#forgetful wanderer fog | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-hidden-pages · 1 year ago

Text

Kinktober Day 1 - 'Love' Bites | Overstimulation - Astarion x Fem!Reader

Love bites | Overstimulation | Impact play

Coming out the gates strong with 3500+ words for this man. It has not been edited, I have work in the morning, I'm going to bed.

Summary: With the promise of taking you to a quiet little piece of nowhere to forget all the madness of the adventure, Astarion pulls out all the stops to ensure you forget everything, except the pleasure he gives you.

Warnings: NSFW, Blood, Vampire Kink, Overstimulation, Crying, Light Choking, Dirty Talk

You and Astarion had always had an arrangement.

To say you bonded quickly with your party would be an understatement - having the tadpole within your mind and surviving the same crash tends to form that immediate trauma bond. But you and the vampire had formed a deeper understanding of each other much sooner than the others.

That night, so early on in your adventure, when you awoke to the man perched over you, fangs bared and your throat exposed for the taking, things simply couldn’t go back to the status quo.

It fogged your mind the entirety of the next day, the proximity, the adrenaline, the pure, undiluted hunger.

You’ve allowed him to feed from you every night since.

You played it off as trust, at first. Trust in him, a want to have him fully strengthened for battle. Nothing but business.

But it didn’t take long for him to understand your underlying motivation, the reason you allowed yourself to feel drained, exhausted, and weak for each battle moving forward, perpetually distracted by the memory of his lips and teeth at your neck. The memory welcomed the fantasies with open arms, fantasies of his hands wandering as he drank, kissing your lips with your own blood on his own, his fangs sinking into your thighs, before wandering higher…

Still, you were never going to force it.

So, you allowed him to continue to drink, both aware of the growing tension, both refusing to move further.

Until that changed.

When Astarion came to you, offering for you both to find a “little piece of nowhere”, somewhere to “forget all this madness”, you sure as hell weren’t about to decline.

A chance to get him out of your head was exactly what you needed to think clearly.

Night had long since fallen, as you sat pretending to read one of many absurd tomes Gale had collected throughout the journey. A life of adventuring doesn’t make for the most consistent sleep schedule, and as such awaiting for the entire party to call it a night was practically torment as you tried to ignore the growing heat between your legs.

But no amount of pretending to study the Oral Histories of Faerun could distract you from wondering what pleasures tonight would bring.

When finally, finally, Karlach decided to call it a night, you waited a few moments more before creeping off to where Astarion had told you to meet him.

Any other night it may have been eerie, creeping through the woods unarmed as the moon rose high in the sky. But all you could feel was the anticipation growing, humming in every nerve of your body like someone had struck you with a Witch Bolt.

Your heart nearly stopped as movement caught your eye.

There, emerging from the trees, already shirtless, was the vampire.

You had seen him in various states of undress before - curing wounds of various weapons and spells will do that. But there was something different about it in this circumstance, seeing him perfectly unscathed, strong and confident from the weeks of draining your life from your veins, silver hair and pale skin hauntingly beautiful in the moonlight.

“There you are,” he spoke lowly, striding slowly towards you. “I’ve been waiting. Waiting since the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

While the words themselves made you blush, you couldn’t help comment.

“The moment you set eyes on me you had a knife to my throat.”

“Ah,” he sighed, walking slowly around you, bringing his fingers to lightly trail up your arm. “But if you remember, I did notice then and there what a darling neck you had, I just knew it would be heavenly.”

He closed the distance between you, and you could promptly feel his strong form cold against your back, a prominent bulge pressing into you, and his breath on your neck making you lightheaded.

His hand trailed down your neck to trace the marks he had been leaving nightly. “And I was right.”

Despite how little he had done, you had grown so wound up from the endless fantasies from his nights of feeding that you were already weak in the knees.

His left hand lightly began to caress your thigh, as his right takes to untying the strings of your loose shirt, his mouth never stopping.

“You’ve been so helpful these last few weeks darling, allowing me for the first time to indulge in the blood of a human, giving me strength at your expense. You’ve been so good for me too, holding back all those little sounds you’ve been wanting to make, pretending like you don’t get wet just at the thought of me drinking from you, like you don’t get soaked from the moment my lips touch your neck. Hmm?”

Your breathing was already heavy, your thighs already squeezing together in some attempt for stimulation - it was already too much. All you could do was nod, a breathy “yes” escaping you as your shirt is undone, falling to the forest floor.

His hands begin to explore, lightly tracing up your arms, down your stomach, across your collarbone. “And you’ve been working so hard, haven’t you my love? To keep us alive, to keep us all going. You’ve been so helpful to all of us, to me, I think it’s time I take some weight off of those pretty little shoulders.”

Suddenly, forcefully, he spins you around, steadying you by grabbing your hips. You look into the red eyes that gaze at you intently, with an emotion that is so close to something like love, devotion, but feeling just slightly too forced, slightly too uncanny.

That gaze is a problem for another day, you determine, as he sinks to his knees and gazes up at you, untying your trousers.

After all, the love may not be real, but the lust in his eyes sure as hell is.

He makes slow work of the fabric, speaking up at you the entire time.

“Dearest, I intend to do exactly as I promised. I want to repay you for the kindness you’ve given me, the trust you’ve placed in me. Allow me to please you, to make you forget about everything, if only for a night. Will you allow me this?”

You nodded, mutely, as you stepped out of your pants.

He gazed up at you again, eyes drinking you in, darkening as they travel up your body, stopping at between your legs, your chest, your neck.

When his eyes met yours again, he stood up quickly, cupping your cheek and pulling you into a deep kiss.

You had thought about this moment too often.

What he would taste like, how his fangs would feel against your tongue, how his lips would feel against yours. He pulled you into him desperately, and the sensation of your bare chest against his made your head spin, gasping into the kiss as he took full control, kissing you with such a passion that you might have thought there was more to it than a simple need for release, repayment.

He pulled away all too soon, thumb caressing your lower lip as he gazed at you in that absurdly sultry way of his.

“Before I take your breath away,” he breathed out, pausing to kiss your cheek. “I need to know what you want from me darling.” Another pause, a kiss to the jaw now. “Tell me how to please you.” A kiss behind the ear. “Tell me how to make you scream.”

You were barely keeping it together, eyes already fluttering closed.

A sharp bite to the neck, not enough to bleed, but enough to make you gasp, brought you out of it. His red eyes gazed at you intently, awaiting your response.

“I want you to take control,” you speak, feeling as though you’re giving a confession. “I don’t want to think. I want you to drain me of my blood, of my thoughts. Make me cum, make me scream, make me feel so good it hurts, until I’m begging you to stop, Astarion.”

“Oh, darling,” he nearly growled, his hand caressing your cheek. “I'll do just that.”

He spun you again, once again catching you off guard. Within moments, you feel him press up against you again, this time the hardness of his cock being released from his pants, discarded far into the forest you assumed.

“You mustn’t keep a sound from me, by the way,” he spoke lightly. “I’ll know if you do.”

You aren’t allowed much time to consider that as you feel his lips on your neck, pecking and lightly biting and sucking. His hands trail upwards to cup your breasts, slowly, softly, deeply massaging, as though he’s trying to feel every inch of your skin. His fingers lightly pinch and tug against your peaks, and he leaves soft bites on your neck, never enough to break the skin.

It had only been moments, but you’re whining, and you can feel your wetness dripping down your thigh.

“Astarion, please,” you breathe, hand coming up to lace in his hair in an attempt to force him deeper into your neck.

He just laughed. “Darling I’ve barely touched you and you’re begging. Allow me to take my time with you.”

His left hand stays at your breast as his right once again wanders downward, slowly reaching your inner thigh.

“I can smell it, you know,” he muttered lowly in your ear, and you almost squeak, flushed with embarrassment. “Every time you’re so wet you can barely think, stuck in your little fantasies as I drink from you. You do so well, hiding your wants from me, but I’ve always known, and I’ve always wanted to push it further, to let my hand wander between your pretty little legs and feel just how wet for me you are…”

As he takes a pause, his fingers reach your folds, lightly caressing up and down, circling your clit, and you both sigh.

“Astarion…”

“Hells, you want me so badly don’t you?”

“Please.”

“Oh, I’m not here to deny you, angel. I’ll give you everything you want…”

Without warning, two of his slender, delightfully long digits enter you, and you release a moan louder than you expected.

“Very good,” he praised, fingers thrusting in and out of you at a steady pace, as he resumed his work on your neck. He continued to suck and bite, no doubt leaving a myriad of bruises and marks that you would have to explain away tomorrow.

He growls again, biting a little harder, though still not hard enough to draw any blood, you notice. His fingers within you speed up, spreading in a way that has you choking out another moan.

“I can hear you thinking, darling. That’s not what we want now, is it?”

“No - fuck, there,” you moan deeper, head tilting back as his fingers reach a place in you that is forever out of your reach.

“Oh, good girl,” he purrs, focusing on that one spot. “Good girl, telling me what you want. Focus on your body, darling, not your thoughts. Feel me against you, feel me in you, feel how badly you need that release.”

“Astarion please.”

“Please what, darling?”

“Bite me harder.”

“Oh, not yet my sweet. We have all night for that, and I would quite like to sample the nectar between your thighs before tasting your heavenly blood. But I’ve left such a wonderful piece of work on your neck, now everyone at the camp will know now more than ever that you’re mine.”

“Fuck,” you gasp out, feeling the waves of heat overcome you and your thighs begin to collapse, your release hitting hard and fast at his use of possessive language.

“Very good, darling,” he praised, holding you up as your vision spun. His fingers didn’t cease as you came, immediately riling you back up, moans spilling out of you louder than before. You hadn’t noticed when he had added a third finger, but you felt the stretch as he pushed in, the emptiness when he pulled out.

You needed more, and he was clearly eager to give it to you.

“Lie down, my darling,” he whispered in your ear. “Allow me to worship you further.”

You did so without hesitation, resting back on a relatively flat portion of the forest floor, spreading your legs as Astarion knelt down, bringing your legs up on to his shoulders and staring down hungrily at you.

Despite the ferocity in his eyes, he took his time, kissing from your ankle to your thigh on your left leg, and then your right. The moment you felt your frustration grow to a peak, he bit down, once again leaving marks but never breaking the skin, marking the soft flesh of your thigh.

He teased you for a few moments before the impatience struck him as well, and leaned forward further, licking a long stripe up your folds.

“Oh darling, and I thought your blood was heavenly,” he breathed, and before you could respond, he went to work.

Immediately your hands were in his hair, pulling and pushing in some attempt to regain any sort of sanity in this moment. His tongue worked wonders, knowing exactly how to work inside you before retreating, teasing at your clit, before the vicious cycle repeated. His hands clenched your thighs as though they were a life line, and the moans that left him traveled into the depths of your core.

It didn’t take long, you were already falling over the edge again, now shouting as the pleasure grew blinding.

“I could stay here forever,” you could barely hear him lament, mind fogged. You blinked blearily as you focused on his face that was now above yours, glistening with your release as he grinned ferally, hand briefly coming up to clench at your throat. “But I have more planned for you.”

Despite your exhaustion, you feel the warmth in your core grow, another release of slick as his cock presses up against your folds.

“May I, pet?”

All you can do is moan pathetically, something between “yes” and “please” falling out of you as you weakly nod.

“Darling, you’re a vision,” once again, he strokes your cheek, uncharacteristically loving for the cold vampire. “Completely fucked out, and we haven’t even arrived at the main course.”

With that, you feel him enter you, no resistance give how worked up you are.

You take a moment, joined, as he breathes heavily into your neck and you let out quiet moans, words completely failing you.

“Divine,” he breathes, returning to kiss your neck, the sensitivity of it making you clench around him immediately. “Oh, so divine, darling I could have you for eternity, such a better use of our time than fighting all of these tiresome battles.”

He began to pump in and out of you slowly, your mind spinning from the weight of him on top of you, the sensation of being fucked so deeply, overwhelmed by the afterglow of all that had happened.

And still his words didn’t cease.

“I could keep you forever, a precious little pet, tied to the bed to fuck whenever I wanted. Or perhaps the other way around, I would wait an eternity just for another chance to taste you, to please you. Whatever fantasy you wish darling, we can fulfill it tonight, I swear to you - fuck.”

He picks up the pace as you clench around him yet again, your release not even having a build up, but instead crashing against you like a tsunami. You feel the wetness seep down your thighs, coating where the pair of you connect.

“Ast-ar…” you can barely breathe, and he laughs almost maniacally.

“Very good, darling, just like that. Give in to me. You don’t need a single thought in that head now, focus only on me and let go. You can cum again, you can, for me.”

“Can’t - I can’t…”

“Oh, you can and you will, if you want me to drink from you tonight,” he muttered darkly, and you feel tears prick in the corner of your eyes.

“Astarion.”

“You have to cum again, to get what you want. Just one more time, my darling. One more and you’ll please me so well. You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

You muster up the last of the strength you have, words falling from you without control.

“Yes, fuck, yes please, Astarion, please I want to come, I want you to bite me, I need to be yours, I need you ~”

It was almost as though your last orgasm hadn’t ended, with how quickly this one had began. An endless torrent that had the tears breaking, pouring down your face and into the dirt. You nearly choked out a scream, clenching around him so tightly that you feel Astarion tense, cursing wildly as you feel a warmth flood you.

You take a moment, trying with all your might to remember how to breathe, mouth gaping, expecting Astarion to move from you any moment.

Instead you shriek as he thrusts again, hand once again curled around your neck, stopping any chance you had at catching your breath.

“We aren’t done,” he growled, your own slick and his cum leaking out of you as he continued to fuck you, harder now, less restrained that before, nothing but pathetic whimpers leaving you. “We are so far from done, my love. You’re mine, you’re mine.”

Finally, what you had been begging for all night came to pass, and his fangs sunk deep into that claimed spot of your neck. You felt the familiar warmth and euphoria as your blood drained into his hungry mouth, his moans reaching a crescendo and hips moving at an inhumane pace.

And he was right.

You were his, blood and body and mind, it was all his. He had consumed every inch of you.

It was incredible, it was numbing, all you could think about was Astarion. Every molecule of you was on fire, and screamed to be connected to him, to never leave this moment, to stay in an eternity of this torment, but after four orgasms and on the verge of a fifth, with the ecstasy of his fangs in your neck, you simply couldn’t continue.

“Too much,” you manage to croak out, tears streaming down your cheeks and your entire body screaming. Your hands grip the vampire's arms tightly when he doesn’t immediately stop, nails biting into his skin. “Too much, stop!”

Immediately the fangs retract and he’s gently pulling out of you, red eyes wide with a hint of a rare expression on his face.

Fear.

“Darling I’m so sorry, did I take too much? I felt you going limp but, hells you’re so delicious I must have been lost in it-”

You shook your head quickly, placing a hand on his chest as you tried to collect your thoughts, tears still streaming.

“No, no, no,” you breathe out, still gasping. “Not the blood, you’re alright. It was too much, I really can’t cum again, it's too much. Too much good, I promise.”

The fear melted away to a more familiar expression, a smug smirk.

“Oh darling,” he purred, hand trailing up and down your inner thigh in a soothing but teasing manner. “I don’t know about that, you can still manage full sentences. Clearly too much brain power left…and I could go all night.”

“Astarion.”

A rare, genuine chuckle left the man as he began softly stroking your arm and playing with your hair, easing you down from your intense high.

When your breathing leveled out, he began to stand up, and you nearly whined.

Sensing your distress, he waved lightly. “I’ll be but a moment.”

He sauntered away, and you laid back, taking the moment to look up at the stars, basking in the glow of the orgasms and the moon.

He really had done his job, you had to admit to yourself. You were struggling to form a coherent thought.

When he returned, he had clothed himself, and had a small cloth in his hand. Striding over to you he gently knelt down yet again, running it over the blood stains on your neck, the mess between your thighs.

You stared at him, and he caught your look of surprise.

“What?” he asked, an affronted tone. “I know how to treat my lovers, darling.”

“Hmm,” you chuckle, closing your eyes. “Just a softie, I knew it.”

“Hardly,” he huffed, chucking the cloth off to who knows where and pulling you up against his chest.

He began to play with your fingers, lightly tracing the veins in your hands and up your arms. The pair of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, no words passing between you, but a silent understanding growing.

“We ought to go back to the camp,” Astarion eventually broke the peace, smirking at your disappointed expression. His arms encircled you once again, and you tried not to dwell on how good it felt. “Despite your rather loud vocals, I believe the others didn’t hear us, and unless you’d like to explain to them why you aren’t walking properly tomorrow…”

You snort, pushing him off of you. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, my darling.”

One thing was certain, you noted as you returned to your bedroll, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon.

You’ll need extra healing from Shadowheart in the morning.

Thank you to @flightlessangelwings for their Kinktober list this year!

#fawktober2023 #kinktober2023 #x reader smut #x reader #astarion #astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion x tav

5K notes · View notes

winterzsurprise · 1 year ago

Text

Take a seat || Miguel O'hara

Pairing: Miguel O'hara x F!reader

Summary: Never in your wildest dream did you imagine having your husband ask you to sit on his face.

Tags: Face sitting, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, smut, NOT BETA READ.

Words: 1.2k

saw someone plead for this one lmao. They asked so nicely so I delivered, idk if this is how it usually goes tbh. This shit's so rushed but I guess I have to squeeze everything out before school starts again tomorrow aaaaaaaaaa

other than that, enjoy! Thank you all for your love on my fics aaaaaaaaaa im running out of header pics da;flkhwah

mi vida - my life || dios mio - my god || mi bella esposa - my beautiful wife || cariño - honey

“You want me to do what now?”

Miguel sighed exasperatedly as he facepalmed, embarrassed. “Don’t make me repeat mys—”

“No no no, I heard you loud and clear.” Which doesn’t mean you understand why all of a sudden. “But why?”

“Should I have any reason why I want you to sit on my face?”

In a gazillion universe, you’d never thought you’d hear those words come out of his lips. Sitting on his lap, you stared at the man incredulously to which he scowled at.

Usually, oral between you both are usually done with you underneath him as he pinned your thighs open and wide for him since he likes the control. To hear him ask you to sit on his face mid-foreplay shocked you.

You pinched your thigh, unconvinced by his sudden change of mind and Miguel sighed once more.

“Is it that hard to believe? Dios mio, if you don’t want to do it, just say it—”

“No no no, lay back down, I’m just processing.”

Excitement thrummed madly in your veins as you pushed the man back into the mattress. Excitement got you removing your underwear in a second before sitting back on his chest. It’s not fast enough apparently, when his strong arms hook under your legs and pull you directly on top of his lips.

Your breath got stuck into your throat. The mere feeling of his hot breath on your skin caused ripples of heat from your abdomen to your fingertips. You’ve always had orals before, it was something he’d never forget, yet there was something about sitting on top of his face that got you aroused more than ever.

“Go any slower and I would’ve thought you’d want to back out.”

“Not my fault. You’re so impatient.”

“A pretty girl sat on top of me, naked and wet, begging to be devoured. Do you think I’d ignore you, mi bella esposa?”

His dark voice, along with his fogged red eyes staring at you through his eyelash sent shivers down your spine, cheeks flushing beet red. You almost slapped the growing smirk off of his face at your flustered state.

“You’re so annoying.”

“And you smell absolutely delicious.”

His arms locked around your thighs and you immediately knew you were done.

His tongue felt like silk gliding through your folds before rolling your clit in figures of eight. You sighed, throwing your head back as pleasure slithered down your spine at his every exhale fanning your skin.

There was something about the stings his stubbles brings as it scratches your skin along with the stimulation of his tongue that drive you crazy.

You swear you’re not a masochist by any means, yet when it comes to Miguel, every joy, sadness, pain and pleasure felt like a reward from the high heavens that you couldn’t help but accept with gratitude.

Your hand found stability in his dark locks, pulling and tugging his head closer to your heat, causing him to groan, the vibration seeping into your bones.

His hands roamed your body as if desperate to find a treasure in the unknown, nails dragging the skin from your back and down to the globes of your ass. The sting they left in their wake stirs your nerves awake, the pain mixing in with pleasure. You sighed, falling to lean on the piles of pillows as you dragged your clit with the point of his tongue.

Miguel wandered lower, tongue rolling around the rim of your entrance, sending electric jolts down your legs. You shivered as the sensation of his fangs rubbing against your folds, always so close yet so far away.

You gasped when the appendage plunged into your entrance, his large nose pushing into your clit as he pulled you closer to his face.

“Fuck…!”

“You taste divine.” He groaned. “Give me more.”

Bringing his hand down hard onto your ass, you whined. The stinging pain it left had your body singing for more and you knew Miguel was aware of the effect it has on you with how hard you clench on his silky appendage.

“Move.”

“Huh?”

Another sharp slap echoed in the living room, harder than the one earlier and you cried, hips stuttering forward on his flattened tongue.

“Ride me, cariño. Like you’ve always wanted.”

And you swear you’ve never heard anything more romantic than that.

With a smidge of hesitance, fearing you’d suffocate him, you rolled yourself on his tongue, eyes locked onto his darkened ones that dripped with desire. Still unsatisfied, his hand lands another hit on your skin and you move more desperately against him.

You cry as he starts to pick up the pace of his tongue, putting pressure onto your bead and shaking his head aggressively underneath you. He swats you once more when your hips stutter from the stimulation before clawing your flesh and grounding you further into his mouth.

“Harder.”

“I’m trying—Ah!”

Sneaking a hand below, he immediately inserts two digits inside of you. He spared no time hastening the speed of his thrusts while licking enthusiastically onto your clit making your eyes roll back.

Chasing the pleasure his fingers and mouth offered you, your hips rolled uncontrollably against his face. The obscene squelch echoing in the room would have embarrassed you, yet you couldn’t find it in you to flush.

The tight knot in your abdomen tightens as heat explodes from your chest and reaches down the tips of your limbs. You couldn’t do anything but cry as you tether closer to nirvana.

“I-I’m close.”

“Come for me, mi vida. Give it to me. I want it all.”

With his grounding arm reaching up to rake through your back along with his fingers and tongue, the knot unfurls and you come with a cry.

Suddenly, he had both arms wrapped around your waist, preventing you from fluttering away from his ministrations. You gasped and pushed at his head but he paid no heed to them, rolling and shaking his tongue onto your clit as if trying to coax another climax from you.

“Miguel…!”

His nails digging into your flesh was the only answer you received and maybe the tug on his lips at your trembling thighs as well. It didn’t take long before pain started to blur with pleasure and your hips rocked against his tongue despite the protest of your heat with one hand tugging on his hair and the other holding on for dear life onto the headboard.

You didn’t have the mind to worry about his nose being blocked by your mon pubis, focused solely on your orgasm. With how he ground your hips onto his lips, you knew he didn’t mind.

And with a weak shout, you unravel, flesh and bones, on top of him. There’s a sound of something breaking in the haze, but paid no heed to it as you fall bonelessly onto the mattress. Miguel pulls away, gasping for air just as you turn to face the ceiling.

Your arousal drenching his face evoked something feral within you, the simmering desire in your stomach stirring awake once more. His eyes turned to the headboard and chuckled, reaching over to run his fingers over the dent with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I guess a Spider-Man will always be a Spider-Man.”

“Oh shut up.” You groaned, chucking a pillow on his face.

#miguel o'hara imagine #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader one shot #spiderman smut #spider man fics #spider man smut #marvel fics #marvel smut

6K notes · View notes

leclerckiss · 5 months ago

Text

love letters ౨ৎ

notes: charles leclerc x reader, friends to lovers, humour, fluff, confessions, this is both a smau & written piece.

a/n: one of my favourite tropes ever: guilty. this feels a little messy but I had a lot of fun writing it.

౨ৎ

liked by friendusername, charlesleclerc and 313,983 others

yourusername: hello from the birthday girl here <3 thank you so much for all of the kind messages, wishes & gifts. sending lots of love

3,122 comments

friendusername: happy bday to our favourite girl ever 🍰🫶🏼

yourusername: 🤍🤍🤍

user1: happy birthday to our favourite paddock princessss

charlesleclerc: did you like the cake I bought you then, or?

yourusername: I loved it until you threw half of it in my face

charlesleclerc: it tasted nicer that way

franciscagomes: bday girl !!

yourusername: i love youu

franciscagomes: i love you more 🤍

pierregasly: what about me?

franciscagomes: today is about y/n. shush.

౨ৎ

I. Your Birthday.

After hours spent with café au lait and too much maple syrup on pancakes in the morning with gift receiving and wishes, a quiet luncheon with those closest to your heart, enjoying the beauty of the shores and rosé champagne, evening eventually settles in a beautiful colour against the heavens of Monaco.

You have never been one for the dramatics or high attention of crowds, settling on an intimate celebratory affair amongst close friends and family: pretty dresses and glasses of Lavender French '75 or those strawberry daiquiris that Ésme is in love with; a sweet, favourite song heard in the background.

Charles arrives fashionably late, the collar of his white-linen shirt loosened and soft, dark-brunet hair slightly tousled as he comes near, the sight of a smile on his face you've always loved, dimples revealed.

There is a certain relief that comes with being graced by his presence, like you had been silently longing and waiting for his greeting before anybody else's, though you disguise it from any chance of teasing.

"(Y/N)," Your name rolls off his tongue like caramel, accentuated as he shifts to kiss both your cheeks in friendly affection before he chuckles at your expression, "Happy birthday." Mon ange.

"Thank you," You breathe, a laugh falling past your mouth at the sight of him in manifestation, inclining your head when you look at him through your lashes, "I was beginning to think you forgot."

"Forget? Me?" The Monegasque exclaims as though wounded, placing his hand to his chest though the smile about his sun-kissed visage never dissipates, stealing a nearby glass of champagne, "Never. I had some work to finish."

There is an edge of teasing beneath your looks, a dance of butterflies in your stomach when he touches the small of your back fleetingly as he shifts past with that signature wink of his, all friendly and humorous in years of friendship, and yet your heart stutters.

You almost say something else, confessions and thoughts that want to erupt from your chest like love letters you have never sent – certain it is merely the liquor fogging your judgement – but he's wandered away with a final promise before a syllable can come forth.

"Let me get the birthday girl a drink, oui?"

liked by franciscagomes and 311,646 others

yourusername: july with my favourite people <3

mentioned charlesleclerc, friendusername, franciscagomes and two others

1,354 comments

user1: literal angels

user2: second pic is definitely y/n and charles

friendusername: you still owe me another ice cream 🍨

yourusername: sorry bby, i’ll be at your front door with a double vanilla ice cream soon <3

franciscagomes: 🤍🤍

౨ৎ

II. At the beach.

Warm light kisses your skin like heavenly delight, a forgotten copy of Paris' Vogue beside where you are currently bathing with a finished strawberry lemonade, long lashes fluttering when you open your eyes to gaze at the skies above in the heat of July, a mosaic of white and cerulean about the Côte d'Azur.

Most of the others have momentarily departed for the nearby café for new sweet treats, though you are consciously aware of a half-dozing Charles Leclerc nearby against the slight flush down the bridge of his nose and eyelashes that ghost about his cheekbones where he is lying.

Pure bliss; perfect heaven.

"Charles?"

It takes him a second, the mention of his name rousing him to blink out of a hazy hint of a dream with the tilt of his chin towards the direction of your voice that calls to him like an angel's symphony, squinting against the haze of light before a lazy, boyish smile reveals his pearlescent teeth, "Mm?"

Shifting upright, consciously trying not to stare at him for too long though you have come to simply welcome and fall used to the sight of his naked chest, all smooth ridges and lean muscle, you absently adjust the ribbons of your pretty bikini and reach for sun cream.

"Do you think you could help me put some on my back, please?" You ask politely, offering him the item whilst shifting on your knees and gathering the edges of your hair over your shoulder that have fallen loose.

He does not respond initially, not until he's sat upright and shifted closer with a kind edge of a smile that dances across his face, "Oui."

Charles does not hesitate or take advantage of the circumstances, applying the fine lotion against the curve of your shoulders with gentle ministrations and lower down, fingertips feather-light, careful not to linger too long.

The act feels oddly intimate as you gaze towards the serene shores, like his touch is meant for the most secret parts of you, an unconscious shiver and the subtle arching of your vertebrae when he traces a particular area. Whether he notices or not, there is no indication given, instead continuing in a method that seems entirely platonic but leaves an ache in your stomach.

"Merci," You tell him once the deed is most finished and he draws away, shifting just enough to offer a look of him from the corner of your eye in a gratuitous smile.

You wonder if how his gaze lingers is the same way yours does, like a painting worth admiring or a flower in emergence, heart thrumming quicker under your sternum before the moment is broken when he clears his throat.

"Of course."

౨ৎ

III. A dinner.

Caffè Milano, a quaint but fanciful and warm establishment tucked in the quiet luxuries of Monaco's principality with its dancing chandeliers, oak-varnished furniture and beloved menu.

A semblance of familiarity, pleasantry and polished glasses clinking against the rhythm of conversation amongst friends in the warm afternoon: a lingering aroma of roses from the centrepiece décor neatly arranged and fine cuisine.

"– Non, I am not lying," Pierre is recounting a recent, humorous anecdote of experience, thumb idly tracing the edge of his wine glass whilst you and the others listen on, your cheeks beginning to hurt from how much you have laughed in the recent half-an hour, idly toying with the necklace resting at the hollow of your throat in common fashion.

"You are." Francisca frowns, albeit fondly.

Your concentration is removed from their talk when there is a subtle caress against the ankle bone, a touch beneath the furniture and a fleeting glance from your peripheral sight at the Monégasque beside you, all handsome smiles and that addictive song of laughter whilst a stray hair falls about his eyebrow, though he does not seem to show any degree of deliberation or notice that his shoe idly touches you there.

You have the urge to hold him, caress him, to press a thousand, butterfly kisses along his jaw and say something you should not. Instead, you continue to listen and nurse the last of your Château-Chalon.

1,596 likes

f1gossip: y/n at the grand prix this weekend <3 our paddock princess is back

mentioned yourusername

333 comments

user1: she looks divineee

user2: charles and y/n friends to lovers when?

user3: leave them alone, they’re just friends and have been since childhood

౨ৎ

IV. A balcony.

Charles had forgotten his keys somewhere and, until his dear brother could come and return them, you had offered the warmth of your welcomed apartment: all minimalist but homely in décor against a palette of cream, white and the like all complemented by paintings and furniture.

One hour had melted into two by the late afternoon with dusk's slow kiss, hints of lilac and grey in the edge of the skies, your cats curled contently on the plush chaise lounge and resting after endless affections from the Monégasque who seemed to be in love with them.

"Can I join you?"

The voice – honest and clear, albeit a fraction amused – is recognisable as you are drawn out of reverie on the balcony of rocaille motifs, gazing into quiet streets below and the nearby public gardens flourishing with flora, gnawing at your inner cheek as you look to the man where he leans against the threshold, a look in his eye that comes with a subtle indulgence after he stole your favourite bottle of rosé in the kitchenette.

"Of course, yes." Always.

He stands beside you, a few inches apart with his elbow resting against the intricate balustrade when he follows your dreamy stare for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. There is a comfort between the two of you, something you know must come from years of familiarity:

An seemingly endless, innocent youth that manifested in its complications as you aged and neared adolescence, like an evening primrose that flowers and sometimes falls apart, but always returns, even changing with senescence. With age.

You can feel his gaze, almost like an internal, silent imploration for your own, the edges of your fingers and nails polished in a rose quartz-esque varnish that glitters prettily in the evening, and his lips are parted just enough as if wanting to say something before they curve a little higher on the edges, his words hushed.

"Have you ever thought about love?"

Your eyebrows raise a fraction, though it is not so unexpected of a question and one that has been on the edge of your tongue since forever, even with the doubtful inkling that he has merely enjoyed too much wine.

"Sometimes," All of the time. You murmur, a soft, breathless chuckle following as you shrug and tilt your head upwards, gazing above like some wished answer or instruction from the angels or whoever listens, "Why do you ask?"

"Because," His response is delayed, though his answer is sincere and thoughtful like he has been thinking over his words since a time he can't remember until his fingertips touch your elbow fleetingly, "I can't stop thinking about it."

There is a moment, a single fragment, in which you meet his eyes, his touch is known and everything seems to pause like a finished painting, a still image in a history book: his hand, his body and his eyes – the colour of autumn, earth, hints of something else so unique to him.

"Charles, what are you saying?" You laugh softly, looking away momentarily and toying with the knitted wool of your soft cardigan with the kind of feigned indifference that comes with disguising truth, "I didn't think you were a romantic, who has caught your eye?"

For a moment, you wish he would say someone's name, a blessed girl that you have never heard of, so that you can deny your own feelings and settle on the painful reality that you are merely friends.

Instead, his gaze flickers, almost nervously, and a palm cradles the curve of your cheek and jaw with the hesitance of a man of conflicting considerations even when he tries to smile a little. "Please, forgive me."

There is not an instance given to allow any insistence or inquiry as Charles presses a kiss upon your mouth: it is not rushed and there is a desperation there that is not greedy, tasting the remnants of your lipstick and rosé, slow and methodical – longer when you indulge and welcome the feeling.

He does not draw away completely when the feeling ends, his forehead lightly pressed to yours and his touch a little firmer where his fingers curl into your hair, swallowing slowly as his eyes close for a moment until he dares meet your stare once more.

"(Y/N)?"

You smile.

"Je t'aime." There is something in his face you have never seen before, something raw and open like an unfurling rose revealing itself, and you know that your heart is his and his alone.

Another kiss with your prompting, fingertips tracing the soft cotton of his shirt near the shoulder until you drape arms about his shoulders, breathing him in with hints of raspberry, amber and cinnamon, "I love you."

There is poetry in his eyes like those unsent love letters shoved under your pillow, and he delves in, holding you close and intimate until you're most certain, mutually, of the silent yearning you have felt for one another for years.

"C'mere," He mumbles, an arm drawing around the back of your thighs as he picks you up and holds you securely, and you cannot help but laugh in pure, unadulterated glee at his touch and affections, the bottle of rosé abandoned as the night settles in and you are whisked away.

He loves you.

#౨ৎ works #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 smau #f1 x female reader #f1 fluff #f1 x you #f1 fic #formula 1 smau #formula 1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula one x reader #formula 1 imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fluff

464 notes · View notes

sunlightmurdock · 7 months ago

Text

hands to yourself | dilf bradley bradshaw x nanny!reader (18+)

surprised with an afternoon to himself, bradley takes advantage of the alone-time, thinking about the woman he can’t have.

warnings: shameless pwp, bradley is down bad for his nanny and hasn’t touched himself — or anyone — in a long ass time. masturbation, pining, swearing, fantasising about oral and such. voyeurism, kinda, he gets walked in on. I may write a part two for this but idk yet. I just needed to write a lil smth about him touching himself. Wc: 3k

this is the lingerie set I was thinking of but imagine whatever ya like x

…

Bradley drops his keys into the bowl by the door, they land with a stark rattle. The faint tan-line between his brows disappears into the crease that caused it as he frowns. He looks towards the stairs, and then wanders in the living room. His boots tap softly against the floor.

“Kids?” He calls out into the unfamiliar quiet.

Nothing. His eyes widen in slight panic, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair as he looks around him. The floor is spotless — their toys are stored neatly in their bins, there aren’t any new stains on his rug, and there aren’t any cartoons on his television.

The sound of his boots on the ground are unnerving; he can’t bring himself to admit that he misses the sounds of chaos he usually returns to. He wanders through the house, making a beeline for the backyard. Sunny day like this, he figures that’s where he’ll find them.

Nothing. The yard is completely empty beside the laundry hanging out to dry. His mouth feels dry.

Once the mid-day mind fog dissipates, Bradley’s panic starts to, too. That birthday party. You’d mentioned it twice this week already, and once this morning. He’s just forgetful at the minute — — you know how crazy work has been for him.

He pauses, standing in his unusually clean living room, and purses his lips. His hands come to rest on his hips while he looks around him. He isn’t used to this.

Usually, within seconds of him walking through the door, he’s got a kid attached to his leg or a fight to break up or a permission slip to sign.

There’s nothing that he needs to do.

Nothing urgent.

Nobody else home.

Lifting his wrist, he takes a quick glance down at his watch and considers what to do with his sudden freedom. Birthday parties take a couple of hours, right?

He takes one final look around him, his eyes catching on the laundry drying outside. Clipped to the line is a power-blue balconette bra. He’s seen it before. The day he accidentally walked in on you.

Since you moved in four months ago, Bradley has been especially careful about knocking first. He wishes he could say it’s because he’s a gentleman. Really, it’s just because it made it hard enough for him to keep his hands to himself the first time.

There had been a heatwave that week. You had the afternoon off but Bradley hadn’t been able to find the sunscreen, and his kids are damn near impossible to keep out of the sunlight. With them arguing downstairs and trying to figure out the lock to let themselves out, he just wasn’t thinking and he hadn’t knocked.

“Hey, do you know where you put the—“ He’d stopped, frozen, taking in the sight of you sprawled across your bed. His bed. The bed he gave to you when you got the job of living here. A red popsicle between your lips and a book propped open in front of you, wearing nothing but a powder-blue set.

“Oh—“ Your eyes had gone all wide and surprised, too shocked to move, just like him.

The only thing that reminded him that he even had the option to move was the sound of his son running up the stairs to hurry this process along. He had slammed the door shut, blushing furiously, and turned to face his eldest.

“Found it, dad! It was in my backpack.” Grinning, he had held up the bottle of sunscreen and Bradley had just been forced to continue with his afternoon like he hadn’t seen anything at all.

When he finally peels his eyes away from the line of drying clothes outside, his gaze lands on the basket of dried and folded laundry sitting on his kitchen counter ready to be put away. Sitting right on top, is a glossy looking pair of blue panties that match the bra on the line.

Bradley’s already been kicking himself for his behavior since you got here. It’s downright shameful, the things he lets himself think about you. You’re half his age, first off. Second -- he’s your boss. You live in his house. His kids think you’re their best friend.

They think you’re just here because you love hanging out with them so much, not because their mommy and daddy couldn’t get along for the life of them and daddy works too much.

His mouth waters. Staring at some blue lace in a laundry hamper and his mouth’s practically watering. He’s pathetic. His guy friends keep telling him he needs to get back in the game, start moving on — he hadn’t been so sure. But then, he’s never almost popped a hard-on over a thong in a pile before.

He can picture you so perfectly in them. Your round ass barely covered by the material, legs kicked up behind you and your ankles crossed. When he closes his eyes, he can picture you facing the other way. Your face toward the headboard, your ass right in front of him.

His slacks grow tighter as his neglected cock stirs to life. It occurs to him that he can’t remember the last time he jerked off. Maybe sometime before his middle kid got the flu? — Around a month ago, maybe. His nights since then had been primarily spent clearing up puke.

The sad part is, the thought only tends to occur to him when he’s at work. Home is always far too hectic. For a while now, he’s been stuck working late into the night with a boner while he’s flicking through candidate paperwork and flight logs.

Well, he’s thinking about it now, and he’s got the place all to himself. No locking himself in the bathroom and letting the shower run, trying to think of anything but the growing list of chores he has to do to keep this house functioning.

He swallows thickly.

He’ll tell the guys that they’re right. He needs to get back into the game; get his head on right, stop pining over his nanny. Tomorrow. For now, he lifts his hand and takes the underwear, smoothing the sheer mesh between his index and thumb. Closing his eyes, he hopes that you won’t notice they’re gone before he can return them.

He twists the cap off of an ice cold beer, leaves his boots neatly by the door and walks calmly upstairs. From there, he clicks his bedroom door shut and steadily takes himself out of his uniform, dropping it into his laundry hamper.

Finally, he settles down against his headboard with his phone in his hand and your panties in his lap.

Porn will make this better. It’s less weird if he’s not necessarily picturing your face. It’s not — but he might have a better chance at looking you in the eye later if he tells himself that.

Not that any of this feels exactly regular.

He inhales and shifts, and scrolls. Birds are still tweeting outside, singing early afternoon songs. His teeth nip at the inside of his cheek as he scrolls aimlessly until he finds a thumbnail that looks halfway doable.

All alone, the house feels especially quiet when the first moan spills from the speakers. He flinches at the sound and scrambles for the volume button, then hesitates. He doesn’t have to be quiet. He doesn’t even have to be ashamed. Shit, it’s a little late for that.

His brows knit together a bit, cocking his head as he examines the babbling girl on the phone screen. His hand stirs to life from where it had gone limp on his thigh, finding his cock through the grey fabric of his boxers. With one last cautious glance to his closed bedroom door, the silence beyond it confirms to him that he’s okay.

Wetting his lips with his tongue, he strokes himself over the material. The video isn’t particularly interesting, not when Bradley’s head can fill itself with far more interesting material at whim. His mind starts to wander back to that dream he’d had of you in the nurses outfit— that one had hit him hard, literally. He could barely look in your direction without getting hard for two days.

Soon enough, he’s hard and straining against the briefs. But that’s thinking about you, and that’s not allowed. He shifts restlessly and goes back to scrolling, palming himself absently. Finally, he comes across a video that sparks something. The thumbnail is of a girl with swollen lips and a cock in her mouth. It’ll do.

There we go. He huffs, that red-hot desperate feeling spreading down his neck and covering his shoulders. Making like it’s going to swallow him whole. Bradley lifts his hips to shuck down his boxers, tucking the waistband under his balls, still prepared for a hasty recovery at the sound of the garage door opening or something. He glances down at himself, remembering the days his thighs were narrower and more taut and he wasn’t noticing grey in his pubes.

If he wanted this done quick and fast, he’d spit hard into the centre of his palm and get to work. It’s been a long time since it hasn’t had to be quick. He thinks he has— he turns a bit and pulls open the drawer of his bedside table, rummaging blindly at the back until he comes up with what he’s looking for — lube. It’s practically full, not like he has been using it much.

A drop in the middle of his hand is enough, he figures. Turning his attention back to this new video, he settles, cupping the weight of his shaft in the palm of his hand. He gives it one slow pump, following the length, coating himself a bit. Real slow, his eyes study the screen, working the lubricant against his skin.

The actress bobs her mouth around the on-screen cock enthusiastically, moaning around him, raking her fingertips along his thighs. He locks his fist around himself, warm and tight, wet. It’s not a mouth but it’s the closest he has felt in a long time. If he closes his eyes, it could be your mouth.

You’d take him slowly, at first, ease him into it with that taunting nature you’ve let him glimpse at. He wouldn’t close his eyes; wouldn’t take ‘em off you. His hand steadies into a lazy rhythm, picturing the way you’d look up at him through your lashes.

The way you’d suck, and flick your tongue across his swollen tip. He shivers as he swipes his thumb through the precum beading there, stroking it all the way back down, stuck on imagining what it would feel like with your saliva joining the mix.

A pleased, feminine hum of approval comes from his phone and Bradley’s body responds just as eagerly, his hips twitching into the thrust of his palm. Sweat beads at his forehead as he slows to the point of almost stopping, dragging this out — making a point of exploiting his time alone.

He blinks hazily and finds a glimpse of blue, remembering suddenly the souvenir he had taken. The pitiful scrap of fabric he’s so wound up over sits against his thigh, looking suddenly small in comparison to his cock. He lets himself go and grabs hold of the fabric firmly, balling it tightly in his fist.

The soft lace bristles at his palm. Freshly laundered, they don’t smell of anything but detergent. It plays to the weaker side of him, gnawing at him, leaving him desperate to have something beyond what’s in his head. To know your smell, your tastes, your sounds. He shudders as he wraps a hand snugly around himself once more, this time, with an added layer of lace and soft mesh.

His head falls backwards, mouth hanging. Like this, it’s even easier to pretend. The image of you straddling his thighs, rocking your pussy against him while wearing nothing but these has him finally relaxed. Zen, even. A groan dies in his through, coming out more as a deep and baited sigh. He lift his hips, fucking into his fabric tangled fist.

Sometime between picking up your panties and now, the video has moved on without him, the blowjob forgotten. If he was to open his eyes, he would find that she’s on her back, being fucked into a mattress. He doesn’t need to. Stars burst behind his eyelids as he steadies up to the rhythm of her moans, skin hitting skin.

You’ve been living here four months now and you haven’t stayed out once. He wonders if you’re as wound up as he is. If you’ve thought about him the way he thinks of you. How downright desperate you’d sound moaning against his pillows while he finally gets to feel you. His left hand jumps, grabbing a firm fistful of the sheets beside him.

The shame he feels has been checked at the door, he lets himself think that you might have looked at him, that you might want him. He chases the feeling, his chest heaving with heavy breaths. Pumping the blue mesh around his cock, imagining you rocking yourself on him. Something gentler, more spry. It feels good. You’d feel good.

His imagination is better than he gave himself credit for.

His wrist twitches and he slows, feeling his thighs tighten as his heels press into his mattress for leverage. He chokes out a sound that he won’t admit is closer to a whimper than anything else, panting hard as he lets the rush ebb a bit. Pursing his lips, he draws out a slow exhale.

His mouth hangs open, eyes dipping to watch himself loosen up with the material, finding himself with just his bare palm once again. He takes the blue fabric in his left, opening it up and examining the dampened marks of his precum and the lube.

Just like that, he’s back in the guest room — your room — and you’re wearing that blue set. It’s dampened like this, but not because he has made a mess of it, not yet. Because you have. You’re soaking through it, looking up at him with that awe-struck look on your face. Your mouth open wide but this time there’s no red popsicle.

“Fuck.”

“Shit.” You whisper, catching the diaper bag that had almost fallen from your shoulder as you cradle the sleeping infant against your chest. Quiet as a mouse, you click open the front door and toe off your shoes.

She’s dead-weight in your arms, probably drooling on your shoulder. Her two older siblings will be causing all kinds of mischief and consuming sugar in all of its forms at their cousin’s birthday party for the next three hours. Given that the party lines up almost exactly with the fifteen-month-old’s nap routine, you figured you would take her home to rest so that you could get around to putting away that laundry you had started.

You’ve got a thousand things on your mind. A million things to do before Bradley gets home that evening. Truthfully, you’re a thousand miles away as you stroll upstairs and walk to the far end of the hall to the nursery. You lay her down and adjust the baby monitor, setting up her white noise machine routinely.

Her bedroom door clicks shut behind you and you take a moment to consider your priorities. Laundry takes precedence, even though you want so desperately to crawl into bed and sleep for an hour. You huff, groaning to yourself as you walk back downstairs to find the basket you had abandoned.

As you round the stairs and walk through the hallway, a choked sound spills from under the wood of Bradley’s door, something deep and breathless. Already halfway to the kitchen, you don’t hear a thing.

The video stopped a while ago but Bradley had stopped watching it even earlier. His head is thrown back and his lips are parted, his features creased in concentration as he chases his high. He thrusts into his fist, white-knuckling your panties with his free hand, his heart thundering in his chest. “God, fuck.”

He doesn’t have a clue that he isn’t alone anymore. He didn’t hear the minivan, he didn’t hear the front door. He doesn’t hear you rush back up the stairs with the hamper hiked against your hip.

He walked in on you. He stopped, and he stared. You were interrupted, so you can’t blame him for slamming the door shut. He’d missed, or ignored the signals since. The looks, the touches, staying up with him until your eyelids are so heavy that they’re barely open because he’s kind of an insomniac. Nothing. You’ve been beyond curious, desperate to know if he has been blowing you off on purpose or if he’s just clueless.

Clueless yourself, armed to put away freshly folded t-shirts, you grab the door handle and push it open. He works late, always. He’s rarely home before bedtime on work days. He told you this morning that he’d try not to wake you when he came in. And yet — there he is.

You get a glimpse of him before he registers the click of the door, before he spots you. Brows furrowed, eyes screwed shut, his curls dampened and hugging his forehead. Sunlight catches on the beads of sweat as they trail his glistening middle, spilling across his strong, softened middle. Broad shoulders flexed, the veins in his right arm straining through the skin, fucking his palm.

He reacts quickly, but there’s little that can be done. His eyes spring open and his hand releases himself, his body flushing a deeper shade of red at once. Thighs spread, he doesn’t have much time to cover himself before the door whips shut again.

You press your back to the door, staring at the ceiling. On either sides of it, you each have a moment of silent consideration.

“… are you okay?” He asks weakly.

He gets a soft squeak of acknowledgement as an answer and starts to wonder how you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. God, he hopes you don’t quit. The kids love you, and you’re incredible, you make his life liveable. His mind races, trying to come up with some kind of way to fix what you just saw. Everyone masturbates, it’s normal, it’s healthy—

“Was— Was that my underwear?”

Shit, Bradley thinks, he’s done for. There’s no coming back from this. You’re going to tell every nanny in the state that he’s a creep and work is going to eat him alive while he tries to juggle three kids alone. He curses breathlessly, fixing his underwear to cover himself and pushing himself out of bed.

He’s stuck for a second, considering if it would be better to give you time or to go after you. His eyes widen as the door clicks again, and pushes slowly open.

Your eyes rake over him, standing tall at the foot of his bed in nothing but his boxer-briefs. Still, regrettably, balled into his left hand, is your underwear. Powder-blue. He follows your gaze and looks down at the fabric, cursing his own stupidity, wondering if it’s too late to drop them.

You wet your lips with your tongue as your gaze flickers across. He closes his eyes and wills it to go away — he had just been so close, so caught up in it. It’s still rock hard, straining against the grey fabric, dampened at the tip with a spot of precum.

All of those signals and efforts come to a head. After four months of pining, you can’t just wander downstairs like this never happened. Laundry can wait. “You want a hand?”

…

tags: @royal-sunflower @redbarn1995 @atarmychick007 @jessicab1991 @seitmai @bellaireland1981 @roosterbruiser @tenderly-hopeful-collection @bradshawsbaddie @tgmavericklover @cevansbaby-dove @lyn-js @mynameismckenziemae @perpetuelledaydreaming @diorrfairy @sparklehippie17 @heatherbabees @prettiewittie @forgiveliv @oleksiak-pettersson @illegalxhood @fantasticpeacestarfish @rockstxr-x @d0main-expansion @diorsmores @mydarlingrose @sticksticklettuxe @alrightyyaphrodite @bowchickawowowww @aquafairy777 @eternallyvenus @maxwell-era @devil-angel-winchester @roosterishot @rosiahills22 @literally-iconic @brinaaa10 @foggyturtleknightangel @a-serene-place-to-be @aragorn-02 @sunflowercharlie13

If your name is here but isn’t tagged, it may be your settings that won’t allow me to tag you fully!

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw imagine #rooster x you #dilf Bradley #bradley x the nanny #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley rooster Bradshaw smut #bradley rooster bradshaw fic #top gun: maverick smut

814 notes · View notes

santanasaintmendes · 3 months ago

Text

“i wish i was who you drunk texted at midnight”

wc!: 5.2k (i’m sorry i’ve got serious problems 😔)

ollie bearman x reader + childhood friends to ?

warnings: angst asf, heartbreak, swearing, let me know if there are any more!

part 2

summary: after moving to Chelmsford you meet ollie, the two of you quickly become friends but unfortunately you fall for Ollie. he moves away for f2 and leaves you, until he’s supposed to race in Jeddah. you fly there only to gain more than what you bargained for

type: angst (cliff hanger ending IM SORRY)

a/n: this is just something I wrote because I was sick in bed the last few days, it’s super long but so hope yall like it! Also i’m sorry if it’s bad lol i am still sick and this is just something i wrote for fun to entertain myself. ALSO no hate to Estelle Ogilvy (is that how i spell her last name) i just used her for the plot of the story please don’t come after me.). The name is inspired by “drunk text” by Henry Moodie, please give it a listen it’s such a good song, enjoy xxx

They say that you should always be friends with the person you like before you start to fall for them. Well, that’s one thing you could check off the list if you looked back on your friendship with Ollie. The truth was, being in love with your best friend sucked. Friends can break your heart too, something people tend to forget.

6 and 6

The first time you ever met Ollie was in a library. A week prior to that you had moved to a strange town named Chelmsford. A name that 6-year-old you found difficult to pronounce, to be frank everything in the new town sounded different to what you were used to. The people there spoke with such a different accent to what you were used to, it would take you quite a while to get used to it. As you sat in the back of the taxi with your backpack at your feet, you stared out the fogged up window. The sky was a gloomy grey and the landscape seemed to be an endless plain of sad looking meadows.

You couldn’t seem to understand why your parents would choose to move to such a sad looking place, it didn’t make any sense. The taxi soon came to a slow stop, the brakes squealing loudly. You glanced out the window hopefully, rubbing the condensation away with your sleeve. Only to be disappointed to see a boring brick building of some sort. It was an odd combination of white wooden window frames and red bricks, like something out of one of those 1600s movies your Father once showed you. You anxiously looked back to your Mother who was watching you as your Father sorted out something with the taxi driver. Upon seeing your unhappy face your Mother chuckled softly.

“I heard that there’s a library just down the street, maybe sometime this week we could visit it.” she offered. You nodded, slightly content. Reading books was something you enjoyed and maybe with a library being close by, not all was lost.

As it turned out, that boring brick building was your new house.

Despite having to unpack and sort adult-y things out, your Mother took you to the library just as she had promised. As you skipped down the cobbled road, your Mother held a bright yellow umbrella over your head to shield you from the rain that was pouring down from the cloudy grey sky.

You pushed upon the heavy front door to the library which also happened to look like a sad white brick square with a pointy red roof, a depressed mushroom if you will. You halted in your steps as giant wood bookcases rose before you, shelves full of books. Never had you ever seen so many books before. In the corner there was a lady sorting things in a trolley with her back turned to you, she still hadn’t noticed you.

“C’mon, let’s head to the kids section.” your Mother said, taking you by the hand and leading you deeper into the library. Stunned by the amount of books that filled the shelves you couldn’t help but wander off when your Mother told you to stay put while she set up a borrowing card for you.

Luckily, the children’s section of the library was much more pleasant looking than the eerie hallways of adult books. You scanned the shelves in search of something to read, until you came to a stop. Two round brown eyes among the books blinked from the other side of the shelf, scaring you.

It was a boy.

You blinked back, unsure of what to do. So you did what any other 6 year old did when they believed they had found a new friend.

“Do you want to read with me?” you abruptly asked the boy who was still staring at you with wide eyes. A moment of silence passed before he nodded slowly, the boy rounded the corner. He wasn’t much taller than you with chocolate brown hair and small freckles that spilled over his face like tiny stars. He stuck out his hand, “I’m Oliver. But my friends call me Ollie.” he greeted, a smile taking over his face. His voice sounded odd, like the taxi driver who’d driven you from the airport to your new house. Ollie reminded you of a rabbit with his two front teeth that seemed to take up over half of his face, but you didn’t say anything because your Mother told you that saying things like that wasn’t nice.

You took his hand cautiously in yours, “I’m Y/N.” you replied slowly. He enthusiastically shook your hand, taking you by surprise as he led you to sit down on the bright coloured bean bags. You watched curiously as he picked a book off the shelf before plopping down next to you again. You peered over as he opened the book to the first page, you frowned, not recognising the book.

“It’s a book called Where’s Wally (Where’s Waldo if you’re American). You have to find the characters, there’s Wally, Wenda, the wizard guy and Woof - that’s the dog.” Ollie explained to you, pointing to each character on the page. The initial nervousness of meeting another kid, melting away. You began to feel excited as you nodded along while Ollie continued to explain how to play. The two of you spent the next hour doing all sorts of things, talking about favourite colours, favourite animals, reading books, drawing, playing board games together. Both getting along so easily it was as if you guys had known each other forever. That was until you heard your Mother calling your name to go home.

You stood up, looking down at Ollie who was still seated on a yellow bean bag. He blinked up at you, with those big brown eyes that had scared you only an hour earlier. “I have to go home now.” you told him, a wave of sadness passing between the two of you as you both realised your fun had come to an end.

“That’s okay, maybe I’ll see you at school.” he suggested hopefully upon seeing your downcast face. You broke into a smile, “Okay, bye Ollie.” you waved slowly as you began to walk away. Ollie waved back with a giant grin on his face as he watched you disappear behind the wooden bookshelves.

“Hey Mom!” you called out to your Mother as she came into view, she was chatting with the lady who you’d seen at the desk sorting books. She paused and turned to you, “Hey, I was just talking to the librarian, she was saying about how she has a son who hangs out here while she works on the weekend.”

Putting two and two together you realised that the book lady was Ollie’s Mother. You smiled at the lady, “I was playing with Ollie, we were reading that one book, ‘Where’s . . .” You trailed off, racking your brain for the name of the book he’d shown you.

“Where’s Wally?” the librarian offered, she nodded fondly. “That’s his favourite book.” You grinned up at the lady, looking back in the direction where you’d been playing with Ollie.

“Mom, am I going to the school as Ollie?” you asked, looking up at your Mother. She chuckled softly before nodding, “As a matter of fact, you are.”

Those golden words were what made you unbelievably excited to begin at your new school. You had barely been able to sleep with the thought of seeing your new friend again, so on that Monday morning you bounded down the stairs to the kitchen. “Good morning!” you greeted both your parents, taking a seat at the dining table, legs swinging off the chair impatiently.

“Someone’s excited for their first day of school.” your Mother hummed as she set a plate of pancakes in front of you. You nodded, “I get to see my new friend.” you replied as you stuffed your mouth with your breakfast.

You were basically pulling your Mother through the front gates as you scanned the sea of other children in the same uniform as you. The uniform also happened to be grey, it complimented the terrible weather perfectly. Your eyes fell onto the brown haired-freckled boy from two days earlier, you ran up to him, “Hi Ollie.” you smiled. A giant grin took over the boy’s face, “Y/N!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. From that day on, the two of you were inseparable. Where one of you went, the other followed right behind, Ollie helped you adjust to your new school, showing you around and never leaving you by yourself. As the years passed the two of you only became closer, though you would soon find out that that wasn’t the greatest thing.

13 and 13

As the two of you grew into teenagers, things began to change and not always for the better. Ollie and you still remained close friends, having dinner at one another’s house on Friday’s, walking home together after school and occasionally spending afternoons playing Mario Kart with Ollie’s siblings. Your families were also extremely close now courtesy to both you and Ollie, his younger siblings becoming like your own. But the worst thing?

You’d caught feelings for Ollie, it had been so sudden almost like it had crept up on you, taking you by surprise. You didn’t understand. It felt so wrong.

One day out of the blue it hit you like a pile of bricks, you just couldn’t stop staring at him. Absolutely enchanted by him, his chocolate brown hair, those pretty freckles that you’d memorised on his face.

Ollie was like a brother to you, he was your best friend, so how come you felt these things for him?

To make matters even worse for little 13 year old you, Ollie liked another girl. A girl who absolutely hated your guts.

What had you done to her? You didn’t know.

You and Ollie had been having a sleepover when he told you about her, her name was Estelle Ogilvy. She was gorgeous and untouchable, by far the prettiest girl you’d ever seen. You didn’t hold a candle to her and you knew it too. Ollie had been hopelessly in love with her since the start of high school when he shared science and maths class with her. Time and time again he would ramble on about her to you, completely oblivious to your feelings for him. You could only nod along wishing it was you who he was talking about. That’s just how it was, you were stuck in a bubble of unrequited love. So all you could do now was watch from afar as Ollie ran after a girl who you just knew would never like him as much as he liked her.

15 and 15

Ollie’s karting career really took off in the last few years and you couldn’t have been prouder, those feelings for him still lingered around but you’d come to terms that he’d never like you in the same way. Because there he was, still stuck on chasing Estelle. You couldn’t blame him, and maybe that’s what you were always just supposed to be, friends.

Yet you were jealous, something you refused to admit. Jealous of Estelle because oh how you wished to be talked about so fondly by Ollie. To always be on his mind, to be the girl he liked and would never shut up about. You still didn’t understand why you felt this way, in your mind it made absolutely zero sense. Then why did it feel so right when you were by his side, almost like you belonged there next to him? But Ollie being Ollie could just never get a hint whenever you tried to subtly let him know. It sucked because there’s nothing worse than loving someone who’ll never love you the same way.

18 and 18

It got worse as the years passed, your feelings for your best friend would just not go away. No matter how hard you tried, how hard you tried to find another boy to fawn over, your gaze would always fall back on Ollie. But he was dating Estelle now, he was in Formula 2 now. It almost seemed like an eternity ago when you first met him in the library just down your street. An eternity ago when you would attend his karting races, cheering the loudest for him in the stands. All of that was now in the past. You barely even saw him now that he had dropped out of school to pursue his career in Formula 2. Now all you could do now was watch from a distance as he looked the happiest you’d seen him in ages.

He was spectacular at what he did, you would watch him race on TV every week no matter what hour the race was or even if you had school the next day.

Yet inside of you there was a giant hole, a hole that Ollie had left behind when he abandoned you. Abandoned was a bit of a stretch but it was the only word you could use to sum up what you had felt when he left. Ollie had to move to Italy for his career, news that he hadn’t even told you in person, you had to hear it from his Mother. He’d taken your hands in his at the airport as he waited to board his plane and promised you he’d stay in touch, that he’d call every week but here you were with the last time you’d spoken to him being over a month ago.

You refused to be the first one to reach out to him, you felt like he owed you that much effort at least. So you waited . . . and waited only for the world to keep spinning while you were stuck in the past. That was until you finally realised that you had never meant as much to Ollie as he had to you.

19 and 19 - present day

“Y/N! WAKE UP OR YOU’LL BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!” your Mother’s voice echoed up to your bedroom, rattling the glass in the window frames. You groaned as you groggily sat up, pulling open the curtains only to be greeted with dark overcast weather, rain pouring down outside. You rubbed your eyes, yawning as you dragged yourself out of bed. It was your second year of university studying mechanical engineering at the biggest university in Chelmsford. It proved to be difficult with its endless nights of staying up doing work but you knew it would be worth it in the end.

Your university never failed to confuse you and make you late for class with all of its giant identical hallways. You ran down the corridors, heels clacking on the marble floor until you came to a stop at the door to where your lecture was for that day. Slipping through the door you weaved through the seats of the auditorium to find an empty seat. Luckily for you, your friend Bianca saved a seat for you.

“Thanks.” you whispered only to be shot dirty glares by the students around you. You winced as you looked ahead at the teacher in an attempt to catch on what he was droning on about. Bianca gently nudged you, passing her phone to you. You frowned, eyebrows knitted as you looked down at the screen. A notice on Ferrari's official instagram with Ollie’s face plastered above the words “Oliver Bearman to race in Jeddah this weekend for Carlos Sainz.”

You narrowed your eyes and huffed, passing the phone back to Bianca who smiled nervously. “What was the point of that?” you whispered, leaning closer to her. Bianca sighed, “You’re not fooling anyone, I know you still have unresolved feelings for him.” she whispered back only to get a loud shushing sound from a nearby student.

Bianca shot them a glare before turning back to you, “You have to go, I don’t care what you say. You are going. This is his Formula 1 debut, whether you’re still friends with him or not you’ve got to be there for him.” she whispered-shouted, looking at you sternly. You sighed, leaning back into your chair, shaking your head.

“It’s not the same anymore. He’s clearly forgotten about me, the last time we spoke was last year and he’s been back home 4 times in the last 12 months.”

Silence hung in the air, only the voice of the teacher rambling on and on about something you still hadn’t caught on about.

“That Estelle girl, she’s clearly using him. You were his best friend, surely that means something to you both.” Bianca tried again but it wasn’t any use. There was no purpose in bringing up something that you both had clearly tried so hard to forget about.

So then why were you here booking a flight to Jeddah to watch your old best friend debut in Formula 1?

It was something you couldn’t answer and didn’t want to.

The thing that you hated the most is that you didn’t even think twice before booking those tickets.

How could you care so much about a person who had so blatantly forgotten about you?

Deep down you knew the answer, it was because to you Ollie was like your home. He was the first person to make you feel like you actually belonged somewhere, he never abandoned you to eat lunch alone at school, he never cancelled plans once you made them, he was a good person, a good friend.

Or at least he was.

Were you insane? The answer was yes, yes you were insane. Being here was so crazy; it nearly made you want to turn around and jump on the next flight back home. You were standing in line to go through the gates when you heard someone call your name. You secretly hoped it was Ollie but much to your disappointment it was . . . Arthur?

Ollie had introduced you to Arthur back when they had raced in Formula 3 together. You hadn’t seen him in forever.

“Arthur?” you questioned as he pulled you into a hug, you hugged him back before pulling away, still unable to believe it was him.

“I was about to ask what you’re doing here but that would be dumb.” you confessed, only noticing now the massive crowd that was surrounding the two of you. Arthur chuckled before nodding in the direction of the gate, “C’mon, I can get you in, you’ll be my guest.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-” you began but Arthur was already pushing you through the gates. Walking back onto a race track was like taking a breath of fresh air after being in a car for a long time. You used to accompany Ollie to all of his karting races each weekend in Chelmsford, so being in the stands had become like a second home to you.

“Are you here for Ollie?” Arthur asked as you walked in the direction of the motorhomes. You caught yourself before you could answer too irrationally, “No, I’m just here to watch the race.” you shrugged, realising how dumb that sounded as soon as it left your mouth. No good person would fly all the way to Saudi Arabia to watch a race if there was a Grand Prix in their own country. If you wanted to “just watch a race” you could’ve watched it on TV or gone to the Silverstone GP. Arthur only hummed, you knew he had already caught on, it was so obvious it made you want to dig a hole and jump in.

“Anyways,” you quickly said, eager to move onto a different topic.

“Anyways.” Arthur agreed, looking at you, eyebrows raised. “You can’t fool me, I’ve known it since the moment I met you.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “What am I going to say to him?” you asked, looking to Arthur for help. He shrugged, “No clue but you might want to think of something quickly because he’s walking over right now.”

“Y/N?”

You blinked as you came face to face with the person you wanted to see so badly for the last year and now that you were here facing him it felt like all the air in you had gotten sucked right out. He looked the same since the last time you saw him. In the last year you wanted to hate Ollie so much but it was impossible because you still loved him and that was the big terrible truth that you refused to admit.

“Hi. Ollie.” you said, to not let the jumble of words that you’ve kept in since the last time you saw him spill out. Arthur sent you a quick salute, “Gotta go, I’ll see you afterwards, Y/N.” and with that he left you with Ollie in silence.

“What are you doing here?” Ollie finally asked, he was acting so . . . so normal. As if nothing had changed between the two of you.

“I’m here because I’m your number 1 fan, remember?” you scoffed, looking up at him. A reminder of the time when you were both 10, Ollie gifted you a t-shirt at Christman with the words: “Ollie’s No.1 fan.” plastered on it for you to wear to his karting races. It was sure to be buried deep in your wardrobe somewhere.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “Yeah you are.” guilt written all over his face.

“Why’d you leave me then? Tell me the truth, did I do something wrong? Was I too normal for you?” you asked, questions pouring out of you.

“We were best friends, how could you just leave me like that? Do I mean nothing to you? Because you were everything to me, my best friend, the first person who made me feel like I actually mattered to someone, so tell me, why did you abandon me?”

Silence hung in the air as you stared up at Ollie. You wanted answers, perhaps it would be the only thing that would let you move on from him. He looked away, unable to meet your gaze. This was so. . . so unfair. You wanted to yell, scream at him even so he could feel even a fraction of the pain you’d felt in the past year.

“So that’s it? You don’t even have an explanation?” you asked him, your voice shaking with anger it made your throat ache as you blinked back tears.

“I waited and waited for you to call me, to even send a message but that was a mistake. You’ll never love me in the same way that I love you.”

Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, Ollie finally meeting your eyes as the three simple words left your lips.

You’ll never love me in the same way that I love you.

The world stopped like everything had been put on pause as you realised your mistake. You felt like you’d gotten hit on the head with a cricket bat.

“I have to go.” is all that left your mouth as you turned around. The ground was moving like a spinning wheel - a blurry mess of colours. It made you sick to your stomach as you walked away, your cheeks flushed hot and your forehead sticky with sweat. Ollie didn’t even call out for you, nor run after you for an explanation because it was so blatantly clear what you’d just confessed to him.

You wished you could hate him, hate the fact that he’d left you, forgotten you like an old stuffed toy, you hated that he didn’t love you.

You sat on the curb, clutching your knees outside of the entrance to the racetrack wallowing in self-pity. Wiping away tears that just kept falling down your face much to your distaste. The sun was beginning to disappear behind the buildings, the sky now a deep shade of orange. You stared at your feet, it was dumb, you should’ve known that coming here to Jeddah was a mistake. Ollie had moved on, something that you hadn’t done in the last year. You felt so stupid, why did you believe you could repair your friendship?

Why did you-

“Excuse me?” a voice interrupted your train of thought, you quickly wiped your tears and looked up to see Arthur standing beside you, a pitiful smile on his face. You looked away, “What do you want?” you grumbled, folding your arms across your chest bitterly. Arthur sat down beside you, watching you closely as you stared at the trees in the distance. He sighed, “The race is about to start and Ollie’s not coming out of his driver room. Estelle said she’d be here but she’s not and he’s locked himself in.”

The words hung heavy in the air, “And what does that have to do with me?” you asked flatly. You knew exactly what he meant. But you weren’t going to do that, you were done with Ollie and everything to do with him.

“You know exactly what it has to do with you. Did you really think Ollie forgot about you that easily? You’re dumber than I thought.” he quipped unhelpfully.

“Thanks,” you muttered miserably, Arthur winced.

“What I meant is that you can’t give up this easily, you and I both know how stupid Ollie can be sometimes.”

You chuckled softly, letting a tiny smile creep onto your face. Arthur wasn’t wrong. When you and Ollie were both 8 you invited him over for Easter to make coloured eggs. It resulted in 20 cracked eggs on the kitchen tiles when Ollie accidentally knocked them off the bench. The two of you had stared at the mess on the ground before bursting out laughing until you were both in tears. It was safe to say that you both spent the next 2 hours scrubbing the tiles and the yolk that had stained the grout in between them.

“Yeah.” you said softly, looking at the sun that had been swallowed by the top of the palm trees, the stars in the sky beginning to appear as you sat in the light underneath a lamp post.

“So?”

“Okay, I’ll get him out of the room but after that I’m out of here. I want to go home.”

Arthur gave you a quick thumbs up as you raised your hand to knock gently on the door to the driver’s room. There wasn’t a reply, only dead silence and that’s when you heard it, crying from inside the room. 6-year-old you would’ve kicked down the door and done anything to get to your best friend. But here you stood outside the room, sending hopeless glances at Arthur who was standing behind you.

“Ollie?” you called out hesitantly, the crying halted and there was another long moment of silence. You pressed your ear up against the door, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah?” his shaky voice replied, you breathed a sigh of relief. You turned around, beckoning Arthur to leave you both, he only nodded, mouthing ‘OK’ as he slipped down the hallway. Turning back to the driver’s room you took a deep breath in, you didn’t want to go in. You didn’t think you could face him after what happened earlier.

“You came,” he said as your hand rested on the handle of the door but there was resistance, it was still locked.

“Of course, are you okay?” you asked, immediately regretting asking as soon as it left your mouth. You cursed yourself silently as you awaited Ollie’s answer. Soft sniffles came from the other side of the door, “Yeah.” he finally replied quietly but loud enough for you to hear from the other side of the door.

What were you supposed to say to get him out of the driver’s room?

“Everyone’s waiting for you, you can’t stay in there forever.” you gently reminded him, sighing as you sat down, back leaning up against the door. There was another long moment of silence as you rested your head on the door, stretching your legs out for comfort.

“I don’t think I can do it.” he said, taking you by surprise. The Ollie you’d known wasn’t afraid of anything, he was confident in almost everything he did, almost it seemed.

“Oliver, you’re being crazy. You are by far the most talented driver I’ve ever seen.” you told him, staring at the roof of the building as you heard a sigh from the other side of the door. “You’re just saying that because you’re my girlfriend, Estelle.”

You froze as if you’d just been stabbed by icicles, Ollie thought you were Estelle.

Of course. He’d been expecting her, Arthur had told you before. You scoffed to yourself quietly, you would’ve stood up and left if it wasn’t the fact that you were here to get Ollie out of the driver’s room he had oh so nicely locked himself in. You let out a soft sigh as you racked your brain for what you should say to him.

“I’m not. It’s the truth, Ollie.” you told him with a heavy heart, feeling as if you were just setting yourself up to get your heart broken all over again. You took a deep breath in, “You are such an amazing driver it’s literally insane, not only that but you’re by far the kindest, most selfless person I know. It’s crazy that you think you can’t do this, because I know that you can. Ferrari chose you to drive for them for a reason, they know what you’re capable of, everyone else does too. I see you and you’re extraordinary, you have this spark inside you that’s amazing. And . . . maybe that’s the reason why I love you. I always have, and when I had the chance I should’ve told you but I didn’t because your friendship has always meant more to me than my own feelings.” you let out a shaky breath.

“You’re a good person, Ollie. You’ve earned a chance to show the world just how great and insanely talented you are, are you really going to throw it away?”

You blinked back tears, who knew you could get so emotional after giving such a life changing speech?

You rubbed your eyes and cleared your throat, letting out a deep sigh. It was time to leave now, Ollie would have realised by now that it was you who was speaking to him and not Estelle. As you began to get up, leaning against the door for support you heard a click!

Oh shit, was the only thought that went through your mind as you lost your footing and fell backwards, the door frame offering you no help at all as you grasped at it helplessly. You stared up at Ollie as you laid at his feet, a million thoughts racing through your mind. He was in his fireproofs with his race suit tied around his waist as he looked down at you, eyebrows knitted. There were tear stains on his flushed cheeks as he stared at you with those wide brown eyes you’d seen among the books all those years ago.

“Y/N?”

a/n: sorry if it was so quick and rushed i just wanted to post something! Thank you if you got the end, ik it was super long for no reason, so thank you! Please let me know what you think, likes and reblogs are always appreciated, thank you and have an amazing day xx

#f1 #f1 x reader #f2 #f1 fanfic #f2 x you #f2 imagine #olliebearman x reader #f2 x reader #formula 2 #formula one #formula racing #formula 2 imagine #ollie bearman #arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #ollie bearman imagine #santanaspeaks<3 #f2 fanfic

234 notes · View notes

peachsukii · 8 months ago

Note

Hi there, I was wondering if I could request a cute comfort story for Kiribaku x reader. The reader having a small dehydration headache and goes on a patrol with the boys only for it to get way bad and the pass out of them. when they wake up in their bed a worried Kiri and baku are extremely worried about them ^^ Or you can just have fun writing what every you want ^^ you enjoy yourself!

omg yes!! thank you for the suggestion!

Fragile: Handle with Care

『♡』 kiribaku x fem!reader ⇢ reader is on a pro-hero patrol shift with kirishima and bakugo when they end up passing out from a headache and collapsing.

꒰ pro-hero au | aged to 20 | poly relationship (bf/gf/bf) ꒱ tags & warnings: no cw other than cursing (bakugo lol) and mentions of medication | fluff, emotional & physical comfort, reader passes out, protective kiribaku -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist | kirishima eijiro masterlist

“C’mon, we’re gonna be late!”

Bakugo and Kirishima waited for you in the living room of your shared apartment, the sounds of Bakugo’s boots tapping against the wooden floor like a pissed off rabbit. You're skipping down the hall, bouncing to slip into your hero gear quickly as your rounding to the entryway to find your boots. Kirishima laughs under his breath while you stumble along, hurriedly trying to make it to your joint patrol shift on time.

"Don't forget your meds, idiot," Bakugo reminds you as he's heading toward the door, smacking you playfully on the ass. Thankfully, Kirishima's right behind you with a glass of water and pills in hand.

"Thanks Ei," you say as you take the medication and chase it with the water. The three of you are out the door and on your way to the agency, making it just in time for the start of your shift.

───

A few hours into your patrol, you and the boys are leisurely strolling through different sections of your assigned district, covering the large area by splitting up individually. It was the middle of summer and the city was boiling hot, the humidity fogging up your senses more than usual. Your stomach rumbled, a rude reminder that you forgot to eat breakfast this morning. You’d slept in too long and needed to rush out the door and let it slip your mind. The boys hadn’t noticed and couldn’t harp on you about it, so you downplayed how dizzy you’ve been feeling all day long. There was only an hour and a half left in your shift and you kept telling yourself that you’ll be okay until then.

You should have known better, considering you also took your meds on an empty stomach…and didn’t put any other fuel in your body today, including water.

“Hey, how’s it goin’ on your side?” Bakugo asks through the intercom. “Y’been quiet for a bit.”

His message startles you, making you flinch unnecessarily. “Yeah, nothing crazy. I helped a lost kid get back to his mom and that’s about it.”

Not surprising that there wasn’t much activity in the area considering the weather - even villains and criminals thought it was too hot to scheme today.

“ ’s hot as hell, even for me. Careful out here, sweets. Your meds can overheat ya as it is.”

You hesitate with an answer, trying to mask the exhaustion in your voice. “Mhm, I will be.”

The communication line disconnects with a click.

───

Half hour to go. You can do this!

Rounding the corner, a lone little girl wanders up to your side, asking for your attention.

“Excuse me, miss hero?” She couldn’t be more than ten years old.

“What is it, sweetie?” You answer, kneeling down to be eye level.

“My little brother passed out in the park around the corner and I can’t carry him home. Can you help?”

You take her hand. “Of course! Lead the way, please!”

She brings you to the nearby neighborhood park as you’re starting to feel a bit fuzzy in the head. It’s just a small boy, though. You could handle it!

“He’s over here!” She says, pointing to the boy peacefully snoozing in the sandbox. You approach him and pull an ice pack out of your medical supply pouch, one of the smaller kinds that you crack in half to activate. Once it solidifies, you place it on the back of his neck carefully, rotating to his cheeks and forehead. He comes to, confused and a bit delirious at first until he gets a better look at his surroundings.

“Wha…what happened?” He asks groggily, looking back and forth between you and his sister.

“You passed out from the heat. I’m here to help you and your sister walk home.” You hand him the ice pack to hold, directing his hand to hold it against the back of his neck.

He smiles at you. “I never thought I’d be this close to a hero!”

It warms your heart to see civilians, big or small, thankful for your actions. It reminds you why you wanted to be a hero in the first place.

You stand up, about to lift the boy onto your back and the world around you spins out of control, a sudden headache striking you out of nowhere.

The last thing you remember is falling into the sandbox next to the two kids.

───

"Babe, she's finally waking up!" Kirishima calls from the bedroom, eyes worriedly darting back to you.

"What...what happened?" you ask as you're regaining your vision, taking in the surroundings. "Are we at home?"

Bakugo comes storming into the room with a wash cloth and glass of water. He looks absolutely pissed - something you never liked to see.

"We're home 'cause your dumbass passed out on patrol! I told ya to be careful. You didn't eat this morning, did ya?" His words have a frustrated tone, but his expression is pure concern. He sits on the bed next to you and hands you the glass as you sit upright.

"I didn't want us to be late for patrol, and it slipped my mind afterward to grab something at the agency."

Kirishima sighs, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Honey, you have to be more careful! Especially in this heat wave."

"Y'coulda fallen off a rooftop or into traffic!" Bakugo yells, hands flying though the air for dramatic effect. "You're lucky that little girl was a quick thinker. She grabbed your communicator an' called for help."

The thought of those kids taking care of you when you were supposed to be caring for them tugs at your heartstrings. You can't help but feel guilty thinking about how scared they must have been seeing you faint like that.

"Kat, it was an accident. I'm sure this is a lesson learned. Right sweetheart?" Kirishima asks while giving you the 'say yes so Katsuki doesn't lose his shit' look.

"Y-yeah. I'm sorry for worrying you both. Are the kids okay?"

Bakugo groans, grabbing your cheek roughly and placing the cool washcloth to your forehead. "The brats are fine. Ei walked 'em home while I carried your ass back here."

"That's a relief," you say quietly, trying to mellow the mood of the room. "Thank you both. I'm sorry again, I'll make sure to wake up earlier to eat."

"Ya better, or else I'll have 'ta start settin' alarms to feed you like a damn dog." He leans over and gives you a soft kiss on the lips. "Don't be an idiot, 'kay? If ya feel shitty, tell us."

"Yeah, don't be afraid to just say so! We all forget things." Kirishima leans over to kiss your cheek for reassurance. "It's okay."

From that day forward, Bakugo always made an extra serving of whatever he ate for breakfast for you, just in case you ever forgot again. Kirishima started carrying protein bars on him too - in case you needed them on patrol as a pick me up.

They weren't chancing their favorite girl falling victim to another medical incident.

⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i hope you enjoyed @snowwolfraintw ! you know for a fact the boys would constantly be shoving snacks in your face after this.

#kiribaku x reader #bakugo x reader #kirishima x reader #katsuki bakugo #eijiro kirishima #kiribaku #kiribaku fluff #kiribaku comfort #bakugo imagine #kiribaku imagine #kirishima imagine #☆.from the stars #☆.rei writes

593 notes · View notes

syoddeye · 1 month ago

Text

kinktober - day 10 - lingerie

ghost x f!reader | 1.6k words cw: con->dubcon/noncon elements, mean!Simon, degradation (repeated use of the word ‘whore’), wedgies summary: what sort of man have you taken home? banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“Careful. Hey, I said be careful…Simon!”

Your date hook-up clearly isn’t listening to you. Hasn’t since he wrenched the keys from your hand and insisted on driving your car. Since he wedged a hand between your legs, dragging two thick fingers over the seam of your jeans the entire ride, ignoring the grip of your fingers around his wrist.

His hands are worn and calloused. The kind you want on your skin, not ripping off your shirt. The stitches pop and strain, breaking easily under his frenzy. Hips pinning you in place against the back of your couch. No niceties, no teasing. You squeak as he yanks the shredded cotton off you and tosses it over your houseplants.

You suppose, in a way, you’re getting what you wanted. Going on the hunt, wandering alone. Deciding to approach the roughest looking man at the bar in search of a memorable lay, settling on the scarred mammoth holding court with three of his friends. He had nursed the same glass he had since you walked in, and watched you polish off four. His attention carried weight, as did his latent approval each time you brushed another man off.

Yes. This is what you want, you reassure yourself. You certainly won't forget this anytime soon.

“Fuckin’ hell.” he mutters under his breath, eyes darkening at your little surprise. A wine-red bra holding up and accentuating your chest, each cup overlaid with a sheer floral motif, the solid pad cutting just above your nipples to leave some things to the imagination. “Look at ya.”

You feel his hardening dick twitch against you. Tentatively, you release his forearms, hoping this is where his brutal crusade against your poor clothing ends. “Just thought I would…try something new.” You’ve no reason to explain this to him, a veritable stranger, but the longer he looks in silence, the more you feel the need to justify the choice.

“Yeah?” He finally says, licking his lips, and leaning in. His hands move slower, but their grip is still a hair too firm when he takes handfuls of your tits. His thumbs stroke over your nipples as he assesses the weight. “You do this often? Dressing all frumpy, ‘idin’ how much of a whore ya really are?”

The words punch a gasp from your lungs. Your eyes seize on him and go wide as saucers. “I’m not–I’m not–”

“No?” He chuckles, lips touching the curve of your jaw, hands squeezing meanly. Two fingers press into the lace, pinching and twisting until you physically fuss against him. “What kind of bird wears jeans,” he derides, emphasizing his distaste by wedging a knee between your legs. “When she’s lookin’ for a bit of rough? An’ dressed like this underneath?” Sharp teeth skim the underside of your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with a laugh at the way the sensation makes you shiver.

His knee lifts and presses. It presses the halves of words out of you.

“Si–you–I-I–oh, shit.”

He pulls back, smirking. “Stutterin’ already? We’ve barely started. Not a very good whore, are ya?”

Simon continues to take what he wants, smothering another volley of stuttered protests. His teeth clash with yours, fighting for every square inch before you give up and let him suck your tongue. The soured taste of tobacco and liquor acts as a strange reviver, peeling back the paper-thin veneer of his person. Lifts the veil like fog thinning from a field at dawn. The brief bit of banter you exchanged at the bar, which had felt gruff but charming in a homespun, rugged way, now feels fractured. More hollow than before. The haze gradually recedes with every nip and grope, leaving you with a creeping, uncomfortable clarity.

He pulls back, a string of spit snapping between you.

What sort of man have you taken home?

Your lips quiver as a hand roams south and yanks the button fly of your jeans open. His fingers dip beneath the waistband, only to retract.

“Knew it.” He takes half a step back, jerking your jeans down over your knees in one go, before settling his hands on your hips. He strokes greedily over the arches of the matching panties, fingers deft and impatient. They worm over and under the fabric, seemingly mesmerized by the same elaborate lace. “Such a fuckin’ tease.”

He kisses you again, bends his arm around your head, and tilts you backward. He keeps you on the backs of your heels, cupping your pussy over your panties, middle finger digging a trench against your wet seam. Your jeans fall and bunch around your ankles until the toe of a boot steps onto their cradle, and he helps you step out of them.

“Can–Can we please slow down?” You ask, holding onto his arms as you kick your jeans off.

Simon smiles, not too wide, just enough for the corners of his mouth to lift in what looks like an attempt. There’s something in his eyes—something dark, careful, and restrained.

“Alright.”

Simon swallows another request for him to take his shirt off and licks into your mouth. His arms band around your middle, mashing you together where you sit astride his lap. Chest to chest, belly to belly. Your stiff nipples chafe against the flowery broderie of your bra, its removal another ignored plea, and the gusset of your panties clings to your pussy, conforming to every fold. He rolls his hips up every so often up and into the wet spot or the cleft of your ass. Lazy but decisive, like he sits with you on a throne instead of your secondhand couch. Slow like you asked.

His teeth gradually nip sharper and sharper at your bottom lip, startling whimpers from your throat. Not enough to break the skin, but every scrape of his teeth pairs with a mean knead of your thighs and ass. Blunt fingernails prickle along the trim of your delicates and toy with the elastic, sending little zaps of a wary pleasure to your stomach. You attempt to inspire the same by raking your fingers through his buzzed hair, then intertwine them at his nape.

Your breath hitches when one of his hands leaves your bum to slip over the crux of your legs.

“Mm, you’re soaked through,” He grunts into your mouth, adjusting your position to grind his shaft more precisely. “Such a filthy little thing you are. Drippin’ just from a bit of attention.” He croons mockingly, chasing after your lips when you duck your head shyly. He sucks a point on your jaw and presses a digit over your clothed hole.

“Touch me.” You gasp, clenching around nothing but the possibility of being filled by something of his.

“Touch you?” He echoes with a taunting lilt in his gravelly voice. “What ‘appened to takin’ it nice and slow? Decide you’re a whore after all?”

Your cheeks smart hot, but the sparks of indignation fizzle under a wave of need. He hasn’t rendered you completely brainless yet. You’ve done the math and felt the sheer size of him under your ass. If ‘whore’ is the worst of it, you can tolerate his piss-poor dirty talk, catch the dick of your life, and kick him to the curb after.

Simon’s fingers flatten to your sex, rubbing four fingers across with his thumb pressed to your clit. He pulls back, watching your eyes flutter as you leak into the fabric and onto his palm. You imagine the stretch, coming hard and wet around his fingers first. You think about his cock, how hot it’ll feel spearing into you like this. You sink so quickly into fantasy you don’t notice his fingers, instead gathering the front of your panties until the edge scratches your skin.

Your eyes narrow, drifting back to reality. “What’re you–?”

His grip tightens, then he gives a sharp tug upwards.

A yelp flies out of you, and your hands immediately shove his chest, then grab for his wrist. He catches yours instead, interlocking them in one broad palm, and heaves them high like your panties. You cry out again as the material draws taut and mean over your clit and slips into your folds.

“Si-Simon! Stop!”

He holds on, chuckling as you try to arch out of his lap, hoisting your panties along so they stay firmly seated in and on your cunt.

“Nah, you’re too much fun like this,” Simon laughs. He toys with you, fingers squeezing your twitching wrists, yanking every few seconds. With each tug, he adjusts the angle slightly, seemingly keen on finding new notes for your pitchy warbling to hit. The elastic digs into your hips, the fabric rigid on your swollen clit.

“So fuckin’ useless like this. Helpless. Jus’ a little doll for me to play with.”

The seams stretch, audibly straining to the point you hope they rip. Hot and stinging tears bud at the corners of your eyes. He lowers his hand for a few seconds, providing momentary relief. His knuckles bump and brush through your bush, eliciting a low growl from him.

“How’s that for touchin’?” Simon reels you in, gaze flicking down. “Cunt’s practically eating these.“

It makes you look. It’s like he says. He saws the lace slowly, too unforgiving of a pressure to be anything but cruel. And though it does nothing for you, in fact, the opposite—he looks monstrous even through his clothes. You whimper at the sight of your tortured pussy next to his bulge.

“If you want me to stop…Then admit what you are.”

He lifts your panties, and you whimper. Tears drop onto his lap and more fall as you tremble uncomfortably. He leaves you dangling like that, occasionally bouncing his grip like your cunt’s a marionette. Stars burst and die behind your eyelids.

“C’mon.” He urges. “Say it—what are you?”

The sudden, searing, and thick presence of a sob lodged in your throat makes you hitch. It’s difficult to breathe around it. Shame and humiliation dig you further into a pit.

What sort of man have you taken home?

“A...whore.”

A thread snaps.

“That’s a good girl.”

#sy kinktober #kinktober #ghost x f!reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x f!reader #there is no sexy synonym for wedgie i fear

372 notes · View notes

lostinlads · 18 days ago

Text

Doctor's Orders

Synopsis:After a checkup with your favorite doctor regarding your heart and aether core, you invite him out clubbing with you and some friends.

Tags: zayne x femme!reader, MDNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR YOU WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, doctor!zayne, tara being the girlboss best friend she is, xavier mention, mc has trouble with her grief, zayne joking around a little!, mentions of alcohol, caleb and your grandmother mentioned

Words: 1.9k

an: howdyyy! so this first chapter is pretty short i know, but im just mainly setting it up for chapter two because things are going to go pretty fast within the next few chapters so i needed a grounding point! but!!! i hope you enjoy! this fic follows the story of the game a little closer than the others so caleb and your grandmother are going to be mentioned a bit in here! enjoyyyyy!

ao3 | Chapter List

You hiss between your teeth as the cold stethoscope touches your bare skin, eyes screwing shut. Zayne's large hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothing circles.

"I know," His voice so soft you almost didn't hear. "I'm sorry it is so cold." You peek an eye open, his hazel ones already staring into yours as you relax.

He listened to your beating heart, counting the seconds with your irregular rhythm. You watch as his cool eyes trail down from your eyes down to your chest, you know he's looking at where his ears are listening but your cheeks flush anyway at the thought of the possibility of his eyes drinking in your exposed flesh.

After countless appointments with him you couldn't help but feel the giddy, almost childlike feeling when he is this close to you. Within arm's reach, eyes stone as he works. The immature crush you have on your doctor was already bad in your eyes, but the fact he was also your childhood friend only made the situation worse for you. Heart speeding, hands clammy, shallow breaths with every brush of his icy hands. You couldn't help but imagine them running over your body, down your shoulder, around your waist.

"Your heart is beating faster," Zayne snaps you from your daydream. "Are you nervous?" You meet his eyes again, a crease forming between his brows.

"Sorry, just thinking about work!" The lie slips from your lips before you could think of anything else to say. A small quirk to the corner of his mouth, such a small movement you would have missed it if you weren't paying attention.

"You're a horrible liar, you know that?" Amusement flooding his tone, lifting the weight of the room. The small chuckle that leaves your lips bubbling out as he pulls the stethoscope from his ears.

"I'm not that bad," You try to reason. "And besides, it has been pretty stressful today. Tara and I have to be out early in the morning for a meeting, then back to fighting wanderers." You mope, hands coming up to button your shirt. Zayne's eyes watching your hands eagerly as they move to cover your cleavage.

"You have been taking your medications, correct? You have been having a rough time these past few months and you shouldn't stress your heart any more than you already have." Leaning back onto the chair, you nod. That wasn't exactly a lie either, you really have been taking them - most days at least. Some days a thick, blinding fog takes over your mind and you end up forgetting almost every basic task that should come easy to you. You don't tell Zayne this though, knowing he would say it's a trauma response to the tragedy you have faced, and that maybe you should see a therapist. He's said it before, many times in fact. Sick of hearing him try to push you from your work, the only thing taking your mind off of Caleb and your grandmother, you shut up, put on a happy face and convince everyone around you that you're better - happy even.

"I have. And staying away from stressors if I can and eating healthy." You don't mention the sleep, that lie wouldn't be able to be spoken. You know he can see the dark circles under your makeup, tracking the yawns falling from your lips. Every time you close your eyes you could hear the explosion, watch as the house engulfs in flames before your eyes as you stand there so helplessly. The nightmares drink you in, never letting you rest. Waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing as you gasp for air.

"Mm," He hums, satisfied. You played your cards right today, going through the rehearsed moments you have been reminding yourself on the ride here. "Finally, you have taken it upon yourself to listen to your doctor." He turns his back to you, placing his glasses down on his desk as he fills out your file. "I have to say I'm proud."

"It's hard not to listen when my doctor reminds me every time we hang out that I should be taking my meds, and that I should eat healthier, and everything else - even when he's taking me for ice cream." You tease back, a smirk plastered on your face as you cross your arms over your chest.

"He sounds like a very concerned friend, maybe you should listen to him more often," A smile can be heard in his words regardless of if you can see his face or not.

"Sounds like he's paranoid to me," You jab back, biting your lip as you try to fight back a laugh. He turns around, a brow quirked in the air. That breaks you, a laugh slipping past your lips as your shoulders shake.

"Sounds like someone likes to misbehave, no wonder he is paranoid as you say," Zayne walks over to you, placing a hand to your back to signal the dreaded appointment is over - finally. You could feel his cool touch through your shirt, spreading over your skin as goosebumps rise on your arms, breath hitching just slightly. He walks you to the door, opening it for you as you slip through to the waiting room, him following close behind. Tara comes into view, face buried in her phone as she types away.

"I'm finished!" You chirp, her head snapping up as a show stopping Tara smile spreads on her features.

"Oh my God, good because Xavier just texted that he's coming too. I'm trying to convince Simone, but she said she might have to cat sit that day, ugh!" She groans, throwing her head back dramatically.

"Where are you going?" Zayne asks from beside you, eyes flicking between you and Tara.

"Oh, we are planning on going out to Solstice on Saturday," A nightclub your friends at work have agreed to go, celebrating a job well done with all of the stressful shifts this month. You agree that it's what you need, loud music, flowing drinks, and friends that you can dance the night away with. Ease the tensions in your bones and maybe, just maybe, help lull you to sleep long enough you don't feel like a corpse in the morning. Tara perks up, almost jumping out of her seat to stand.

"Zayne! You should come with us!" A twitch of panic in your stomach as you slowly turn to Zayne, watching his face as he stands still for a pause. You can almost see the cogs in his brilliant brain move as he calculates why the hell your friend he hardly knows is inviting him out with your work friends.

"I'm not sure-" He starts but your mouth babbles out words before you could stop it.

"I mean I know you have been stressed and swamped with work, maybe going out for a drink or two would help..." You almost sound desperate as you try to convince him to come out, embarrassing yourself. "If you aren't working, I mean..." Words mumbling out as your cheeks burn so hot it hurts.

"I mean you two are friends and have hung out so it wouldn't be weird or anything, and we already had Nero decline to come. We reserved a booth for eight people so it would be a waste to let it go," She swoops in and saves you effortlessly, looking back down at her phone as it dings.

You watch Zayne as he turns to you, eyes fluttering over your flushed face as you nibble on your lip. He's thinking, as always. You silently plead with him, eyes widening and brows pulling together softly. It's been a long time since you two have hung out, far too long for your liking. Shifts never meeting up to have a day off together, and you missed him. Regardless of your stupid little crush, you longed for his company. So different from everyone else you hung out with, Zayne was slow, calming, you always felt relaxed and at ease with him. Anxiety washing away from your chest as you two go out to eat, or go to the library, something so mundane, so normal but also something you needed.

"Just one drink," You whisper just quiet enough for only him to hear. "If you're off you deserve to treat yourself Doctor Zayne." His eyes soften, to anyone else they wouldn't have noticed but you do. A glimpse of him when he's alone with you shows for a fleeting moment before he returns back to his professional facade.

"I'll give it some thought," He announces loud, Tara pipping her head back up with a smile.

"Yes!" She shouts in the quiet waiting room, fist punching in the air above her head. "If not it's totally fine though we won't hold a grudge or anything." She quips, picking up her bag from the chair and tosses it on her shoulder. You walk towards her, her hands fisting in her pockets to pull out her car keys.

"Thank you, Doctor Zayne," You shoot him a sweet smile, cheeks still so rosy. He nods towards you, a ghost of a smile blessing his oh so beautiful lips. Zayne watches the pair of you leave, hands shoved deep in his coat.

Tara and you make your way to her car, her babbling about this weekend in detail about who all is coming and what time to meet. She makes up for your loss of words, filling in every space you can't bear to say right now. You're grateful for that, she knows all too well how hard life has been to you, staying up late on the phone as you can't fall asleep, helping you do some reckless activities just to get out of bed, and when you can't be bothered to leave your room - coming over with takeout as you two watch shitty reality tv in your bedroom. She was someone you held so dearly to your heart and knew what you wanted without you saying so.

"Do you think Zayne is going to say yes? I mean I hardly see him leave his office unless he's with you." She questions. You shrug, it's hard to say since clubbing was far from the short list of activates you and Zayne stick to. And thinking back now, you don't ever remember seeing Zayne drink - who knew if he even does?

"I don't know, maybe he will. I mean he's been working double shifts almost every day this week so he might be too exhausted to even come out." You hope she doesn't note the twinge of disappointment in your tone, but you know she does.

"I hope he does, it would be fun to see him let loose for once!" She giggles, pulling into the parking lot of your apartment complex.

You shoot her a goodbye, hugging her quick before leaving the car and walking towards the door as the warm summer rays wash over your skin. You drink in the subtle moment, enjoying the last few days of warmer weather before the chill starts. Not that you minded, but the cold air nipping at your skin only reminded you of icy hands that you craved on your body. you shake your head, making your way inside the elevator as your phone pings, confusing you because Tara wouldn't be able to get to her home so fast. You pull it out of your pocket, maybe it's Xavier questioning what to wear or maybe he wants to grab hotpot with you later. You swipe the screen open, tapping to your text messages and the name that appears surprises you.

Zayne: I'll be there.

155 notes · View notes

daceydeath · 2 months ago

Text

After Party

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader Word Count: 0.7K Genre: Smut 🔞 Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Explicit Activities, Swearing, Alcohol

A/N: This is literally come from seeing Hyunjin be too damn fine at the Versace show I have no excuse other than it's his own fault.

You had seen him at the show, his beauty accentuated by the sultry unbuttoned silk shirt and thin black choker but avoided him, sitting far from him you had managed to stay mostly out of his sight as he mingled and participated in interviews after the show. Now changed into a less structured dress you hoped that you would have the same luck at the party you were now stepping into. The drinks flowing and the music loud you were able to see glimpses of him as he danced his red leather trench flashing brightly as he moved. But as you drank and laughed your caution dropped you found yourself exactly where he wanted you to be. Your back pressed against a door you dress hitched up around your waist as his hands wandered across your burning skin.

“Hyunjin, we need to stop” you breathed, the warning lacking any conviction as you continued to kiss his lips between words. “You know we can’t”.

“Is that really what you want darling?” he smirked, kissing you deeply as swallowing the small gasp you let escape your throat. His fingers moved your underwear aside to let his fingers trace your damp folds. “You still can’t just admit you are mine and not his”.

His coat had been dropped to the floor somewhere behind him he had let go of it the moment he had cornered you in the empty room, now with his black trousers undone enough to get them halfway down his thighs he roughly sheathed himself inside you you eyes opening wide as you silently cried out his hips not stopping to give you even a second to adjust before he began thrusting into you with harsh desperation.

"Hyunie" you whined brokenly, your breath being punched out of you with each movement of his cock. "Please, I can’t…".

"Tell me to stop then" He strained his voice thin "Tell me you don't want my cock so deep inside you, you will never forget how it feels". You clenched and moaned, your head falling back against the door, your brain starting to fog with pleasure too much to even comprehend how to speak.

"Ah... Ngh... Hyunjin" you breathed unable to make a sentence of even two words while his lips and tongue work on your neck nipping and sucking lightly at your flesh. “Please, more”.

"That's what I thought, you will always be mine darling" he uttered sensually moving his lips to mesh with yours, his tongue licking into your mouth which you were so willing to allow. Feeling the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix was sending red hot tendrils of pleasure through your body forcing you to pull him in closer with your leg that had remained tightly wrapped around his hip when he had placed it earlier.

"Fuck I need you so bad" Hyunjin groaned against your lips "Need to fill you, breed you, own you". His words were making you spiral the already insane level of pleasure from his perfect length pounding into you was sending you hurtling toward your high. Your thighs twitched and your eyes blurred with unshed tears until finally you broke, cuming so hard around him that his hips stuttered as your walls fluttered and gripped him so tightly you thought you might pass out.

"Hyunnie... Fuck Hyunnie" you sobbed feeling him resuming his previous pace each time he pressed into you the dull ache that followed him making you squirm in his grip.

"Relax darling I got you" he soothed his heavy panting against you neck slowing the speed of his hips and letting you breathe your vision is hazy now white dots appearing around the edges of the room but Hyunjin just kisses you again his lips soft and comforting contrasting in the best way to how he's pounding into your sopping cunt. "Only mine darling, only ever mine".

Each word leaving you shivering and gasping as you cum again only this time after a few more thrust Hyunjin follows you filling you with his hot seed as he presses himself as deep as he can inside your quaking walls.

"Hyunnie I..." You whisper, unable to trust your voice to come out properly.

"I know darling, I love you too. I always will" he smiles against your lips before kissing them sweetly.

a/n: Thank you for reading my loves you support, likes, reblogs and comments are my greatest encouragements and I appreciate you endlessly for them.

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz @armystay89 @damnyouficc @roamingpolar

@tara-skyhold @bakedlilgoonie @krishastumblernow @mrsseals16 @fawnpeaks

@leeknowinggg @tanzen-ist-gold @uno7 @ocean-dreamer-sky-chaser

#hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin smut #hyunjin hard thoughts #hyunjin hard hours #stray kids smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #skz smut #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz hard hours

385 notes · View notes

driftersreverie · 7 months ago

Text

For the lifetime he has lived, Scaramouche had nothing to favor.

There was nothing for him to pick, anyway. He had no hobbies, for all the tasks he learnt to do in the past were just that - tasks. He'd done those out of a need for a purpose, a drive for validation, but Scaramouche was no longer a fledgling stranded on a branch. Flowers and trees are all the same to him, and this unsubstantial world never lacked its flora anyway - always something new to find, to marvel at, then to be bored of in the end. Don't even get him started on mortals — animals and humans alike — that lived the most boring and short and miniscule lives when compared to the lifespan he spent alive. Scaramouche would spit and scowl and curse -- how absurd for one to think he'd care for another worthless life that would just die out in barely half a year he'd know them.

Scaramouche had nothing special to call his favourite, and there was no reason for him to do so then.

But the Wanderer does now.

The Wanderer wakes up in the morning, mechanically so yet humanly still blinking away the fog of sleep. He forgets not his hat, not his scarf, and definitely not the personality of a man-puppet that's lived 500 years and more, then he leaves Buer's side to find you.

His day only truly begins when it's your face that he sees first. He wastes no time; he greets you, says his 'hello's, maybe add something remarkably sassy just to see you hold back your irritation and force a smile so awfully unlike you. The Wanderer snickers, a battle won in which he knows you liked him enough not storm off like a certain "senior" Kshahrewar (he's older, mind you) or scatter like bugs on a kitchen floor. Without warning, you then held his hand in yours, perfectly fit as all things should be, and he doesn't shy away - at least, you don't think so. The only thing that gave him away, had you looked closer, is the downwards tilt of his hat, and the uncharacteristic smile he cannot suppress.

With you, the Wanderer finds good company in ridiculous, inaccurate history books; in boring, nosy lectures he loathed to join; in the busy streets and bustling bazaars that he disliked strolling through; and in the stillness of the night and his quiet mind. He never realizes it, but he looks forward to seeing that wonderful smile on your face. Every sarcastic quip he would anticipate your bright laugh, no matter how many times he'd call it grating for his mechanical ears. In each and every joyous expression, this childish and naive puppet hopes that he'd remain the sole reason for them.

Yes, the Wanderer fails to see a reason to start having favourites in this new chance of life, but he didn't need a reason nor excuse to allow you to claim your place in his heart - his number one priority and first exception to everything.

(And because I partake in EBG; @iceunhie @naraven . Thank me later ;D - assistant)

#- gales of reverie #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x reader #wanderer fluff #wanderer x reader #genshin x reader #wanderer genshin #scaramouche genshin impact

281 notes · View notes

deliciousangelfestival · 5 months ago

Text

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! - 6

Character : Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Summary: It's just a business marriage. Bucky thought it would be easy until he encountered the stepsister of his fiancée. She turned his world upside down.

The Malicious Daughter Is Back! Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || Support : Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Bucky doesn’t understand what the heck just happened.

When he carried her into the house, the smell of lemongrass gave him nostalgia.

He gently put your grandma down on her bed. Then he went to the living room. You followed him after putting the blanket on Cassandra.

You found him standing near the air humidifier.

“This smell...” Bucky murmured, taking in the scent.

“Was the smell too strong? It's to calm my grandma's cough,” you explained, watching his reaction.

He shook his head slightly, still looking puzzled. “No, it’s not that. It’s just... familiar.”

You tilted your head, trying to understand. “Seriously, why didn’t you have an episode when you held my grandma?”

Bucky shook his head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. “I still don’t understand it.” His eyes wandered to the photos on the wall, lingering on one where a younger you stood next to your grandma. You wore a plaid skirt, and the scarf around Cassandra’s neck seemed oddly familiar.

“Ugh,” he groaned suddenly, clutching his head as a sharp pain struck. He stumbled back, nearly losing his balance.

“Bucky!” you exclaimed, rushing to his side.

He crouched down, falling to his knees as he was overwhelmed by a flashback. The disgusting laugh of the day he was kidnapped echoed in his mind.

“HAHAHAHA! We will be rich,” one of the kidnappers had said. Bucky clenched his teeth, the memory resurfacing with brutal clarity.

He hated this memory. He had tried so hard to lock it away.

“Oh my god, why is there a kid—? Are you okay?” A woman's voice and her silhouette appeared in his mind.

That voice. Her voice sounded familiar.

“Bucky!” You shook his shoulders, desperate to bring him back to the present.

Bucky snapped out of his nightmare, gasping for breath. His eyes were teary and red as he looked at you with a mix of fear and confusion.

“Are you okay?” you asked, your voice trembling with concern. You gently touched his arm, grounding him.

Bucky got up abruptly. “Sorry, but I have to go.”

“Wait,” you called out, reaching for him.

But he was already moving swiftly, his long strides taking him out the door and into his car. The engine roared to life, and the car sped off down the street.

You stood there, watching the taillights disappear into the night, a mix of worry and frustration knotting in your stomach. You could only hope he drove safely.

While driving, his headache eased after he left your place. But something had triggered his memory. What triggered it?

Was it because of you?

💋💋💋💋💋

He returned to his apartment, his mind racing with questions. That night, he had the same nightmare again. But tonight was different. Alongside the voice of his kidnapper, he could hear another voice.

He woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat.

The next morning, when Javier arrived at his clinic, he saw Bucky in the basement parking lot, just getting out of his car with a pale face.

“Bucky, you look terrible. What happened?” Javier asked, concern etched on his face.

Bucky, leaning heavily against the car, ran a shaky hand through his hair. “I had the nightmare again, but this time there was another voice. It felt...familiar.”

Javier looked at Bucky with surprise. “You got another episode?”

Bucky nodded, his face set with determination. “I want to remember everything.”

Javier was taken aback. As Bucky's psychiatrist from the start, he had always tried to help Bucky forget the traumatic events. This was a significant change.

“Alright, let’s get you relaxed and start the hypnosis session,” Javier said, guiding Bucky into his office.

Bucky lay down on the comfortable recliner, closing his eyes. Javier dimmed the lights, creating a calming atmosphere. He began speaking in a low, soothing voice.

“Bucky, I want you to take a deep breath. Inhale slowly...and exhale. Let all your tension melt away. You are in a safe place. As you listen to my voice, feel yourself sinking deeper and deeper into relaxation.”

Bucky's breathing slowed, and his body relaxed. Javier continued, “Now, I want you to imagine a staircase. With each step you take, you’ll go deeper into your memories. Ten steps down, each one taking you closer to the memory you seek. Ten...nine...eight...”

Bucky's mind drifted back. He felt himself being pulled into the past, into a dark and cold place. The air was thick with dampness, and the sound of water dripping echoed around him. He could see nothing but shadows.

Then, suddenly, he saw a door open. Light streamed in, and he ran towards it with every ounce of strength. His heart pounded, his breath ragged, but he didn’t stop. He ran as far as he could from the kidnappers.

Flashback Starts

The sky was already dark, and he was hungry and thirsty.

He ran away from the abandoned factory where the kidnappers were hiding. Bucky was able to escape when one of them didn't check the locked door.

Not wanting to miss the chance, he ran as fast as possible.

After running for a while his legs felt weak, but he kept going. Across a lake, he saw a small house with lights on.

He hoped someone was inside, but his legs had given out. He stumbled and fell to the ground, his eyes growing heavy.

He thought this was his last lifeline until he heard a voice.

“Oh my God. Why is there a kid here? Are you okay?” The woman’s voice echoed in his mind.

In his memory, he barely opened his eyes, but one particular thing that caught his eye was the woman wearing a patterned blue silk scarf. He felt his body being held by someone. The way he was held was different from the person who kidnapped him.

He felt protected.

Younger Bucky felt his back rest against something soft. He didn't realize how much he missed the comfort of a bed until, because of the kidnapping, he found himself resting on a cold floor.

His body felt warm, and the aroma of the place was different from before. No more smell of tobacco. Instead, it was the scent of eucalyptus and lemongrass.

He heard someone calling, though the name was unclear. He caught snippets of the conversation.

“Could you watch over him? I'm going to call the police,” said the first voice, concerned.

“Okay. But... is he alright?” the second voice asked, sounding younger.

“I don't think so,” the adult woman replied, her tone worried.

Bucky’s mind struggled to piece together the fragments of memory. The warmth, the scents, and the voices mingled in a haze as he drifted between consciousness and sleep.

He felt something gently wipe the sweat from his forehead. “You're safe. My grandma will call the police.”

Bucky exhaled. He struggled to lift his hand, then he felt the one who accompanied him hold it. Her hand felt soft and warm. He murmured, “Thank you.”

He slowly opened his eyes to see the person near him. The silhouette began to clear.

It was you. A younger you. And the older woman who carried him is your grandma.

Flashback End

Bucky woke up from his hypnotized state, breathing heavily. He looked at Javier, his eyes wide with realization. “I remembered,” he said, his voice trembling with the intensity of the memories flooding back.

🍷🍷🍷🍷

At the anniversary party of Celestial Enterprise, the atmosphere buzzed with opulence and excitement. The grand ballroom of the luxury hotel was adorned with crystal chandeliers casting sparkling light across the room.

Tables draped in deep blue silk tablecloths and gold accents were laden with exquisite white roses and lilies floral arrangements. Soft jazz music played in the background, adding a touch of elegance to the evening.

Guests mingled, holding glasses of champagne and exchanging pleasantries. Many were long-time associates, loyal clients, and esteemed partners of Celestial Enterprise, celebrating its 60th year in business. The air was filled with the hum of conversation, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter.

Victoria, radiant in a shimmering silver gown that hugged her figure, was undeniably the star of the evening. Her blonde hair was styled in loose waves, and her makeup was flawless, highlighting her striking features. She moved gracefully through the crowd, accepting congratulations and compliments with a practiced smile.

Her friends, a group of equally well-dressed socialites, surrounded her, their chatter blending with the general noise of the party.

One of her friends, a brunette in a sleek red dress, leaned in closer. “Victoria, darling, was the rumor true that you and Bucky...?” she trailed off, raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Victoria shyly nodded her head.

“You’re so lucky. I’m so jealous,” one of her friends said, her voice tinged with envy.

Victoria put her pointed finger to her lips, leaning in conspiratorially. “But you have to keep it a secret,” she said, acting humble, though inwardly she was thrilled to see the jealousy in their eyes.

“You’ve secured your future with the most wanted bachelor.”

Victoria waved a hand dismissively, though she couldn’t hide her smirk. “You guys… stop it.”

“What about your older sister? She must be jealous,” one of the guests chimed in, joining the conversation.

Victoria flinched slightly at the mention of you, but she quickly recovered, taking a sip of her wine. She feigned a kind smile. “If she came home, our parents would introduce her to someone better.”

“Better than Bucky? Good luck!” They all burst into laughter.

“By the way, will he come to this party?” her friends asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

Victoria’s smile wavered for a moment. “Probably. He told me he would be late,” she replied, taking another sip of her wine. In truth, Bucky hadn’t given any reply, and she felt a pang of anxiety at his absence.

Oblivious to her inner turmoil, her friends continued to fawn over her, showering her with compliments and admiration. Victoria maintained her composed exterior, though her mind was racing, wondering why Bucky hadn’t responded and if he would show up.

She knew Bucky was a quiet person. "Challenging" was the perfect word to describe him. But she would be patient. She didn't want to be pushy and irritate him.

She resolved to act with patience, hoping Bucky would realize she was perfect for him.

“Ooh… it’s him,” one of the guests exclaimed, spotting someone entering the party.

Victoria’s eyes lit up as she saw Bucky arrive. She felt relief wash over her, grateful she wouldn’t have to make excuses for his absence.

With a beautiful smile, she moved to approach her fiancé. All she had to do was stand beside Bucky and bask in the envy of everyone around her.

But her excitement was short-lived when she saw Bucky holding hands with another woman.

Victoria’s grip on her wine glass tightened, the tension evident in her white knuckles. If anyone had been close enough, they might have noticed the glass starting to crack.

Beside Bucky walked another woman, her beauty undeniable as she glided gracefully in her elegant dress.

“Are you sure he’s engaged to Victoria?” another guest whispered, their words barely audible but still carrying across the room. The murmurs began to spread, and Victoria could feel anger rising.

The sight of Bucky holding hands with someone who wasn’t her, his fiancée, filled her with rage.

Of all the women in the world, why does it have to be you?

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@thetravelingtyper

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@chemtrails-club

@dexter99

@seresingirlie

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@tfatwsoldir

@itsteambarnes

@toldyouitwasamelodrama

@sapphirebarnes

@thedonswife13

@angelbabyyy99

@cjand10

@esposadomd

@buckitostan

@wh0reforbucknasty

@bada-lee-ily

@evie-119

@mrsstuckyboo

@ghalouha

@iamasimpingh0e

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

245 notes · View notes

lethby · 3 months ago

Text

The story of how Mammon fell first (and hard) ⍣ ೋ

Pairing: Mammon x GN!reader

Summary: What was going through Mammon's stupid (-ly cute) head the first few chapters of the game. And how mc survived the Devildom (mc angst yay)

You were a stupid human. There you stood, with that dumbfounded look in your eyes, scanning the foreign area with tensed shoulders. You couldn't look any more similar to a deer. A yummy and juicy deer in a lion cage.

"Mammon will be your guardian and he will ensure your safety in your stay here."

Say what now? This must be the most unfunny prank Lucifer has pulled on him. After some whining and protests, he learned that it was no prank. Come on, really? THE great Mammon babysitting some lousy human? This is even worst than all the three hour lectures combined!

He hated the idea, and made it very clear. Seriously, couldn't you walk any faster? Cat got your tongue? Stop being so startled by everything, it's driving him insane.

You, on the other hand, were about to cry. You were just sitting in your comfy bed looking through your phone and the next second you spawn on the literal pits of hell. You're following a strange demon that very clearly doesn't want anything to do with you. He was complaining to you nonstop about how much of a nuisance you are, how you look like the perfect meal and you can't really do anything about it because of how weak you are. Thanks.

You're walking a path completely unfamiliar to you under the eternal moonlight that gave very little light to your surroundings. Whispers and growls from the vicinities were driving you insane (that's two). Were they monsters? Demons? You didn't know, and that scared you.

You didn't know when you entered some classy big house, but the walls were already suffocating and the statues were gnawing at your mind.

Suddenly, all of the sounds drowned in your ears and became a mere vibration in your brain.

'I don't wanna be here. I wanna go home.'

When Mammon looked behind, he noticed the lifeless eyes that stared into the nothingness and sighed annoyed. You weren't listening to him! Just how much dumber can you get?

Then, a loud noise interrupted your trance, snapping you out of it. You put your guard up as an angry demon came straight in your direction two steps at a time. He shouted at Mammon for something about money. Your fogged mind didn't really comprehend much.

What you did comprehend was your so called guardian pushing you against the angry demon as bait while he made a run for it. The words spoken earlier about being nothing more than demon food replayed in your head like a broken disk.

'This is where I die'

Fortunately, the demon, whose name was Leviathan, showed the minimum manners you'd expect for a demon and left you be for the most part. Also, his room was nice. Like a peaceful change of scenery from all the dangers and noises of outside. You didn't mention it, but he caught you staring at his aquarium and jellyfish lights, so he hesitantly enlarged your stay. Just a little. Not much. He couldn't stand normies in his room.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the House of Lamentation, Mammon was laughing his ass off. He killed two birds with one stone, avoiding Levi and getting rid of you. At least for now, since he wouldn't hear the end of it if Lucifer found out he was totally evading his responsibility. However, at the moment he was just thinking about going to the casino and win some Grimm, easily forgetting about you. Why would he care, either way?

That night, when all the lights were out, the only soul who couldn't sleep was your own. In the silence of the late hours, there were no distractions keeping your thoughts to wander, so they did. The realization of the whole situation came crashing down like a waterfall. You laid with your eyes open, seeing but not watching. Your body was being hugged in a soft but harsh embrace by the unfamiliar sheets. The light of the little lamps, hanged on the strange tree, slightly illuminated the room. It wasn't even your room. It was a room. An unknown room in an unknown world.

'I'm not going home'

That thought prevailed on top of the other ringing ones. Cold tears slide through your numb face. You didn't bother wiping them as they kept falling from your eyes like dense, thick honey. You couldn't fall asleep, but you didn't want to be awake either. You didn't want to be right now.

The following morning, you tried to maintain a natural facade. Your dry answers made your voice sound alien to you, having used it so little since you arrived.

Mammon couldn't be more fed up with your attitude. Don't you know that makes you easy prey? He made sure to tell you. He was doing you a favor, you know? He doesn't understand why you become rigid at his statement, he was giving you a piece of advice.

The day continued without much change. Demons looked your way and licked their lips. You almost felt naked under their watching gaze, standing with your tail between your legs. You tried to follow along with Levi's plan about Mammon's credit card. Goldie, was it? Anyway, it's not that you were inspired to pass Lucifer's lie detector, but you did it anyways.

Your memory is incapable of remembering much of the day as you stood before the freezer. Levi had a frozen Goldie in his hand and Mammon was yapping about something, mostly complaining.

Your body worked on autopilot until you felt a burning sensation in your hand. You dazedly lifted it to see a yellow mark on the back of it. How did that get there?

Mammon swore he was about to lose it. You just made a pact with THE great Mammon and you looked like you didn't care. He grew himself to hate that emotionless expression on your face. He thought you would be less annoying if you showed any sign of, I don't know, humanness? Even demons reacted more than you! You could at least laugh at his jokes. That would be... Nice, I guess.

From that point on, you drowsily made it to your room. You sat on your bed and looked at the mark on your skin. You should be happy, shouldn't you? At least Mammon was now forced to protect you if you said so. He's the second oldest, that meant strong, or something, right? So why were you crying again? Why was it quietly raining on the golden pact? Yet another night filled with many water droplets that made a depressing pattern on the sheets. However, as numerous as they were, they all felt lonely and abandoned, like the eyes that shed them.

Mammon also wanted to cry, but for other reasons. Say embarrassment, if you had to name it. He was kicking every object in the floor that had the misfortune to make contact with his feet. Not so silent grunts echoed in the walls as he paced through his room. He forcefully shoved a pillow against his own face and screamed his heart out. Stupid human! Stupid! Incoherent curses left his lips until late at night, when he fell asleep.

The next morning, Mammon tapped his foot impatiently. It was already becoming unbearable with the constant berating of his brothers, that were making fun of him. THE great Mammon doesn't wait for no one! Well, except you, I suppose. But that's because he has to!

When you finally came down, Mammon scoffed and pulled you along, not leaving you time to have breakfast. Fine, it's not like you were hungry, anyways. You've lost your appetite ever since coming here. Three days into the Devildom and you looked the same as day one, if not worse. It was getting harder to breathe as timed passed and the dark circles under your eyes were starting to rival the dimness of the night sky.

The day followed as usual. You really hoped you weren't expected to get good grades here, because everything that managed to get into your brain left rapidly like a ghost train with no passengers. You only caught something about a TSL tournament against Levi. Why did you agree to that again? Oh yeah, to enter his room. Why did you want to...? Nevermind, you only knew that one moment you were at RAD and the next you were walking home with Mammon.

He was ranting about something about the casino or Lucifer, as usual. You didn't mind the background noise of a somewhat known (although rather annoying) voice for the most part. However, what he said next as he flicked your forehead wasn't part of that 'most'.

"Ya know, yer lucky I take time off my very busy schedule to walk ya home. If you keep spacin' out like that, yer only makin' yourself an easy prey to any passerby!"

Three times. He now has called you 'prey' three times. You stopped in your tracks with your head low, nails stabbing your palms in a fist. Mammon looked confusedly at you after noticing you fell behind. The sight of your figure made him both exasperated and... was that worry? Nah, just exasperated. You murmured something under your breath he didn't quite catch.

"Huh? You gotta speak louder that that, deer"

That's it. You suddenly lifted your chin, locking eyes with his deep blue ones. Mammon visibly flinched at the hatred they held. That raw emotion radiating from your pure anger was the first time he saw you actually alive.

"I said, stop calling me that. I get it, really do. I'm nothing more than a stupid, defenseless piece of meat that got trapped into a world filled with wild beasts willing to have a bite, I know. You think I asked for this?! I have enough with the situation as a whole for you to keep reminding me of it!"

In that moment, your voice didn't sound like it was yours, but it still spoke what your heart felt. The demon in front of you was left speechless. To him, your outburst was an overreaction that caught him by surprise, not knowing the pent up pressure you hid in your fragile body. Now, it was his brain's turn to not process the information around him, since when he snapped out of his trance, you were already a few meters ahead stomping your way to the House of Lamentation.

He fucked up. He knew he fucked up. Ever since seeing the way your brows furrowed the moment you first interacted, Mammon knew he was fucking up. Every part of him was screaming at him, but he didn't dare to admit it, not even to himself.

So even now, he hid behind a mask of annoyance. Look at you, walking just ahead of him without care. When he told you to show emotion, he didn't mean that you could get angry at him! How dare you yell at the Great Mammon like that?! Don't you know how easily someone could attack you there all alone? Don't you know that any demon could kill you with ease? Don't you know how much you look like prey-...

...

Don't you know how bad he doesn't want that to happen?

By the time you reached the House of Lamentation, your anger hadn't subsided one bit. It was like all your pent up emotions mixed homogeneously into anger and exploded uncontrollably. Even so, you don't regret that happening. Why would you? You've been treated like nothing but a nuisance ever since you stepped foot here. Regret comes from realizing bad choices, and the only one you've made was letting these demons drag you to hell.

You make a dash to the room you've grown accustomed to and quickly close the door without slamming it from frustration, not trying to get unwanted attention. When you stand under the tree lights is when you notice the pools in your eyes, ready to cascade at any moment.

'Shit, this always happens when I'm angry'

You rub furiously at your wet eyes to get rid of the tears and, when that doesn't work, you throw yourself on the bed and scream into the nearest pillow. Too tired to get up, you close your eyes for a moment, waiting for your mind to find peace on its own. Or at least some silence.

You don't realize when or how long you've been asleep, but your cheeks are dry when a knock in your door wakes you up. You really didn't want to answer, but the knocks only got more frequent and impatient the more you ignored them. You hesitantly untangle yourself from your sheets and get to the door.

To your demise, at the other side was the last person you wanted to see at the moment. Mammon stood there in a futile attempt to check on you before nighttime. He looked everywhere except you, hoping he didn't have to stare at your hatred eyes again.

"You didn't come for dinner."

You've slept the day.

"Didn't feel like it." You lied

Mammon furrowed his brows and put his hands in his hips hoping it would boost his own confidence.

"Don't humans have to eat to survive? If ya starve to death, Lucifer will kill me."

You've been like shit for the past three days and now he worries. Real smooth, Mammon. At your lack of response, Mammon realized he was losing you, so he quickly tried to come up with something else.

"Anyways... You have the TSL tournament with Levi tomorrow, dontcha? Well lucky for you, the Great Mammon has brought you the series so you can watch them tonight! I still think yer gonna lose hard against the nerd but-"

You tuned out the rest of his speech and looked at the wall beside you. You definitely didn't want to speak to, listen to or be with Mammon. You didn't want to go to the tournament and you didn't want to spend the night binge watching this random TSL thing. Despite all the things you didn't want to do, Mammon still pushed you inside and prepared the TV. You sulkily sat in your bed making yourself comfortable, trying not to kick the demon off when he sat beside you.

A couple of hours passed and you were hating every part of this. The show, Mammon and everything... Or that's what you thought would happen.

In reality, you felt a familiar yet longing feeling of... Home. The series was actually not bad and, being used to movie nights back in the human world, you were at more ease doing something you enjoyed. Besides, it kept your mind occupied and away from everything, which you wish you could have done before. Finally, though you hate to admit it, Mammon's presence was actually not so bad. His comments were actually funny and it gave you the feeling of hanging out with your friends, forgetting the events from before. You've never felt like this here, but you weren't complaining for once.

Meanwhile, Mammon was having his own silent crisis besides you. He was sure you were having the worst time of your life. How could you not? You skipped dinner just to not see him! Besides, he locked himself in your own room forcing you to watch something for a stupid contest. But he wasn't doing it on purpose, he swears! He actually was here in an attempt to make amends with you. However, getting the words out was proving to be more difficult than he thought. He tried to ease the atmosphere by joking around, but his knee was still bouncing in a constant rhythm. Mammon wasn't akin to apologizing, much less to a human.

Minutes turned into hours and he honestly was about to explode. He stopped paying attention a while ago and even began sweating. Unable to hold off any longer and despite his awkwardness, he turned to you with his eyes closed.

"Human, I-"

A soft, mermaid-like sound followed a funny scene in the screen, interrupting him, but it was not part of the show. The demon shifted his attention to the source of it, and then it hit him. You. It was your laughter.

That was the second time he saw you express any kind of emotion, but the first he saw the way the corners of your lips tilted upwards and your eyes squint while trapping a warm shine within them. Mammon saw you in another light, a light that newly illuminated your features since you came to the Devildom. A light that showed your smile. And damn, how pretty it was.

He then took notice of your posture, with details for the first time. From the way your legs intertwined with one another to how your arms kept a pillow close to your chest with relaxed shoulders. Where you always like this? No, no you weren't. Right now, in his eyes, you were far from the scared deer that annoyed him so much; now feeling like he was looking at one of those elegantes statues in Diavolo's castle. He still hadn't realized, but your smile trapped him like a siren's song. Your humanness he oh so wanted you to show now left him speechless.

He didn't know when the marathon ended, but he found himself waving you goodbye casually at the other side of your door. To his surprise, you tiredly waved back, although with no smile painting your face. In that moment, walking back to his room, he just thought of ways to see it again. To see your light.

When he landed on the comfort of his sheets, he felt once more the pact that tied you together and didn't feel embarrassment or hatred anymore. He felt something else deep within his heart, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on. A sense of connection he never felt before.

Then he sat up in a swift.

...He didn't apologize!

He threw his hands to his face and groaned, although the frustration in it not directed at you now, but at himself. He had yet to realize that it was always at himself.

You on the other hand just went to bed first thing to catch the hours of sleep taken from you. However, your mind stayed clear and your cheeks remained dry for the first time under de Devildom's sky.

The next day followed as usual. Everyone in the House of Lamentation woke up, had breakfast and headed to RAD following their own routine. You and Mammon did no different, but both of you could tell the atmosphere shifted for the better. Your eyes shined in a way that made him forget all the reserved glares, and Mammon made sure to not comment on anything that could make you uncomfortable. It was like a weight cleared off your minds and the heavy air was easier to breathe. Where before you found an obstacle, now you saw a person, a friend even.

At RAD, you even tried to socialize a little more. You found that the best way to cope with the situation was to actually try and enjoy it. Surprisingly enough, chatting with the other exchange students proved to flow rather easily, interacting more than you've ever had here. What stood up to the angels and Solomon, although they didn't mention it and despite their initial surprise, was your contrasting behavior that made the atmosphere so light. Thankfully, they left with content, and so did you.

Although you still had a long way to go, the mist of terror that obscured your eyes dissipated enough to let some light pass through, which you were grateful for.

However, as the school hours finished and the time for TSL tournament approached, a unnerving feeling squeezed your chest. You had come up with a plan in the morning, and you even got the help of Simeon. The plan, unfortunately, had a major flaw, as you were advised that taunting the Avatar of Envy's sin was a dangerous game to play, lethal even. And you weren't in the mood to play games.

The brother's all headed to the tournament's location, whether their intentions varied from amusement to seeking shed blood was not for the demons to judge. Admits the powerful beings, stood one that didn't attend for neither reason.

While Mammon walked at his own pace, suddenly his shirt was tugged. He turned confusedly and, when he saw you gripping his clothes with one hand as you looked directly at the floor, something pulled at his heartstrings. A feeling that was forced out of him when your voice snapped him out of his trance.

"Will you come if things go south?" You said barely above a whisper.

That was the longest sentence you spoke to him ever. Well, when you weren't angrily putting him in his place.

"Huh?"

Confused by the many elements you surprisingly decided to display before him, your question caught him off guard. However, seeing as you kept your mouth shut and shifted in your spot, he quickly turned to you completely.

"Ah- I mean, of course! What kind of guardian would I be if I didn't? Count on me!"

The slight hope in your eyes allowed his to muscles relax. And when he saw that light, he remembered that night. But most importantly, he remembered what he didn't say. His usual easy chat turned dry in his throat at the thought, but he had to get it out of his chest. While you confusedly looked at his still stance with a brow raised, he looked at you with a new determination in his eyes.

"I-" His hands sweaty and his ego shattering, he still looked at you "I'm sorry for calling you prey" ...That was easier than he thought-

"You're forgiven"

What?

I mean, this is what he hoped for but... Your immediate response made his eyes widen as he stared at you dumbfounded. Meanwhile, yours dropped, but not with the melancholy Mammon was used to. They dropped in softness. He already lost count of the times he got lost in them.

Your steps felt light approaching Levi, whether they were from determination or dizziness, you were not sure. Orange irises looked down on you without a drop of doubt he would win. Feeling small, you glanced to the side and caught deep blue eyes looking back at you. With mixed emotions, you took a deep breath as Asmo extravagantly initiated the duel.

You noticed the difference on difficulty on the questions and you didn't know if you should be grateful or worried, feeling the amusement in Asmo's voice as Levi's frustration grew more evident.

Then, the moment of truth came. You played with your fingers as you recited future events that were yet to appear in the show, leaving the demon before you speechless. Just as you finished your rambling, your gaze caught coral-like horns and a dark tail slashing the air with a frightening speed and strength. You tensed and the danger everyone has warned you about ran through your veins with a chill. Levi's predatory look made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You were prey.

Mammon jumped in your aid the moment your eyes locked with his in a cry for help. His help. He wasn't the fastest for nothing. You didn't even have to use the pact to get him running in your aid. He wanted to save you. He had to. Not because Lucifer told him or, heck, even Diavolo. He had to because he cared. Because he didn't want to see you hurt. However, the world, along with his heart, made a flip as his knees connected with the floor, his will to get up forced down by the slippery surface.

'Fuck, I'm not gonna make it'

His frown deepened as he saw you backing away from Levi and falling, making a pained expression. Just when he was about to unleash his demon form to get to you, two pairs of black feathery wings blocked your figure from the aggressive demon's way.

His lips let out a shaky breath, but the shine in his eyes still wavered. He couldn't pay attention to the scene unfolding before him; how Lucifer calmed down Levi with the help of Diavolo and his brothers gripped the wood railing in anticipation. No, his focus was entirely submitted to you.

His pupils shrunk as he scanned the way your chest rapidly rose and fell with each panicked breath. How your eyes trembled as they stared at the floor beneath. And most importantly, how you clutched your red wrist close to your chest.

His heart clenched and his thoughts ran wild.

'They got hurt. They are hurt. I couldn't save them. They're scared. I let this happen. I should have saved them. They trusted me to. They hate me. They're hurt. They-'

...

The walk back to the House of Lamentation was tense. Silence prevailed except for the occasional whispers of the brothers. Levi stomped his way to the front leaving the others behind while you slowly walked in the back. Besides you was Mammon, who kept sending you quick glances from time to time. However, you didn't get to notice, occupied in your small steps and shaky breaths.

Your mind ran wild like it never had before. You almost died. That reality felt so far yet so suffocating, enhancing the stinging pain in your wrist. You were helpless. Small. Weak. Every noise and movement in your peripheral echoed in your head like a broken radio. Like before. You were sent back to zero.

The depressing steps to your room fell on deaf ears. Accompanied by two demons, Mammon and Beel, you sat on your bed on autopilot. It felt dry under you, but you knew how it soaked in your sadness numerous times, and you had a feeling it wouldn't be long before it did again.

The mattress sunk on both sides, and you couldn't stop the flinch of your body when a tanned hand reached for yours with a first aid kit nearby. You hated how you were scared of that hand crushing your already damaged wrist. A hand that you've once reached out for. You hated how you couldn't stop your muscles from tensing. How your jaw clenched. How your breath wavered. How you could only see spiky fangs and horns on the demons that came to comfort you.

You didn't register the bickering of the other two, not how one stood up and left until the door closed.

Mammon really tried to bandage your frail wrist as best as he could, but he was distracted by constantly glancing up every few seconds. He checked your eyes and the way they gazed into nothingness. And he checked again and again and again, because he couldn't believe it. Because he didn't want to believe it. The light that once filled your eyes with emotion faded away. That light he grew to search for as a candle in a snow storm, gone; replaced again by the lifeless shell of your irises.

That was until they shone, but with tears. The depressing hour didn't stop for you, even when not alone. You didn't even react until a pair of hands gripped your upper arms.

Two sets of eyes looked at each other, both conveying very different emotions. However, none spoke a word, their voice locked in their throats for their own reasons. The silence of the calm before the storm.

The trance was broken by launching yourself at Mammon in a desperate hug, which he didn't expect at all. It took a moment for his embrace to match your own, messy wrist already forgotten. By that time, you were uncontrollably sobbing in his arms, which made him hide his frown on the crown of your head.

At this point, you didn't know by what, but you were terrified. No matter human or demon. Friend or foe. You needed a shoulder to cry on, rather than something to shed your tears to. You needed someone.

Mammon shared whispered apologies that accompanied your sobs. Neither of your grips loosening on one another, your hands locked into fists behind his back while he secured his own in your hair and waist.

And that's when it hit him. He wanted to protect you. At all costs and by any means. He wanted to give himself to you. He wanted to love you.

I can't believe this is finally finished. And I can't believe I got the motivation from a YouTube video on how to properly write. And I can't believe it worked.

Anyways we all know the game isn't heavy on angst and the fandom has to do the work so here is my contribution! Hope you like it and stay tuned for my rewrite of lesson 16! (I feel like that's gonna be even harder to write)

Do what makes you happy,

Lethby ༊*·˚

#mammon x mc #mammon obey me #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #x reader #obey me mc #obey me #fancition #fanfic #om! x reader #fanfiction #mammon x gn!reader #gn reader

277 notes · View notes

hoes4matthew · 3 months ago

Text

Cookin'

Warnings: smut / handjob / sub chirs / praise / bad spelling/grammar / very little plot

Summary: Jerking Chris off while he cooks.

A/N: this was gonna be for his birthday but oh well. Also, this fic came into my head because of this edit: here!!

You walk out into the kitchen to see Chris cooking some pancakes. He wasn't the best cook, but you wouldn't tell him that. Even if he wasn't the best you always appreciated when he cooked for the two of you.

He looked over to you and smiled before looking back at the pancakes, carefully flipping one over. You walked over behind him, very slowly wrapping your hands around his waist.

His breathing hitched, his face going bright red and getting all hot. He looked down at your hands around his waist, getting even more flustered. He nearly forgot he had to take the pancake off the stove.

"Morning." You put your chin on his shoulder, watching as he poured more pancake batter onto the pan. I took him a moment to reply, his brain slightly fogged up just from your simple actions.

"G- Goodmorning.." He shuddered out as you rubbed your hands up and down his waist. He could feel himself getting more and more turned on...just from this. He silently prayed you wouldn't notice the obvious bulge forming in his pants.

Your hands began to wander downward, you watched as he gently gripped onto the spatula, his eyes shut slightly. He let out a very soft sigh as he opened his eyes again, flipping the pancake over with shaky hands.

Your one hand moved over to cup his bulge very gently. He let out a choked moan, dropping the spatchla on the table. He moved his hands to your wrist quickly, his jaw going slack.

"Shh. Just be good f' me and keep cooking." He let out a quiet whimper, letting go of your wrist and grabbing the spatchla again. He took the, now slightly brut, pancake off the pan and onto the plate he had next to him.

His eyes moved back down to your hands. You slowly undid his pant string. Pulling down his pants along with his under. His painful hard dick springing out. He cursed under his breath.

"What did I say? Keep cooking." His knees bucked slightly as you wrapped your hand around his dick. He quickly nodded, standing up straight with shaky legs.

"Y- yes ma'am." He said shyly as he poured more batter onto the pan. Your hand moved slowly up and down on him. Little moans and whines coming from him.

Your hand moved faster, your thumb brushing against his tip teasingly and he grabbed the spatchla. His moans got louder, his knees going weak. You held him up as best as you could. He flipped over the pancake, bitting down on his lip as your hand continues to pick up speed.

His eyes shut from the pleasure, leaning backwards into you. Loud moans and begs came out of his mouth as you worked your hand around him. It didn't take him long to completely forget about the pancakes.

"I'm close!" He managed to squeak out, his legs shaking ever so slightly. He opened his eyes, making eye contact with you as he moaned out your name.

"cum for me, baby." You barely even finished your sentence before spurts of cum came out his dick, whining out your name as he did. He lowered his head slightly, letting out a content sigh.

"oh shit-" he stood up straight the best he could, quickly turning off the stove. Coughing slightly at the smell of brut pancake. He waved the smoke away, flipping over the pancake to see it was fully burnt.

"Well I guess that's one less pancake.'' He sighed, putting it on a paper towel and throwing it away. His eyes moved down to his shaky legs, turning off the stove before walking over to the dining table and sitting down.

"Did I do that?" You joked, you knew you were the only one who made his legs shake. The only one who made him weak in the knees. The only one who could make him scream.

He just looked up at you, shaking his head slightly with a smirk on his face. He pulled his pants and underwear up, leaning back in the chair and trying to catch his breath.

"only you, ma."

@dev-sturns @1c3b4th @fratboychrisera

#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #chris x reader #sub chris sturniolo

179 notes · View notes

pocketjoong · 10 months ago

Text

❥𓂃𓏧WHAT IS A SOULMATE?

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS): You and Seonghwa go on a trip across Europe and you use this as an excuse to make a little birthday video for him. But on the day of his birthday, Seonghwa feels nothing but grief as he watches the video you made for him.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) idol!Seonghwa x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (GENRE AND AU/TROPE): fluff. angst. meet-cute. nsfw.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) NSFW! MINORS DNI. oral. fingering. unprotected sex (it’s a big no guys, please use protection and stay safe). pet names (mc is called dove). mentions of food. allusions to and mentions of a serious accident. angst. fluff.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 4.3k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (NOTES) @pyeonghongrie-main :) Here's the promised reupload hehehe

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

London

Outside the confines of your hotel room, silence blankets the city much like the fog that hangs overhead. The first light of dawn is yet to break through the ink-black sky as the metropolis cradles its inhabitants in the silence of the night. This part of the city is still asleep, each soul embraced by the arms of Morpheus, awaiting daybreak to rouse them from their slumber.

Your gaze fixates on the horizon from between the sheer curtains. A pang of anticipation stirs within you, for out of all the alluring sights of nature, sunrise has always been your favourite. After all, regardless of wherever you are in the world, the sunrise is the only constant in the transient nature of life.

Today, however, as the dark black of the night fades to inky blue and splashes of pinks and purples bloom in the east, the only sight you focus on are his eyes. Seonghwa’s eyes are brighter than any galaxy and softer than the cherry blossoms that have begun blossoming on the tree just beyond the terrace. In that moment, you are happy to forego the sight of the beautiful sunrise to watch the coffee and hazel in his eyes melt to form the most gorgeous shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

It won’t be an exaggeration to say that sometimes, you feel like all of your life—each second, each breath, and each step—amounts to Seonghwa. Every decision you have ever made has been a stepping stone in your journey to meet him that one day six years ago when he was only a trainee.

Close to dawn, you had been wandering through the streets of Seoul to find a spark of inspiration for your first-ever project as a photography major. You knew you wanted to play with the idea of light and dark meeting together to form the most beautiful of sights, and what was a better time to do so than twilight?

So there you were, braving the winter chill for a decent grade while your friends were sleeping soundly, snuggled up in their warm beds.

But it seemed that fate had other plans for you that morning. You took a sip of the coffee you’d bought from the only cafe open at this ungodly hour, forgetting for a moment that it was piping hot. With a wince, you glared at the beige paper cup as if the liquid energy had personally done something to spite you.

A snicker caught your attention, and you turned around to narrow your eyes at the person, only to freeze in your tracks. Wearing a brown, fuzzy coat coupled with dark skinny jeans, the male looked like an angel sent from heaven. The thought that he was a hallucination of your sleep-deprived and cold body crossed your mind, but you discarded the thought when he realised that you’d heard him, and he scrambled to apologise for laughing.

You didn’t know then, but your life was for him. And, it won’t be an exaggeration to say that your life is all him. As winter melted into spring and spring made way for summer, you fell in love with the colour brown: the lush cocoa of Seonghwa’s eyes, sweeter than any hot chocolate you could find, and the tan of his skin, reminiscent of the buttery sweetness of roasted chestnuts. As the weather became humid and the days turned longer, you didn’t even register the beginnings of love taking root in your heart.

It began slowly, like the dripping of water from a tap. Drop by drop, your heart filled with adoration for him. Starting with an appreciation for the awe with which he experienced the world as if doing so for the first time. Then, it became more serious: you found yourself yearning to be around him, to listen to him talk about anything and everything, to be the only one he’d think of as being worthy of his heart.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, you fell for his voice, a deep baritone with the consistency of honey that you couldn’t get enough of. And the best part? You got to hear it every day before sunrise, for that was his designated time for you in his busy schedule as a trainee and then later as an idol. Dawn was yours, had always been yours, and would always be yours as long as Seonghwa was beside you.

And so, without your knowledge, you fell in love with him bit by bit. You fell as if falling under a spell you couldn’t find a counter for. Not that you wanted to anyway, not when he was there to catch you.

A year later when spring arrived, love and hope sprouted in your heart when Seonghwa’s lips pressed against yours for the first time under the cherry blossoms. He etched himself into the deepest crevices of your soul and your heart. His touch was like that of the sun against your skin after a dark night, igniting your soul in a way that reminded you of fireworks. Under the light of dawn, as he kissed you, you learned a truth. Like the sunrise, Seonghwa is the only constant in your life.

“What are you thinking about?” His soft whisper pulls you out of your reminiscing, and you find yourself gazing into his wide eyes that are brimming with affection and curiosity.

Even after years of being with Seonghwa, the way he looks at you as if you are the one who hung the moon in the sky always floors you. Your skin tingles at the warmth and adoration in his gaze.

“You,” lost in way his thumb grazes against your waist, the word slips out of your lips without a second thought. You almost curse at yourself for being so taken with him when you see a devilish smirk pull at his lips.

“Is that so, my dove?” Chuckling, he lets himself get closer to you, if that’s even possible, considering how you’re basically pressed against him. His hands rise to cup your face, drawing you to his lips.

You lose yourself in the warmth of his mouth. His kisses are softer at first, but soon, his lips are moving insistently against yours. His teeth sink gently into your bottom lip, and he swallows the moan that leaves you almost hungrily. Seonghwa’s hand slides up the side of your body to slide your nightgown off you, exposing you to the chilly morning air.

He pulls back from you momentarily, the loss making you whine, but the protest dies in your throat when he gazes at you with nothing but love and adoration. In what little light filters through the sheer curtains, he looks ethereal with his glowing bronze skin. His dark hair is messy, and yet he manages to look as if he’d just stepped out of the pages of a manhwa. As if knowing what’s going through your head, a soft smile pulls at his lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he breathes, voice thick with sleep and desire.

“Like what?” You ask, your own hands finding purchase against his shoulders.

“Like I’m the damn sunrise.”

“You’re more breathtaking than any sunrise I’ve ever seen, Hwa,” you cradle his cheek in your palm, words ringing with sincerity as you gaze at your boyfriend.

Seonghwa ducks down at your words, hiding his face in your neck as you chuckle at the way he reacts to your compliment. Your amusement doesn’t last long, however, when he leans down further to lave his tongue against the marks his teeth had left against the column of your neck the night before. His teeth sink into your skin, cutting you off mid-laughter, while his palms come to cup your exposed breasts, and you find yourself arching into his touch.

You watch Seonghwa descend the length of your body, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips can reach. His hands slither downwards, fingers digging into your thighs to spread your legs open for him. Bringing his mouth to your core, he smirks when you let out a broken moan, bucking into his mouth. Seoghwa keeps his eyes on you as he devours you.

“Hwa—” you choke back a moan, reaching for him with a trembling hand. You pull him to your lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. “Want you. Please.”

“My beautiful dove.” Seonghwa breathes reverently. His hands are gentle against your waist, cradling you close to him while his lips trace their way up your jaw to meet yours in a sloppy kiss.

As the sun rises over the Thames River, he ravishes you with a gentleness that feels like the first touch of warmth of the morning light.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Madrid

“Are you recording me?” Seonghwa laughs, walking backwards on the sidewalk as you fumble with the camera—it’s heavier than what you’re used to—but you don’t mind because you’re more concerned about the quality of the video than anything else.

You can’t help but grin at the sight in front of you: Seonghwa in a beret and a long, dark coat that he has paired with jeans contrasts so well with the potted geraniums in front of the restaurant you had stopped to get breakfast at. The flowers herald the happiness blossoming in your chest at the sight of your lover glowing like the sun while surrounded by the the tell-tale signs of the approaching spring.

Seonghwa jokes that these flowers are blooming because it is his first time visiting Europe with you. You laugh off his silly comment, but in your heart of hearts, you can’t help but agree with him. It’s almost as if nature wants you to document the most beautiful sights while you record Seonghwa in the cities you are visiting.

Before you can answer him, something catches his eyes, and before you know it, he is dragging you to a toy store he has spotted on the other side of the road. His smile as he eagerly scours the store for something to buy reminds you of sunlight upon the tides, bright and blinding as the sun itself on the waves that lap gently at the shore.

Seonghwa makes his way to the sunglasses, trying on the goofiest ones, making you giggle. Encouraged by your laughter, he continues to make a fool of himself, pulling funny expressions for the camera and not caring if people are giving him funny looks. At one point, he tries the poison green alien sunglasses, and despite you laughing at how atrocious the design is, you can’t help but think how easily he can pull off even the most ridiculous of accessories with grace.

Behind him, you spot something that makes you gasp, and you rush to the shelves to grab one of the Toothless plushies. Turning around with purpose, you’re caught off guard by how close Seonghwa is, but you don’t let it faze you.

“Look, Hwa! I found you on the shelf,” you giggle at him, holding the plushie up so that it lines up with his face.

He rolls his eyes fondly, used to such jokes by the rest of ATEEZ and his fans. Despite that, he takes the plushie from your hands and puts it on his head, allowing you to capture him with ease. His touch is careful as he holds the plushie, similar to how he handles everything he lays his hands on. Delicate and light, he touches everything he comes across with care, and that’s one of the reasons you find him endearing—for he’s one of the few people who truly take the time to appreciate the beauty the world has to offer.

“If I’m Toothless, doesn’t that mean you’re my Light Fury?” You watch the way his eyes scan the shelves for something.

“I guess,” you shrug, chuckling as you help him in his search for a plushie of the said dragon.

“Do you think we should buy these?” Seonghwa asks, interrupting your search, and you turn to find him holding up the two plushies. He glances at the two stuffed toys—Toothless and the Light Fury—with his eyes furrowed as he weighs the pros and cons of buying both.

“You have multitudes of these back home, Hwa.” You remind him, in fact, he has so many plushies and figurines that he had to store some in your apartment because his manager had threatened that he would throw them out if he saw one more of the HTTYD-themed merch.

“But—”

“Hwa.”

“Fine, break my heart, why don’t you?” And with a pout, he places them back on the shelf reluctantly. You know he’s joking because when you gesture towards the plushies later on, he shakes his head with a smile.

Throughout the day, you explore the city with him, telling him everything you had learned about the places from the little tourist booklet you had snagged from the hotel that morning. He listens to you earnestly, watching you talk with a smile as admiration settles under his skin.

Later in the night, you find yourself in a cafe. Taking a deep breath, you inhale the scent of coffee that permeates your immediate surroundings. Since the cafe is basically empty at this time of the night, a sense of tranquillity surrounds you, much like the warm coat Seonghwa has draped over you. You watch late stragglers making their way home from their jobs through the window you’re seated against, hands curled against a warm cup of hazelnut latte.

“Dove,” Seonghwa’s quiet voice comes from next to you, causing you to snuggle into his shoulder, humming for him to continue. “Don’t fall asleep. We have to walk back to the hotel.”

“Shall we leave, then?” Stifling a yawn, you ask, causing him to nod.

He leads you out of the cafe, keeping his hand on your lower back as you walk through the sparsely populated streets. The very next moment, however, it begins to rain out of nowhere, and before you know it, you are being drenched in the downpour.

Seonghwa laughs in surprise but turns his face upwards to allow the raindrops to kiss his cheeks. Even though the world is blurred around you and your vision is warped by the drops in your eyes, you can still see him clearly. He basks in the rain, lets himself get drenched by the droplets cascading down his face, neck, and shoulders. The rain is so heavy that the raindrops make streams as they make their way down his body.

Watching him like this, you find yourself reaching out for him. As if on the same wavelength as you, Seonghwa takes your hand in his, lips curling up in a smile when you entangle your fingers with his. Reaching out, he cups your face gently, and it seems as if the world stops around you, your senses failing to register anything beyond his touch. Seonghwa trails his thumb along your lips, wiping the raindrops that have settled across your skin.

Drenched in the downpour with him, it’s easy to think of Seonghwa as the rain and yourself as the earth that craves rain after a dry spell.

────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────────

Seoul

The wallpaper drips with grief, mimicking the gloom that has taken root in his heart and doesn’t seem to want to leave. The glow of the streetlights filters through the windows and is the only source of light in his dark room. In the centre of the whirlpool of dread and darkness lies Seonghwa, curled up against the messy sheets he can’t bother to straighten.

The silence is uncanny. He’s not used to it—for years, he has shared a room with Hongjoong, and even though, more often than not, the younger male wasn’t actually there because he preferred the studio or the living room couch to the bedroom, the mere idea of sharing a room with someone always made him feel at ease. Hongjoong has been Seonghwa’s anchor in the years he roomed with him, but now alone in his room, the walls seem to press in around him like waves trying to drown him, leaving him breathless.

If Hongjoong is his anchor, you are his beacon, his guiding light, his polestar. And tonight, as his ship is battered by the biggest storm he’s ever faced, you aren’t here either. Desperately, he searches for something to ground him, but too many days and nights filled with sorrow and false optimism have built up and around him, crushing him with a weight he can’t handle anymore. When love wasn’t enough to save you, how can it be enough to help him stay afloat in the rough seas?

Outside of his room, spring touches everything with its delicate hands. For Seonghwa, however, winter still lingers, and the beautiful weather outside just irks him further. He hasn’t been in love for the last week, and even nature cannot revive him this time around. Without love in his heart, the only thing he feels is despair.

Even now, he can’t forget the way red painted his hands as you lay in his arms. Sometimes, when he squeezes his eyes shut hard enough, he can see your smile. In the very same moment, his heart opens and breaks when the image of you in his arms dances across his vision, and he dies again and again, bleeds until there’s only a shell left behind.

The beeping of his digital clock startles him. The digits read 00:00, distorted from the tears that line his lashes but never seem to fall. For a long time, he had thought today would make the pain bearable, but it persists, lingering in his heart and his room like stubborn rain clouds that linger even after the storm has passed. It is possible that you may not return to him, but he tries to remain optimistic. If he doesn’t believe you to be strong enough to fight for him, for your love, then who will?

His phone dings, and he looks at the device for a moment. Each beep of his phone has, till now, started him into a sitting position, and every time, it has not what he expected. But foolishly, he still hopes for a miracle.

His phone dinging again with the custom notification he had set for you has Seonghwa scrambling to check his phone. It’s a scheduled email, but your name lighting up the screen renders him breathless. At the sight of your name, the storm raging around him quietens down, leaving him in calm seas. There’s a video attached with the email, and he clicks it open.

[Exterior. Mid-morning. Shots of the streets of London from a car. In the foreground, the text reads Happy Birthday, Seonghwa! A female’s voice is heard speaking in the voiceover.]

Y/N: What’s a soulmate?

[The camera pans and focuses on Seonghwa as he looks out of the window, pointing at all the things he remembers from the few times he has been there with ATEEZ for concerts.]

SH: And that’s the cafe Jongho liked a lot. He said the coffee there was amazing. We should definitely visit it after we’ve settled in hotel room, you look like you could do with some caffeine in your system.

Y/N: [laughing] Not everyone is used to sleeping in aeroplanes.

SH: [shaking his head, he sniffs as if wounded by your comments] Well, if you toured with me, you’d be used to it. You’re the only one who keeps declining when I ask you to come with me! My poor self has to live without you for months just because you won’t agree.

Y/N: Your idea of bringing me along includes you stuffing me into your suitcase. Sorry if I don’t want to be thrown around with the other luggage.

SH: [snorting] It’s your fault for being so small.

Y/N: [sighing] Whatever, Hwa.

[Midday. The video cuts to a shot of Seonghwa walking along the Thames river. He has his arms wrapped around himself. The sky is covered with fluffy clouds, and one can tell that spring is fast approaching with the way little green buds are seen on the trees in the background.]

Y/N: It’s a… Well, it’s like a best friend, but more.

SH: It’s so cold!

Y/N: Should we go and get something to warm us up from the cafe you pointed out earlier? I think it’s close to where we are right now.

[The video cuts to the two of you inside the cafe. The camera is placed on one side, allowing it to capture both Seonghwa and you. You’re laughing at Seonghwa, who took a sip from your iced americano and immediately made a face at the taste. The video skips a bit and Seonghwa can be seen humming along to the music from the speakers while you watch him, enraptured by his vocals.]

Y/N: It’s the one person in the world who knows you better than anyone else.

[The video cuts again. This time, Seonghwa is in a hotel room, standing against the backdrop of the Eiffel Tower and posing goofily while you are laughing in the background. He waddles over to the camera, forcing you to put it on the table as he twirls you around, dancing to a song he’s humming.]

Y/N: It’s someone who makes you a better person.

[The video cuts to a closeup of Seonghwa’s head in your lap as you sit on the couch. He’s sleeping soundly while you run your fingers through his soft hair. His lips quirk upwards in a smile, causing you to halt your motions, but a whine from him has you resuming your actions.]

Y/N: [soft whisper] Did I wake you up?

SH: [hums and shakes his head] Not really… [yawns] I wasn’t fully asleep.

[There’s silence for a while as Seonghwa shifts around to get comfortable.]

SH: I love you.

Y/N: That was so random, Hwa.

SH: Hey! You’re supposed to say you love me too!

Y/N: [snorting] I love you, you overgrown child.

SH: I’ll have you know that’s Wooyoung.

Y/N: Don’t let him hear you say that. He’ll bite your arm off or something.

SH: [laughing hard]

Y/N: Actually, they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself… because they inspire you.

[The video cuts to Seonghwa amidst the geraniums in Madrid before he drags you to the MINISO. His shenanigans from the store can be seen, with him wearing goofy sunglasses and playing with the Night Fury plushie.]

Y/N: A soulmate is someone who you can carry with you forever.

[Seonghwa can be seen busking with a guy playing the guitar. He sings Angel Baby by Troye Sivan, smiling wide when you start swaying one of your hands in beat with the music, causing people to follow your actions. When he’s done, people come up to him, telling him that he’s an amazing singer, and he thanks everyone with a bashful smile while watching you look at him with a look of pride on your face.]

Y/N: It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you… Believed in you before anyone else did or when no one else would.

[Seonghwa excuses himself from the crowd and makes his way towards you, wrapping his arms around your frame and sways the two of you as the busker starts crooning a song in Danish.]

SH: Thank you for always believing in me, dove. Especially when I didn’t believe in myself.

Y/N: [smiling] I love you, and I’ll cheer you on, especially during the darkest days.

Y/N: And no matter what happens, you will always love them.

[The camera pans to you in your editing studio, and you wave at the camera with a smile on your face.]

Y/N: It’s quite late [glancing at the clock on your desk], 3 a.m. to be precise, and I’m working on your birthday video. [Laughs] I hope you like this little video I put together with clips from our trip to Europe. Give me a call once you’re done watching this. I love you so much, Hwa! Happy Birthday, my star!

Y/N: Nothing can ever change that.

Seonghwa wipes his tears, sniffing as he gets up from the bed. With a meticulousness characteristic of him, he goes through the motions of dressing up to pay you a visit. That’s the only thing that seems to make sense, so with bleary eyes and heavy feet, he walks through the deserted streets of Seoul.

The staff members at the hospital allow him to see you, used to his untimely visits. The nurse watching over you gives him a sad smile and leaves him alone with you when he enters your room. He notes that the pallor that had settled beneath your skin is now fading, albeit slowly.

Maybe you’re getting better? But you still haven’t woken up, and seeing your face, he finds himself falling, falling through the memories of the day of the accident. His eyes close of their own accord, and he sighs, trying to get those images out of his mind. Unable to stop his thoughts, he relives the day all over again.

Logically, he knows the accident isn’t his fault but of the person who was behind the wheel.

Or maybe it was, the voice in his mind tells him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can’t forgive himself for the events that led up to the accident. If he hadn’t called you to pick him up from the company that night when it was raining, you’d be safe in his arms, celebrating his birthday with him.

No, it wasn’t. Seonghwa desperately wants to believe his own words. But there’s still that small voice of doubt that rears its ugly head, and before he knows it, fresh tears are rolling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Seonghwa is too emotionally exhausted and too choked to speak any louder. “My dove, I’m so sorry for this whole mess. I’m sorry. Please wake up soon. I can’t do this alone—I can’t live without you. Please. I love you.”

433 notes · View notes

dedalvs · 1 year ago

Note

Hello there! I was wondering if you could possibly translate this quote: (I know it's a different fandom, but I was wondering if you could translate it anyways. I think it would be neat to see it in High Valyrian.)... "Not all who wander are lost."

So listen… I know this wasn't the intent, and I know that you're kind of standing in for tons of people from my past, but like… When people ask to have something translated, do they really not give any thought to the grammatical complexity of what they're asking for? And 100% this is not just you, but like… Embedded clauses, relative clauses, counterfactuals…

Something I didn't realize till I started creating languages for a living is translation is my least favorite part of language creation—and it's what I spend the most time doing.

Okay, so, "Not all who wander are lost". Good lord. First, there's "lost", which has a literal and metaphorical meaning in English. Absolutely no idea if this would translate in High Valyrian, and I'm pretty sure I don't have a word for "lost", and I don't even know how to go about creating one. Spanish perdido essentially comes from "wasted" or "squandered". We know where English "lost" came from. There actually is a word for "to lose" in HV, but it's to lose a battle. Doesn't make sense to use it here. So I'm going with something that kind of evokes that mists that surround destroyed Valyria and use the locative of "fog", so to be sambrarra "in the fog" means "to be lost".

I also don't (or didn't) have a word for "wander", but I made a derivation based on one of my favorite words, elēnagon, which means to oscillate or swerve. Jorelēnagon now means "to wander". Seems to fit.

And that was the easy part. A relative clause is something like "The dragon that I saw is big". "Whoever I saw is big" also features a kind of relative clause—an indefinite relative clause. These things are absolute murder to create. But no. It's not just that. It's a modified indefinite relative, because it's not "Whoever wanders is lost", it's "All who wander are lost". BUT IT'S NOT JUST THAT. It's negated on top of that. NE. GA. TED. And not just in the usual way: It's the Mothra fumbling quantifier that's negated. It's not whoever wanders. It's not all who wander. It's NOT ALL who wander. This is like my nightmare—being asked to translate something like this. This is giving me flashbacks to season 1 of House of the Dragon when they asked me to translated "Would that it were", as if that was some reasonable thing for a human being to say in any language ever.

Anyway, if you type "indefinite relative clause" into my High Valyrian grammar, you come up with nothing, because I always forget to write down how the hell I decided to do them. I think because I have both relative adjectives and pronouns that I can just use the damn pronouns by themselves. God. "Not all…" Are you kidding me?! You know High Valyrian has a whole collective number to handle "all", right? What, do I just negate that? Will the meaning be the same as a negated quantifier?! Like it's [[not all] who wander], right? And you can bracket like that because they're all separate words. But what if "all who" is one word? What then?! BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT IT IS!

(By the way I just added a sentence to my grammar that includes the phrase "indefinite relative clause" so I can search for it. It's not like this wasn't written up, but I honestly probably forgot what the term was when I wrote the section the first time and I never revisited it.)

Okay. I'm calm and cool. So. Returning to the translation. There are two types of relative pronouns: One that refers to people or things, and another that refers to concepts or ideas or places. We're talking about people here, so we need the first one. And we need it in the collective. That's lȳr. Leaving the negation aside, this can be translated fairly easily:

Jorelēnus lȳr sambrarra ilza.

Okay, that's "All who wander are lost". I chose the aorist subjunctive for the relative because it's like "anyone who may wander"; I think it makes sense. Lȳr is grammatically singular, so it triggers third person singular agreement in both verbs. Since we're using ilagon as a locative copula here, I think (think) the present tense makes the most sense. So that is "All who wander are lost".

Now how the flarking frump do you say "not all" when "all who" is lȳr?!

So since lȳr is a pronoun it can be modified with an adjective, which would like like this:

Jorelēnus dōre lȳr sambrarra ilza.

But the problem with that is I don't think it gives us the intended meaning. I think that means "None who wander are lost", and that's not what the intended meaning is at all. It is basically "Some people who wander are indeed lost—perhaps many of them—but some of those who are wandering are not, in fact, lost". This is also why you can't negate the matrix verb. That would mean "Anyone that might be wandering is not lost"—again, not the intended meaning. This is the crux of the whole translation: Negating the quantifier and not what the quantifier is modifying.

For that reason, the only thing I can think to do is to go to a much more prolix, and, frankly, un-Valyrian-like expression. This would mean taking the relative pronoun out of the collective, putting it back in the singular, adding in a quantifier, and negating it. That would be this:

Jorelēnus dōre tolvie lȳ sambrarra ilza.

Is that it? I honestly don't know. It is a translation; I'm not sure if it's the best translation. Another possibility is to re-translate it and say "A few who may wander are not lost". That would look like this:

Jorelēnusy lȳn sambrarra ilosy daor.

The pronoun is now in the paucal, which triggers plural agreement on both verbs. (And, by the way, thank goodness sambrarra is a noun phrase; it doesn't have to agree with anything!) And this is, basically, "A few who may wander are not lost".

I feel like the second translation is better maybe…? It feels more Valyrianesque. But I'm not 100% sure it conveys the same sense.

Anyway, I started translating this a little over two hours ago. That's what this takes. That's how long something this complex takes. Granted, it didn't have my full attention at all times, because I was watching Booksmart, but this was my second time watching it, so I didn't have to give the movie my undivided attention (though it had been a few years; there were bits I didn't remember). But yeah. Translation. My god. Like…why. Creating languages is fun. Translation is work. (And if it's not work, you're doing it wrong. Mic drop; soap box kicked.)

#conlang #language #valyrian #high valyrian #valyrian grammar #grammar #high valyrian grammar #translation #asoiaf #grrm #hbo #hotd #house of the dragon #got #game of thrones #all the flipping tags #booksmart

477 notes · View notes