eyes to fish out your lens cap. His eyes go wide as your hand slides in and out of his pocket. Tilting your head to the side, you watch as he sucks in a deep breath. You’ve absolutely flustered him, something you don’t think often happens.

“Huh?” he mumbles, obviously not catching what you had said earlier.

“I can give you a lesson on the bus ride to my place if you’d like,” you say with an innocent smile. Lando blinks away his shock and then accepts your offer.

Walking side by side, you make your way to the bus stop. Hopping on the bus to where your house is, Lando leads you to a row and lets you have the window seat.

While the bus teeters along, you give Lando a brief lesson on camera basics. He nods along, his eyes following your fingers as they dance along the camera. He seems genuinely interested in what you have to say. A warm feeling flares in your chest that he cares about what you do enough to learn about it.

Too soon, the bus arrives at your stop. Together, you get off the bus and walk towards the town house you’re staying in. Lando has your hand clasped in his while he asks you question after question about cameras. You do your best to answer him, a smile constant on your face.

“This is me,” you sigh quietly while stopping in front of the gate of the house. He stops too, turning to stand in front of you. There’s a question poised on your lips that you already know the answer to were you to ask it. Once more the choice to reach out looms in front of you.

“How long are you in London for exactly?” Lando asks. He hadn’t asked about it all day. You’ve been wondering when it was going to come up and it finally has.

“Just the next few days,” you tell him. He nods along with your words.

“After that?” he presses while fiddling with your fingers.

“Back to Monaco for a while until I get a new assignment. Probably only a few days,” you admit. “What about you?”

“I’m going on vacation with my family to Bali for a week and then with some friends to Australia the next week. Then I’ll be in Woking for work,” he says, his eyes not lifting to find yours. The realization hits you like a dump truck.

“Then the season starts again,” you say, your voice strained.

“And you’ll be on assignment,” he shoots back, his voice the same as yours.

All the hope that’s been accumulating throughout your time with Lando burns to ash in a matter of mere seconds. The guiding star that flared to life just hours ago, collapses in on itself, creating a black hole inside of you. All joy is sucked away, leaving you cold and alone. Where hope once was, despair takes its place.

It’s nearly laughable that you ever thought you wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Even when you tried not to run, the universe did it for you. Thinking that fate brought you together was a child’s wish. It’s fate that’s tearing you apart. There can be no other way for you, running away is the only option. Saying goodbye will always be your fate, your curse.

“I’ll come to Monaco,” Lando says suddenly, his hands gripping yours. His eyes are like fire when you look into them. His face is stormy, angry even. You know the look well. He’s fighting. He’s a fighter.

You remember when you were a fighter.

“Alright,” you choke out, feeling utterly broken. Pulling you close, he takes your lips with his own. You can feel his promise in his kiss, his hope to see you again. It shatters you further. Tears well in your eyes, but you don’t allow them to fall. This pain is what you bargained for and now you’re paying in full. But you kiss him, you kiss him with everything you have because you know it will be the last.

Two fated times your paths crossed.

And two times you were ripped apart by that same fate.

When he pulls away, you can’t look him in the eye. He holds you close while he whispers into your ear.

“I’ll see you in Monaco.” His voice is stern and sure. All you do is nod into his chest.

When he walks away, he doesn’t say goodbye. He believes that this isn’t one. You know better.

This time, you don’t look over your shoulder to watch him leave.

182 notes · View notes

kingofbodyrolls · 2 months

Text

Stuck in a Cabin (m) | pjm

Cute and innocent looking Park Jimin is your lifetime nemesis that you’ve already fallen into bed with not once, but twice. Will a snowy weekend trip with your friends to a cabin in the woods make it the third time you get with your enemy?

→ Pairing: Jimin x female reader → AU + genres: smut, pwp, forced proximity → Trope: enemies to lovers → Rating: Mature/explicit/R18 - this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact. → Word count: 5.5k → Warnings (explicit): unprotected sex (don’t be stupid), hair pulling, multiple orgasms, usage of toy (a dildo), very brief oral (female), multiple orgasms, double penetration (with a toy lol), anal (please go slow and don’t be like these fools), an obscene amount of lube, creampie, cockwarming, dirty talk and endearing degrading names (he still calls her brat 😜), unintentional exhibitionism (or is it, Jimin?? 👀). → Read on AO3 [link]

[s.masterlist] → this is part of a mini series ‘The Winter Collection’, but it can be read as a stand alone (as can all the installments in the series).

“I pick the music,” you snap, your hand darting toward the audio console to change the station. Before you can touch it, Jimin’s hand intercepts yours with a sharp slap.

“The driver always picks the music,” he declares with a smirk, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. You rub your hand, still stinging from his slap.

“Brat.”

You sulk in the passenger seat, seething with frustration. Why are you stuck here again, especially when it’s your car that your nemesis, Park Jimin, is currently driving?

Snow piles up thick along the roadside, but the pavement itself remains clear of the sparkling white blanket. However, patches of ice glisten treacherously, making it difficult for the tires to grip the asphalt.

“Remind me why you’re driving again?” you huff, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms in a pitiful fit of anger. Jimin always manages to provoke this reaction from you. Your blood boils, and despite your best efforts, you can’t help it.

“Have you forgotten who got us out of the snowstorm last time?” he smirks, glancing at you briefly—his eyes lingering on your chest, pushed up by your crossed arms. Then, his gaze snaps back to the road, his fingers gripping the wheel tightly, just as they did during the storm.

Thankfully, the snowstorm has passed as you head toward the cabin where you’ll be spending the weekend with your friends.

You huff and sink deeper into your seat, clearly displeased with the situation.

“I really don’t know how I ended up in a car with you again,” you grunt, turning your gaze to the passing landscape. Snow blankets the trees, which grow thicker and denser as you approach the cabin in the forest.

It’s better to stare out the window, you figure, than to acknowledge the feelings stirring in your chest—how your heart races just in his presence. No way will you give Jimin the satisfaction of knowing he affects you—whether through his touch, his words, or his cock. Admitting any of it would only stroke his ego further, and you refuse to give in to the man you despise with every fiber of your being.

“Because you love me,” he declares, and your eyes widen so much they might pop out of their sockets. You gape at him, speechless and flustered like a fish out of water, your heart pounding in your chest. Despite the rush of emotions, you manage to spit out a denial as if it’s second nature to you.

“I don’t love you. I don’t even like you,” you retort sharply.

Jimin bursts out in an endearing chuckle. Damn, why does that sound always get to you? It’s so genuine, filling the car with his infectious laughter. “Listen here, brat,” he says, his voice teasing yet earnest, “you can deny it all you want, but we both know you’re head over heels for me.”

You gape again, his audacity leaving you seething. Can he hear the frantic beat of your heart?

You attempt to deny it once more, your arms remaining firmly crossed over your chest.

He chuckles again, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “You’re cute when you lie.”

His comment makes you blush fiercely; your cheeks burn bright red and your ears feel like they’re on fire. The urge to leap out of the moving car to escape him intensifies—this is pure torture. It was bad enough when you reluctantly admitted to yourself that you might have feelings for your enemy, but you’ll go to any lengths to ensure he never finds out.

The rest of the ride drags on, the car enveloped in slow, sensual music that Jimin seems to adore. Each song carries a suggestive undertone that feels torturous, causing your thoughts to inevitably drift back to Jimin himself.

Suddenly, a warm hand slaps your thigh, trailing up your leg and dangerously close to your crotch, causing you to catch your breath and shiver. What the fuck is he doing?

You turn to face him, silent, your lips pressed tightly together. Words feel dangerous now, so you let your angry eyes convey your message. He chuckles softly, squeezing your thigh briefly before withdrawing his hand.

His hand, warm and lingering, leaves a chill in its wake on your thigh. Memories of his touch—exploring your body, igniting every nerve ending—flood your mind. Damn it. Why does your mind betray you like this?

Your body betrays you, squirming involuntarily in your seat, and you’re certain Jimin notices as you hear him chuckle once more.

“We’re here,” he announces, a playful lilt to his voice, and you snap your gaze to the two-story cabin, several cars parked out front. Looks like you’re the last one to arrive.

You’re relieved to have finally arrived, though you’ve dreaded this trip. Being stuck in close quarters with Jimin is a recipe for disaster. Your heart might just end up with the wrong idea.

As you both step out of the car, you grab your luggage—a small bag you’ve packed specifically for this weekend trip.

Despite its small size, your bag is surprisingly heavy. When Jimin notices your struggle, he moves to take it from you. However, you stubbornly refuse, grappling for control over your belongings.

He offers, “I can take your bag.”

“No, thank you,” you reply firmly, meeting his gaze head-on. You refuse his help, resisting his attempt at chivalry. You can’t afford to let your heart entertain false hope.

He suddenly smirks, his gaze trailing up and down your figure. “Do you have something naughty in there?”

You lose your grip on the bag, and it tumbles into the snow with a soft thud. Shock overtakes your expression as you gape at him, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“No,” you assert, shaking your head, your heart racing and palms growing clammy.

“Maybe I should take a peek then?” He chuckles, settling into a seat, his fingers inching towards the zipper of your bag.

“Fuck no!” you shout, snatching up your bag and storming towards the door, seething with a mix of anger and embarrassment. Damn it. You do have something in your bag, and there’s no way you want him to see—or find out—what it is.

Behind you, his laughter fills the air like warm honey as you swing the door open, letting the welcoming warmth wash over your already flushed face.

You greet your friends, who are already lounging on the couches around the warm fire pit. As their eyes rake over you, you silently pray that they can’t see the blush staining your cheeks.

“Hey,” Namjoon greets you with a warm smile from the couch. “Took you long enough to get here.”

You groan and roll your eyes at his comment. You’re not sure if he’s insinuating what you think he is, but even the thought makes your cheeks flush deeper. Nothing happened between you and Jimin this time, but the implication alone is enough to set your face on fire.

“Joon, just let them come in,” Seokjin scolds, throwing you a playful wink that makes your stomach churn. He knows, and you can only hope the others don’t. The memory of what you and Jimin did in Seokjin’s bedroom at his Christmas party floods your mind, and you curse inwardly. It’s bad enough that you’re so easily manipulated by Jimin’s touch—you despise the fact that you might be falling for him. No, you’re not falling for your enemy. You can’t be.

“When did you get here?” you ask Yoongi, who is sprawled out on a couch, nearly asleep. He shoots you a half-awake glare in response to your interruption.

“About an hour ago,” he groans, his voice heavy with fatigue as he stretches his arms lazily.

“We're heading into town to do some shopping in a bit. Want to join us?” Hoseok asks with a bright smile, and you can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, is everyone going?” Jimin asks, casually settling his perfectly round ass onto one of the couches. Damn Park Jimin’s ass—why the hell are you staring at it in, and in those black sweatpants? Ugh.

The guys nod, chatting excitedly about what to pick up at the store—booze, snacks, and dinner. They turn to you, and Namjoon asks with a curious gaze, “You’ve been awfully quiet. Don’t you wanna tag along?”

“I think I’ll just stay here and relax. But could you grab some red wine for me? I’d love a glass later. And just pick up whatever snacks you guys want,” you say with a smile, tossing your bag to the floor, safely out of Jimin’s prying eyes.

“Sure, go ahead and head upstairs to your room to unpack while we’re out shopping. We’ll be leaving in just a minute,” Seokjin offers kindly.

Yoongi groans again, questioning why he has to come along, but Namjoon playfully scolds him, insisting they need his expert opinion on selecting the finest whiskey in the store. You don’t linger to hear more of their banter, swiftly grabbing your bag and ascending the stairs to your room. It’s a shared room with some of the other guys, but as long as there are single beds, you’re fine.

Upstairs, the hallway stretches out with rooms on either side. You check each one, searching for an empty space to claim, until you reach the end of the hall, your hand hovering over the final doorknob.

You turn the knob, pushing the door open to reveal a small, cozy, and warmly lit room. Your eyes immediately catch the queen-size bed, the sole furnishing in the room. Perhaps the guys had been considerate, giving you your own room? With no bags in sight, you step inside, feeling grateful for the quiet retreat.

You plop down on the bed, tossing your bag to the floor and letting out a sigh. The mattress feels comfortable as you stretch out, listening intently for any movement downstairs. The murmur of your friends’ voices filters up, mingling with the sounds of Yoongi being reluctantly dragged along. The front door opens, accompanied by a few of Yoongi’s colorful curses, and then silence settles in as the door closes behind them.

You sigh again, savoring the rare moment of solitude. Finally, you can gather your thoughts—though they frustratingly drift to Jimin. No, that’s not what you want to focus on right now!

But the persistent ache between your legs, lingering since the car ride with Jimin, demands attention. Maybe it's time to do something about it. Almost instinctively, you reach for your bag on the floor.

You unzip the bag and stick your hand inside, rummaging for what you know will help you focus on anything other than your infuriating enemy, Park Jimin.

Your fingers finally locate the plastic bag you’ve carefully packed, and you pull it out, your hand wrapping around the familiar soft silicone. It’s purple, glitter sparkling as you turn it in your hand, its length and satisfying thickness promising a welcome distraction.

It’s beautiful, resembling a pretty dick, and your thoughts swirl to Jimin’s cock. Your pussy throbs at the comparison. Jimin is a bit girthier than your dildo and about the same length. The mere memory of him sends a shiver down your spine.

You sit at the edge of the bed, quickly pulling down your jeans and panties. With no idea how much time you have before your friends return, you know you need to be fast. The last thing you want is to be caught in the act.

You lean back against the headboard, spreading your legs, already slick with arousal.

Damn, you really are a mess.

You begin to rub your clit, teasing yourself, and your mind betrays you by wandering to Jimin—his fingers, his mouth. Damn it, you started this to avoid thinking about Jimin, so why does he invade your thoughts even now?

Heat floods through you as you keep steady pressure on your clit, rubbing slow circles. Flustered and aroused, you can’t help but think about the risk of getting caught if you’re not quick enough. The illicit thrill excites you more than it should, and you’re surprised at how your walls clench at the thought.

You slide a finger inside your folds, feeling the tight, wet heat, though it doesn’t quite satisfy as much as you’d hoped.

Your breath quickens, matching the accelerating pace of your heart. With a sense of urgency, you increase the speed of your movements, thrusting your finger inside yourself faster, all the while anxiously aware of the time passing. How long has it been now, anyway?

God, you’re so wet and you just crave to be filled. You glance at your sparkly purple dildo beside you, convinced you’re slick enough to take it. Grabbing it eagerly, you run your slick hands over its smooth surface, ensuring it’s coated with your own arousal.

You open your legs wider, positioning the dildo in front of your eager pussy. Slowly, you ease it inside, relishing the stretch that sends shudders of pleasure through you. Not wanting to rush, you take it slow, savoring the delicious fullness as it gradually fills you up.

Throwing your head back, you revel in the sensation as soon as the dildo is fully inserted. Taking a deep breath, you start to withdraw it slowly, only to eagerly thrust it back inside moments later.

You continue to thrust the dildo into your pussy, establishing a deliberate rhythm of self-pleasure. It’s a satisfying feeling, one you’ve been yearning for. Since your last encounter with Jimin, and with no one else since, this release feels necessary—like finally letting go of pent-up frustration.

You lose yourself in the sensation of fullness, thoughts of Jimin consuming your mind. You find yourself wishing it was his cock thrusting into you instead of your pathetic dildo. The toy pales in comparison to Jimin, but that’s a truth you’ll never admit to him.

You pant and moan, lost in your pleasure.

Then, the door creaks open, and your eyes snap open in alarm, breaking the euphoric trance. There stands your enemy, Park Jimin, his eyes widening and pupils dilating as he instantly realizes what you’re doing.

Your mind races—he shouldn’t be here, no one should! What is he doing in your room? Damn it, why does your pussy clench around the dildo now, of all times?

Jimin looks shocked, but his expression quickly shifts to a smirk as he confidently strides into the room with his bag in hand. His smile is mischievous, to say the least—this encounter promises trouble. The question lingers: will this end well for you, or not?

“What are you doing back? No one’s supposed to be here,” you spit out, your voice both heavy and breathless. You instinctively close your legs, as if you could shield yourself from his prying eyes, though he’s already seen it all.

He chuckles, the sound filling the room with a menacing undertone that sends a shiver down your spine—and yet, strangely, it also sends a thrill of excitement through you.

Damn it.

“I never left. Just came to claim my room,” he says casually, running a hand through his hair in a move that sends a dangerous thrill through you. Your stomach flutters with a mix of apprehension and something else you don’t want to admit—but damn it, you can’t deny the effect it has on you.

“Your room?” you choke out, breathless, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks while the dildo remains snug inside you. Conversing with him in this state feels surreal—both embarrassed and intensely aroused, caught in a tantalizing mix of emotions.

He just nods, closing the door behind him, his mischievous smile widening with every step he takes towards you.

Fuck. Looks like the guys didn’t get you a room all to yourself. There’s only one bed in here—which means you’re supposed to share it with Jimin unless you want to sleep on the floor or freeze on the couch in the living room. Damn it.

“What are you doing with that dildo stuffed inside your pussy?” he asks with a teasing smile, eyes glinting with mischief. Now standing right in front of the bed, he makes your pussy flutter around the dildo. Fucking hell. Jimin will be the death of you.

You hiss as his warm hand touches your foot, sending shivers up your spine. “What does it look like I’m doing?” you snap back, embarrassment and anger bubbling up inside you. The heat of the situation, mixed with being caught, leaves you feeling both hot and bothered.

“Does that thing really satisfy you?” he asks, his gaze shifting from the glistening toy between your legs to your flustered face, a smirk playing on his lips.

You grimace, biting back a response. The truth is, your dildo never truly satisfies you, but it’s the best you can manage when desperation strikes.

Jimin notices your eyes darting away in shame and bursts into laughter, his voice dripping with smugness. “Admit it,” he taunts, “you totally miss my cock, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen in shock—how does he read you so well? It’s as if he can see straight into your mind. But there’s no way you’re admitting it, so you stay silent, your defiance the only shield against his penetrating gaze.

He moves closer, his fingers trailing a tantalizing path along your calves. Leaning in, his voice drops to a provocative whisper, “Tell me, brat. Is that toy really better than my cock?”

You remain silent, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response. But your body betrays you—craving his touch, yearning for his cock instead of the lifeless dildo.

“Look. I already know the answer, but you have to tell me if you want me to touch you,” he says, as if discussing the weather, not the way he’ll wreck you if you let him. He removes his hand from your legs, “You’re such a brat, but suit yourself. Enjoy your dildo,” he taunts, moving away and off the bed. Panic grips you as your mind races—now that he’s here, you don’t want him to leave!

“Wait!” you blurt out, and he freezes mid-step. His back is turned to you, but you can already picture the smirk playing on his lips as he slowly turns around, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly confident way.

“It’s not better than your dick,” you gasp, the words slipping out amidst a stifled moan, the silicone still filling you.

“Aw. Can’t find anything to match up to my cock, huh?” he taunts, his tone dripping with patronizing amusement. You roll your eyes, exasperated. Damn him. He’s insufferable. So fucking utterly full of himself.

"I’m perfectly capable of finding good dick. This is just an emergency…” you groan, feeling the dildo slowly slip out of your folds. Jimin shifts closer, his gaze lingering on you with a knowing smirk.

“Emergency? Let me help you then,” he says, his voice dripping with sweet poison. Damn it, you crave his touch more than anything right now. Fuck. you really want his help, you want him so bad.

You bite your lip, parting your legs to reveal everything to him. He holds you under his spell like no one else, leaving you powerless against the desire coursing through you. Despite your disdain, you ache for him like nothing else.

“Let me watch you fuck yourself with it,” he smirks, catching you off guard. It’s not what you anticipated, but you’re intrigued, not unwilling.

“What?” you snap at him, feeling your body react to the idea. You really want his dick and not like this pathetic excuse of a dildo.

“You heard me. Get to work, brat. If you can make yourself come, then I’ll fuck you after,” he smirks, his tongue flicking over his lips suggestively.

Is this a challenge? Damn, a surge of heat washes over you, and your hand plunges the dildo back into your pussy, a guttural moan escaping your lips.

“That’s it,” he murmurs in praise, sending a rush of heat through you, your stomach twisting with a mixture of nerves and desire.

You throw your head back, heart racing, and close your eyes as your body shivers. You can feel his intense gaze on you, imagining his eyes fixed on your every move, tracing the contours of your pussy.

Jimin reclines, his gaze intense as he watches you thrust the dildo in and out of your pussy. Every movement leaves you feeling desperate, panting softly, lips caught between your teeth in a futile attempt to stifle accidentally uttering his name.

Jimin watches in silence, his presence so palpable you have to open your eyes to confirm he’s real, not some bizarre figment of your imagination. His gaze is sinful, observing you in this intimate act — it knots your stomach with a heady mix of desire and nervous anticipation.

His smirk widens, eyes dark and intense as you catch the unmistakable outline of his arousal straining against his sweatpants. A shiver runs through you at the thought. All you want now is to reach your climax, to feel him inside you. His presence alone is enough to drive you wild with desire.

You’re panting hard, chasing after your climax, but it eludes you, adding to your frustration. Jimin senses your struggle. “Let me help,” he murmurs, his voice laced with promise.

You grunt in frustration, resisting his offer. “No. If you help, you won’t fuck me, right?”

You desperately want him to fuck you, so you’ll handle this on your own, thank you very much. Jimin chuckles softly, “Listen, brat, I’m so hard for you right now. Whether I help or not, I’m going to fuck you. Just let me.” His sincerity breaks through your resolve, and you find yourself giving in to him.

His hand finds yours, and you relinquish control, allowing Jimin to take your place at the end of the dildo, guiding it inside you while your fingers find your clit, eagerly seeking the pleasure he promises.

You stroke your clit, the dual sensation tightening the knot in your stomach even faster. Your breath quickens, Jimin’s gaze locked on you with awe. “Damn, Jimin, I’m—” you gasp, savoring the exquisite rush of being filled while pleasuring yourself. It’s intense.

“Just come already so I can fuck you, that’s what you want, right?” he taunts, maintaining a steady rhythm with the dildo.

“Yes! I need your cock,” you gasp, biting your lip and throwing your head back in desperate anticipation.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall apart, your pussy fluttering around the dildo, your clit pulsating as you moan his name. God, you feel shivers all the way down to your toes, your body convulsing with the release of built-up tension.

“Such a good girl. As a reward, I’ll fuck you silly,” he promises, his words sending a thrill through you, your pussy fluttering around the dildo in anticipation. Shit, you can’t wait for that.

He withdraws the dildo, setting it aside as he gazes at your pussy with evident captivation. Slowly, he moves closer, then looks up, locking eyes with you. “Let me taste you?” His voice is a husky plea, tinged with desire.

His eyes hold both innocence and sin, and you bite your lip before nodding. “Yes,” escapes your lips in a breathless whisper.

He dives down, his tongue extending eagerly to meet your still-pulsating pussy. With each lick, he gathers your juices, his sucking intensifying the sensation. Your stomach tightens, hands finding purchase in his hair, pulling slightly as his touch overwhelms your senses.

Park Jimin might look cute, you’ll admit, but his tongue is sin personified, a devilish tool he wields with expert precision. It’s why you often find yourself beneath him, craving the unique pleasure only he can provide.

His tongue swirls around your clit with an intensity that makes your breath hitch, fingers tugging harder on his hair. Just for a moment, he pulls back. “You taste so sweet and delicious,” he murmurs, licking his lips glistening with your sheen, sending tingles down your spine and a needy moan escaping your lips.

Then he dives back in, licking a stripe from your folds to your clit. “I think you deserve to get fucked now, brat,” he says, his eyes gleaming with mischief, stealing your breath away. You partly hate how you’re falling for him, despite his devilish charm and the way he pleases you.

He pulls back, studying you for a moment before quickly undressing, his clothes tossed to the floor. He crawls back onto the bed, grabbing his dick and stroking it—though he hardly needs to, already hard for you. He opens your legs, and your pussy clenches in anticipation. You want him so bad, your heart pounding in your chest.

He grunts, smirking as he moves closer. The head of his dick caresses your folds, turning you to butter. Slowly, he pushes himself inside, and you moan his name in pure pleasure.

“You’re still so tight, fuck,” he pants, stilling inside you as he bottoms out. The sensation of fullness sends a shudder through you, eyes rolling back as you arch your back, nipples hardening against the teasing fabric of your shirt. He begins to thrust, fast and relentless, and you moan, feeling like you’re ascending to the heavens with each powerful stroke.

His hips slam against your thighs, his balls hitting your ass with each thrust. He grabs your legs, hoisting them over his shoulders, driving deeper and making you see stars. Suddenly, he pulls out, and you look at him in confusion.

“Ass up,” he commands, and you turn over on all fours, presenting yourself to him. His hands glide over your ass, setting your skin on fire and making you shiver. “Such a pretty ass,” he murmurs, then spanks you, eliciting a moan and a clench around nothing. He soothes the stinging spot with a gentle caress, the contrast sending waves of sensation through you.

You feel him position himself behind you, and his cock enters you again. You groan, high and airy, like he’s just fucked the breath out of you. He thrusts deeper, hands gripping your thighs and pulling you into him with every powerful movement.

Frustration mounts as you drag the shirt over your body, finally tossing it aside before collapsing onto the bed. Your head rests against the mattress, and you relish the way Jimin’s thrusts hit deep, effortlessly finding your g-spot. “Jimin—” you moan, a symphony of fullness and bliss escaping your lips.

He grunts, ramming harder into you, “Isn’t this better than that silly little dildo?” His voice is laced with condescension, but it only makes you wetter, and you moan out a breathless yes.

“Speaking of that sparkly thing… have you ever had it in your ass?” His hands possessively grope your cheeks, making your pussy clench around him as you struggle to form coherent thoughts.

“Well, brat?” He slaps one of your ass cheeks, the sting blending with pleasure.

“I’ve never had the dildo in my ass before, fuck,” you moan, lost in a delightful haze. “I’ve only been fingered before.”

He hums thoughtfully, and you already know what’s coming next. “Do you want to try? Being filled in two holes, hm?”

Your pussy clenches again. Fuck. The very thought makes you drip even more. “Fuck. Yes.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you. “Fuck. Do you have lube in your bag?”

You nod, biting your lip as he pulls out of you and strides over to your bag. Returning with the lube, he takes his place behind you once more. “Just gonna prep you, okay? Let me know if it hurts.”

You nod, biting your lip hard enough to taste a hint of blood, but the sting is a distant concern. The click of the lube opening and the sound of the liquid being squeezed onto Jimin’s finger send shivers down your spine. You feel his finger teasing your rim, the cool liquid running down your ass as he carefully applies it. The sensation makes you shiver. Slowly, his finger starts pushing in, moving in and out with a careful rhythm, stretching you gently and gradually.

He’s taking his time to make sure he doesn’t push you too far, stretching you slowly and gradually.

“Fuck, Jimin. You can go in a bit more, it’s fine,” you grunt, feeling both of your holes clench as he presses his finger in deeper. You’d forgotten how it felt to be filled like this, the heightened sensitivity of your ass adding to the intensity.

“You’re taking my finger so well,” he pants, clearly affected by the scene unfolding before him.

“Do you think you can take a second finger?” he asks, pulling his finger out momentarily.

“Yes,” you pant, eager for more.

He pushes two fingers inside, stretching you further, and you moan, the mix of pain and pleasure sending waves of sensation through you. Despite the generous amount of lube, there’s a slight burning sensation, but the pleasure quickly overrides any discomfort.

“Fuck.”

Then he enters you again with his cock, and you cry out in pleasure, tears welling in your eyes as you choke on your own breath. The sensation is overwhelming, filling you completely. He begins to thrust, his dick plunging into your pussy while his fingers work your ass. The double penetration makes you clench, and you know you could come just from this.

Suddenly, he withdraws his fingers. “I think you’re ready. Let’s try. I won’t push it all the way in, just a bit, okay?”

“Okay,” you manage to say, biting your lip as he grabs the purple dildo, applying an obscene amount of lube to it and your ass. His thrusts slow as he focuses on inserting the dildo into your hole. You hold your breath as you feel the silicone prod at your ass while his cock fills your pussy. The sensation is intense, a mix of sting and pleasure.

“You’re doing so good,” he murmurs, caressing your ass with his free hand. He successfully pushes the head of the dildo inside, and you gasp for air.

“Shit. It feels weird, but good,” you pant, bliss washing over you. You need him to move. “Please move, fuck me, Jimin.”

He keeps the dildo still as he resumes his quick thrusts, his balls slapping against your pussy. The pleasure is incredible. Slowly, he starts moving the dildo in and out in rhythm with his thrusts, and you’re gone, so far gone. The coil in your stomach tightens, and you feel like you could snap at any moment.

“Jimin, Jimin!” you pant and cry out, the urgency in your voice driving him wild.

“Fuck! You’re gonna come, aren’t you? Come on my cock, you filthy brat,” he growls, his voice dropping an octave, sending shivers down your spine.

And then it happens; the coil inside you snaps, and your vision turns white with sparkles dusting your retinas. You scream his name, and both your pussy and hole pulsate, gripping his cock and the dildo for dear life. Your mind turns blank, then bursts with colors, your body heating up and floating as Jimin slows down, fucking you gently through your orgasm.

“Fucking hell. You’re beautiful when you come,” he murmurs, his voice deep and strained, like he’s close too. You feel him twitch inside you repeatedly.

“Shit. I’m gonna come,” he stutters, then releases his white-hot seed into your pussy, filling you up, and fuck, you love it. He groans your name, thrusting a few more times before the dildo falls to the bed. Both of his hands grab your hips, squeezing hard, and you moan at his possessive hold.

“Turn around,” he commands, his voice exhausted as he pulls out, his seed and your juices trailing out. You comply, laying back on your back, opening your legs for him. He enters you again, slowly fucking his seed back into you. You spot a slight flinch on his face, a sign of overstimulation, but he pushes into you regardless. You don’t mind; it feels nice and hot.

He stays inside you for a moment, both of you catching your breath, and then you burst out laughing together. But the sound of rustling and rumbling from downstairs snaps you back to reality. The guys are back. Instinctively, you clench around him, your heart rate spiking with fear of being caught.

“Jimin, the guys are back!” you whisper urgently, your blissful haze crashing down.

He just chuckles, “Yeah, they’ve been back for a while. Didn’t you hear the door open?”

You stare at him, wide-eyed and in utter disbelief. That means they heard everything. You weren’t exactly focused on being quiet. Your face heats up, wanting the bed to swallow you whole. Jimin just laughs at your misery.

“You’re cute when you’re embarrassed,” he teases, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You fume but can’t help the way your heart softens at his cheeky smile. Despite being your enemy, the chemistry between you is undeniable. You want him, again and again. It’s time to stop lying to yourself.

“Kiss me, you piece of shit,” you demand, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss, not caring anymore. Your heart wants what it wants, even if it’s your mortal enemy, Park Jimin.

→ Taglist: @yopjm @chimmy-licious @aubrey0moore @jeonsbabygirlsworld @haru-jiminn

→ Author’s note: so… what do you think? I’ve actually been writing this one for almost a month and it’s damn laughable because the wordcount is so small! Normally I would have finished this in a few days… but I’ve been struggling with it and not feeling it. But I did it! I finished it, and just in time for Muse. Let me know if you liked it, and, are you excited for Muse?!

Also— I feel like this ‘series’ is concluded, I really don’t know what more I could add to it, and I honestly feel like it would be really boring, because it’s all the same 😂

321 notes · View notes

icebearpopsicle · 2 months

Text

♡ SPICY SWEET ♡

Gojo Satoru X Bottom G.N. Reader

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ warning: bad smu, smut, bottom reader, overstimulation, slow burn sex (?)

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ word count: 900+

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ Ⳋ authors note: hehe i hope u like it

He is so gentle with you, always so calm whenever you're feeling stressed. He just knows how to calm you down whenever you're panicking over a task; anything he says is like music to your ear; his words just hypnotize you.

You just can't get enough of him. His boyish smile, his white spiky hair that falls across his forehead messily, his almond-shaped cerulean eyes, his athletic physique, his loud and immature laugh, the way his eyebrows knit into a frown when facing something complex, and how his lips formed into a pout, spinning the pin between his long, calloused fingers or on his pouty lips. You loved how he would try to diffuse any serious situation with his goofy attitude even though it barely seemed to work, the way he was so confident in himself, his charisma, his lame jokes, which you couldn't help but laugh at even though it was so

"(Name)!!"

"What is it, Satoru?"

"What do you call a fish with no eyes?"

"...."

"Come on... Don't be so moody, baby, pleaseeee!!"

"Ugh.... What?"

"A fsh!!"

".... What?"

"You know like its 'f-i-s-h' yeah, but without an i' its 'f-s-h', geddit?" He asks, bending down his form almost comically.

"Your jokes are so bad, S'toru!!" You cry out, unable to hold the laugh that escapes your lips.

"I got you laughing, though!" He says, smiling ear-to-ear, like he had accomplished something huge.

You could really just go on and on about how amazing he was.

Whether it's when you're anxious, emotional, excited, or angry, he was just the opposite, like a stubborn cat that wouldn't budge no matter how much you tried to shove it away.

But Lord, have mercy on your body if you ever even thought he would be gentle in bed.

Calling him rough is an understatement; he is relentless.

He is always so rough, and he will have his way; you don't know if he is making up for all the calmness that he exudes daily.

His stamina is definitely not the only big thing, so along with his dick and his stamina, it's safe to say anytime he is pissed or had a really bad day, you're going to be writhing from overstimulation. Like now.

You understand why he is so pent up. This mission was a long one; he was away for so long you had started to get desperate to just get one text message. So naturally, when he finally came home, you jumped to hug him the first chance you got. Carrying you to your shared bedroom as he gently placed you down on the bed, cuddling you and telling you details about how his mission went.

You don't know when both of you went from spooning him to being under him as he grabbed both your arms with his left hand and his right, grabbing onto your right leg as it rested on his shoulder. Wanton moans escaped your lips, your breathing gradually becoming more rugged.

"Fuck!! S'toru... Right.. right there, shit!! Mmgnh..." You whined your legs trying to grip the bedsheet best they could as they slipped from in between your toes due to his harsh thrusts.

"Right... Ugh... Right fucking there, baby?" He moans in your ear, his voice husky as he postsions himself hitting that exact spot over and over again, making you scream with ecstasy.

He let go of your arms, resting them beside your head, leaning on both of his forearms, and you grabbed onto his back, your nails biting into his shoulder blades.

"Shit... You feel so damn good, baby fuuuuckkkkkkk." His moans filled your ears as you felt yourself orgasm again; you had lost count of how many times you had come. Every time you whined about how it was too much and you're feeling overstimulated, he would just ask you to bear it a little more.

You adjust your head sideways, hands behind your back ass arched up in the air, Satoru right behind you thrusting his cock in and out of your hole, grabbing your waist a bit too tight. The little hands of the clock pointed at 7 as the larger hand pointed in between 5 and 6, the seconds ticking away one by one. It had been almost an hour since you both were at it, and you parted your lips to let out the moans that you had been holding back. Almost an hour with no breaks in between left you immensely sensitive to the slightest touch, and to your relief (sadness), you felt him pull out of you. The weight in the bed shifted significantly as you collapsed down, immediately taking in huge gulps of air. Gojo passed you a water bottle, which you gladly emptied out. You heard him head out of the room, his footsteps growing fainter with every step.

You almost fell asleep when you heard Gojo enter the room as he appeared right beside you, placing a kiss on your forehead and setting down the water bottle on the bedside table. You watch his silhouette as he opens something up, and to your absolute horror (pleasure), you watch him open another pack of condom as you gradually feel the bed dip near your legs.

"S'toru... I... I can't anymore, please.?" You beg, your voice barely audible.

"It's just one more round, baby... I have been away for so long.. so just be a little patient... yeah."

#female reader #smut #x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jjk x male reader #jjk x you #male reader #gojo x male reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader

162 notes · View notes

maxcuntstappen · 7 months

Text

wanted to post some comfort lestappen after yesterday and generally to kind of cleanse the energy of the tumblr dash over the last couple of days.

enjoy <3

“Baby,” Max says, “Come on.”

It doesn’t change anything. Charles stays lying on his front, his face buried in his pillow.

He looks so small like this. So tiny. It makes Max want to protect him, to kiss his forehead and hold him close and keep him there for as long as they live.

“Charlie,” Max whispers, fingers reaching out to comb through Charles’ soft, brown locks, “Talk to me please.”

Charles replies, but the words reach Max all garbled, the sound swallowed up by the intruding pillow.

But still. It’s progress.

Max lies down on his side next to Charles, throwing an arm over his waist. He kisses Charles’ cheek. Once, twice. Three more times.

And finally, like the sun breaking through grey clouds, Charles’ head turns towards him. Just a little bit. Only a single beautiful green eye looking at Max.

“Hi,” Max smiles, his hand caressing Charles’ cheek, “It’s nice to see your lovely face.”

And despite everything, Charles smiles. It makes Max feel like he’s won a goddamn trophy.

“Do we not want to talk about what’s wrong?”

Charles shakes his head.

Max hums.

It’s not ideal. Charles is the kind of person who always feels better once he talks his emotions out. But if he doesn’t want to, Max will not force him.

“Is there something else we can do, that I can do which would help?”

Charles’ bottom lip sticks out, a cute little pout that makes Max’s chest ache.

“I don’t know,” Charles whispers, his voice rough and heavy, “I don’t know what to do, what will help.”

Max nods, running through his mental directory of things and activities that he knows Charles enjoys.

“I think,” Charles begins, biting his lip.

“Yes?” Max urges, running his fingers down the length of Charles’ spine, smiling gently at the shiver that follows.

“I think I just want to be sad for a bit,” Charles says, his eyes so careful, so observant, undoubtedly evaluating all of Max’s expressions, “I just want to be sad and watch some tv and that’s all.”

Max doesn’t know what to think. Or say.

It’s not something Charles has done before, as far as Max is aware of. Charles either talks about it or works out about it or writes some music about it. He’s never just… been with it. That’s more of Max’s thing.

“Is that okay?” Charles asks cautiously.

“Of course it’s okay, schatje,” Max says, moving closer to kiss Charles’ nose, “Of course.”

The corners of Charles’ mouth turn up a little, making the corners of Max’s mouth turn up a whole lot.

“Do you want to be alone? I could give you some space, go sim race for a while or play with the cats.”

Charles frowns, shaking his head, “No. Stay.”

“Okay,” Max smiles, “Do you have something particular you want to watch?”

“No, not really. I just don’t want to think.”

“Okay,” Max nods, “Okay. Come on then, come here”

Max sits up, leaning against the headboard, holding his arms open.

Charles is quick to move, settling into Max’s side, breathing a sigh of relief.

“I’m going to pick the third movie that’s on our watchlist, okay?” Max asks, feeling Charles nod against him, his hair tickling the inside of Max’s arm.

Max doesn’t think he’s even heard of the movie. It’s animated and about a goose and a fish and why the hell is this on their watchlist.

Doesn’t matter. He picks it anyway.

It’s quiet as they watch the film. Something Max is not used to.

Charles is a chronic talker. Even during movies. Seriously. The man has an opinion about each scene and he will make it known.

He is really fucking lucky that Max doesn’t care much about films and would rather be listening to Charles’ voice anyways.

Yeah, it’s odd, feeling Charles next to him, matching his own breathing to his and not knowing any of the things going on in his head.

But it’s okay. It’s what Charles needs. And that’s all that matters.

Charles snorts suddenly, scaring the shit out of Max, “I don’t get it. How can a goose and a fish be friends? Like how can a goose hear what the fish is saying underwater?”

Max has to force down a cackle to be able to reply. It makes his voice sound all strange and high-pitched.

“That’s the part you decide to question and not the fact that they of course can talk?”

Charles rolls his eyes, giving Max’s arm a hard smack, “You know what I mean, you asshole.”

Max doesn’t. He really, really doesn’t.

But Charles has already moved onto sharing his next thought and he sounds lighter and he’s moving his hands around as he talks and so when he asks Max if he thinks it’s stupid that the main character goose has a ‘cooler haircut’ than the other geese, all Max does is nod and say, “So fucking stupid, schatje. It’s so stupid.”

#lestappen #lav's ficlets #f1 fic #max verstappen #charles leclerc #lestappen au

276 notes · View notes

spacefuneral · 1 year

Text

This is the funniest fucking playlist ever made for me

#i love the imagery of a nervous garage band #that is also Vampire and Angry #fish gets emotional over music

3 notes · View notes

blugerine · 1 year

Text

I’m just now realizing the geniusness of the dance scene in season 2 and how taking a “comedy” show seriously reveals so many new things about it.

NOTE: I have no idea if Neil Gaiman wrote this scene with the intention of it being interpreted in this way, but I really think it sheds so much light on why Aziraphale and Crowley’s relationship seems like it went nowhere but downhill ever since season 1.

I feel like because New Omens is marketed as a “comedy show”, viewers usually go in with the intention not to take things too seriously (except for the more emotional beats that are signaled by somber music and intense acting *cough cough*), but as a result of that, we (or at least, I did) missed out on seeing some scenes differently because we originally wrote it off as “just a silly bit”. I definitely did that during the scene where Crowley performs the “apology dance” in front of Aziraphale because he left him alone to take care of Gabriel. I kept thinking about that scene over and over again in my head because it always seemed much more intentionally childish to me than any other goofy scene we see the husbands get up to in season 2 and even in season 1, and I just realized now a reason why that might be the case.

When Crowley comes back to the shop and has to apologize to Aziraphale, the first words that come out of his mouth are “I’m back”, and both him and Aziraphale know those words aren’t enough for Aziraphale to take him back, so what’s the next best thing? The apology dance! When Crowley initially resists the idea of performing the apology dance, Aziraphale reminds him that he’s done the apology dance numerous times in the past, listing all the specific years over the centuries to really get his point across until Crowley relents. After Crowley begrudgingly finishes the silly dance, the audience share a good laugh, Aziraphale is content enough to accept him back, and the fight they just had all seems so “stupid” now in comparison to the bigger fish they have to fry.

Now, what’s the problem in this scene? Or rather, why is this scene such a big deal in regards to why they broke up at the end of season 2? That’s because it’s, again, another example of how they always DANCE (quite literally) around the actual problems in their relationship that result in them constantly breaking up. And this has been happening for CENTURIES, time and time again, they always default to pushing their problems under the rug, letting bygones be bygones. They believe they’re forgiving and forgetting, but as Aziraphale keeps recounting all the years he’s done the apology dance, it’s very clear that they’ve actually never forgotten any of those previous instances of frustration and words of venom they’ve hurled at each other. Instead, they’ve opted to pretend they’re over it, onto “bigger and better” things to do as a distraction. The only time they start conveniently bringing up past wounds is when they have YET ANOTHER breakup scene.

The dance is performed so childishly because of the childish way they deal with the problems that arise in their relationship. Despite knowing very intricately about the infinite vastness of the universe, of mankind’s greatest strengths and weaknesses, they were not made to view themselves as having human emotions, and they were not trained to make compromises that did not threaten their very existence. Crowley and Aziraphale both started as angels, and Crowley wanted God to compromise with him about keeping the universe around for more years than She had planned. But God doesn’t take suggestions, so Crowley’s angelic status was quite literally burned from him as he was sent down to Hell, which traumatized him greatly, and made Aziraphale exist in fear of the divine punishment that came to those who disobeyed God.

As such, Aziraphale and Crowley have so little understanding of how to compromise in a healthy manner, because the first time one of them tried to do it, it ended terribly for both of them, and they subconsciously vowed never to do it again. That’s why, when one of them wants to apologize, it’s almost like a child’s idea of what one is. There’s no addressing of why Crowley’s so desperate to abandon everything and run away, or why Aziraphale is so adamant on staying, even when it clearly hurts him to do so. There’s NO reasoning or compromise. There’s NO talk other than “I was wrong, you were right”. It’s either your side or my side, or we never see each other again.

Aziracrow represents a very realistic on-and-off relationship, where two broken and codependent individuals cannot compromise for fear of divine punishment or even just fear of losing the one that means the most to them. And their little dance? It’s just one of the many times they’ve tried to ignore their very real and important relationship (and character) issues, and it just continues to rot away their relationship time and time again. It’s like putting a bandaid over an infection, but they’re both immortal and everything’s working against them to actually work on healing that infection from the inside out.

So yeah, the dance scene is fucking brilliant because no one saw that coming until you actually finish season 2 and think back on it. Again, maybe I’m just being delusional reading into a scene that wasn’t a big deal, but if Neil did write it with this intention, then I think the way he disguises meaningful insights into broken relationships, tortured characters, and religious trauma through the use of comedy to be really. fucking genius.

And really sad.

I think I might cry a bit after this actually.

(Also, hello, I still have no idea how to use tumblr 💀)

Edit: Just made a couple clarifications here and there! Also, thank you so much for all the positive reception 😭!!! Reading all your reblogged tags gives me so much serotonin agsjdgs it feels so nice being in this fandom so far ❤️

#you better hope the apology dance doesn’t happen in s3 because that means they’re avoiDING THEIR PROBLEMS AGAIN and REPEATING HISTORY #good omens 2 #good omens #good omens analysis #good omens 2 spoilers #aziraphale #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #good omens spoilers #ineffable spouses #good omens brainrot #good omens broke me

547 notes · View notes

sencrose · 1 month

Text

-- WHY LET THE OFFAL GO TO WASTE?

pairing: hoshina soshiro x f!reader

tags: DEAD DOVE, NONCON, noncon groping, choking, dacryphilia, hospitalization, injury, multiple/forced orgasm(s), power imbalance/dynamics, praise, psychological trauma, restraints

wc: 6.3k

a/n: title from butcher vanity. tagging this as dead dove bc it feels darker than the stuff i usually write? might also be bc the choking kinda squicked me out while i was writing this lol. anyways please read the tags and proceed with caution! ao3 link here.

summary: After a harrowing battle and a self-proclaimed failure of a first mission, you land yourself in the hospital. Your vice captain is adamant in playing a starring role in your rehabilitation.

It’s taking everything to keep your breathing steady. Even though the van sits in a heavy silence, you can feel the emotions radiating from your fellow combatants. Through the nervous shifts, shaking legs, and meditative rituals.

Some are itching to get out on the field to show off how far they’ve come, others are doing their best to calm their nerves.

You fall somewhere in the middle.

Training module after training module, you’re all too aware of where you fall – last. Dead last. And not by any close margin; the gap between you and the next combatant is astronomical. It’s a miracle you even made it into the force, much less the third division.

You come into your first mission with something to prove: your competence. Delusions are better left untouched, and you don’t have any expectations of being an overachiever. You don’t need to be number one, nor do you need to set any records. It’s simple: don’t come in last.

The van slowly comes to a halt as you make it to your destination.

“Third division, rollout!”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ ring throughout the van before you’re deployed into combat. Your team quickly splits off into their assigned positions until you’re alone. The once booming cityscape hangs in an eerie silence. No conversations to eavesdrop in, no cars rushing to get to their next destination, no music from local businesses trying to attract more customers. Just the sound of the occasional gunshot in the distance.

You hear your first Kaiju before seeing it, the sound of cement and plaster crashing into the ground. Thankfully, it’s not as large as you thought it’d be. However, it is more grotesque than you expected — the smell of rotten fish invades your nostrils. It vaguely resembles an octopus, or at least that’s the best guess you can muster with its tentacles thrashing about.

You steel yourself, the temperature of your suit steadily rising as you focus. You steady your hands, aiming to shoot the core in one shot. In the scope, the creature’s eye swiftly meets yours. You press the trigger, the recoil hitting you harder than you anticipated – the butt of your gun strikes you hard in your chest, you nearly trip over your feet from the impact. Shakily, you find your footing and look out into the distance, waiting for the dust and rubble to clear.

Shit.

Your aim was just slightly off, only hitting the tip of one of its appendages. The creature’s tentacles flail wildly, but with a precision to its movements – reaching out to nearby structures to pull its body towards, making its way to you. Your fingers shake around the trigger as it approaches.

Deep breaths.

Your heart races as you aim through the scope again, but it’s hard to focus on a moving subject. You shoot again, a bit too hastily still. The bullet hits another one of its appendages, slowing it down for a moment before it starts erratically scurrying towards you again. Your suit starts to heat up a bit more, devouring you in its all enveloping warmth. Sweat pools at your temples, beads sliding down the side of your face as you aim again. Your finger floats carefully in front of the trigger, waiting for the right moment to strike. With each street pole, building, car, the creature takes into its grasp, the more dust and debris clouds your vision.

Your nerves only build on top of each other, an unsteady tower of blocks threatening to fall, heart racing, as the crashes get louder.

There’s a miraculous moment where the dust settles, your reflexes taking over and shooting it right in the core. It falls, crashing into the building next to it.

Your breaths are heavy as you look over to its corpse. A dead kaiju smells even worse than an alive one. How do the cleaners deal with this on a daily basis?

With a soft buzz, your earpiece comes alive with a message from HQ.

”Congrats on your first kill!”

“Thanks,” you answer, trying to hide the shakiness in your voice. That was too close for comfort.

”Are you still in condition to fight?”

”Yeah, should be.”

”Alright, make your way to N-3, they could use the backup.”

”Roger that.”

Just as you turn around to make your way to the next battle, the hairs on your neck come to a sudden stand, as you sense an overwhelming aura behind you. Chills run down your spine despite the suit running you warm. Dread swells in your chest and lead fills your legs, planting your feet on the ground.

By the time you turn around, it’s too late.

Everything happens too fast.

Something pierces into your shoulder.

Warm crimson seeps out of the wound, drenching part of your suit. You don’t even register the pain at first, dazed from the scent of copper filling your lungs.

When the searing burn of having your flesh punctured finally hits you, you do your best not to cry in pain because that’s not what a proper combatant does. They produce results. (You do not have any notable ones.) They neutralize kaiju. (You’ve only neutralized one by the skin of your teeth.) But another is right in front of you, a golden opportunity. You can turn the tides.

Intent on revenge, you swiftly change hands with your gun, firing another shot at the kaiju. You step back, shooting another two bullets, the heat in your suit shooting to unbearable temperatures. Then you’re on your feet, and the only thought in your head is run, run, run.

But you’re not fast enough. It lunges towards you, its tentacle stretching and grasping your arm tight, too tight, too much. An unfamiliar and sickening crack rings in your ears, and you can no longer hold back your screams. They’re short lived, not through mercy, but through the kaiju flinging you to the floor like a ragdoll. You’re sure you hear another bloodcurdling crack when your back crashes on to the cement. Air is choked out of your lungs as you try to steady yourself, but your arms are in no shape to lift yourself up. Blinding pain sears through your body, and you start to lose track of where your body ends and the suit begins, engulfed in an all-consuming heat.

Before you even have the chance to recover, the creature’s tendril wraps tightly against your neck, the tight pressure cutting off your ability to breathe. Your mouth drops agape, desperately attempting to suck in air only to let out repulsing coughs and gasps before you’re left with nothing, a fish out of water. How ironic. Willing to take the risk of shooting yourself as collateral, you aim your gun point blank at the appendage, just for it to be smacked out of your hand before you can pull the trigger.

Panic and adrenaline rushes through your body in droves, limbs desperately flailing about to release yourself. It only makes things worse, the grip around your neck tightening. It feels horrid. The way your face numbs, your lungs burning with the desperate need for oxygen. Everything gets just a bit lighter, your vision, your head, your body. The pressure in your head builds and builds, an over pumped balloon just waiting to pop.

Everyone always says it’s a possibility, but no amount of training could have prepared you for death. Part of you wishes it could’ve happened a bit more heroically, but that’s foolish. At the very least, you can take solace in knowing nobody’s around to see you at your worst, in your final moments.

With a sudden puff of wind grazing your cheek, you drop to the floor, sputtering and gasping for air. You look up to see a miracle in the shape of your vice-captain bestowed upon you.

Soshiro Hoshina arrives in silence, utilizing his blades to take down the monster. You’re barely able to keep up with his movements – he bounces from place to place without delay. In a moment’s time he’s already slayed the creature that put you in such a miserable state.

He takes a moment to flick his blades, kaiju blood and bodily fluids splattering on the floor in a neat line before he sheathes his swords.

“Can you stand?” Hoshina’s hand reaches out towards yours.

“I think so.” You balance yourself against his body, wincing as you sling your arm around his shoulder, taking it one step at a time. Your body still burns from your injuries and the overheating of your suit.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’ll do better next time.”

The guilt of inadequacy and inexperience come to a breaking point as tears well up in your eyes. You try to hold back your sniffles, but with how close your face is to his ears, you know he can hear them.

“Yes sir.”

—

Hospitals suck. Unfortunately, you’ll be stuck here for the next few weeks while you heal from your injuries. On the bright side, your squad has been very kind in dropping you ‘get better soon’ cards, small gifts, and catching you up on all the drama happening within the organization. You’re truly thankful for them. And while visits from your fellow peers are expected, visits from your superior officer aren’t.

Hoshina knocks on the doorframe in his civilian clothes, a black t-shirt with a pair of sweats. You can’t help but notice how the fabric of his shirt clings to his body, showing a sliver of his muscles. In his hand, he holds a bento box wrapped in a fabric cover. If you’re being honest, you’re blown away by his kindness.

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’ve been better,” you joke, “the doctors here have been really nice though.”

Hoshina unwraps the fabric, and uncovers the box, revealing a portion of curry rice with a side of steamed vegetables.

“You didn’t have to go out of your way for this sir.”

“I’m just looking out for my cute junior.”

The unexpected descriptor sends heat to your face and butterflies to your stomach. Did you hear him right? You sit in silence, unsure of how to respond back.

Hoshina breaks the silence, taking the reins on the conversation. “Have you eaten anything yet?”

“Not yet, haven’t had much of an appetite.”

He grabs a spoonful of the curry, bringing it right in front of your mouth.

“Here, open up.”

“Is this really necessary?” “Just open up. That’s an order.”

His words aren’t anything you haven’t heard before, but they have you squirming in the bed.

You hesitantly separate your lips, as the spoon enters your mouth. Hoshina’s hand hovers under your mouth in case any crumbs fall. You swear his fingertips just ever so slightly graze against your chin. Then again, maybe not.

The curry’s a bit hot, you move it around your mouth as you blow out some air to cool it down. It has just enough kick, the pieces of vegetables melting in your mouth with little effort. Salty, savory, with a hint of sweetness. It’s delicious.

“How is it?” Hoshina asks.

Your mouth is still full of food as you rush to finish it in a gulp.

“It’s great.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You’ve got some on your lip.” Hoshina licks the pad of his thumb before using it to wipe the excess off the corner of your mouth. The heat in your face ignites, burning unbearably with embarrassment.

“Sir, you don’t have to do this.”

“The doctors said you should rest your arms. I don’t want you straining yourself,” he responds, continuing to wipe the mess off your face.

You’re not sure how to argue with that, nor do you feel like picking a fight with the vice captain.

“Alright.”

You sit in awkward silence as your superior officer continues to feed you. It feels far too intimate for your relationship – you wonder if he does this with the others. He brings the spoon up to your mouth again, gesturing you to open. Before you know it, you’ve gotten used to it, complying as if it’s an order in combat.

“How long are you out of commission?”

“A few weeks, fingers crossed I’ll be out sooner though!” you say in between bites.

“That eager to be back out, huh?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

“Catching up? It’s only been a couple of days.”

“Well…” you hesitate. If you could, you’d be twiddling your thumbs. “I’ve been falling behind everyone else. I mean, I barely did anything before I landed myself in the hospital,” your voice nearly breaks, and you can feel tears forming, threatening to fall if you so much as blink. That all too familiar ugly ball forms and makes itself home in your throat. “Pretty pathetic, don’t you think?” you scoff, voice wavering.

“Everyone gets injured at some point. Nobody’s immune to that. That includes all your peers and your superiors as well,” he states matter-of-factly.

“I guess so.” Tension gets tighter in your chest as you prepare for a lecture.

“You come back faster from injuries when you’re younger too, so don’t worry too much about it. You did well.”

The last thing you were expecting from Hoshina was praise. If anything you expected him to reprimand you more. Your heart beats a bit harder, a bit faster, and you hope Hoshina hasn’t noticed the climb in your heart rate on the medical monitor next to your bed.

It seems like it went unnoticed as he simply brings another spoonful to your mouth only for some of the curry to dribble down your chin.

“You’re a messy eater,” he teases.

“It isn’t intentional. It’s a bit hard to use my arms right now,” you joke back, head gesturing towards your arm sling.

“I’ll get it then.”

He licks the pad of his thumb again, wiping gently against your chin. He licks it again, this time brushing against the swell of your lips. You’re pretty sure there’s nothing there, but you remain silent. His finger scratches against the corner of your mouth, before tracing your lips again agonizingly slow, as if he’s committing every crevice to memory, his eyes half lidded with an expression you don’t recognize.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” His fingers pull away from your face, his head tilting to the side inquisitively, as if his actions a moment ago weren’t anything out of the ordinary.

“Never mind.”

—

The other day floats through your mind more than you’d like to admit. The warmth of your vice captain’s fingers as he caressed your lips, the way butterflies fluttered in your stomach as a response.

He called you cute too, right? It probably doesn’t mean anything, you assume he’s like that with everyone. But it plays in your head on repeat like a broken record, and you have to think about kaiju guts to calm yourself down.

While you appreciate his penchant for lunchtime visits, you’re equally perplexed by it. There has to be more important things to do, especially as a high ranking official. Yet here he is again, preparing to feed you lunch by the spoonful as if he isn’t your superior officer with years of killing experience over you.

“How’s the recovery going?”

“It’s going well. Things aren’t hurting as much anymore.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Hoshina unwraps the bento he’s brought in for you. It’s a bit more extravagant this time, soup, rice, and a variety of side dishes embellish the box.

Hoshina starts with the soup, lowering his spoon until it fills, before bringing it to his mouth. He blows on it with a gentleness that almost feels uncanny of a high ranking military officer.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

You open your mouth expectantly, obediently.

“Ah!” you yelp in surprise as the spoon of soup spills onto your chest, seeping into your gown.

“I got it.” Hoshina grabs a napkin and dabs it across your chest, but there’s something strange to his motions.

His fingers linger a bit too long after each press, as if he’s searching for something. It almost feels like they’re massaging into your skin, which feels excessive just to clean up a small mess. You’re all too aware of the heat surfacing to your face the longer he touches you.

“Um sir, I think you got it.”

It’s as if he doesn’t hear you, intent on his mission of cleaning up his mess. His fingers dig deeper, kneading your tits over the thin fabric of the gown. Your breathing becomes more jagged the longer his touch lingers. You swear his finger grazes over your nipple, sending a rush down to your core.

“Sir,” you attempt to sound firm, only for your voice to come out in a shaky breath.

He casually takes the napkin back and crumples it.

“No harm in being thorough,” he responds with an attempt at a reassuring smile.

You nod cautiously, questioning whether that really just happened.

“Yeah… Thorough,” you quietly repeat to yourself.

—

It feels like months have passed, though it’s only been a handful of weeks. As time passed, visits from your peers have petered off, and all that’s left is the droning hum of the hospital equipment and your own thoughts. It’s the perfect storm to send anyone spiraling, to have you questioning whether you really deserve to have such a coveted spot in one of the most elite squads in the defense force.

So, you find yourself thinking about Hoshina. It happens more often than you’d like to admit. But it’s a natural progression, isn’t it? When he’s the only one who visits, who packs lunch for you every day. Sometimes you think he’s the only one who cares.

You don’t want to ruminate on it too long. But, you like him – or you think you like him. That’s why he has such an effect on you, right? The reason why your breath hitches, your heart skips a beat when his touch lingers a moment too long, even when his hands are in places where they shouldn’t be. A light bulb flickers on in your head.

Maybe he likes you back.

A knock on the door frame shakes you out of your thoughts, and you greet your regular visitor with a warm smile.

“How are you feeling today?” Hoshina asks, smiling back before taking a seat next to your bed.

“I’m doing great.” You rotate your arms before giving it a performative flex. “I think I’m just about ready to get back out there. The doctor even said I’ll be discharged in a couple of days.”

”That’s great news.”

Hoshina unveils the bento, even more spectacular than the last. There’s at least three tiers and you lose count at how many slots are in each tray. Each slot contains a side dish, many of them resembling fine art pieces rather than something to be consumed.

”Sir.” You pause, contemplating if you should reject his offer, “I can feed myself now.”

“You should take advantage of resting while you can.”

”Sir, it’s ok, seriously-”

”Are you talking back to your superior officer?” he interrupts with a seriousness to his tone you aren’t expecting.

You sit as straight as you can, caught off guard by his sternness.

”No sir.”

”Then open up,” he says with a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. So you do, taking the offering cautiously, chewing thoroughly before swallowing.

“You look like you have something on your mind,” Hoshina states.

You do, and he’s at the forefront of it – not that you would dare tell him. So you divert over to something normal, safe.

“How’s the squad doing?” you ask.

“That’s new.”

“What’s new?”

“You asking about others.”

Maybe the topic isn’t as safe as you thought it was.

“You calling me selfish?” you snap, a bit more accusatory than you expected.

“You’re putting words in my mouth,” he says, arms raised by his head in an act of sarcastic surrender, “I said nothing of the sort.”

It’s your turn to say something, but it’s hard to get the words to leave your mouth.

“I haven’t seen a lot of them in a while,” you finally admit, “it’s been a bit lonely here.”

“Of course, they’re being trained to the bone! Kaiju aren’t getting any weaker you know.”

What he says is true, but you don’t like that gnawing feeling of incompetence rising in your stomach. It’s been a bit rough for you these days, stuck in a never-ending cycle of bitter thoughts of your first battle, hyping yourself up to be better, and the inevitable ‘why bother trying?’ when you recall your hard work has earned you nothing thus far. Rinse and repeat.

“I’m aware,” you say through gritted teeth, holding your tongue back as if it’s a dam keeping your self-deprecating thoughts at bay.

“You just gonna sit there and wallow in self-pity?” he asks, and his words hit you harder than you would like to admit.

“Self-loathing, actually,” you respond sarcastically.

“It makes no difference to me,” he sighs, placing his hands on the back of his head and leaning back into his chair, “but you want to get stronger, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do, sir.”

“Well I have just the opportunity for you!” Hoshina springs up from the chair with a clap, his sudden motion earning a flinch from you, “my schedule just opened up so I can train you.”

“I don’t want to waste any of your time, sir,” you reply softly, wishing you could just shrivel up in your bed. His offer feels unearned, the attention wasted on a poor performing combatant like yourself. You’re sure he has more promising things to do with his time.

“It’s not a waste of time to me,” he replies, “plus I get to spend more time with my cutest junior.”

There’s that special adjective again, the one that never fails to send heat rushing to your cheeks. It shouldn’t have you so visibly flustered, and you’re sure Hoshina notices your plight.

“A-are you sure?” you ask, nearly mumbling the words.

“As sure as this is goin’ in your mouth,” he says, picking up a piece of fried meat before bringing it towards you, “now open up.”

—

Once you’ve been dispatched from the hospital, it’s straight back into training. Nothing too intense, just enough to get you back into the swing of things is what the doctors said. Hoshina was ecstatic to look over your rehabilitation personally.

This has led you down an unfamiliar training room – cold, sterile, concrete walls resembling a brutalist dream. Something stands out like a sore thumb, an examination table towards the back of the room, and a medical monitor. Hoshina leads you towards the table, and gestures for you to sit down.

“We’re gonna start with some vitals.”

“Vitals?” you repeat, furrowing your brow. “What, am I in the hospital again?”

“No, not those vitals.” He waves his hand in front of his face as if to shake off the suggestion. “I want to see your unleashed power percentage. We’re going to try and test your endurance and get those numbers up. You were overheating pretty bad in that last battle, remember?”

It’s a sore memory you would rather forget.

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s try and get that number up,” he says while fiddling with the monitor, “you’ll need to strip.”

The last word sends a rush of heat to your face.

“Sir?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly.

“I have to attach these to get an accurate reading.” Hoshina smiles innocently and holds up a handful of wires and electrode pads connected to the medical monitor. So you did hear him correctly.

“Oh, right,” you reply with an uneasy chuckle, a rush of warmth to your face. You take off your clothes, revealing your sports bra and underwear, feeling far too indecent in front of your superior officer.

Carefully, you lie down on the examination table, the cold vinyl sending a chill throughout your body. Hoshina methodically presses the pads on various parts of your body, one on each arm, one on either side of your chest, two on your lower stomach, and one on each of your inner thighs. His touch lingers as always.

“Place your arms down.”

You obey, and feel the unfamiliar sensation of leather binding your wrists.

“Sir?” Panic rises in your voice as he tightens the restraints.

“Yes?”

“How long is this going to take?” you ask softly, attempting to hide your nerves.

“Shouldn’t be too long,” he answers, indifference in his voice, not acknowledging your very visible discomfort. His hand traces the leather around your hands before gently dragging down your forearm.

“We’re going to get started now,” he says, his hand now tracing the inside of your thigh before stopping at your clothed slit, “you might feel some… discomfort.”

“S-sir?” Your breath hitches in your chest as you look down at his hand, the hand that wielded the blade that saved your life now looks foreign and distorted, mere millimeters away from your pussy. The hand that fed you warm meals and kept you company during your stay in the hospital, the hand of the captain you admired so much.

“You see that number on the screen?” Hoshina glances in the general direction of the monitor. It buzzes quietly, an ominous zero glowing in red on the screen. “It’ll show your percentage. Let’s get it to thirty today.”

Thirty? Dread swells in your chest, chills dancing on your skin when you do the mental math and realize that’s twice your personal record.

His finger twists around the edge of your underwear, pulling it down slowly, as if he’s savoring the view.

The number on the monitor goes up by one.

“See, this should take no time at all.”

Panic stirs and shakes violently in your chest like a carbonated drink on the verge of bursting as you come to the realization of what your vice captain has in store for you.

Hoshina’s hand runs up and down your bare slit, sending a chill down your spine and a burst of heat to your face.

“Don’t look so scared,” he says, his fingers rolling around your clit, “I’m no worse than a kaiju.”

You’re not sure that statement holds water.

His finger draws languid circles around your clit, a sensation that sends a warmth to your core, one you don’t want to indulge. Fear runs through you as you attempt to clench your legs shut, not wanting to give him any more than he’s already taken.

“Keep these open for me, ok?” Hoshina teases, his hand pushing against your inner thigh to get a better opening. It’s not a fair fight. It was never going to be. His strength outmatches yours, plain and simple. With a carnivorous stare, he watches intently as he slowly pushes a finger inside of you, waiting for your reaction. You don’t want to give him one, but before you know it a high pitched moan escapes your lips as he makes it past the initial resistance of muscle.

Even in your state of undress, his eyes make you feel even more bare, staring hungrily at your figure, akin to a sculptor admiring a pristine slab of marble before the chisel and hammer makes the first chip.

“See? Nothing to be scared of,” he says, not that it does anything to quell the sick churn of terror and betrayal in your chest. In a moment’s time he finds that spot that has you writhing against your restraints, desperate to hide this side of yourself that shouldn’t be for his viewing pleasure. It’s just too much, the way his fingers press against that squishy patch, the way his other hand continues drawing lazy circles around your clit, sending jolts of ecstasy through your body you don’t want to indulge. It takes everything in you to hold back, not that tightening your muscles does anything to help. If anything, it just prepares you for the break to come.

You knew Hoshina was talented, it’s all anyone ever talks about on base, but you didn’t think his talents would extend to something so lewd. His fingers knew just how to play with you, to keep you on the edge between anticipation and pleasure.

Hoshina watches with a smile as you attempt to thrash your limbs and fail, only your back arching off the bed as you come undone. Tears prickle at your eyes as you gasp at the tension finally snapping, warm waves of pleasure washing over your core, spreading out to the rest of your body before fizzling out like seafoam.

When he takes his fingers away, you nearly mourn the absence of it. The way your cunt aches to be filled, the way the muscles flutter around nothing. You can barely make out the image of your vice captain in front of your eyes through your tears.

“Look, you’re doing great already,” he gestures to the monitor, glowing at a blurry six. How much more are you going to have to endure?

“Vice captain Hoshina,” you’re barely able to make out in between sniffles, “please let me go.”

“Why would I do that?” he asks, inspecting, admiring the mess you made on his fingers, “you’re making spectacular progress.”

It hits you then with absolute certainty. One, he has no intention of letting you go, and two, you’re going to reach thirty, one way or another. Before you’re able to lose yourself in your thoughts his finger grazes against your sensitive clit, bringing your attention back to him.

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” he mewls, fingers tracing your slick heat. You don’t want to admit to anything, don’t want him to stare at you so intensely. The way carmine eyes trace over your curves makes you feel small, a rabbit held up by the scruff of its neck, one bite away from being devoured.

He cuts you off before you can answer, his fingers making another entrance into your wet pussy. He starts building up that warm bubble in your stomach again, and you can’t bear to look at him. It’s embarrassing, lewd, the wet squelches your pussy makes for him, and it’s all out of your control. All you can do is lie there, take what he gives you. Like a good, obedient soldier.

He carefully inserts another finger and you wince at the intrusion. No matter how wet you are, the sensation is uncomfortable, fills you up far more than you’re used to.

“You’re taking it so well,” he croons, and you don’t want to admit the compliment goes straight to your core. After all, praise rarely makes it to your ears. His other hand grazes past your clit and you find your hips rutting into him, searching for the much needed stimulation. Hoshina is ecstatic to indulge you, drawing slow, loose circles around your bundle of nerves. He builds his pace again, fingers hitting deep into your g-spot, tighter shapes around your clit until the heat in your core builds, white hot.

“There, there, let it all out,” he coos, as if he knows you’re right on the edge, as if he knows your body better than you do, and your body submits against your wishes. That familiar warmth engulfs you again, washes over you until it fades as fast as it came. Everything aches – you’ve never been so sore, muscles unable to relax with how the convulse around his fingers. You can barely register his fingers withdrawing, head too light and fuzzy from the aftermath.

You lie there, panting and drenched in sweat, reminiscent of those physical training modules you were so horrible at. You can only wish it was that.

“Keep that up and we’ll be done in no time.” Hoshina says, bringing you out from your post-bliss daze.

Hoshina hoists himself onto the table, lowering his pants and boxers just enough to show his cock. The sight of it sends a chill up your spine, has fear brewing a storm in your stomach. It’s just too big, there’s no way you’ll be able to take it.

But your superior officer is a man of incredible tenacity and talent. He’ll make it happen, whether you like it or not.

“No, no, no,” you instinctually attempt to bring your arms to your legs, only to be thwarted by the restraints, leather burning a rash into your skin the harder you resist.

He lifts your legs so they lay against his chest, the flushed tip of his cock now prodding against your entrance. The anticipation is worse, you think, your heart beating uncontrollably fast as you lie there, at the mercy of your vice captain. But maybe it isn’t. Hoshina pushes his cock into your cunt, pain piercing through your walls and he forcefully spreads them apart. He takes his time with it, savoring the changes in your expression with every inch pushed into you before letting out a harsh grunt once he’s fully bottomed out.

“Please, please, sir, too much-” You’re cut off by an involuntary noise from your own tongue, unfamiliar and salacious moans as he starts rutting into you harder.

“Show a little restraint, soldier,” he purrs into your ear.

It’s ironic, because you’re sure your he’s unable to hold any restraint as he fucks you, ruts into you like an animal in heat. His fingers press into your hips so hard you’re sure they’re going to leave bruises, and all you can do is accept his mark on you. It’s a side of your vice captain you’ve never seen before. You’re not sure if you recognize the man in front of you anymore.

“Sir, please, stop,” you beg, tears swelling in your eyes, a blink from falling.

“But you’re clenching around me so hard,” he replies, voice low and sultry, “bet you’re getting close.”

His hand returns to your clit, pinching on it to coax a reaction out of you. And he gets exactly that – a yelp and your walls tighten around him and he groans. Cruel as he is, he draws languid strokes on your clit, and warmth bubbles in your core. His rough thrusts become more bearable, almost pleasurable, with the added stimulation.

“Soshiro-“ you moan, his name slipping out of your mouth before you can catch it. It’s too late to take it back, a sly smile forming on Hoshina’s face as soon as it hits his ear.

“Referring to a superior officer without their title?” he asks breathlessly, voice laced with poison.

“No, no, I’m sorry sir, it was an accident,” you plead, beg, hoping the desperation in your voice is enough to placate him.

“Perhaps I’ve been too easy on you.” Hoshina’s hands wrap around your neck. “I commend your dedication to your training.”

There’s no room for the pressure to ease in. It hits you all at once.

Adrenaline whirls and rushes right back into you, and your mind bloats with thoughts of running. But you can’t. Your state is close to that of a rabid animal, aggressively struggling against your cuffs, gritted teeth and all. The reflex to scratch at your neck, placated by the damn restraints. It only gets worse the more you struggle, your wrists rubbed raw from the leather.

When his eyes glimmer at your pained expression, you realize Hoshina sees what that Kaiju saw in you. Weak. A plaything. Something to toy with and toss to the side once they’ve gotten their fill.

“You can do it. I know you can do it,” he eggs you on with a smirk on his face. As if you’re an athlete and he’s your oh so encouraging coach.

If the situation were any different, maybe you would be able to take solace in his words. But all you can feel is tension building in your stomach with each thrust, a sensation you don’t want to entertain. As it builds, guilt roars and churns like a storm in your stomach.

It shouldn’t feel this good. It shouldn’t feel this good when the circulation to your head is cut off. When everything becomes numb except for the heat in your pussy. The longer he chokes you, the less your brain can stand to function and you’re just one step closer to indulging.

Maybe you really are weak.

”Is this what it felt like? Tell me if I’m getting it right,” he teases, his hands wrapping around your neck tighter, blood rushing to your head in a dizzying whirl. He thrusts into your pussy harder, striking a spot that only adds to your daze.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him—not that you’re able to—tears blurring your vision until everything blends into each other.

“Cryin’ just for me? Can I ask for a bit more?” he asks, but you both know that you are in no place to refuse.

All you can let out are sad sputters and coughs, a sad attempt at a “no” that doesn’t reach his ears.

Even through your tears, you can see the number on the monitor climb to the highest it’s ever been. Something resembling a choked laugh escapes your lips. Was it delusional? To think you had a seed of potential deep inside you, that your superior officer was willing to nurture it out of you?

Your train of thought is ripped from you, tension reaching a breaking point and you cum with choked moans and desperate gasps for air. Your body tenses, your walls clamping around his cock, gripping onto him like a vice.

Hoshina’s pace starts to slacken, his grip tightening harder around you until he slams one last deep thrust into you. Hot ropes of his seed shoot inside you, and you wince at the warmth.

Once his hands finally let go, it’s all wet coughs and desperate deep inhales. Once you have enough air, soft cries, much like the ones you let out on his shoulder just a few weeks prior, but now on a sterile table.

The monitor hums quietly, a red thirty-two burned onto the screen.

“You’ll catch up in no time.”

#kaiju no. 8 x reader #kn8 x reader #kn8 smut #soshiro hoshina x reader #soshirou hoshina x reader #soshiro hoshina smut #sen writes #sen fics #s.kn8 #cw.noncon

96 notes · View notes

reyadawn · 3 months

Text

Magnetic

*image not mine, credit goes to Bryan/Jolly 😅*

Summary: Relationships of any kind can be filled with a multitude of emotions...especially when the lines of friends-with-benefits become blurred and they keep coming back for more than just physicality...

Pairings: Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x reader

Warnings: 🔞+, language, heavy smut (kissing, choking, hair pulling, degredation, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie)

Word Count: 🤷‍♀️

First Jolly fic so please bare with me and be kind 😅 Enjoy! 😉❤️

Inspired by Wage War's Magnetic. Have a listen below!

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

Jolly absenmindedly plucked at the strings of his guitar, the irritation and frustration on his face shrouded by the black baseball cap he wore. Biting his lower lip, he closed his eyes momentarily as he tried picturing the notes and music in his head but those thoughts immediately shifted to her instead. Flashes of her dark auburn hair. Dark, illustrious eyes. Curves in all the right places.

Jolly's fingers slipped on one of the strings and he flinched at the off key sound. Sighing heavily, he set his guitar down, running his hands over his face, as he reclined back in his chair.

A hand on Jolly's shoulder temporarily broke through his frustration as he swiveled in his chair. Noah's dark features came into view, also partly consealed in a baseball cap.

"You alright, man?", Noah asked, brows furrowed in concern. Jolly shook his head but didn't respond. Noah sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's her...isn't it?".

"I can't get her out of my head. She's fucking with me even being able to record properly. I mean...I'm missing songs that I know like the back of my hand...I don't know what the hell it is", Jolly replied, voice laced with irritation. Noah blinked once before tipping his head back and erupting into a full belly laugh, the tattoos on his neck coming into full view.

"Are you fucking for real, bro?", Jolly barked, scowling at his best friend. Once Noah got control of his laughter he stood, clapping a hand on Jolly's shoulder again.

"It's called 'love' for a reason, dude. I've been fortunate to only experience it once or twice in my life and trust me when I say, it consumes you and you do everything you can to keep it", Noah said, smiling sadly. Jolly shot his best friend a questioning look but didn't pry.

A faint vibrating sound had Jolly fishing from inside the pocket of his sweat pants, pulling his cell phone free.

Hey, handsome 😘. I'm in town for a few days. Wanna' meet up for a drink at Roman's? 🥃

Her text stayed on his homescreen, unanswered as he stared at her cryptic message. They always did this. She would come into town, they'd hook up, she would leave, taking bits and pieces of his heart with her. He tried distancing himself and touring certainly helped but only marginally. He'd get lost in the absence of her presence and would end up begging her to fly out or partake in a filthy FaceTime session. It just seemed like no matter how far he ran, he kept coming back.

Sighing, his fingers typed back a single word reply:

When?

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

Reader's POV

I ran my finger tips lightly around the rim of my glass, the amber liquid that filled the inside now almost empty. I wasn't a huge drinker but tonight I needed some liquid courage as I crossed my legs underneath the dark navy sundress I wore. I chose flats and a jean jacket but skipped out on the panties. There wouldn't be a need for them anyway.

I heard the door to Roman's jingle and my eyes immediately found Jolly's. He smiled and I swear to God, I died on the fucking spot, as I pressed my thighs together under the table. I drank in the sight of him as he walked over, cutting through a small crowd of patrons by the bar. Long hair pulled half up into a bun, the rest cascading over his shoulders. A pair of black sunglasses hung from the collar of the white t-shirt he wore, hidden behind a shiny leather jacket and his long legs were encased in dark jeans along with black biker boots. Holy fucking shit.

Jolly finally approached the table, sliding his chair around next to mine until they were touching before plopping himself down and pulling me into a hug.

"Hello, karaste", he whispered and I swear my ovaries liquified. After all this time, it never ceased to amaze me at how quickly my body responded to him. Over time our friendship developed into something much more physical and it was dangerous. I knew that. Jolly traveled and toured all the time as his success in Bad Omens continued to flourish. That meant very little physical ineraction and our main means of commumication was dirty text messages and FaceTime sessions when they could be squuezed in. However, there were times we craved each other so much that I'd hop on a plane and fly to where he was, even if it was only for a night.

There was just one major obstacle that I could not seem to overcome...in truth, I didn't want to.

I was in love with him.

"Where did you go, love?", Jolly asked, running his fingers through my hair to move a few strands behind my ear. My heart raced at his touch, the adrenaline and anticipation running through my veins causing my body to tremble. I turned to him, our lips mere inches apart before looking away, squeezing my eyes shut. "Look at me", he added. His domineering tone had me snapping my head back to him, my thighs pressing together again as a wave of slick slowly gathered around my throbbing clit.

Jolly's eyes dropped to my lap, gaze narrowing before meeting my eyes again. He licked his lips and I swallowed nervously. He leaned over slightly, looking at somewhere behind my left shoulder and suddenly grabbed my hand to pull me after him. Our chairs scrapped the hardwood as Jolly tossed a $20 dollar bill on the table, yanking me after him towards the back of the bar and into a corner so dark, you'd never even know a lonely couch was there unless you were looking for it.

Jolly suddenly turned, caging my head between his hands, crashing his lips to mine. My brain instantly melted, electricity sizzling all over my body as my hands came up to fist the material of his t-shirt, the warmth of his body seeping into my own. The smell of his cologne had my already melted brain practically boiling. Jolly's lips slanted over mine, deepening the kiss as his tongue licked inside. I whimpered, not that anyone could hear. Jolly boke the kiss to gently run his lips and teeth down the coloumn of my throat, his finger tips running gently between my thighs under my dress. No doubt he'd find them wet with the slick that was oozing out of my throbbing cunt, my body preparing myself for him.

Jolly's fingers reached my sodden folds, slowly swipping his fingers through them to gently and lightly rub over my swollen clit. My legs were shaking, my entire body trembling so bad, I was afraid I would fall. Jolly moaned into my neck, the vibration dancing over my skin as he continued to softly rub my clit. I was going to come. Hard. The time spent apart, the anticipation of seeing him, my body so overly stimulated was too much for me to hold in. Lifting a leg, I wrapped it around his own just for something to anchor myself to.

"Jolly...", I moaned, my grip on his t-shirt and leg tightening. Jolly's free hand left my waist to clamp over my mouth as my orgasm finally broke free. My eyes rolled back and I screamed into his palm, my voice muffled. Again, not that anyone could have heard me where we were. Too dark and most patrons were farther out from us.

Jolly removed his hand from my mouth, my chest heaving to catch my breath and I almost dropped to my knees at seeing him suck my juices off his fingers. He backed up then, sitting on the couch and undoing the zipper of his jeans to pull his hardened cock from it's confines. My mouth watered at how long and thick he was.

"Come here, karaste, and sit on my cock. I need to feel you", Jolly said, curling his fingers at me in a come-hither motion. My legs were jell-o as I did what he asked, climbing onto his lap, legs straddling either side of his hips. I tried gently sliding down over the head of his cock so my sensitive and still dripping cunt could adjust but Jolly wasn't having it. Placing both hands on my hips, he pulled me down as he thrust upwards, impaling me on his cock. I tipped my head back, mouth open, about to scream, when he covered my cries with his hand again. It was too much. Way too much. The stretch and burn, the fullness and thickness had me coming instantly.

"Oh, fuck, baby....you come already? How fucking desperate", Jolly said, chuckling darkly. I raised mysef up and down over his cock, my release no doubt dampening his boxers and jeans. My arms wrapped around his shoulders, my fingers grabbing locks of his hair to hold myself upright.

I moaned behind his palm as he continued to thrust up into my body. Jolly suddenly removed his hand to grasp my chin and pull my lips to his while my cunt continued to squeeze around him.

"Jolly, please...help me, pleasepleaseplease", I begged. His hands gripped my hips, almost lifting me off his lap as he shuttled his cock in and out of my pussy at a bruising pace. I was done for. I wouldn't survive the orgasm that getting ready to let loose. In. Out. In. Out. Up. Down. Up. Down. Until he suddenly impaled me down on his pulsing cock, releasing spurt after spurt of hot come into my womb. His release triggered my own. My mouth opened on a silent scream as I all but shook in his hold. My brain completely shut off, cunt clamping down on his cock.

"Fuck, I love you", I whispered, trying to catch what little oxygen I had left when I felt Jolly stiffen beneath me. I opened my eyes, looking down at him in shock at the words that I had been holding in for months slipped out.

Jolly's expression was unreadable. Realizing I overstepped and ruined whatever 'this' was, I tried to remove myself from his hold. He shocked me by grabbing my head between his hands to connect my lips to his.

"Jag älskar dig, karaste", Jolly said against my lips. Tears filled my vision and ran down my cheeks in hot rivulets. I didn't know much in Sweedish...but I did know that.

♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧♧

Thank you for reading! 🥰

@concreteemo @concreteangel92 @lolitasangel @exitwoundsx @collidewiththesavannah @artificialstardust @amourtoken @alloraiona @bloodylullaby @bluestdai @darling-millicent-aubrey @doomhands-jr @iamamatus @kaliforniahigh @kissingrose @lilhobgobbler @lma1986 @like-a-omen @lovexsleepyhead @livingdeceasedgirl @philomenie @sacredthefran @thatchickwiththecamera @thisbicc @tikosblogg @xmads-omensx @yarasdead

#jolly karlsson #jolly karlsson fanfiction #bad omens #holy shit #excuse me while i throw myself off a cliff #jolly karlsson smut #Spotify

126 notes · View notes