#infamous wallpaper | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintescuderia · 8 months ago

Text

pancakes (pt. 1)

welcome a new multi-chapter fic. enjoy.

AKA - the story of how the naive australian rookie befriended the gym junkie F1 hospitality worker with the shoe collection - and inadvertently broke the grid's most treasured and unspoken rule: you don't go for y/n.

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

P1 - bulgarian split squats

Really, the only way to survive Formula 1 was by going to the gym.

The gym addiction was something that had existed long before joining the circus of a motorsports paddock filled with politics and rumours, as well as the slim fitting uniforms that always seemed to be accompanied by, in your opinion, ugly ass shoes.

Sure, Puma was the offical sponsor but couldn’t they get anything other than the Speedcat? And what even was that name? Speedcat? It was on brand, sure, but at what cost? Really? If Formula 1 was trying to grow its popularity they could honestly start with their dress code. Seeing Christian Horner in Skechers really took the intimidation out of him when you served him his double espresso during the Spanish Grand Prix that one time last season.

One of the perks of working in Hospitality - and there were very few far and in between - was that uniform was not so strict. F1 Hospitality only required an all black service with ‘comfortable shoes.’ This you took for interpretation. Dunks. Jordan 4s. Maybe 1s. Never 13s. Forces were good for a night race - that usually meant more stairs - and Vans were what you reached for in the morning when you knew you’d be working the barista shift. Converse were for ‘throw away’ races.

These were the races where you knew the shoe-care was not important. For example, Silverstone with its torrential UK drinkers who were likely to throw up on your beloved sneakers. Alas, you had learned the hard way when you almost lost your job by rushing to the kitchen to start scrubbing the vomit off your blue and red Cortez during peak lunch.

Never again.

Admittedly, you did try to keep at least one pair of Converse in good care since they were the renowned shoe come leg day.

Another perk of working in F1 Hospitality was that every circuit’s map layout had been drilled into your head. Meaning you always knew exactly where the communal driver’s gym was located at and could therefore get your daily dose of dopamine before dealing with… well, everything.

You silenced the shrill horror that came from the iPhone alarm. 4:00 read the lockscreen, the light shining brightly into your face. It didn’t help that your wallpaper had a photo with a clear blue sky, making the light even harsher in the darkness. You could’ve very well changed it and avoid the pain you routinely go through every morning. But it was this very photo that reminded you why you were getting up in four in the morning in the first place.

You had snapped it during a free practice in Italy that had miraculously lined up with a break in your shift. The sky was clear and the red car was small, but clear on the circuit. Ferrari, of course. You still remember the buzz that circled around the paddock staff that day. No matter who you routed for or whatever bias you had, there was a unanimously acknowledgement that Ferrari winning at Monza was special. He was special.

Then again, you’ve known that long before he stood on that podium in Italy and was given his infamous nickname.

It didn’t even take you ten minutes until you were out the door. Your gym clothes (pump cover included!) were on the one limpy chair that decorated your poor little hotel room, your shaker sat on top of your gym bag with you black high top Converse right beside it. By the time you had made it to the gym, it was a little past 4:15 and you had already scooped in pre-workout into your mouth ready to get through the oncoming pain.

Your hips were a little tight, as per normal. The left side even more so. The hood of your hoodie was up, headphones on and blasting the hardstyle house music that would see you through the next two hours. You went through your usual stretches but with today’s added focus on the lower body.

And then you went about destroying your legs.

It was about an hour or so that Oscar finally sleepily arrived. You weren’t actually sure what time it was but you were up to doing bulgarian split squats - and hating life - and that was usually at the hour mark. You gave him a curious once over, noting the odd choice of clothing. It was a little odd to see a driver in the paddock wearing athleisure that wasn’t their team uniform.

“Bro, it’s five in the morning.” Oscar groaned, shuffling over to come and sit on the bench next to you. You gave another three more reps - Oscar silently watching you groan in pain through the last two - and then finally dropped the dumbbells. You reached over to take a sip of water and checked the phone for the time.

“It’s five thirteen in the morning.” You corrected. It had been just about the hour mark. “Are we training today or?” It wasn’t the first time Oscar had joined you. The reason his neck was getting stronger was because of you. In your opinion, the trainer Alpine had assigned Oscar was a fucking idiot.

“You’re doing legs.” Oscar pointed out, as if that was enough of an answer. He leaned to lay back down on the bench and stared up as he continued to speak. “Drivers don’t need bulky legs. We’ve been over this.”

You had. Many times. You knew he was right. It still would be nice to have someone to go through legs with you, though.

“So train with light weights.” You offered, trying. Oscar just gave you a look that made it clear he was not picking up any type of weights. You shrugged, not deterred. “I’ll do calisthenics with you. Or we can work on plyometrics.” Oscar’s response was to close his eyes and let out a deep sigh. “Fuck it man, do some cardio.” You came to the last resort, coming to kick his legs as you walked past to load up the smith machine with some different plates.

“Piss off Tezza.” The Australian-ness continuing to shine through with the nickname that Oscar had specifically designed for you in respect of your shared citizenship to the ‘land down under.’

Except unlike the blond caucasian boy who loved AFL, grew up in Brighton East and attended Haileybury, your Australian-ness was less obvious. Your accent, for one, wasn’t as prominent since your parents were African immigrants. This, of course, didn’t just influence your speech patterns and accent.

Dark skin, dark eyes and dark hair, you weren't exactly the picture of a 'true blue Aussie.' The rite of public school bullying from those who did look 'Australian' (whatever that meant) had you scoffing at vegemite and preferring to follow EPL and La Liga than whatever the fuck was Aussie Rules Football.

Why is it called football if the players pick up the ball?

Still, when a homesick Oscar Piastri overheard one of the Hospitality staff yell out that that they were going for a 'Macca’s run' between the practice sessions on his very first F1 race weekend, he instantly picked up on the Australian-ism. And he didn’t let it go. And cue the beginning of a friendship that had Oscar Piastri calling you ‘bro’ and shortening your last name as per Australian rite.

Even if you had sworn off that sort of thing.

“Oscar, man, if you ain’t here to train then why are you?” You said, locking the plates in place on the smith machine. You lifted up your hood up and ducked under the bar to rest the metal against you shoulders, the hood acting as a cushion. The starting weight was light enough that you wouldn't have to worry about music for your first set. Besides, if Oscar was here, he could be the entertainment for this set. “You forget that this is a driver’s only gym. You could get in trouble." The sarcasm was all too clear in your voice.

No one used the ‘drivers-only’ gym. It was something that every Grand Prix had set up. Mobile, communal and high-end, it had enough equipment to rival the local 24/7 studio franchise gym that seemed to exist in every neighbourhood. Despite the fact that every driver preferred to train at their own motorhome gym - or that every team had their own mobile gym set up in conjunction to the motorhome - F1 still went about packing up and moving their own studio gym to every single location come race weekend.

If anything, it was a nice stop during the presentation walk during the sponsorship lunches where good old Stefano Domenicali would show off all the amazing resources that the Grand Prix space has to offer.

So, no. F1’s Driver Gym was not used.

The only reason it wasn’t gathering dust was because every weekend it was packed up and moved. That and you woke up at 4am every weekend to destroy your muscles in the familiar red and black equipment.

"You're here." Oscar reminded you. "And not a driver."

You ignored him and just kept up with your repetitions, focusing on engaging your glutes and keeping your core tight. Oscar was silent as you finished your first set. When you finished your last rep, he stood up and came round as you locked the machine. He knew you well enough to pick up the 10kg and help add it to the sides.

"Thanks." You said. Oscar nodded and added the weight to the other side. There was a quiet air for a moment and you went to pick up your headphones to put them back on. Things were getting heavier and you would need music to get through the next few sets.

“I might be leaving Alpine.”

You looked up at Oscar who dropped the bomb and then looked back at your headphones. You sighed and then dropped the headphones back to land in your gym bag. Headphoneless, you went back to the machine and Oscar took your invitation.

“Zak Brown approached me yesterday and suggested something about picking me up for next year.” Oscar said.

You just kept squatting. Oscar was far too removed to yet be aware of - well, everything.

“And with talk of Fernando quitting, I know that Alpine will be calling me up but do I trust that? Honestly Lando has been doing so well and Ocon has always pissed me off.” Oscar watched as you started to struggle.

He stood up and came around to help you but you just shook you head. You pushed through one more rep and then called it.

“He does have a punchable face.” You said, now out of breath. Esteban had always annoyed you and before meeting Oscar, you used to dread the weekends where you were put on Alpine.

Your friend handed you the water bottle sat beside your gym bag before you could even ask. You gave a two finger salute in thanks as he continued on.

“And Lily and I got into this massive fight again! Apparently I don’t communicate enough!” He huffed. “But I sent her flowers and chocolates because she’s going through finals and she likes daisies and Cadbury."

“Yeah, but is that her love language though?” You asked, dropping your bottle and going to stack up the final set of weights on the smith machine. Oscar stood up again to help you.

“Her what?” He asked, handing you the plate.

“Love language.” You answered, still panting, and explained, “You’ve got physical touch, gift giving, quality time, words of affirmation and acts of service.”

“Are you saying people love in specific ways?" Oscar asked, quick to process new information as always.

“Exactly. You did something nice for her, an act of service. Maybe all she wants is a nice, long phone call or maybe some texts complimenting her or something.” You shrugged and then brought up your headphones.

Oscar accepted this, knowing the last set would require music.

He watched you as you settled back under the smith machine bar and went on squatting more than his body weight. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. He really shouldn't have been surprised at your lack of surprise. Little shocked you. That or your might’ve already known and just kept it to yourself. F1 Hospitality were a part of the Formula One Group and, therefore, were not associated to any one team. They had rotations across all teams and, therefore, every member of staff were required to sign an NDA. Not that ever did anything in this damn place.

Still, Oscar knew that you were one of the few genuine people left in this place.

He knew that there would’ve been so many opportunities where you could’ve easily done something for yourself by recounting something you had overheard while pouring Toto Wolff his coffee or serving Mattia Binotto his lunch. It was the reason why so many teams hired their own internal hospo staff.

It was also the reason why Oscar felt comfortable coming to tell you about Alpine and McLaren before he had even told his own parents, or Lily. The argument with his girlfriend had prevented him from getting any sleep, mulling it over in his mind for hours. Oscar knew you would be able to help him through it all.

And that you would be the only one awake at this godforsaken hour.

By the time you had finished your first set, he was Googling love languages and having a quick read through.

By the time you had finished your second set, he was halfway through doing the love languages quiz.

By the time you had finished your third and final set, he was seeing what the problem was between him and Lily.

“I think Lily is words of affirmation and I'm acts of service." He said, coming up to the machine as you stepped back and pulled down your headphones. You blinked and nodded, still put of breath. "I think I forgot to check in with her and send her some compliments. Tell her I'm proud of her for getting through exams. Especially because she never is one for gifts, really."

You held out your hand to him. "There you go. Growth."

"I don't know what to do about Alpine."

"Call a lawyer."

Oscar pursed his lips and then considered this. That wouldn't be his first move but thinking about it, it was probably for the best. "That's actually a good idea."

"Isn't that why you're here?" You retorted. "Since you're not here to train. Speaking of which, the fuck is that?"

“What?” He asked and realised you were looking at his feet.

“Zak Brown isn’t going to hire you if he finds out that you’re wearing fucking thongs with socks.” You said, finally recognising the flip-flops he wore with some white socks that really needed to be washed.

“You’ve been a great help, thanks.” Oscar smiled. You rolled your eyes and went to your gym bag. Pulling out a pair of white Adidas Sambas, you tossed them to Oscar.

“Put these on.”

“Is my footwear really that offensive to you?”

“We’ll go run the track.” You said then gestured to all of him. “It’ll help you burn all of this off.”

Oscar sighed and did as he was told. He laced up the shoes you'd given him that surprisingly fit his large feet and followed you out to the track. He used his pass to get through since a driver running the track at 5:30 in the morning would just be seen as the dedication to the grind. A Hospitality staff member would just be accused of breaking in.

“Maybe it’s a good thing you’re going through a crisis. I’ve always wanted to do a morning run on the track.” You said with a grin as the pair of you came to the starting line that, in a matter of hours, would be full of mechanics, engineers, reporters, camera crew members and, of course, drivers.

“If I get a seat at McLaren, you can be my trainer.” Oscar said as you both started warming up into a light jog.

"Ha." You snorted. "As if you could afford me, bro."

next ch [2] >

394 notes · View notes

wonies-cheeks · 24 days ago

Text

The Book That Knows | l.hs

Synopsis: A day where reality and fiction collide, a seemingly normal day for you spirals into terror when you discover a mysterious book in your home. The book eerily mirrors your life, with each page recounting events happening in real time.

Genre: Ghostface!Heeseung, Psychological Horror, Thriller, Supernatural Fiction, Suspense

W/C: 3.9k

Warnings: Violence, Psychological Horror, Supernatural Elements, Manipulation, Implied Threat of Death, Betrayal, Cursing

A/N: Sorry it took me a long time to post something new. University has been stressing me out and i just never had time to just sit down and write. Don't be afraid to send me requests, I'll make sure to try and answer all of them. And i will try to post often. I hope you enjoy!

⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑*•̩̩͙⊱••••✩••••̩̩͙⊰•*

It was a dreary Sunday afternoon when you first heard about Ghost Face on the news. You weren't paying much attention at first, mindlessly flipping channels as the rain poured against your window. But something about the chilling report on the television caught your ear, making you pause.

The anchor’s voice, calm but laced with tension, described a recent string of brutal murders happening in a nearby town. The killer —known only by the alias "Ghost Face"— had yet to be caught. The mask they wore, white with hollow eyes and a twisted, grinning mouth, had become infamous. What made it all the more terrifying was how they blended into the victims' lives, often posing as a friend, a neighbor, someone familiar — until it was too late.

You shivered, reaching for the remote to turn off the TV, trying to shake off the eerie feeling creeping up your spine. It was just a story, after all, a terrible tragedy happening somewhere else to someone else. You were safe, tucked away in your cozy home, far from the horrors playing out on the screen.

You had found an old, tattered novel at a second-hand shop the day before — a horror story with a faded cover, its title barely legible: “The Silent Watcher”.

Something about it had drawn you in, though you couldn’t quite place why. The pages smelled of old paper and mystery, and you had a hunch it was the type of book that would get under your skin.

You settled into your favorite chair, the rain tapping softly against the windows, and began to read.

The story started off simple enough: a small town, an outsider moving into a creaky, old house, and a series of strange occurrences. The protagonist, a person with no name yet, began to notice odd things happening around them—a door that wouldn’t stay shut, a strange knocking at night, the sensation of being watched.

As you turned the pages, the descriptions of the protagonist’s life became unsettlingly familiar. They lived alone, much like you. Their house had the same creaking floorboards, the same slightly peeling wallpaper, the same view of the park across the street. You told yourself it was just a coincidence. Old houses often shared these traits, and plenty of horror novels leaned into these types of clichés.

But as you continued, the details grew more specific. The way the house’s front door stuck if you didn’t pull it hard enough. The exact placement of the furniture in the living room. The faint stain on the ceiling in the kitchen that no amount of scrubbing could remove. Every description matched your own home.

You put the book down, your heart starting to race. The rain outside had picked up, and the house was filled with that eerie quiet that comes after dusk. You stood up, walking to the window, peering out at the empty street. The park, with its benches and swings swaying in the wind, looked peaceful enough, but you couldn’t shake the creeping feeling crawling up your spine.

Shaking off the unease, you sat back down and opened the book again. Maybe it was just a trick your mind was playing on you. Maybe you were getting too absorbed in the story. You continued reading, your fingers trembling slightly as you turned the page.

The protagonist was now feeling watched, just like you had when you first noticed the strange coincidences. They began to hear footsteps at night, soft taps in the hallway that made their pulse quicken. You could feel your own breath quicken as you read, the words pulling you deeper into the mystery.

Then came the part that made your blood run cold.

The protagonist, unnamed until now, was given a name—a name that was yours.

You stared at the page, blinking, convinced you were seeing things. The name was printed clearly. Your name. It couldn’t be. Your mind whirled, trying to rationalize. Maybe it was some bizarre fluke, or maybe your mind was playing tricks on you, inserting your own name into the story because of how eerily familiar it had become.

You flipped back a few pages, scanning for when the name first appeared, but it wasn’t there. Your name hadn’t been mentioned earlier in the book. Yet now, it was all over the page, as if it had always been there.

Heart pounding, you turned to the next chapter. The protagonist—you—was walking through their home, checking the doors, locking the windows, making sure everything was secure. As they—you—moved through the house, the words began to describe something new. Something you hadn’t done yet.

You froze.

The book was describing your exact movements, as though it was watching you. " You glance at the clock. It’s 7:14. You place the book down on the side table and stand up, walking to the kitchen to make sure the back door is locked."

Your eyes darted to the clock. It was 7:14.

The book was reading you. Your movements, your thoughts, every detail of your life was being played out in the story, one sentence ahead of your actions.

Suddenly, you felt like you weren’t alone. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, thicker, like something was watching, waiting. You stood up, the book slipping from your hands, and glanced toward the hallway. The faint tapping, the sound of footsteps, echoed from the dark.

You turned to the book, still lying open on the chair. You didn’t want to, but you had to know. With trembling hands, you picked it back up.

"You walk slowly to the hallway, your heart racing. You know there’s something there. You know that, just beyond the corner, it waits for you."

The tapping grew louder. A steady rhythm, like fingers drumming against the wall.

"Your breath quickens as you step closer. You don’t want to look, but you can’t stop yourself. You turn the corner, and there it is. The watcher. It has been waiting for you all along."

You took a step forward, the hallway looming before you, every nerve in your body screaming at you to stop. But you couldn’t. The book was in your hands, and you had to know how it ended.

"The watcher is not human. It never was. Its eyes are fixed on you, unblinking, never leaving, always waiting. And now, you are part of its story. Forever."

You stopped at the edge of the hallway, unable to move. The footsteps had stopped. The house was deathly silent.

Slowly, you closed the book, but you knew it wasn’t over.

You stood frozen at the edge of the hallway, the eerie silence wrapping around you like a suffocating blanket. The book, now tightly gripped in your trembling hands, felt heavier than before, like it was something alive—breathing, watching, waiting. The words haunted you, the image of the watcher lurking just beyond the corner. But there was something else now, a new presence that made your skin prickle with a strange mix of fear and anticipation.

A soft knock echoed through the house. Your heart skipped a beat.

Someone was at the door.

For a split second, you wondered if you should even answer it. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong. But the knocking came again, more insistent this time, pulling you out of your paralysis.

You moved toward the door, the sound of your footsteps unnervingly loud in the stillness. When you finally reached it, you hesitated for a moment, your hand hovering over the handle. The knock came again, this time more insistent, followed by a familiar voice.

"Hey, it’s me, Heeseung. You there?"

Relief washed over you. Heeseung was your next-door neighbor, and more than that, your best friend. He was the first one who introduced himself to you once you moved here. He kept you company and helped you out when things got tough. He was the first one that felt like home. If anyone could calm you down from this bizarre, twisted night, it was him. You hurriedly reached the door knob, almost too eagerly, and opened it.

Heeseung stood there with his trademark grin, a hoodie pulled over his head and a baseball cap barely concealing his messy black hair that stuck to his forehead. He looked like he had just come from the rain, drops glistening on his clothes. His warm brown eyes scanned your face with an intensity you couldn’t place. For a moment, the world outside seemed to fade into a blur of rain and shadows. It was like the space around him didn’t quite exist, only he did—sharp and real, with an energy that made your pulse quicken.

“Hey,” he said, his voice steady, almost too calm for the moment. “I saw your light was still on and thought I’d check in. You okay?”

You blinked, unsure of what to say. The words felt heavy on your tongue. "What.... What are you doing here?"

The man smiled softly, though there was something about it that made your heart race, a mix of warmth and something else —something unreadable. “I’m your best friend dumbass, your neighbour too,” he said simply. “But you seemed like you needed someone right now.” Something about his presence put you slightly at ease, as though he was meant to be there. Like he'd always been there.

But your mind snapped back to the book, the horror of what you’d just read, and the watcher that had been described waiting in the shadows. Could this be another coincidence? Or was he something more—something tied to the terrifying mystery unfolding around you?

"Hey," he said, stepping in without waiting for an invitation, "you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost." He wiped the water from his face, his eyes scanning the room like he was searching for something. For a moment, he glanced at the book on the table, its pages slightly open, but he didn’t mention it. Instead, he leaned against the wall, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp.

You almost laughed at how close to the truth that was. "Yeah, I just—" You hesitated, glancing back at the book sitting on the armchair. "I was reading this creepy book, and it’s messing with my head. It… feels too real, Heeseung."

He raised an eyebrow, peeking over your shoulder at the book. "What do you mean, 'too real?'"

You sighed, trying to calm your nerves. "It’s like the book knows what I’m doing. It started describing my house, my movements, even my thoughts. And now I feel like something’s watching me."

Heeseung chuckled softly, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Come on, it’s just a book. You’re letting it get to you." Heeseung tilted his head, giving you that playful, reassuring smile that had always made you feel better.

Heeseung was right—this had to be your mind playing tricks on you.

As you looked at him, it seemed as if he wanted to say something but was hesitant. You were about to ask him about it but he then spoke after a moment, his voice soft but firm, “But truthfully, I’ve noticed things too. Weird things. I thought maybe... you’d want to talk about it.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up. He had noticed things? Things like what?

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung’s expression darkened slightly, his brows furrowing. “I don’t know how to explain it, but I think you’re being watched. I’ve seen someone—or something—lurking near your house at night. It’s hard to explain, but... it doesn’t feel right.”

Your pulse quickened, fear curling tightly in your chest. Was it the watcher? The same figure described in the book? How could Heeseung know about this? How could he have seen it when you only just read it?

As if sensing your rising panic, Heeseung stepped closer, his voice gentler. “Listen, I know how crazy this sounds, but I’m not lying. I’ve seen it. And I don’t think it’s just a person. I think it’s something worse.”

The book’s words flashed in your mind: "The watcher is not human. It never was."

Your throat went dry. “How do you know?” you managed to ask.

Heeseung hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours. “Because... I’ve been through this before. A long time ago, in another town, another place. It started just like this. The feeling of being watched. The strange occurrences. The book...”

Your heart stopped. The book.

Heeseung followed your gaze to the novel sitting on the table. His face paled slightly. “You’ve been reading it, haven’t you?”

You nodded slowly. “It’s... about me. It knows everything. Every detail of my life, every move I make. It’s like it’s writing my story as I live it.”

Heeseung ran a hand through his wet hair, his face grim. “It’s not just writing your story,” he said, his voice low. “It’s controlling it.”

You stared at him, a sinking feeling gnawing at your stomach. “What do you mean?”

Heeseung took a deep breath, his eyes darkening with the weight of what he was about to say. “Once you start reading it, it doesn’t stop. The book—"The Silent Watcher"—it latches onto you, like a parasite. It watches, it waits, and then it pulls you in. You become a character in its pages, trapped in the story it writes. The watcher... it’s part of the book, part of the story, and it’s after you.”

Your mind reeled. The watcher, the book, Heeseung—everything was connected. But how? Why?

“How do we stop it?” you whispered, dread settling deep in your bones.

Heeseung looked at you, his eyes filled with both fear and determination. “I don’t know if we can stop it,” he admitted. “But there might be a way to survive. We need to finish the book. And whatever happens, we need to make sure it doesn’t write the ending.”

The air around you seemed to grow colder, the walls of your house closing in as the weight of his words sank in. The watcher was out there, lurking, waiting. And the only way to escape was to face the story head-on.

With Heeseung by your side, you knew there was no turning back.

The book still lay open on the table, waiting for you to turn the next page.

Together, you took a deep breath and plunged back into the story, knowing that whatever came next, you were no longer alone in this nightmare.

The rain had slowed to a soft patter against the windows, but inside the house, the tension remained thick. You glanced at Heeseung, whose calm demeanor seemed to waver for a moment as he stared at the book on the table. His earlier words echoed in your mind—"The book is controlling your story. The watcher is part of it."

But something about him wasn’t sitting right.

You shook your head, trying to focus. This wasn’t the time for doubt. You had just discovered that your life, your every move, was being dictated by the book. You were living out its plot, a puppet in someone else’s hands, and now Heeseung was telling you that the watcher wasn’t just some figment of your imagination. It was real. But how did he know so much? How was he so familiar with the horrors unfolding around you?

Heeseung shifted beside you, his eyes scanning the room as if he were looking for something—or someone.

"Do you hear that?" he asked quietly, stepping closer to you. His voice was soft, but the way his eyes stayed fixed on the book sent a shiver down your spine.

You strained your ears. The house was silent, save for the ticking of the clock and the faint dripping of rain outside. "No… What are you—"

He cut you off, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly. "It's closer than you think. We need to be careful."

Before you could respond, something clicked in your mind—something off about him. There was a confidence in his movements that seemed too practiced, too precise. The way he watched the shadows, as if he was waiting for something, felt more deliberate than concerned. And then there was his sudden arrival. Why had he shown up tonight, of all nights? How had he known to come?

As Heeseung stepped away from you, pacing the room like he was calculating something, you caught sight of the reflection in the window. For just a split second, you saw it. The faintest hint of something dark, something familiar—the outline of a mask. It was familiar to the one you saw on the television just moments before. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, but your heart lurched in your chest.

You blinked hard, trying to push the thought away. It couldn't be true. Heeseung was helping you, he was your best friend. He seemed as terrified as you were, didn’t he?

But as he turned back to face you, his eyes meeting yours, something in his gaze had shifted. There was a glint, a spark of something cold, something calculated. You had seen that look before. Not in Heeseung, but in the very stories you had read—where the killer wore a friendly face, a mask hiding the truth underneath.

Your pulse quickened, the room suddenly feeling too small. "Heeseung," you said slowly, your voice barely above a whisper, "why are you really here?"

Heeseung stopped, his expression unreadable. The silence stretched between you for what felt like an eternity. Then, he let out a low chuckle, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I told you—I’ve been through this before. I’ve seen it happen. I’m trying to help you.”

But there was something wrong with the way he said it. The way his voice dropped, too smooth, too casual, as if he was reading from a script. And then, without warning, he stepped closer, his smile lingering just a little too long.

You took a step back, your breath catching in your throat. "Help me?" The question came out shaky, your nerves fraying. "Or are you just watching? Like the book says."

His eyes darkened, and for the first time, you saw it—an unsettling amusement lurking just beneath the surface. "It’s funny," he said, his voice soft, "how easy it is to blend in, to be the hero in someone’s story when really…" He trailed off, a twisted grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

Your heart raced as the truth began to dawn on you. Heeseung wasn’t here to help. He was here because he was part of the story. He wasn’t just a bystander or some random figure from the neighborhood. He was the watcher.

Heeseung leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin, and whispered, "You should’ve been more careful. You never know who’s behind the mask."

The room spun as the pieces clicked into place. Heeseung—he was the one watching, controlling the story from the shadows. He had lured you into this twisted narrative, guiding your every move, setting the stage for his own sick game.

And now, you were trapped with him, the very person you thought was your ally.

Fear gripped you, cold and unforgiving, as Heeseung’s hand drifted toward the edge of his jacket. Slowly, deliberately, he reached inside and pulled out the unmistakable white mask, the one you had seen in countless horror movies and nightmares. The very one you saw on TV.

Ghost Face.

He held it in his hand, turning it slowly, watching your reaction with a sick kind of satisfaction. “You really thought you could just read the book and escape?” he murmured, his voice dripping with amusement. “This story was never about escaping. It’s about survival.”

Your legs felt like they would give out beneath you, but you forced yourself to stand your ground. The book had warned you, laid out the plot, but now you realized—you were never meant to win.

Heeseung stepped closer, the mask now in place over his face, his voice deep and distorted as he spoke through the iconic grin. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure your ending is�� memorable.”

Panic surged through you, and before he could move, you bolted toward the hallway, your heart pounding in your ears. Behind you, you heard the low chuckle of Ghost Face, his footsteps slow and deliberate as he followed.

You stumbled through the hallway, your breath coming in ragged gasps, trying to make sense of the nightmare you were trapped in. The sound of Heeseung’s slow, deliberate footsteps echoed behind you, growing louder with each passing second. He wasn’t rushing—he didn’t need to. He had the upper hand, and he knew it.

How did it come to this? Your mind raced as you fought to keep yourself from spiraling into panic. Just hours ago, he was your friend—your ally in this strange, terrifying situation. But now, the realization that he had been the orchestrator of everything, the puppet master behind the mask, hit you like a punch to the gut.

You skidded into the kitchen, eyes scanning wildly for something—anything—to defend yourself. The drawers. You lunged for them, pulling one open and rifling through its contents. A flash of metal caught your eye, and you grabbed a kitchen knife, gripping it tightly in your trembling hands.

A soft, mocking laugh drifted from the hallway. “What’s the plan now?” Heeseung’s voice was calm, almost playful, as he spoke through the Ghost Face mask. “You think you’re going to fight me? You’re in my story.”

His footsteps were getting closer.

You backed up, heart pounding in your chest, gripping the knife so tightly that your knuckles turned white. “I’m not just going to stand here and let you kill me,” you spat, your voice shaking but defiant.

Heeseung’s figure emerged from the shadows of the hallway, the Ghost Face mask a chilling, distorted smile in the dim light. His head tilted slightly, as if amused by your bravery. “That’s what I like about you,” he said, his voice dripping with a twisted kind of admiration. “Always a fighter. But that’s what makes this fun, isn’t it?”

Heeseung raised a gloved hand, revealing the long, sharp blade of the knife that had been hidden beneath his coat. The sight of it sent a jolt of terror through you. You took a step back, keeping the kitchen table between the two of you, trying to buy time, trying to think of a way out.

“This isn’t a movie, Heeseung,” you said, voice trembling. “This is real life. You’re not going to get away with this.”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound dark and menacing. “But that’s where you’re wrong,” he said, twirling the knife in his hand like it was an extension of himself. “This is a story. And you’re still playing your part. You always have been.”

Your back hit the counter, and you realized you were running out of space. Heeseung was toying with you, taking his time, savoring every moment of your fear.

The book’s final pages flashed through your mind as you were trapped, the chilling truth seeping into your bones. You weren’t just a character in the story anymore.

You were its prey.

Part 2?

#enha #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen angst #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung #enhypen heeseung #heeseung lee #enha imagines #enha scenarios #enha x reader #enha heeseung #ghostface #reader x enhypen #reader x heeseung #engene

124 notes · View notes

jenoslutie · 1 year ago

Text

nct dream reactions: you as their wallpaper (M)

warnings: 18+ mdni, all members contain nsfw.

a/n: thank u to @hall0ween-twn @calibabii21 and @jasminexox5 for helping me come up with some of the ideas !! :D love u all lots. also for chenles part this is the reference!

MARK

Mark is a simple guy, his lock screen would probably be a picture he took of you off guard. Maybe one he took while the two of you were on a date. Definitely something with you and the sky. Whether it be mid-day, at sunset or even with the night sky with stars. His two favorite sights, his girl and the sky. If he’s feeling bold, Mark would definitely be the type to make his wallpaper a pic of the two of you but where one of his hands are on your ass or tits..preferably ass. Mark’s an ass man.

RENJUN

Renjun. Renjun’s an art freak we’ve been knew. His wallpaper would be a picture he took of the both of you at an art museum. Or Renjun begged you all day to let him paint on you, for you to be his personal canvas and when you finally agreed, not even halfway into his painting he’d already be bricked up and ready to show you just how pretty you look for him. And ofc he’d take a picture at the end to remember his work of art. That would be Renjun’s wallpaper.

JENO

Jeno’s in love with taking pictures of you. Whether it be in the morning when you wake up next to him, while you’re eating your favorite meal, or anything you’re doing, Jeno loves to photograph it. That also goes for when he has you bent over with his cock buried deep in you. He knows you love when he takes pictures of you when hes fucking you and he doesnt disappoint ever. Even going the extra mile to make it his wallpaper so he can look at how pretty you are all day. Also see him as the type to take sneaky pics like with you sitting on his lap in a pretty skirt but underneath the skirt, he has his cock buried deep in you.

HAECHAN

Hyuck’s a freak. If there's anything he loves more than you, it's showing you off. He doesn’t give a fuck about what other people think about his wallpaper as long as you’re okay with it. He’d be shameless about what his wallpaper is. One day it’ll be something cute and wholesome and then next it’s a picture of you naked, on your knees looking up at him with the smile he loves so much and if he’s feeling frisky, he’ll change his lockscreen to a picture of you in the same position with your face painted with his pretty cum <3

JAEMIN

Jaemin’s wallpaper will most likely be something with you and his cats, maybe you struggling to hold all 3 of them while sitting in front of the Christmas tree the two of you decorated together. something super domestic is what jaem would most likely go for however on the occasion he’s feeling like showing you off, he’s making his wallpaper a picture of your neck with his hand wrapped around it. Something simple but enough to show off who you belong to.

CHENLE

Chenle’s an interesting one. He has no shame. His wallpaper will most likely be something obscene unless he feels like just having a pretty picture of you that he took. maybe from a basketball game he took you to. Otherwise Chenle’s the type to make his wallpaper a picture of you, in his warrior’s jersey, legs spread, showing off your pussy that’s leaking with his cum.

JISUNG

Jisung loves the sky. He loves space and everything about it. So naturally his wallpaper would be the two of you outside at night with the pretty night sky glimmering behind you. Or if he’s feeling up for it and risky enough, it’ll be a picture of you in only the infamous cum stained hoodie with a fresh new load of cum on the hoodie as well as your face. Jisung loves to paint your face with his cum.

#mark lee smut #nct smut #jeno smut #nct dream smut #haechan smut #jaemin smut #renjun smut #chenle smut #park jisung smut #jisung smut #jenoslutie

971 notes · View notes

writingstoraes · 2 years ago

Text

paddock greetings 💌

pairing: charles leclerc/fem!reader

type: instagram imagine/social media au

notes: not proofread and not revised so please expect errors hehehe please lmk what u think by replying or messaging and if u wanna be part of my taglist! <3 this is a bit long! hehe

about: for your 5th anniversary and engagement, the drivers send their greetings with a bit of banter in the comments as always.

lewishamilton

liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, arthurleclerc, and 1,560,431 others

lewishamilton Greeting this two a happy 5-year anniversary and wishing them the best as they take another massive and wonderful step in their life! Best wishes to the best couple I know ❤️

charles_leclerc Thank you, mate! Also huge thanks for setting me up with her, wouldn't be here without you 😅

lewishamilton Well you wouldn't stop asking about her so I gave in 🤷‍♂️

charlesrari LMAOOO SIR LEWIS AIRING OUT CHARLES' BUSINESS LIKE THAT

yourusername thank you, lew! wow imagine if i never went on that blind date...

pierregasly I think you would have found someone better

charles_leclerc You have one minute before I pay a visit to your room.

pierregasly

liked by carlossainz55, lilymhe, yourusername, and 506,771 others

pierregasly Congratulations on the engagement of the two craziest people I know 🥂 Pls stop asking me to take cheesy pictures of you guys sometimes what you do in front of me is unacceptable. I still remember being behind the camera when I took you guys' infamous yacht shots 😮‍💨

yourusername not you saying we're improper im literally the third wheel when you and charles are together???

pierregasly Y/N you took Charles away from me can you blame me

charles_leclerc Pierre what

pierregasly Are you choosing your wife over me? Wow okay that hurts mate

danielricciardo

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, arthurleclerc, and 905,660 others

danielricciardo Some outtakes from my camera of Y/N and Charles. This was the first time Charles took Y/N on a trip with us and they honestly just bring out the best in each other. No better day to post this than now. Congratulations on the engagement, you two! 🎉 Wishing you live a life filled with love and happiness.

yourusername DANIEL WTH this is so pretty :(( these pictures are a blessing, thank you danny 🤍

charles_leclerc Thank you, Daniel! And thank you for my new wallpaper hahaha

carlossainz55 You're replacing me already?

charles_leclerc Mate you were never my wallpaper

pierregasly Don't even bother Carlos he's a married man now

yourusername what i have to deal with every day...

landonorris

liked by yourusername, maxverstappen, charles_leclerc, and 432,679 others

landonorris Congratulations on the engagement Y/N and Charles! I want to let you know that I am utterly disgusted by the two of you please stop flirting in front of me ❤️

yourusername you greeted us but at what cost

charles_leclerc ... Thanks???

ferrarifan3 Lando greeting like a true friend we love to see it

charloslove LMAO I KNEW LANDO WOULD HAVE THE FUNNIEST GREETING

carlossainz55

liked by charles_leclerc, yourusername, isahernaez, and 860,560 others

carlossainz55 Love you both to bits but honestly third-wheeling with you guys has got to be one of the worst experiences ever. "It'll be fun, Carlos," but then they'd leave me in the middle of the road - this happened in Madrid by the way and I will never live it down. Happy engagement, Charles and Y/N 😁

charles_leclerc Carlos we did not leave you we just bought food

carlossainz55 You were gone for 30 minutes?

charles_leclerc The taco line was long you said you wanted tacos!

myferrarimen this banter is what i live for honestly

yourusername why were u in the middle of the road anyway

carlossainz55 I dont remember 🤷‍♂️

charles16 how carlos doesnt get lost on a daily basis is a mystery to me

pierregasly Lmaooo they left you

yukibabie "I will never live it down" king of grudges

---------

tagging: @slytherheign <33 hope ur video recording for class went well mwah

notes: thought this was a rlly cute idea and my classes start on monday so its a bummer :// my masterlist is up and running so u can navigate thru my works on my pinned post! lmk what u guys think <33

#writtenbyrae #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc insta au #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc instagram imagine #formula 1 insta au #f1 imagine #formula 1 #f1 fanfic #formula 1 social media au #f1 fluff #f1 instagram au #f1 x reader #f1 x oc

2K notes · View notes

anshares · 3 months ago

Text

FAKE DATING A ROCKSTAR AU

Continuation art from my Renheng Week Day 4 prompt: Celebrity!

They first met during Summer Music fest, Ren notices a very cute fan in the crowd waving his red light stick.

Full plot under the cut

Dan Heng may not look like it but he is a huge fan of the band Stellaron especially their lead singer Blade.

He simps the man so hard that he built a shrine in his room, rows upon rows of Blade wallpaper and photo cards even the limited edition merch and no he will not divulge the info on how much he spent on this things

He also runs a stan account, and has a huge following since he takes really good fan cams and candid shots and is updated on news about Blade.

The Stellaron band consists of

ren - Main vocals + Guitar

Firefly - keyboard

Kafka - Bass

Silver wolf - Drummer

Elio - Manager

Everyone loves Blade’s deep husky voice, Kafka also calls their fans destiny slaves. Blade doesn't like to be interviewed so whenever they do he just stay silent he is a private person after all and hates it when the media pries into his personal affairs so he lets kafka does all the talking while SW is in charge of their social media.

Stelle is friends with Kafka. Both March and Stelle know DH is obsessed with Blade, he is Blade’s number one fan and biggest simp.

So Stelle gives him front row VIP tickets for each concert he plans to attend (before, he was always just somewhere in the masses) and stelle and march accompanies him for those concerts to support Kafka.

Blade notices the guy who always looks like he hates every second of this and would rather be at home and assumes that he’s just there because of his friends. Since he recognizes Stelle as Kafka’s friend, it’s easy to get in contact with DH to ask him for a favor.

The favor is to be his fake boyfriend so that the media won't pester him and he won't get caught up in dating rumors, he is sick and tired of them. DH asks why he chose him of all people,

Blade tells him it is because he thinks that DH hates him and doesn't want anything to do with him so it's perfect as they wont have the risk of falling for each other. (oh but blade already did the moment he saw DH and his resting bitch face)

When news got out of Blade’s boyfriend at first they were trying to hide his identity as per DH request since he likes his privacy thank you very much and he knows how fans can get crazy over this news.

He only appears in social media post in stellaron hunters official account like his back or side,Blade and him holding hands or the “candid photo” of them being affectionate but its all staged,

but fans see how soft blade is with his boyfriend (based on the photos) plus how he starts talking when asked about the boyfriend in interviews stellaron and blade fans call it his gap moe.

I’d imagine that DH is the type to show as little emotion as possible while feeling A LOT on the inside, so he’s keeping his resting bitchface around Blade for months while they are fake dating, all while freaking out on the inside because he gets to spend time with his idol (who later becomes his crush, once he gets to know him personally).

The only reaction Blade gets out of him is when they banter, which is when DH smiles ever so slightly, and Blade makes it his mission to get him to smile more often, falling hard in the process.

It takes Blade a long time to realize DH is actually a fan since for the longest time he thought DH was his number one hater not his biggest fan, and even longer until he finds out that DH has developed romantic feelings during their fake dating.

One time dh got jealous because of a hoard of fan girls and boys. Ren was surrounded and tbh Ren wants to escape but he can't so dh takes it up on himself and lays claim on his man (fake dating) so he kisses him in front of them and declares that blade is his.

He pulls blade away cuz everyone was stunned (even blade) so that's the infamous boyfriend that everyone is talking about.

Dh apologized afterwards for doing that suddenly but blade just says they need more practice if they need to really sell this relationship of theirs and so they practice.

The next day it was trending all over the net since blade’s mysterious bf is always not shown fully but he is always there with blade backstage since according to blade he is shy and doesn't like media attention which is true but now his identity is out in the open

Blade finds out DH being a simp because of a limited edition photocard like only 5 exist in the world slips out of dh pocket (cuz he just fought tooth and nail for it in an auction and has just came back from claiming the item)

Before this, DH always came up with excuses as to why they couldn’t hang out at his place because he didn’t want Blade to see his merch collection.

While possessing some merch is completely normal, DH is very much aware that his collection (and the Blade shrine) are excessive and could creep Blade out, even if he tried to explain that his simping was strictly fan-idol type (that is, before he got to know him personally, but Blade doesn’t need to know that this changed)

When blade hangs out on dh home to get away from the fans dh he was confused on why dh wont let him in his room his excuse, Its messy so he’ll clean up said mess is blade shrine, merch, dakimakura etc.

Dh: *panic mode* *cleans in the speed of light* okay you can come in now

Blade: ???? Your room....is very minimalist *stares at the closet with lock and key*

Dh: don't mind that it has a very loose lock

Blade: i can fix it for y-

Dh: NO DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH THAT *gives him the death glare* *looks away* i just dont want to clean up again since it'll all spill out

Blade is surprised that DH isn’t using pillow and duvet covers, DH has to lie that he only has one pair that’s currently in the laundry(once he finds out about that he gets jealous of the pillow)

Dh be sweating bullets the whole time

DH: "(Oh my gooood how long will blade stay here, go home already 💢💢💢“Go home so I can cuddle your dakimakura”)

(If Blade knew about this, he would wish that this was him)

He doesn't know how long it'll hold since he knows he has tons of merch by the time blade does get out of the room, that's when the lock bursts. Dh almost fainted his idol and fake boyfriend finding out his biggest secret but he does find out later which is what his situation is right now

Blade does see the shrine and isn't freaked out about it in fact he is quite happy, he will also see the dakimakura

He will also throw the pillow away like why cuddle the pillow when you have the real authentic one right beside you.

DH: The pillow is soft, you aren’t

(Blade ends up convincing him with the power of his tiddies)

When they are on tour DH has trouble falling asleep and the dakimakura’s ain't enough now

According to DH, blade ruined him cuz he cant fall asleep now without blade right beside him.

During the tour Blade misses DH and realized he wants to be with him 24/7 so after he got back from their tour he asked DH to be his real boyfriend and ofc DH agreed.

#renheng #hsr ren #hsr blade #hsr dan heng #blade x dan heng #ren x dan heng #honkai: star rail #honkai star rail #崩坏：星穹铁道 #刃丹 #刃恒 #刃 #丹恒 #my art #fan art

68 notes · View notes

insipid-drivel · 5 months ago

Text

Toxins, Venom, and Poisons in Historical Western Medicine: How Are We Not Extinct From Doing Some Of This To Ourselves?

This piece is an involuntary piece inspired by @writing-with-sophia's awesome post "Poison list", which is an accurate and succinct list of commonly known (and ancient!) poisons, venoms, and toxins that have been and were used for causing poisoning in ancient and recent history. I wanted to write this because what struck me by their post crossing my dash was, the sheer number of poisons listed that were - and even still are - used as mainstays for healthcare around the world throughout the ages!

OBLIGATORY DON'T BE A DUMBASS PSA: If you're planning on incorporating these poisons into your HISTORICAL-era writing, it's also important to remember that many of them were used for medicinal purposes at one time, too, and it's great you're interested in learning about the subject! And also, you shouldn't try ANY of these! I will not tell you how to do it at home if you DM me, so don't! You are not appropriately trained to do it! You will harm or kill yourself and possibly your loved ones if you fuck around with any of these and it will be 100% your fault and you absolutely should feel bad bout it! I've seen some of you idiots believe 4chan posts about making home-grown crystals using recipes for actual mustard gas and seen you being wheeled into the ER on the news! I will not feel bad if you get yourself hurt if you screw around with any of these plants, elements, or animals!

Resource blog plugs and PSA over, now for the Hilariously Poisonous Medicines:

If you're writing something that's meant to take place prior to the advent of our more modern understanding of poisons, venoms, and toxins, factoring in "this is toxic to me NOW, but what about 500 years ago?" can add a lot of opportunities for interesting plot elements to your story.

These can include someone accidentally poisoning themselves with a toxic drug or substance that wouldn't have killed them if they'd handled it properly - like tansy? Grows all over the place in Europe and England? That'll kill you if you harvest it too late in the season, but it's good for intestinal parasites when it's harvested early in the year and processed right.

Did the lady's maid really kill her mistress with belladonna? Or was she trying to secretly help her mistress get rid of an unwanted pregnancy?

The protagonist's children can't survive to make it to weaning age! Is the wetnurse a poisoner, or does the milkman hide that he sells sour milk by pouring Borax into it so no one could taste it and has no idea he's killing his clients' babies?

Nuance and cultural mores regarding historical views about poisons and toxins can make writing even more fun, dynamic, and interesting! Explore 'em!

Just... please don't try any of this crap yourself. You will poison yourself, it will hurt, you will die, and you will hurt the entire time you're dying. Using OP's master list alone, here's the flip side of these lethal beasts through the eyes of our distant ancestors who believed illness was caused by "vapors", "bad air", and "imbalanced humors":

Hemlock:

Used across multiple different cultures in history. When properly administered to treat a disease, poison hemlock was used to treat asthma, whooping cough, bronchitis, joint/bone pain, muscle cramps, and insomnia. Hemlock was most often used as a sedative and antispasmodic.

Arsenic:

Arsenic is a heavy metal, and so has been used in everything from making specialty dyes for wallpapers (Scheele's green is the most infamous arsenic-based paint; Queen Victoria once had a guestroom in her palace redone with Scheele's green wallpaper. The first dignitary to stay there had to be carried out and taken to emergency care after breathing astronomical amounts of arsenic dust from the wallpaper's paint), to medicine. Arsenic was especially commonly used in history to treat skin ailments ranging from acne, to psoriasis, to syphilis sores. It was also sometimes prescribed for menstrual cramps, upset stomachs, colic, and arthritis, among many, many other things.

Cyanide:

Uh... I have literally never found any evidence of cyanide in medicine, outside of its use in modern medicine as part of certain chemical lab tests for measuring urine ketone bodies that involve no contact with a patient whatsoever. Cyanide literally works in less than a few seconds to render your entire body incapable of absorbing OR using oxygen in your lungs or already existing in your blood. Cyanide is really only good at making things that breathe not breathe anymore.

Nightshade:

There are a lot of different "nightshades", so being specific is essential here. Potatoes are nightshades. Tomatoes are nightshades. Calling anything a "nightshade" does not inherently mean it's lethally toxic. Belladonna is probably the most notorious of the "deadly" nightshades, but to this day, is still used medicinally, and would actually be seen as a health and cosmetic mainstay in historical fiction, especially if your setting is in Italy!

Belladonna is an Italian portmanteau for "beautiful woman", because tinctures (water-based drops) of belladonna were commonly used by Italian women as eyedrops to dilate their eyes and appear more attractive, aroused, and desirable. Today, belladonna's eye-dilating effects are still used by optometrists to dilate the pupils! Belladonna has been, and still sometimes is used as an NSAID, general painkiller, motion sickness treatment, asthma medication, and even as a treatment for IBS.

Ricin:

As OP said, Ricin is derived from the toxin found in Castor Beans, and is surprisingly new as an official "the only reason this is made is to make someone dead" poison. Not only is ricin a popular "nobody would think to test for this!" choice in mystery/thriller writing, but it has been used for political assassinations in real life before. Georgi Markov, a Bulgarian anti-Communist dissenter and writer, was killed in 1978 with a 1.7mm diameter ricin-coated pellet shot into his thigh muscle by an unidentified assailant using a modified umbrella as a gun. He died 4 days later.

Historically, castor OIL has been used for medicinal purposes, especially for treating constipation, inducing labor in pregnancy, and as a topical skin moisturizer. If you've ever watched the opening scene in Disney's "Peter Pan", when the childrens' mother is trying to give them a spoonful of medicine each, she's actually giving them castor oil! Castor oil tastes really bad (so much so that flavorings like cinnamon were often added to try to muffle the taste), so the childrens' reluctance and disgust at their mom making them take their medicine is very realistic for the era the movie came out in!

Strychnine:

Another lethal poison that started life as a medicine/food additive. Strychnine is no longer used medicinally at all today, but historically, it was used to stimulate the heart, treat bladder and bowel incontinence, and limb palsy. Strychnine is a deadly-powerful muscle stimulant that, as a poison, causes horrifyingly painful full-body strictures (spasms) and destroys the cardiovascular system. (Fun fact: Strychnine and hydrochloric acid were historically mixed into cheap vodka to make knock-off gin, especially during the Georgian Era in England if the brewer didn't have or couldn't afford juniper berries!)

Snake Venom:

Seriously, do your research before you write an actual, real snake species using venom they don't produce! The Big 3 Forms Of Snake Venom are: Hemotoxic, Neurotoxic, and Cytotoxic. Specific snake species exclusively generate the same kind of venom (so a hemotoxic snake will ALWAYS produce baby snakes that also make hemotoxic venom). Aristotle himself wrote in 380 BC that certain snake venoms could be applied for treating fevers, smallpox, and leprosy, and there is even some evidence in the historical record prior to the 1800s that different cultures have experimented throughout the eons with using venom for converting into antivenom, but I've never found a source citing anyone making a successful form of antivenom until around the 1850s.

Digitalis:

OP really nailed the important thing about Digitalis, and that is it's cardiac benefits for certain people - particularly for treating congestive heart failure. Vincent van Gogh was actually prescribed epilepsy medication that likely contained Digitalis, aka Foxglove, and there are some prevailing theories about van Gogh's love of bright yellow paint as being either caused or exacerbated by the symptoms associated with digitalis use, which can cause an attraction to and increased visual sensitivity to the color yellow. In several portraits, including one of his own psychiatrist, van Gogh shows subjects presented alongside foxglove flowers. Digitalis is absolutely lethal if consumed or taken without expert guidance, however, because it's the mother ingredient of Digoxin. Digoxin isn't used as frequently as it used to be a few decades ago, but it's still used and prescribed today for certain forms of heart failure and heart disease. Digoxin was also, at one time, was also sometimes used to induce chemical abortions.

Lead:

Dear god, lead. Not only is it so slow to kill you that you'll think that the only way to manage your symptoms is with more lead, but lead poisoning can be a life-long crisis for a person who is regularly exposed to it. Humans have used lead for everything from plumbing, to paint, to our cutlery, to cosmetics, to medicine. While yes, it is very possible to ingest enough lead in a single sitting to die within hours or days, most sufferers of lead poisoning experience it for years or decades before the symptoms become obvious. Some archaeologists believe that the Romans used lead cutlery because lead has a unique reaction when we lick it: when you have lead coating your tongue, it makes EVERYTHING you eat suddenly taste 10x better. I learned this myself from going target-shooting with my mom at a gun rage as a teenager, inhaled gunsmoke (which contains lead), and went for lunch immediately after. Even though I was just eating a $5 meal from In-N-Out, my burger tasted so good I thought I was gonna have to change my pants. When I asked the rangemaster at the target place about it later, he literally said, "Oh yeah, lead makes the worst cooking taste like heaven."

The ancient Romans ate a lot of rotten, spoiled, and sour food, and so lead would've made it easier to eat it back then. But the neurological effects of lead poisoning are nightmarish. It's suspected that, in America, the #1 reason we had so many active serial killers in the country from the 1940s-2000s was because of leaded gasoline. Ever since leaded gasoline was banned? Serial and random violent crime rates have dramatically gone down, especially in metropolitan cities. Ancient Rome, too, gradually became an increasingly violent city as its population went up and its reliance on lead did. We're only just now starting to figure out how toxic lead actually is, so go nuts with using it as a plot element regarding subjects like "Why Are You Like This?"

Mercury:

Mercury is also known as quicksilver, because in spite of being a heavy metal, the temperature at which it melts into a liquid is very, very low compared to most other metals. The first Emperor of China, Qin Shi Huang, was rumored to be so obsessed with the notion of immortality that he would send his doctors on doomed voyages around the world searching for a legendary substance that would, indeed, make him immortal. Legend has it that some doctors who were tasked with the job found out about the last guys, and produced mercury before Emperor Qin Shi Huang and cried, "Here it is! I got it!" so they wouldn't end up doomed to drown at sea. Qin Shi Huang became so obsessed with ingesting and medicating himself with mercury that, when his legendary tomb was being constructed, he had a small-yet-accurate-to-scale map of China+the known world about the size of a football field with every body of water full of fountains of running mercury in his burial chamber. His tomb was rediscovered in the last couple of decades after archaeologists found suspiciously high levels of mercury in the soil on top of a "hill" that had been sitting in the countryside untouched for thousands of years. It turned out to be Qin Shi Huang's long-lost tomb.

Since those days, mercury has closely been associated in early medicine as a sort of cure-all, since it literally kills anything it touches (including people). Captain Blackbeard himself, the most notorious pirate in Western history (Western specifically; google who Zheng Yi Sao was), was known or widely believed to be a syphilis sufferer, and desperately sought infusions of mercury from ships he'd capture (and the doctors onboard) to treat it, believing like everyone did that mercury could cure syphilis. It can't. They just didn't understand back then that syphilis starts off surface-level, and then eats your brain years after the initial infection.

Aconite:

Again, ridiculously toxic outside of specific medicinal applications that still aren't safe today! Aconite, or wolfsbane, has historically been used as a heart sedative (for slowing the heart), diuretic, painkiller, and even used to induce sweating. Evidence of wolfsbane being used for medicinal purposes has been spotted here and there over thousands of years throughout the Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Empires, but its original use came about in Ancient Greece for hunting and culling wolves by poisoning bait-food with it. That form of hunting died out long before the European Middle Ages, but the name "wolfsbane" stuck. Mostly because in the Middle Ages, a lot of people believed werewolves were a huge problem, and kept wolfsbane handy to deter said werewolves.

Thallium:

Today, thallium is mostly used in the production of camera and eyeglass lenses. Before its toxicity was known about, it wasn't strange to hear of thallium being used topically to treat fungal infections like ringworm. Thallium was also sporadically used in treating typhus and tuberculosis, along with a wide array of sexually transmitted diseases.

This list doesn't even touch the tip of the toxic iceberg when it comes to the sheer quantity of hilariously dangerous toxins people have, or still continue, to use for medicinal purposes! In a Victorian-era English London middle-class townhouse setting alone, there were dozens and dozens of ways to poison or otherwise harm yourself just by going about your daily life. So, if you've got a period piece you're working on, or are just bored, you can pick an exact date and time in our history and learn just how terrifyingly comfortable our ancestors were with upsettingly dangerous substances and home remedies. You can also watch a massive docuseries, called "Hidden Killers" and hosted by historian Suzannah Lipscomb, among other historians and archaeologists, which deep-dives into the hidden and unknown dangers of living in eras from Tudor-Era England, to the Post-WWII Reconstruction Age.

As a final note: I am NOT bashing Chinese or Eastern medicinal practices here, and in fact deliberately have gone out of my way to not include any references toward culturally-sanctioned medicinal practices in Eastern and Southeastern Asia. This post is specifically related to the history of WESTERN medicines and their associated history. I am not, nor have I ever been, a doctor of any traditional Eastern medicinal practices, and do not pretend to know better. Sinophobes are unwelcome in my blog space.

#creative writing #historical medicine #writing reference #poison #toxins #long post #very long post #really long post #writing-with-sofia #sinophobes dni #if i've offended the OP of the first post with this i sincerely apologize #i got excited and it gave me a case of diarrhea-level infodumps

111 notes · View notes

thedroneranger · 1 year ago

Text

Pages In-between

Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Synopsis: Mrs. Seresin is a hard person to surprise. However, stealing a page from her book, Jake may have managed to catch his wife off guard.

Notes: Here is entry one of two for @roosterforme's '80s Rocktober challenge! The song is Centerfold by J. Geils Band. Part of the To-do List collection.

Warnings: 18+ only; smut.

Word count: 3.8k.

Mrs. Seresin did a little happy dance as she stuck the key in the lock and opened the door of her PO box. This was the last time she would have to stop by the post office to pick up her business mail. A smile pulled her lips as she cradled all the mail in one hand and locked the box with the other.

She was also delighted by the thought of all her sample books and design digests moving to her new studio. Now, she and Jake had more room for collector edition novels and travel tchotchkes in their home office. Jake was returning tonight from a week-long training and had promised to help pack. He might’ve been more excited than her that she was finally getting a studio.

Jake never stood in the way of her career, but he did voice his opinion about her need for more separation between work and home. Yes, she had an office—they technically shared the space—but sometimes work spilled into other areas of the house. And Jake knew she was overworking when he was away.

Today’s mail drop was sizable and included a few new sample books. A couple of her monthly subscriptions also arrived. She’d have time to thoroughly sort when she got home. Jake wasn’t due back until later.

Once home, she parked in the garage and was greeted by Ruck when she entered the house. She spent a few minutes loving him before going upstairs to change. Ruck on her heels, she returned to the garage to get the mountain of mail. Back inside, she stood at the kitchen island and sorted.

A sample book for a new tile company’s latest collection. The wallpaper samples a client requested. Pantone’s interiors collection for the new year. New editions of Dwell and Architectural Digest. The last piece of mail was wrapped in an opaque poly plastic bag. Going for ease, she fished scissors out of the drawer beside her and sliced off the crimp.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said aloud as she pulled a glossy magazine out of the wrapper. Staring back at her was a shirtless Jake, wearing Wranglers with his thumbs hooked in the belt loops. He donned his favorite Stetson and had a toothpick dangling from his lips. The title Flyboy was printed above his head in a font that mimicked the infamous Playboy.

A smile plastered on her face, she sighed as she flipped it open. As tempted as she was to immediately look at the centerfold, she browsed the articles and features first. Jake put a lot of thought into Flyboy—from the photos to the articles and down to the barcode, which included their wedding date.

Now she understood why she’d been banned from his calendar photoshoot.

Every year, the Lemoore-based strike fighter squadrons competed to raise money for charity. By New Year’s Eve each year, the squadrons were expected to present a check for at least $12,000 to the charity of their choice. The three years previous, Jake’s squadron, the VFA-151 Vigilantes, had at least doubled the minimum expected donation. The squadron’s creative approaches to raising funds not only brought in a lot of money but made them the reigning champions.

Over the years, the Seresin became a staple in the competition. Year 1, Mrs. Seresin pitched the Commander to allow the Vigilantes to participate in a date auction. The night was memorable not only because the squadron raised $64,000, but also because Mrs. Seresin got into a bidding war with the Commander’s ex-wife over Jake. The victor, she got kudos from the Commander for putting his pain-in-the-ass ex in her place.

The following year, Jake suggested weekend car washes from Memorial Day to Labor Day. The weekends he and Mrs. Seresin volunteered were always the highest grossing. When Mrs. Seresin couldn’t join him, he was sure to send her pictures of him and the rest of the squad posing in black triangle bikini tops.

For Year 3, the squadron was cleared to host an air show. It got so much publicity that the Navy decided its official demo squadron, the Blue Angels, would participate. Obsessed with the Blue Angels as a child, Jake nearly blacked out when he was presented with an honorary patch for flying alongside them.

No one thought the Vigilantes would be able to top the air show for Year 4. However, inspired by an anniversary gift from his wife, Jake proposed a calendar. Twelve months, 12 pilots. After the initial laughter, everyone was sold.

When Jake told his Mrs. Seresin, she immediately sprung into action to assist. By the time Jake left for work the next morning, she had secured a pro bono photographer and had plans to dress the sets and pilots. Jake knew his wife was a force, but she never ceased to amaze him. She had to shoo him out of the house before he was late for work, because he was showering her in physical gratitude.

Mrs. Seresin couldn’t help but smile as she thought about all the late nights and takeout. Ann, her long-time friend, agreed to be the photographer and de facto assistant art director. Mrs. Seresin and Ann had staged and shot so many home and business interiors together, they lost count. They were excited to tackle a new frontier.

However, Mrs. Seresin did not get to conquer the frontier that was Jake in front of the camera. When he asked her to not attend his shoot because he wanted to surprise her, she choked down her disappointment and respected his wishes.

However, her disappointment was in the rearview mirror the minute she saw Jake’s photo at the reveal party. Clad in just his dress whites pants, Jake’s megawatt smile lit the image while he kneeled alongside Ruck. Tongue lolling out of his mouth, Ruck was also smiling at the camera.

To top it off, Jake was the pilot for December, Mrs. Seresin’s birthday month. “An early birthday gift,” Jake called it as he hugged her to his side and kissed her temple.

That night was for Jake and the rest of the squad, but Mrs. Seresin felt like the real winner.

After its release, the Vigilante calendar took social media by storm. It was easily their most successful campaign, raking in over six figures. And of course, Jake and Ruck became everyone’s favorite duo.

Although Jake wasn’t on social media, and Mrs. Seresin kept her social footprint strictly business, the internet sleuths still found them. Fortunately, they were respectful of their boundaries. Even more surprising, learning Jake was married and that Ruck was Mrs. Seresin’s dog just made folks swoon harder.

An hour after opening the mail, Mrs. Seresin was tucked on the couch, wine in hand, and reading Flyboy cover to cover. Ruck laid at her feet and lifted his head every now and then to confirm her noises weren’t duress.

Mrs. Seresin held the magazine sideways to take in the centerfold in all its glory. Jake was standing naked in the foreground of a hangar with his helmet perfectly positioned to keep the photo modest and have his call sign on full display. His signature smile, sandwiched between deep dimples, added to the cheekiness of the missing vowels on his helmet. She couldn’t help but smile.

Jake knew the magazine arrived today. His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he thought about her reading it. It wasn’t the pictures he was nervous about, it was the pages in between.

Curating Flyboy was a trip down memory lane for Jake. He spent time scrolling through their shared memories and writing his perspective of their adventures. It was fun, and he even decided to start a journal.

Jake was confident the magazine caught her off guard. His birthday plan was unfolding perfectly. He was hoping his outfit, his flight suit, was the second punch of a one-two celebration combination. The cherry on top was riding shotgun: a half dozen her favorite donuts.

Since her birthday was two days after Christmas, Jake vowed to keep her birthday separate from the holidays. To honor that, he always celebrated with her in early December. More used to having her birthday swept under the rug, it was the first time in their relationship Jake was able to surprise her.

The truck headlights lit the closed garage door as Jake pulled into the driveway. Once parked, he slipped out of the vehicle and prepared for Mrs. Seresin’s three-legged protector, Ruck, to greet him. Inside, while Jake shed his things at the door, Ruck nosed the donut box. Jake had bought a doggie donut so Ruck could celebrate, too. Package inspected and approved, Ruck led the way to the living room.

Mrs. Seresin was flipping through what Jake assumed was his magazine. She glanced up to find him swaggering over in his flight suit—the top tied around his waist—and a black t-shirt, holding a box. “Hey, flyboy.” Her voice was sultry. “Or should I say coverboy.” Jake couldn’t help but smile, and she mirrored his expression.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He flipped open the box. Her face lit up as she stood to get a donut. Jake watched as she selected her favorite and happily took a huge bite. While she chewed it, she turned the pastry to feed Jake. He obliged.

She tucked a couple fingers in the waist of his flight suit and led him to the couch. Jake placed the donuts on the coffee table and traded her donut for Ruck’s treat. She smiled and fed it to him. Jake’s heart swelled at how gentle Ruck was with her. She finished her donut nestled under Jake’s arm with Ruck’s head in her lap. She fed Jake the last bite. After swallowing, he leaned in to plant a sugary kiss on her lips and murmur one more “happy birthday”.

“Can I unwrap my present?” She smirked at him.

Jake grinned. “You already did.” He tipped his head toward the magazine on the table. Mrs. Seresin leaned forward to grab the magazine, and then returned to her spot under Jake’s arm. Casually, she flipped the pages. “Do you like it?” Jake questioned.

“Love it,” she quickly answered. She looked at him with the biggest smile. He leaned down again and pressed his lips to hers. “So thoughtful. So personal. So hot,” she said between kisses. “But you really didn’t drive home in your suit flight for me?” Her lips pulled into a pout. “I know this is a clean suit. You don’t reek of jet fuel.” Jake wordlessly responded, his bottom lip disappeared behind his teeth as he smiled.

“What was your favorite article?” Jake asked, unfazed.

“Ruck’s, of course.” Jake scrunched his nose at her. She chuckled and returned to lazily flipping the pages. “I also liked reminiscing about our honeymoon. You picked some exclusive photos.” Jake flashed a toothy grin as she looked back at him. He had included some photos he took of Mrs. Seresin on the private yacht they stayed on for their French Riviera honeymoon.

His personal favorite was her draped nude on a deck lounge chair with her legs butterflied while she pleasured herself—her hand tastefully covered her core. “I’d love to recreate some of those by the pool,” he responded.

“Mhmm,” Mrs. Seresin replied, still flipping through the magazine. “Or on another yacht. We do have a milestone anniversary coming up,” she reminded him. Jake responded by placing a kiss to her temple.

“Your photos were nice, too,” she added, making eye contact with him and sticking her tongue out. He squeezed her closer and tried to playfully catch her tongue but captured her bottom lip instead. She leaned into the kiss, bringing a hand to the side of his face. Carefully, Jake removed the periodical from her lap as she slid onto his.

Straddling him, she cradled his face in her hands as she deepened the kiss. Magazine safely on the coffee table, Jake slipped his hands under her shirt—one of his Academy shirts—and his thumbs dipped into the waistband of her bike shorts to rub the soft skin of her lower belly. His thumbs circled lower and confirmed his suspicion—no panties.

She rolled her pelvis into his as she kissed him harder. He moaned, and Mrs. Seresin thought she might come right then. She pulled away, mouth agape, and sat back on his lap. “Get this off.” She demanded as she helped strip him of his t-shirt. “Just like the magazine.” She referred to the picture of Jake shirtless with his flight suit tied around his waist. In the photo his suit was so dangerously low that, with his thumb hooked in the roll, you could see his tiny “Bite me” tattoo.

She rubbed herself all over Jake as they continued to make out. Jake’s hands alternated between squeezing her ass and wandering up her shirt. He quickly learned she wasn’t wearing a bra and was doing his best to coax her out of her top.

She whined and tangled her fingers in his locks, pulling his head back and breaking their kiss. “I want to feel more of your skin.” Jake punctuated his statement by palming her ass.

“It’s not your birthday, you don’t get to make demands.” She ground herself more in his lap, making him groan.

“Not a demand, just a suggestion,” Jake responded. She loosened her grip on him, allowing him to dip his head toward her chest. She watched as he found one of her taut nipples through the fabric. Gently, he tugged it with his teeth. She bit her bottom lip as she enjoyed the sensation.

“Jake.” She drew out his name as her head tipped back. He switched to the other nipple. “Fuck.” She quickly ripped her shirt overhead, and he gladly mouthed her bare chest. As he licked and sucked and massaged, she found a rhythm rolling her pelvis against his.

Mrs. Seresin slowly halted her hips and curled her fingers back into Jake’s hair to pull him away from her chest. Jake looked up at her—lips puffy and cheeks a little flush. He whined when she wiggled out of his lap.

She stood and slowly began to slide off her bike shorts as she sauntered out of his reach. She even turned so he could see her tattoo appear on the swell of her backside as she slowly slid the fabric down. Once her shorts were around her ankles, she stepped out of them.

“C’mon, coverboy.” Back still to Jake, she come-hithered him over her shoulder as she strutted away. Jake immediately knew where she was leading him. He practically jumped off the couch and ran after her. She squealed when his arm snaked around her middle, and he carried her sideways into their office.

There were boxes—half full, empty, flat packed—strewn around the room. Otherwise, the office was in its usual decadence. The floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out to the secluded backyard, letting the moonlight flood the space.

Jake marched past their desk, over to the windows and set Mrs. Seresin on her feet. He soaked in her naked form as he held her until she was steady. Jake was distracted by her curves illuminated in the night light. She got his attention back by tugging on his arm as she turned to face him. Jake made eye contact with her as his hands continued to traverse her body. He could feel the incremental movements of her muscles.

“You ok?” She asked as she wrapped her arms around his neck and moved a stray lock of hair away from his face.

Jake engulfed her in his arms and pulled her into his chest. Her head was tipped completely back. “Never better.” His voice was heavy with lust. She smiled as his lips met hers for a lingering kiss. “Is it my birthday or yours?” he asked as they separated.

She smirked and nipped his lip. “It’s definitely mine.” She slipped out of his arms. He watched as she pressed her back flush to the cool windows. “Your flight suit looks good on, but take it off for me, coverboy,” she said.

Even in the low light, Jake’s smile was beaming. Jake’s movements were antagonistically slow as he loosened the fabric and pushed it down his body. She couldn’t help but smile as he mimicked her earlier motions, slowly revealing his tattoo.

Flight suit abandoned, he stalked toward her, holding eye contact. His cock bounced against his abdomen with each step. Back and palms still flush to the glass, she craned her head back to maintain eye contact as Jake approached. He leaned down for a kiss. A large hand softly cupped the column of her throat. Jake had her pinned between him and the window with his length resting against her belly. She squeezed her thighs together as their make out intensified.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Jake pulled back. “Turn.” His voice was deep. She obeyed and supported herself with her forearms against the glass as she bent and arched her back.

Mrs. Seresin closed her eyes and remembered to breathe as Jake easily slid to the hilt. “You’re so wet,” Jake praised as he began a slow pace. One hand returning to her throat. “Did you work yourself up looking at my photos, thinking about what’s behind that helmet?” Jake rhetorically asked as he gently squeezed her neck. He snapped his hips, making her whimper. He smiled, feeling the hum against his fingers.

For leverage, Jake placed a hand beside hers on the window, and slipped the other around her front between her legs. She moaned and squeezed her eyes closed as his calloused fingers drew tight circles on her clit. Jake smiled into her shoulder as he felt her push onto her toes to chase the friction of his fingers.

Together they found a perfect rhythm. Jake continued to pepper her with praise and move with her. Eventually, Mrs. Seresin had her cheek and chest pressed against the window. She moaned with each thrust. Jake knew if they kept this positioned he’d come before her.

She gasped but stayed pressed to the window as Jake dropped to his knees. Spreading her with his thumbs, he lapped her from behind. She keened as she arched her back more to give him better access. Jake shifted slightly so his tongue dipped into her.

That was all Mrs. Seresin needed. Jake stilled and let her bounce up and down on his tongue. Mrs. Seresin grew louder with each bob. Palms pressed to the glass, she rested her chin on it as she quickened her pace. Finally, her hips stuttered and she slowed her motions as waves of pleasure rolled through her.

Jake popped to his feet and quickly slipped his cock into her throbbing heat. “Yes,” he hissed as her walls squeezed him. A few thrusts and he pumped her full of cum.

He groaned as his body eclipsed hers against the glass. After he caught his breath, he kissed her shoulders. She groaned, lifting her head off the window to look over her shoulder.

“Happy birthday,” Jake said before he pressed his lips to hers.

“A happy birthday, indeed.” She returned to her position against the window.

Quickly, Jake slipped out of her and scooped into her his arms to avoid dripping any cum on the floor. She relaxed into him as he carried her to their bedroom. He deposited her on the bed before getting a washcloth to clean her up.

Cleaned up, he tossed her favorite of his shirts at her before disappearing back into the bathroom. When he returned she was already curled under the blankets. Jake tossed on a shirt and shorts and headed downstairs to let Ruck out.

While Ruck was in the yard, Jake went to the garage and unloaded the last of Mrs. Seresin’s gifts. He set them in the office out of the way. She could open them in the morning.

Their little secret, Jake treated Ruck to one more donut before they headed back to the bedroom. Ruck tucked himself in his bed on Mrs. Seresin’s side of the bed as Jake slipped under the covers and spooned his wife.

She turned to face him. “Thank you.” She gave him a quick kiss before flipping back over to tuck herself against him.

“You’re welcome.” Jake pressed one more kiss to her temple, and then listened to her breathing as he fell asleep.

The next morning, Jake still asleep, she wandered downstairs to make coffee. While she waited for his pour-over, she picked up the remnants of last night. Retracing their steps, she picked up clothes and folded them. As she entered the office, she kept her sights on Jake’s crumpled flight suit. She folded it, a smile tugging her lips as she thought about last night. Her smile became a full fledged smirk as she noticed all the body part prints on the glass.

As she turned to leave, something leaning against the bookshelves caught her eye. Those were not there last night. Two very large packages. She walked over with a hand extended, fingers ready to graze the paper, when she heard, “Go ahead, open them.”

Startled, she jumped back, clapped a hand over her heart and turned to find Jake. His grin outdoing the Cheshire Cat, he leaned against the door frame with a mug in each hand. She caught her breath as Jake sauntered over. He handed her a mug and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“These are your last gifts,” Jake said. She threw him a look as she walked back toward the packages. Perching her cup on a shelf, she dipped her fingers behind one of the folds and tore the wrapping. She couldn’t help but laugh as she caught sight of her own face staring at her.

Quickly, she tore through the paper to reveal framed prints of her draped naked across the hood of Jake’s vintage Mustang and him naked, holding his helmet and smirking. Their centerfolds.

“Where were you thinking we would hang these?” She gathered her coffee and stepped back beside Jake so they could view their photos together.

He shrugged. They looked at each other. “You’re the designer, and it’s your birthday, so you get to pick.”

“I’ll think about it.” They both smiled as she bounced onto her toes to give him a quick peck.

“One more thing,” he said as they parted. She waited for him to continue. “You can’t hang yours in the garage.” She arched an eyebrow. “I don’t want the neighbor boys trying to sneak a peek when the garage opens and closes.” She burst into laughter.

“I love you,” she replied. Jake feigned confusion as she kissed his cheek. Together, they sipped their coffees and chatted about where to hang the photos.

Visit my masterlist for more | Sign up for my tag list!

A kind reminder: Likes work hard, but reblogs and comments work harder 😈

Tag list: @cherrycola27 @roosterforme @taytaylala12 @galaxy-of-stories @awildewit @potato-girl99981 @shanimallina87 @malindacath @violyn20 @djs8891 @linkpk88 @furiousladyking @daggerspare-standingby @princess76179 @jstarr86 @blue-aconite @hecate-steps-on-me @chicomonks @darkheartcherry @soulmates8 @roosters-girl @dempy @mayhemmanaged @desert-fern @roosterisdaddy36 @hangmanscoming @mavrellover91 @s-u-t @averyhotchner @penguin876 @kmc1989 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @seitmai @abaker74 @callsignharpe @cassiemitchell @startrekfangirl2233 @dakotakazansky @beyondthesefourwalls @bradshawsprincess @damrlova

#top gun rocktober #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun #top gun maverick #seresin to do list #to do list collection #to do list series #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #hangman top gun #Spotify

261 notes · View notes

lumidotexe · 2 years ago

Text

The masterpost for Even Rainfall Has Shadows, a Lego Monkie Kid Fan comic. STORY SUMMARY: Sent on a mission by her brother to hunt down the infamous Monkey King, tigress demon Hu Ru Daxian bands together with the Six-Eared Macaque and a celestial crane named An Hè in hopes of bringing him down once and for all.

This story is recommended for ages 15+. It will contain some language, death, violence (no gore), depictions of slavery, mild suggestiveness, and abuse. I will put trigger warnings before the pages. It is an oc x canon story as well so dont read it if thats not ur cup of tea 👍

Even Rainfall has Shadows

CHAPTER 1 - When the Mountain Threatens CHAPTER 2 - To Trap a Soul CHAPTER 3 - From the City CHAPTER 4 - Hopelessness CHAPTER 5 - Plays CHAPTER 6 - An Act CHAPTER 7 - To Facade CHAPTER 8 - The Guilt that Feeds CHAPTER 9 - Her Doubts. CHAPTER 10 - The Butterflies CHAPTER 11 - In the Flood CHAPTER 12 - Ascend (panneling)

Extras

my alt: lumi.png

Official Discord Server (reccomended for ages 15+) COMMISSION HELP NEEDED!! ERHS Merch Store Q&A for the ERHS cast Author FAQ Meet the Artist Kofi (for early acess WIPS/pages!) Patreon (for early acess WIPS/pages!) Webtoon Version 4K/HD Page Download Drive (still updating) Wallpaper Stills (still updating) An He's Song Ru's Song Theme (Draft)

Animations

Not Thinking Straight | MacaRu LMK Animation Macaque and Ru flirting Animation ERHS Fanmade Animation Animating Ru into LMK Scene Macaque and An He Livestreaming MacaRu Ship Edit

Other Art

Anime-Mac Style Comic If ERHS met Kung Fu Panda MacaRu cuddling eachother as plushies Consent Minicomic Street Drummer Ru Mac feeling Ru kiss his clones Consent is Hot Minicomic Ru in a Macaque sweater MacaRu at the Beach Mac n Ru Post-training Flirting 101 Mac x Ru Fanfic If Ru was Mac's stunt trainer Road to El Dorado AU Sinbad AU

Playlists

Ru Daxian Playlist An He Playlist Macaque x Ru playlist MacaRu Alt Playlist (by @runningwithscizzorz) If ERHS had a movie soundtrack An He Villain AU Playlist

References

Hu Ru Daxian An Hé

#lego monkie kid #lmk #monkie kid #six eared macaque #hu ru daxian #ru daxian #lego monkie kid fanart #macaque #lmk art #lmk fanart #lmk macaque #lmk oc #lmk oc art #macaque fanart #monkie kid sona #macaru #shadow dumpling #evenrainfallhasshadows #ERHS

1K notes · View notes

inklore · 1 year ago

Text

forbidden cravings

premise: stay in your room; that's all you had to do. a simple demand that you planned on following until something goes bump in the night and you're trapped between two monsters.

pairing: vampire!din djarin x reader x vampire!bo-katan kryze

word count: 5k

contents: blood and biting obviously, oral, threats, murder mention, reader is a little clueless, power imbalance, bo is kinda evil but we love her for it, brief mention of piv.

note: this took me way too long to write and by the end of it i was very tired so hopefully someone out there enjoys this lmao. i could possibly see myself writing more within this little world, maybe.

haunted hoedown day five.

You had never noticed how creaky the house was until tonight. Until you were stuck in a dark, dampened room. Your only light coming from the candle at your bedside, the moon, and the flashes of lightening through the windows. The deep red drapes that match the ones that hang around the four poster bed in the middle of the room, that look ancient and eerie, set your already on edge nerves into a frenzy of fight of flight.

You had dusted this room many times. Have been past the threshold and seen it painted in the daylight.

But never at night.

You were prohibited from being here past nightfall.

The master of the house—your boss—had made it clear upon your first interview a year ago that you’d only be needed in the daytime. That staying after nightfall was not something he needed you around for, and it would be of best interest to the house if you departed once the sun set.

It’s a rule you questioned little. A rule you were fine and happy to obey.

It wasn’t your job to question it. It wasn’t your place.

You were the housekeeper, nothing else. Nothing less. Nothing more.

And you’d never think of going against the lord of the manor, Din Djarin.

The infamous inventor.

The mysterious scholar.

The man with whom you’ve slowly bloomed a friendship with while you’ve worked here. The two of you have spent hours in his library with your fingertips, running along old books, relics he’s come across in his travels, and blue prints for inventions he one day wishes to create.

The pair of you bonding over the love of old words and worlds you wish you could have been a part of.

Working for him and being in his home—the dark gray spiraling staircases, the arched doorways, the black and red wallpaper that look hundreds of years old and yet look like they’d just been done yesterday—was a joy.

A better job than working at the mill or getting by on your looks alone to put food on the table.

You lucked out. Was honored to get the position and even more honored to befriend the destinguishinly handsome Lord Djarin.

His staff soon became like a second family to you. A home away from home—a much more beautiful and sprawling home than your own, but a home in all senses of the word.

Not even the curfew could dampen your love or the job.

The only thorn in your side, the only downfall—negativity—to working for the Lord was his companion, his wife, Lady Kryze.

While most days, the two of you would rarely cross paths. Her off on travel, or in the west wing of the house that you seldom find yourself in.

But when appearance’s were known, brief or not, she always had a look of haughtiness about her. Her red hair laying perfectly on her shoulders, and her dresses always form fitting and beautifully cascading to the floor. The neck line plunged lower than what’s usually considered proper—that always made your cheeks heat when you found yourself rudely staring, a smirk on her lips that quickly got washed away with a scornful arch of her brows.

She had never been rude to you. Had never demanded of you or treated you unkindly the way one would think when you looked at her intimidatingly beautiful face. The power you know she held with just a look, a twitch of a smile, or the flick of her fingers.

She was the opposite of Lord Djarin.

The two seeming an odd match for two people destined to be together.

Your schoolgirl crush on the Lord of the Manor definitely having little to do with your opinion on the fact.

It had been Lady Kryze who had suggested you stay. Almost demanding it, with the weather outside being too dangerous to travel. The winds whistling through the old bones of the house. The rain coming down like heavy hail. The thunder that you could feel deep in your bones each time it rumbled.

Lord Djarin had protested on the matter. Said you could wait out the storm but insisted you leave after.

“Don’t be rude, honey.” Lady Kryze had said. The sentiment, honey, came off more as an insult than as something sweet and tender. The look on the Lord’s face one of strain and frustration. A warning flashed in his eyes before he gave you a tight lipped smile and nodded in agreement.

And now here you are. Dressed in a nightgown that Lady Kryze had supplied you with. The white fabric feeling almost like satin against your chilled skin, the lack of heat coming from the radiator on the other side of the room making you frown as your breasts made it more than clear how your body was reacting to the draft in the room—to the cold storm outside.

The loud thump that startles you from outside of your door tears your gaze from the window and elevates your unease when you put your ear to the dark wood and hear nothing but the old house talking in the way one does in storms or settling.

Lord Djarin had ordered you to stay in your room. To lock the door from the inside and try to get some rest. Assuring you that all was alright, the drafts liked to open the doors at night.

Listening to the plea in his voice that he tried to hide with his endearing smile was enough to convince you not to try it. To listen to his words. To do what had been asked of you without question once again.

But the thump comes again. This time, sounding closer. Perhaps a glass broke somewhere in the hall.

Your teeth chew at your bottom lip in worry.

What if the Lord or Lady needed help? What if they had fallen? The lack of electricity in the house was more than a factor, a reason, for something that could cause a fall. Candlelight only shows so much in these dark halls.

And while there had been no cry for help. No croak, groan, or indication that someone needs help; you can’t help the way your heart escalates or why you ignore the nerves, making your hand shake as you unlock the door, twist the cold handle, and open it a sliver.

Your eyes search the vast darkness of the hall within the tiny space you’ve given yourself. The lit candles in the holders on the wall do little to aid in you seeing anything other than small glows of orange light past the railing that lines the hall.

The words of the Lord push into the back of your mind as you open the door more and poke your head out into the dark space. The strings of lightening outside paint the empty hall in blue light. Streaking against the dark wallpaper hauntingly.

“Lord Djarin?” Your voice is faint compared to the booming thunder outside. A gulp of air fills your lungs when you get enough bravery to step fully out of your room and speak a little louder, “Lady Kryze?”

The silence only pushes you forward.

Has your bare feet cold and weary against the long rug on the hardwood floor. The floorboards creak with each step that you take.

The portraits of unknown people by unknown painters look more intimidating and scary the longer you venture through the hall. The candles shadow their faces in scowls that aren’t normally there in the daylight.

Your fingers dig into the side of your nightgown, bunching up the fabric as your heart hammers against your ribs.

Maybe you should go back to your room. Maybe it was nothing. The rooms with open doors were dark and abandoned. The staircases are bare, and the entryway below, when you look over the rail, is completely encased in darkness.

Maybe it had come from the west wing of the house. Maybe it was a branch outside. Your mind isn’t sure. Isn’t thinking about anything other than getting back to your room, engulfing yourself in the bedspread, and trying to ignore every creepy sound that the storm outside aids in the houses off putting nature.

Being here at night was, in fact, something your nerves could not handle, it seemed.

You sigh. Come to a stop at the last door along the hallway. Your bottom lip sore from your worrying. Whatever the thump was, it’s not something as drastic as your mind had probably come up with, and unless you feel like venturing down the stairs and through the rest of the house, it wasn’t your concern—and the prospect made you shiver knowing some parts of the house didn’t have candles lining the walls.

But when you turn to head back to your room, your body crashes into another, and the scream you let out rings along with a crack of thunder, filtering the hallway into a horrific sound of chaos and fear.

“You were told to stay in your room.”

“Oh my—" your hand flies to your chest. The beat of your heart feels as if it might beat it’s way out of the cavern of your ribs. Your lungs finally fill with the air that had been whooshed out of you when you had collided with the other person once you realized who it was. “Lady Kryze.”

“I was told you listen to directions well,” her smile is pressed and sure. Humorous in the way her eyes move along your appearance. The relief you felt from it being her soon dying when you remember how see through your nightgown is. Your arms cross over your bare chest. “How misguided.”

“I-I was just,” you swallow. Try to get your breathing back to normal. Try to stop the pounding in your ears matching up with the rain outside—with the booms of thunder. “I heard a noise.” You manage to get out. The amused raise of her brow makes your body heat up in something akin to embarrassment or a child running to their mother at night because they are scared.

Lady Kryze hums, “many things go bump in the night around here. It’s an old house.”

“Of course,” you nod. “Yes.” You laugh nervously, breathy, and unsure. Trying to ease the tension that’s growing between the two of you. Worried you might be jobless come morning. “I apologize. I was just worried that you or Lord Djarin may have been hurt.”

“You’re a doctor? Here I thought you were a maid.” Her smile is mocking, unkind. But that’s when you finally take her fully in. With the flashes of lightening through the window at the end of the hall, giving light to the shadows that dance along her face in the candlelight.

She looks…different.

There's a deep red tint to her lips that’s not usually there. You can’t recall the last time you saw her wear lipstick, let alone that shade. Her hair is darker and more unruly at the bottom than usual. Than the sleek look of perfection it’s always at. Her clothes—her dress—stained a deep red and ripped at the top, standing her paler than normal skin out.

Your eyes look down to her nails; they’re longer. Stained the same shade as her lips and her dress.

Somethings not right.

And when your gaze meets hers again, you can see how much darker her eyes look than what you’re used to seeing below that scowl. Bigger. Almost as if her pupils had doubled in size.

Your lack of subtlety seems to give you away when you quickly try to sidestep her and head for your room.

“Now that I know you’re both fine, I’ll just go back to my room now.” You say softly, give her a forced smile as you try to keep your composure and act as normal as you would if you weren’t scared out of your skin.

Lady Kryze laughs under her breath. Let’s you step past her and walk one, two, or five steps before there’s a grip at the back of your elbow and your back is being slammed into the wall. The gasp of your lungs deflates from the pressure puffing out against her face with how close she is.

“Lady Kr-”

“Bo.” She corrects, her eyes wandering down your face, pausing at your lips and the junction where your jaw meets your neck. Swallowing hard before her gaze cascades to your chest, “I always hated the pleasantries Din demanded we go by to fit in with you…humans.”

“You humans?” You give her a quizicall look, too much going on in your nervous system to comprehend her words. To make sense of them when the fear of the emotion in her eyes reads hunger.

And when she laughs again, her smile more genuine than any you’ve seen spread across her perfectly proportioned lips before; you see it. See them.

The pointed teeth that have replaced her normal ones.

The way they gleam off of the orange glow of the candles. The way they make you swallow. Make your chest hurt from the bruising your heart is doing to your ribs from beating so fast.

What is she?

“I thought you were smart? With the way Din talks about you, I imagined you would have figured it out by now. Especially with how close the two of you have been getting.” The accusation makes your heart stop. A cold fear pricking at your insides that makes your skin feel clammy.

The raising of her brow makes the feeling worse as you shake your head. Open your mouth to protest on the matter, to not encourage the accusation that there might be something going on with Lord Djarin and you, her husband.

“Don’t worry,” she smirks. Leans in closer so her lips are ghosting over the shell of your ear as she murmurs, “I like to share.” Your body trembles when her hand leaves your shoulder and her fingers run along the side of your breast. Her pointer skating along your erect nipple, making you gasp softly. “We both do.”

“Lady Kryze–I,” there’s words meant to come out. Words meant to put an end to whatever this standoff, or showdown, is. You’re lost, you’re captivated, and you’re frightened. But her cheeks and lips brush against yours as she moves herself back so she can look at you; her dark eyes make every syllable on your tongue lay thick and weighted down like sludge.

There’s a silence that has enough tension to make your body buzz and your brain catch up to put the puzzle pieces together with the information that has always been laid out for you. Things you took as old family traditions you didn’t care to understand.

The presistant curfew, the eerie darkness that hung over the manor once the sun started to set. The mysterious cases of maids and butlers going missing without a trace. The town just beyond your own’s population dwindling down. Neighbors and friends gone.

Lady Kryze’s dark eyes, her teeth.

“You’re the cause of all the disappearances.” It’s not a question because you already know the answer. The slow spread of her lips only solidified the gathered information in your head to fit neatly in a box of truths. “And,” you swallow, hate how your heart aches at the very thought. “Lord Djarin..he–”

“Is much more discrete than I.” She seems to find a silent annoyance in the statement. In the way your body lets out a shaky breath as if you’re relieved. It makes her eye twitch before she’s leaning in again, her lips closer to yours now. Her breath smells of metal. “He doesn’t like to indulge in the bounty we’ve been given. Says it’s not right to eat thy neighbor.” Her tongue runs across her bottom lip, one of her sharp teeth catching on the skin. “I say, why waste such delicious gifts? And delicious they are, especially the ones who beg. The ones who let me play with my food before I eat it.”

Her laugh makes your body shiver. A reaction she seems to like too much, as her lips skim across yours. The metallic scent of her tongue inhaled by your shaky breaths and swallowed down, leaving your throat dry and your tongue itching to reach out for the source.

The source of it’s weight, the source of the ache in your jaw with the need to drink. A thirst for what you’re sure is water and not the nourishment that’s so clearly painted Lady Kryze’s lips red and her tongue. Your body willing to use any source of fluid to aid you.

Not because the metallic linger of her breath sits on your tastebuds like an open invitation. Not because her fingers are still at the side of your breast, your peaked nipple aching to be brushed over by her again.

“Will you let me play with you?” Her nose brushes yours as her head turns, and her lips just catch the corner of your mouth, a gasp leaving your lips as they move across your cheek and her teeth clip on your jawline. “I know how hard it is for my husband to be near you every day and not sink his teeth into this beautiful neck. You look as good as you’ll taste.”

A moan racks your ribcage when her hand grips the side of your neck, bending it so the other side is on full display and her lips press to the sensitive flesh. Her tongue coming out to run the tip lightly against you, like she doesn’t dare indulge too much. Like it’s an appetizer to what she really wants.

A trail of bruising kisses and hungry noises coming from the woman making your chest heave, your fingers daring to come up to her elbow to grip the fabric of her dress as an anchor—or to pull her closer—you're not too sure what your body wants, your senses not matching up with the fear still plaguing your brain.

“Will you run for me, little rabbit?” You can feel the amusement at her own words with the smirk that’s pressed just below your ear. Your body canting at the derogatory pet name.

Until her next words come out of her mouth in a booming shriek that makes your ears ring and your body recoil from her in defense to protect itself from wrath.

“Run!”

And you do.

Not turning back to look to see if she’s chasing you. All the heat once again drained from your body, any pleasure you had been feeling doused out, and brought tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

The candles on the wall continue to be your guiding light. Even when you step on something that makes you hiss. That tears the skin on the bottom of your foot enough to stutter your sprint. A limp catches in your leg as you try to make haste.

You were foolish for staying here. Foolish for leaving your room. Foolish for not seeing what this house really was or what it’s occupants really were.

Foolish.

If there had been a spell, you had fallen for it. Like a silly little girl.

The closer you get to your chamber door, the harder your heart beats against your ribs. The harder you try to ignore the sting in your heel. The harder it is for you to breathe.

The distance only seems to get further and further away from safety the longer you try for it. The longer your eyes strain in the candlelight to not step on something else that could make you completely imobile. Completely at Lady Kryze’s mercy.

Who you don’t hear behind you.

Who—upon your better judgment, one would say—you look for as you turn your head towards the path behind you. Your blood running cold when you see that all the candles have completely gone out and you can’t see a thing.

The flashes of lightening from the windows down below cascading the barest amount of light onto the floor.

It’s the least of your worries when your body collides with a wall.

Or what feels like a wall—a strained ache coming to your chest upon the collusion, your body thrown backwards as you groan from the impact your tailbone makes against the hard floor.

And when your eyes open, you realize it’s not a wall you’ve collided with; it’s Lord Djarin.

“I told you to stay in your room.” His voice is full of authority and aggravation as he pulls you from the floor. It’s a tone he’s never used on you, a grip on your arm that’s much more cruel than the light touches of fleeting moments spent together.

“She–Lady Kryze–She.”

“Is insatiable, yes.” There’s a growl that’s completely for his wife’s sake and not your own. But the sound still makes your stomach clench. Your body dragged along the hallway by the hands of the man you’re now realizing is more dangerous than any normal man.

A monster.

Like his wife.

And yet, you feel safe in his tight grasp. Feel safe with the memories you share with him. Of him. The man you knew before the monster.

The fear of him never coming.

The fear only comes back once you’ve reached your room, and he’s pushing you through the door only for your back to collide with something icy that grips your wrist and snakes it’s fingers along the column of your neck to hold you against it.

“Bo.” Lord Djarin’s voice is stern. Angry.

“Darling.” You can feel the smile that’s wrapped around the word even without seeing Lady Kryze’s face.

The cold of her body seeping through your night dress and against your skin—a cold that’s not from the fear of what she is rather than what she’s doing. What has stained her lips and tongue and what you wanted so badly to taste just minutes ago. The same deep red clearly stained in the front fabric of your gown that you hadn’t noticed until now.

Until you’re standing in front of Lord Djarin, your night dress more see through and clinging to your body, where it’s damp from blood and straining against your breasts.

Lady Kryze’s grip tightens on your throat, and it makes a breathless noise fall from your lips. A noise that has Lord Djarin’s eyes honing in on your mouth, moving along to his wife's hand on your throat, before plunging down to your chest. A hard swallow and a deep scowl shot at the woman holding you in her vise.

“Let her go.”

“We were just having a little fun. Weren’t we?” Her teeth knick your earlobe, and it makes your body contort against her hold. “See,” she smirks.

“Bo. No.” His tone has finality. Has something that wordlessly lets you know he’s tired of this topic; he’s clearly told her no on before.

Something inside your stomach lightens up and burns at the thought of Lord Djarin denying his wife the pleasure of making you a meal time and time again. Was it out of respect? Care? Want?

Did she want to sink her teeth into you so badly because of jealousy at the closeness you and her husband had found the longer you worked here? No, she said they like to share. Said she likes to share.

Was it want then?

The want to do more than end your life by draining you.

“Come on, Din.” The hand at your wrist does a show of crawling with her sharp nails over your midsection and to your hip to start pulling up your night dress. Your thighs quickly come into view as she bunches the fabric further and further up. A shyness takes over you as you wiggle in her grasp as you watch Lord Djarin’s eyes follow the movement with a hungry look. “We all know you want her.”

Her lips press against your jaw as she murmurs to you, “he never allows himself to indulge in the things he wants. He’s so disciplined. Such a good man. He’d never let it slip that after you leave his library, he bends me over his desk and fucks me the way he wishes he could fuck you.”

An involentary noise that get’s choked out of your throat makes her laugh softly, “tell him he can have you. Tell him you like it.” Your eyes lock with his; his eyes just as dark and monstrous as his wife's now that you’re really looking at them. His lips that deep red—the same red you smelled and craved to taste on her lips.

Your thighs inwardly press together, causing the pressure between them to ease the slightest, but grow worse when your backside pushes back against Lady Kryze and she lets out a noise that sounds just as lovely as she looks.

“Look, Din.” A heat comes to your cheeks as the rest of the fabric of your gown is pulled above your hips, showcasing your nakedness to both of them. “There’s no denying she wants you,” her fingers move down to grip your inner thigh. The clear and evident proof of your arousal—that you’re not sure was caused earlier or right now—coats your skin and her fingers.

“No, she is not-”

“What? Food?” Lady Kryze laughs, “we both know you’d never let me drain her. Nor could you bear to have anything but her essence touch your tongue. But she can be a toy. You can fuck her. We both can.”

You can see the internal battle he’s fighting with himself—against his wife, against what’s right, against his want.

And there’s a part of you that understands. That knows this is wrong. That has barely come to terms with what they are—monsters, myths, and scary stories you tell little children at night to get them to go to bed.

But then the proof of your arousal, of your own want is being toyed with between your thighs as Lady Kryze runs a finger through your wetness. Your hips canting against her hand as she pulls it away just as quick as it was there and holds her finger out to her husband.

“Taste her.”

His head is about to shake; you can sense it. See it before it happens by the way his fists bunch at his sides. Maybe that's why you finally find your voice, “please.”

And it’s as if those are the words he’s been waiting for you to say since the day you’ve met. Since you’ve started working for him. The speed at which he’s against your front and his lips are wrapped around the finger that has gathered the wetness from your pussy makes you feel woozy.

Makes you sway on your feet and loosen in Lady Kryze’s hold. Her nails dig into your flesh as she holds you tighter, keeping you upright for her husband.

Whose finger is under your chin, mouth daringly close to yours as he murmurs, “are you certain?”

Do you want this?

Do you want all it entails if you let this continue?

His dark eyes speak; let you know that he’ll stop this. That while you might be weak in comparison to who they truly are, you have a say, and he’ll do whatever you wish.

A wise woman would heed the warning that’s in the brow he raises. Thats in the descent of his finger down your chin and to your jugular. Your heartbeat thudding against the pad of his finger. His tongue comes out to wet his bottom lip as his eyes cast to your neck and then up to his wife.

Who's giving him a smile you can’t see but can feel in the way her body shifts, pulling your thighs apart easily. Lord Djarin needs no more confirmation for either of you as he falls to his knees, a rough hand cupping the back of your thigh to lift and bring it up and over his shoulder.

Your back arching, and a gasp rakes through your body when you feel the bite of teeth against your inner thigh. Feel the sting of punctured skin, the pull of something inside that’s making your eyes flutter, and the pressure in your lower belly thumping at the same speed as your heart.

When your eyes shift down, when he’s stopped, when you feel like you could either pass out or come from just this, you see blood—your blood—staining his lips and tongue. See his eyes go even darker, black, and void of any human attributes. Making him look entirely like a monster that’s hungry, starved.

And you’ve completely offered yourself up for the taking.

There’s a deep moan coming from Lord Djarin as his fingers and tongue clean his mouth. It’s obscene as much as it is beautiful to watch. Your arousal only grows worse at the sight.

“How does she taste?”

“Exqusite.” He murmurs against your skin, his tongue running over the marks he’s just left in your thigh, working it’s way up to the apex of your thigh. Your legs shake the closer he gets to your pussy.

A cry burns your lungs when you feel him dive into you without any warning. His tongue licking through your wetness, his nose pressing against your clit. The tip of it creates a slow grind that only intensifies when you cant your hips up. When you thrust against the air, his tongue slips inside of you, pushing it further inside. Your fingers dig into the sides of your dress as you try not to completely collapse against either of them.

The pleasure coursing through your body makes that easier said than done.

Lady Kryze is humming against your cheek, her hand coming down to slow the movement of your hips. “Take your time, little rabbit.” She trails kisses and soft bites over and under your jaw to your earlobe, where she lets the tip of her tongue run against it. “Because once you’ve come, you’re mine to play with.”

#din djarin x reader #bo katan x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin x you #bo katan x din #bo katan smut #din djarin x bo katan kryze #din djarin x female reader #bo katan x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fic #bo katan kryze x reader #bo katan kryze smut #hauntedhoedown

194 notes · View notes

temptress-writes · 2 years ago

Text

🪩 Disco Snow

A/N: soft, groovy seventies Harry.

C.W: DRUG USE. Just my usual nasty shit. Rough, spanking, choking, drug use, spit kink.

Word Count—6.8k

Enjoy x

* * *

Miami 1977.

Chemicals.

Blow.

Tangy, burning, and exciting.

They infiltrate your mind as you bend over the marble countertop in your kitchen.

You slowly come to a stand, wiping your left nostril. You feel your nose tingle and seep into a numbness you know will soon mirror in your throat.

Amber gently bumps your hip, taking the rolled-up bill from your fingers and smoothing out the line of powder laid out for her. She snorts it with a sigh of relief, straightening and flicking a smile your way.

"Feels groovy, huh?"

You roll your head back with a grin, feeling the buzz in your veins already. "So good."

"Let's go, disco chic!"

Miami. A bustling city with a nightlife that thrills you. A deep contrast to the person you are during more acceptable hours.

For tonight, you switched out your sleepwear for your favourite orange bell-sleeved mini dress. Your feet are settled into your white knee-high platform boots.

Amber's done your makeup in hues of emerald green, and orange lipstick to match your attire. She fiddles with the hem of her blue mini dress as you hail a cab to the curb and set on your way to the club.

The Hall of Mirrors.

A club infamous for its disco music, great alcohol, and acceptance for anyone. It's where you frequently go to have a good night, much like most in the city. It's where anyone of any sex could go and rely on the building to hold their secrets. Withhold judgment.

The Hall of Mirrors is no stranger to your secrets. To your nights of sneaking down dark hallways and slipping to your knees for a man, or into a supply closet to taste a woman on your mouth. Tripped out on pills or lines of snow.

The music calls to you before you even go in. The bouncer knows you well, allowing you entry without so much as a second glance. The club is packed, which isn't unusual. The collection of disco balls hang from the ceiling, the strobe lights reflecting tiny fragments of light from them. They bounce across every inch of skin, every section of the walls. The pattern heightens your sense of lucidity, red, pink, and purple semi-circular wallpaper that you know will begin to distort as the night progresses.

And as if you need a reminder of how much you're dying for a drink, you taste the stark sugar slipping down your throat. With a grimace at the strong taste of it, you pull Amber to the bar.

Cameron, one of the bartenders, waves at you, mouthing your usual? You nod, pleased when she places two gin and tonics on the bar top in front of you and Amber.

It's all feels like a blur. It always does during the buildup. The drive to the club, the quenching of thirst with gin. The night doesn't truly start until you're on the dance floor.

"Bottoms up, chic!" Amber yells over the bass of the music.

You cheer your glasses together and down the contents. The ice clinks against your teeth, but your gums are so numb you barely feel it.

"Let's show these bitches who own the dance floor!"

The two of you squish and squeeze past dancers to get to the middle, soon finding a rhythm along to The Hustle. Unashamed, you yell out the words, swaying and throwing your best moves her way.

You can feel the effects start to energise your body. The way it seems to make you feel unstoppable, sexy, otherworldly.

You wrap your arms around Amber's neck, letting her turn in your hold and rub against you. In any other setting, this would harbour attention from others that one could only deem as judgmental. But not here. Not in the Hall of Mirrors. Here you are free and open.

It's a sensation of effortlessness. You feel limitless. One with the music, one with every soul in the building. After a parade of songs, you and Amber pull away from the dance floor and slip into the bathroom, refreshing the buzzing high in your veins before heading back out.

And then you see him. It's an eerie sort of feeling. It's a dance floor, it doesn't necessarily have the best lighting and there are so many people. But it's almost as if you're meant to see him. A flash of light illuminates his existence momentarily before the strobe fades away and appears elsewhere.

What you notice first are curls. Dripping waves parted in the middle of his head that spiral along his forehead, sticking to the skin with perspiration. A jeweled hand comes up to brush them away from his vision before he erupts in a dimpled smile at his friend. Even from here, you can make out the shape of his bunny teeth.

And then he spins in a circle and throws some finger guns. From there, your exploration veers south. A low-cut black tank top, exposing two swallows fluttering their wings against his chest, a cross pendant nestled safely between them.

His broad shoulders sport more ink and your eyes dart across every bare inch of skin and you spot a smattering of tattoos along his arms.

As if to contrast his more intimidating attire, from the hips down is bubblegum pink. Flared pants that hug his hips and accentuate the length of his legs. He lifts his leg, the bell-bottoms sharing a glimpse of his footwear. Patent black leather books with an impressive heel. Already so tall and towering, you admire how he's wearing them as a fashion statement and nothing more.

He holds his friend's hands, arching them high in the air before swirling his hips and yelling along to the song. His friend, lanky and shaggy-haired, pulls away and gives his best shot at the robot.

Amber clicks her fingers in front of you. "You good?"

You blink, steering your vision away from him and back to her. "Yeah, buzzing now!"

And you dance like no one is watching. You try to drive your attention away from the man who clearly hasn't seen you.

Sweaty. Hot. Snow.

Your body feels like a live wire, the music thrumming in your veins.

Your feet are throbbing but you don't care. Your vision floats back to the man and a sense of delight washes over you at the sight of him. He's closer to you now, bumping his hips to the song. Your brows raise when he grinds his bum up against a man's crotch.

Amber doesn't question when you inch towards him. It's subtle, and you keep dancing and swaying and singing.

You look up at him again and every cell in your body freezes. He's looking at you. And there's this moment when your eyes lock that the music fades. Like a bubble encases you and almost mutes it. It's very brief but still so staggering.

Suddenly, you're all bubblegum and curls.

His lips curl up into a devastatingly beautiful smile at you. He's still dancing, you're still dancing. But you're smiling at each other and suddenly bubblegum flares and chocolate curls are moving towards you. He slips past people and your dancing doesn't slow as he approaches.

Amber, so out of it and not picking up on the interaction, leeches to a man next to her and swirls her hips against him.

Up close, the man is even more stunning. Your eye line is at his chest and you spy a light dusting of hair and a film of sweat.

He grins down at you and your cheeks blush bubblegum.

"Who can do the best sprinkler?" He asks you, having to yell over the music. His accent is deep and wispy. Of course, the man with one of the most daring outfits in the joint would be British.

"Oh, it's definitely me." You offer with a sultry smile.

"Confident..." He nods, resting his hands on his hips. "I like that."

"What, you think you can out-dance me?"

He throws you a playful glare, waiting for the chorus of the song to drop before throwing his arm around in a sprinkler movement. His other hand around his head while the sprinkler, jeweled fingers, splay towards you.

And you can't help but giggle, hiding it behind your hand but the glint in your eyes is far too telling. His expression of pure joy dropping into one of unamused horror.

"Let's see it then, foxy."

You laugh, shaking your limbs out and showing off your best sprinkler move. He sticks his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. You wrinkle your nose and shrug your shoulders up at the piercing sound.

"We have a winner!" He shouts, hands waving through the air and alarming a few people around you. You lightly shove at his chest, your cheeks hurting from laughing so much. "Does the sprinkler queen have a name? The people need to know."

You feel very shy, suddenly. As if the influence of the power has been overshadowed by him. You give him your name, not missing the way his lips curl around the letters as he recites it to you.

"'M Harry."

Harry. Smooth. Bubblegum.

"It's nice to meet you."

His fingers come up to toy with the flared sleeve of your dress. "Love the threads."

You gesture to his pink pants. "Yours, too."

He clicks his tongue, grabs your hand, and spins you in a circle. "You flatter me. Let's throw some shapes, foxy lady!"

You grab his hands, encouraging him to shimmy with you. He's a great dancer. Tall and unashamed, moving his body without thought and doing the most ridiculous dance moves. You feel so hot and you're not sure if it's because of him, the dance floor, or the snow you snorted before.

Harry spins on his heels, forming peace signs with his fingers and waving them in front of his eyes. You mirror him with a grin and he admires the way the disco ball reflects off your face and ignites your beauty. He feels like he's been kicked in the chest. What started as a chill night out and a boogie became so much more once he saw you.

Your orange dress, tangerine and inviting. Your green eyeshadow, an exotic lagoon he's lost in.

He brings you closer, pressing you flush against his body and moving his hips with yours. His hands squeeze at your hips and if this were any other man, you'd be slapping his touch away.

But Harry is soft and colourful. Endlessly endearing. You can tell he's confident and sure of himself and that's probably the sexiest thing about him. Aside from his bare chest and tattoos. And his hair. And his smile.

"You skiing the snow tonight, little fox?"

You nod, your head feeling like a bobblehead on your neck. Your spine is tingling and the way he's looking at you is making every limb feel like jelly.

He grips the side of your neck, holding you close and resting his forehead on yours. It happens so quickly but he's so confident and you're so comfortable so you don't mind.

"Keep a lookout, yeah?"

You give him another nod. You're always so sure of yourself and now this one particular stranger is leaving you speechless. But what else can you say?

He slips his fingers into his tight tanktop to produce a small clear bag from the confines. He wiggles his brows at you and looks around you briefly before opening it up.

It's unlikely anyone would be sober enough to cause a problem with it. But he's more avoiding drawing attention to it because people will flock to him for a hit.

He thumbs the bag open, his eyes lifting to meet yours before he throws you a wink. Lifting the pendant sat between his defined pecs, he gathers a small mound of snow on the longest bar of the cross.

"Ladies first."

The chain being around his neck means he can only bring it so far to you. You lean forward, pressed right up against him, and nudge your face up so you can snort the prepared powder.

You sigh through a smile as it seeps into your bloodstream. It refreshes your high. Your energy unmatched as you start to dance to the music again. But this time it's right up against him, his core tucked up against you. Bubblegum and snow.

His hand reaches out to wipe a bit of excess power decorating the edge of your nose with a soft giggle. He gathers his own smidgen of power and snorts it before putting the bag away.

And then you're dancing. Your ass works in sweet little circles against his crotch and you rest your head back on his chest, looking up at him to let him know. Let him know that you feel him against you, growing for you.

Hard bubblegum.

Melting snow.

He twirls you, bringing his hands onto your shoulders and using his feet to find a beat with the music. More Than a Woman starts playing and you both let out excited yells. He pulls you into him again. He can't help but spin you so your ass is against him. He wraps his arms around you, your hands tangling with his where they meet at your chest.

When you start grinding back on him, his hands melt down to your hips to roll them back. Gooey bubblegum.

You watch him, his hair parted in the middle with curls falling down his forehead. He smiles down at you, a slow, lip curling, dimple encased smile. It's earth-shatteringly beautiful and when he licks his lips, you feel it resonate directly between your thighs.

His hand comes up, running up your sternum and to your throat. He can feel your heart beating under the skin, fluttering just as severely as his is. His fingers grip your chin and he leans down. His nose brushes yours and your ass presses deliciously firm against his crotch and then you really feel him.

Your eyes flicker from his, down the strong line of his nose and to his lips. Bubblegum pink, plump, and inviting.

He lets out a soft moan and then he's kissing you. It's soft at first as if gauging your reaction. Maybe he's seeing how you like it. If you want it rushed. If you want it slow and patient and controlled.

Your hand wraps around his neck to hold him there and you open your mouth to flick your tongue against his lower lip. His comes out to meet yours and he tastes phenomenal. Like vodka and cranberry juice and lust.

Harry turns you in his hold and grips your ass in two strong hands. He hauls you upwards until your center is against his. He's hard and even through his pants, you can feel the impressive size of him.

The chorus seems to mirror the newly found excitement in two souls. Climaxing and exciting. You're dancing as if it's your love language. Melting into one person and obsessed with how his body feels against yours.

You can't help but kiss him again, obsessed with the way his lips cradle your bottom one. The way he nibbles on it a little bit. The way he moans against you and screws his hips up to you.

Your eyes open to meet his and over his shoulder, you can see Amber giving you an enthusiastic thumbs up.

His finger comes up to brush your lower lip before he kisses you again with a needy hum. You're not even thinking when you grab his hand and pull him towards the bathroom. You only register his warmth and his arousal and how you want to be closer to it.

He can sense your urgency, and you're both high as shit, two pairs of boots clicking against the floor. You're giggling messes of arousal as you lure him towards the bathrooms and try to find an empty one. There's a powder room, which seems all too fitting. It's deep mint green, luxurious for such a small space. The walls are orange swirls that wave in your vision.

You drag him in and close the door, automatically flipping the lock but he raises a brow when you unlock it again. His curls are askew, your orange lipstick in smudges on and around his mouth.

"Risky move, little fox."

"Shut up."

You're kissing him again. You press him up against the sink, his dick hard against you. He moans as you suck on his tongue and pull him as close as you can get him. His arms wrap around you, his hands fisting the material of your dress at the small of your back. It lifts, scrunching up and exposing your ass.

He grips the bare skin on his hands, rolling your center up against his. His fingers dip between your cheeks, slipping forward until he's brushing your clothed cunt with his fingertips.

You release a soft whimper and roll your warmth along his touch. You're already so wet, you can tell. And so can he.

But before he can explore any further, you're dropping to your knees. Harry swears under his breath as you palm him through his bubblegum pants, so hard and ready for you. You stare up at him, his pupils dilated from the snow and from you.

You pop the single button and pull the zipper down, suddenly not feeling very patient. Your attempt to inch them down so you can play with him further is stunted.

"These are so tight."

He offers a sweet little laugh into the air, pulling his pants down for you, his rings clinking as he does so.

When you finally set your eyes on him, it's then that you feel intimidated for the first time. He's not wearing underwear and for some reason, that alone is already so fucking hot. He's huge. In every aspect. In width, in length. The tip of him is the same colour of his lips, a rosy hue deepening the more turned on he's getting.

You slide forward, wrapping your hand around him. He's silky, smooth, and hot in your palm. You drag your fist up, a drop of pre-come pearling at the tip. You flick your tongue out against it, tasting the saltiness on your taste buds.

Harry groans at the sight of you on your knees for him. He bends down, cupping your chin and angling you up so he can kiss you. He tastes himself on your tongue and he spreads his hand along your cheek, rubbing it with his thumb.

"Keep going."

His expression is one of lustful encouragement as he straightens and you envelop the head in your mouth with a suck. You use your hand to work the skin, spreading the wetness from your mouth down his shaft.

You take him deeper, allowing yourself to become fully immersed in pleasing him. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding your mouth up and down his shaft.

He moans, deep and dirty and you feel it between your legs. He emits a soft sigh as you take him fully, your nose pressed against his abdomen. You can feel the hair there tickle your skin and you retract and start bobbing against him.

The bass of the music conceals the questionable sounds you're making and Harry's hand tightens in your hair as you work him. He rolls his head back on his neck, feeling the tingling in his spine sharpen and bridge out to every limb, every nerve.

Your mouth is searing hot and wet around him, your tongue caressing the underside of his dick. You struggle around the fullness of him but the way he's looking at you spurs you on. He feels amazing, the way he guides you, pushes you further but never past your unspoken boundaries.

You hold him in the back of your throat and the sound he gives you is almost a growl. It's low, derived from his chest and so fucking desperate. Using his hold on your hair, he pulls you back. You've made a mess of him and yourself. Orange lipstick smudges and your spit.

"Come here, little fox."

You stand, stumbling a little in your heels but he spins you and sits you on the countertop. Your dress slips high up your thighs and he squeezes at them. His touch slides higher and he hisses as he meets the lace of your panties.

Your hand comes down to meet his, encouraging it higher. Closer to where you need him. Harry kisses you, one hand on the side of your neck, the other up your dress.

And suddenly, it's like neither of you can wait anymore. You pull him towards you as he slips your panties down your legs, hanging from one ankle. His kisses move from your lips, a messy trail down your chin, your neck, the swell of your breasts.

Then he's kneeling in front of you, his gaze on yours before it slowly slips between your legs. You're saturated for him and his staring is so fucking intimate. He can't wait to taste you, to feel you.

His hand raises, his thumb brushing your clit. Your thighs tense as he rubs slow circles like he's winding you up. His thumb ventures south and parts your folds, collecting your wetness there and dragging it back up to your clit.

You let out a soft whimper as his pressure deepens. The added moisture from your arousal feeling somehow sweeter in addition to how he's touching you.

"Pretty thing." He coos, looking back up at you.

He withdraws his thumb and sucks it into his mouth with a hum. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his head and flicks his tongue ever so gently against your sensitive clit.

You sway your hips up at the slight bit of attention, already desperate for more. He licks up your slit, fully tasting you and closing on your clit in a kiss. You gasp and take a fistful of his hair as he works your cunt with his mouth.

He moves lower, tonguing your entrance and slipping it inside of you while his nose buries itself against your clit.

He shakes his head from side to side, fully absorbed in you. He eats you out so intensely. An enthusiasm you've ever felt from another partner. You look down and his eyes are closed, fully enjoying his head between your legs where he's tasting you.

You pull his hair harder and he moans, the vibrations from it sent throughout your lower half.

Harry raises a finger to his mouth, sucking it past his lips to get it nice and wet. And then he slides it inside of you, flicking it up in a hook to press against your g-spot. Your spine straightens at the sensation, and he slips another finger alongside it. You whine out his name as he pulls the tips of his fingers along your sweet spot, pulsing them and building you up to your release.

He moves his whole arm with blinding speed, the pleasure increasing rapidly. No one has ever made you feel this way, a bliss so deep. He knows exactly what he's doing and he knows how insanely good he's got you.

He looks up at you and gives you the cockiest smirk before sucking on your clit. His teeth nibble on it gently before he traps it between them and flicks his tongue along it. You throw your head back, collapsing against the mirror.

Harry pulls you up, spinning you so you're bent over the counter with your ass perked back. He eats you this way, spreading you open to him and pressing his mouth tight against you. His nose is buried inside you, his tongue against your clit again and he slaps your ass. It's a mild slap but you moan nonetheless.

"Again." You gasp out, so close to coming and addicted to him.

"You're a dirty little fox, aren't you?" He spanks you again. Harder.

You turn and look at him. "Is that all you got?"

He breaths out a laugh and buries his face against your cunt once more, spanking the opposite cheek, hard. And then your lower thigh, right below your ass. The sting is softened by how beautiful his mouth is against you. He finds your clit again to drill his tongue on it.

"I'm close," You reach back, taking a fistful of curls and hold him there.

"That's it," He coos against you. "Come all over my face."

Your orgasm is an eruption of euphoria. Searing hot pink that melts into bubblegum pop. You cry out his name, your entire body going lax against the counter as you fucking shake.

His mouth never lets up, letting you ride through the pleasure of your orgasm. His mouth is slow to leave you as you come down, his lips kissing the skin of your ass.

You're not expecting it when his hands leave your ass all too quickly. You watch him in the mirror as he retrieves his little bag.

"Stay still." He orders. He taps powder onto your ass, right over a handprint he's left. He ensures the line is relatively straight with his finger, one that he soon after gives you to suck the powder off. And he snorts the line he's prepared, licking the residue off your ass with a devilish smile.

And, for good measure, he slaps you again.

You bite your lip to stifle a giggle, reaching back and wrapping your hand around his dick. You work his shaft and he staggers in a couple of steps closer. The tip of him nudges your ass, his pre-come kissing your skin and leaving it wet.

He moans, moving to grip your hips and fully standing behind you. His cock brushes between your legs and you whimper at the anticipation of feeling him even more.

"You want me to fuck you, sweet fox?"

"Yes,"

"Where are your manners?" He's teasing you now. You both know there's no way he's not fucking you.

He's just making you simmer in the heat he's stirred up.

"Please fuck me, Harry."

He loves how your name sounds leaving your mouth. Orange painted lips caressing each letter, sweet and fiery at once.

"There's a good girl."

You feel his tip slide between your folds, he dips his knees to adjust his angle. One hand around his shaft to guide it, the other on your hip with a grip that almost too tight. He takes a step forward, glides his hips forward. And it's pure ecstasy.

The way he stretches you is heavenly. It's a low, humming burn almost. A buzzing delight of feeling so full. He's so big and thick, tucked right up against your g-spot. It feels so fucking good and he hasn't even moved yet.

You release a hefty gasp as he moans out your name at the feel of you.

His other hand wraps itself in your hair to keep you looking at him in the mirror and then he's fucking you. His thrusts are delicious. He's fluid, like rolling waves to shatter a galaxy inside of you.

Your eyes meet his in the mirror and he gives you a slow smile before slapping the skin of your ass again. Before you can even cry out at the stinging sensation, he's fucking you so hard you have to bring a hand up to the mirror to balance yourself.

He settles behind you, his lips at your ear. Two sets of breath fog the glass of the mirror.

"That's it, watch me while I destroy this pussy."

The Hall of Mirrors. A second home to you, reflective and encasing. Now you're watching this man fucking destroy you in the bathroom mirror. Your pupils are dilated, much like his are. Black holes, targeting each other and threatening to consume each other.

He wraps his hand around your throat and screws his dick deep, massaging your g-spot so perfectly. You're sure that without the stability of the counter holding you up, you'd be a quivering pile of bones on the floor.

"Fuck, and you thought my pants were tight?" He smirks at you in the mirror.

You release a breathless laugh that's swept away when he starts pounding into you. He grunts with every thrust, taking you so hard you can barely breathe. His skin slaps against yours and he squeezes his hand around your throat to hold you still.

The snow is heightening every sense you have. Your ass is stinging more than normal, your arousal higher than normal. But you know that has more to do with him than narcotics. And when his other hand reaches around to rub your clit, you feel that so strongly that you cry out his name and fucking writhe underneath him.

"Take it, little fox. Take it like the good fucking girl you are."

He moves his hips more sharply, hitting that sweet spot inside of you. He pushes one of your legs up onto the counter and he's so much deeper that way. That in combination with the way he's playing your clit is driving you mental. You're so close and he can feel it, feel your walls tremble and tighten around him.

You're gasping out his name, helpless to how relentlessly he's fucking you. He growls as you clench around his dick, his hand on your throat slipping up so he can put two of his fingers in your mouth. You suck on them gratefully, using your teeth to show him how good he's fucking you.

You're so fucking close but he does the unthinkable... he pulls away. Completely. Leaving you empty and teetering on the edge, yanking you back abruptly.

He doesn't give you a second to question him before he's spinning you around and sitting you up on the counter. He steps forward and you scoot towards him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your hand takes his shaft once more, pulling the skin in a firm first. He moans and lulls his forehead against yours.

"I was so close." You pout hotly against his lips.

"I'll get you there again," He hums, grabbing the base of his dick and running the tip of it between your saturated folds. "Is this what you want?"

"Please," You lean forward and kiss him. His length nudges your entrance but he makes no move to do anything further. "Give me your cock."

"That's what I want to hear."

He smiles, wrapping his hand around your throat again and sliding inside of you with one smooth movement of his hips. Your mouth drops open at the fullness of him. He's so much deeper this way, and so much more intimate with the way he's staring at you.

"Fuck me, Harry. Hard."

He releases another moan, this one more of a growl, and starts fucking you again. Using his hold around your throat and another hand on your hip. He leans you back a little so he can fully enjoy the display of your body and watch where he's fucking you.

He brings your head forward by your throat, your mouth opening at the force and he takes the chance to spit in your mouth.

"Get your clit for me while I fuck this pretty little cunt."

You whimper, sticking your fingertips into your mouth to get them wet with your spit as well as his. And with a shaking hand, reach down with and rub your clit. You feel the bursts of your orgasm brewing, your walls quivering around him.

It's building quickly and you kiss him again, feeling them tingle in your toes with every brush of his tongue. The door behind him starts to open, a drunk man slurring his words behind it. Harry slams it shut while your hand flies from your clit.

"Ocupado!" Harry yells out, his hips faltering momentarily as he locks the door.

Your cheeks heat at the prospect of someone walking in and seeing you this way. A little in embarrassment, a little in excitement.

Harry senses that you're thrown off and fucks your harder, his fingers finding your clit. "Don't worry about him, sweet little fox. You're so close, let's get you there. I can fucking feel it."

You cry out as he destroys you from the inside out, working you into a pleasured frenzy. His hand pulls the top of your dress down over your tits and they spill out. He squeezes them, pulling at your nipples and biting them.

"Harry, oh my god-"

"That's it, come for me." He growls. "Put me away wet."

Your orgasm rolls through you intensely, staggering. Your hands claw at Harry's shoulders as you shake uncontrollably. His dick is unrelenting inside of you, his fingertips not letting up in the delicious patterns against your clit.

"Fucking shit." He marvels over how you feel, how tight and amazing you feel. He's so fucking turned on by you and his hips keep screwing against you.

You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his neck and biting the skin there. He smells amazing. Like he's been dancing in a pool of vanilla and lavender all night. As you come down from your climax, you retract and watch where he's fucking you.

"Dreamy little cunt," He babbles, so out of it. "get so wet and tight when you come, don't you?"

"Only for you." You coo, kissing him again. He's already far better than any sexual partner you've ever had. Your walls are still trembling around him and every single tremor sends him closer to his end.

"I'm gonna come so hard- shit, you feel so good."

"I want you to come, Harry."

"Yeah?"

"Yes, I want you to feel as good as I do."

He smiles at you, dimples galore, his cheeks as pink as his pants. And then he pins you to the counter by your throat, spreading you back until you're pressed against the mirror. He starts fucking you harder, messier as his cock throbs inside of you.

"Stunning little fox, so fucking perfect. Dancing in this tiny little dress," His hands grip at your breasts some more.

"Harry-"

"Grinding your ass against me, getting me hard for you. Dirty girl, fuck. You own me."

He's working himself up now, his hand tightening around your throat and forcing you to keep looking at him. He's spouting out filthy words into the air between you, unashamed and doing so much for you. You can't help but reach down and play your clit again.

He gives you a laugh, one almost of disbelief. "You like when I talk to you, hm?"

"So much."

"You gonna let me fuck you again, sweet little thing?"

"You can fuck me whenever you want." Because you both know this is the beginning of something new and exciting.

That sets him off. His orgasm blooms and spreads. Pops like a bubble of gum. He pulls out, working his hand on his shaft so fast it's a blur. You move your hand and watch him in awe. He comes directly on your pussy, mouthing dirty words and breathless moans. His other hand gripping your thigh so hard you know it will bruise.

He watches where he's painted you, his come dripping on your lower abdomen, along your clit and your folds. He's a mess, breathing heavily and working the rest of his high from his length.

Thoughtless, he crouches and licks his orgasm from your skin. You moan as he kisses you there, licking every ounce of his come in his mouth. His tongue teases your clit and your thighs jump at the sensitivity.

He stands, cloudy and slow. And he grips your chin harshly, forcing you to open your mouth. As soon as you do, he's spitting heavily into it.

"Don't swallow."

As you fully taste his come on your tongue, he's kissing you. You moan, tasting his orgasm with yours, his tongue with yours. It's so dirty and unhinged but you can't help but feel fucking feral for him over it.

"Good girl." He praises as he pulls away.

He rights his attire, his movements lagged. Like the only thing he can fathom is you and everything else is a chore.

You stare at him, your panties hanging from one ankle, your pussy glistening and spent from him. Bubblegum obsessed. Chocolate curls addicted.

"Gorgeous little fox. Should we ditch this joint and head back to mine?"

You sit up and throw your arms around his neck and kiss him. "Yes, please."

"I want to enjoy you properly." He sighs against your mouth. "Get you out of this dress. Spread you along my sheets, watch your tits bounce while you ride me."

You breathe out a soft whimper at the idea of continuing this for the rest of the night. "I love the sound of that."

He kisses you, deep and wet. "Make you come until I'm dripping in you."

His length, returned to the confines of his pants once more, twitches against your thigh.

"We need to actually leave this room for that to happen." You muse.

He lets out a loud cackle, cupping the back of your neck to draw you towards him. He helps you fix your dress, your panties stripping from your foot and you raise a brow as he tucks them into the back pocket of his pants.

"Didn't know you'd have much room for anything else in those."

"That cheeky mouth is why you're not getting your panties back."

After another round of kisses, the two of you emerge from the room. And while you're both giddy with excitement from what has happened and what else the night holds, no one else in the club bats an eye. Your underwear feels heavy and scandalous in his pocket as he guides you through the crowded dance floor, both of your hands wrapped around one of his.

Thanks to his already tall frame, and heels, he locates his friend quickly. Who is chatting to Amber. You raise a brow at her with a cheeky smile at the sight of them dancing together.

Harry's friend holds his hand out to you, "Mitch!"

You shake his hand and introduce yourself, projecting your voice over the music. You turn to Amber. "We're going to head off, are you okay here?"

She nods frantically. "Honey, I'm so okay!"

Mitch and Harry exchange smirks and hug goodbye.

"Peace, love, and granola, Mitch!"

The air of Miami cools your skin as you step out onto the curb. Harry lags behind, admiring the curve of you and the skin the low hem of your dress offers. He grabs your hand and spins you in a little circle before giving an ear-piercing whistle to hail a cab.

He's all over you in the back of the car. His lips going from yours down your neck, the swell of your breasts. The hem of your dress hitched up, your legs slung over his lap as he fucking devours you. Savours you. Ravishes you.

His apartment, much like his attire is bold, bright, and brave. Warm oranges and reds. Like a sunset on fire, or the heated and sizzling arousal between you. It cozy and art deco and very much Harry. He offers you a half-assed tour of his home but he's undressing you with his eyes. The silhouette of your dress begging for him to see just how much better you are underneath the material.

And once you reach his bedroom, the large, circular bed is all you can focus on. Mint green bedding. The room itself is impressive, the wall behind the bed sporting what looks like a melted sunset. Orange, pink yellow all mended together to offer an accent. Harry peels off your boots and the yellow shaggy rug is soft against your toes.

He puts a record on to spin, Just One Look playing softly in the air.

Suddenly, you're on your back on the bed. Harry hovers over you, his hand cupping your cheek as if he really can't believe you're real.

Is he tripping on a tab of acid or are you really in front of him? Unbelievably lucid and dreamy. Causing fireworks and sunsets in his tummy.

Your eyeshadow matches his bedsheets, he realizes. Little fox, you're meant to be.

His sheets are crisp and smell of him. The tones of his sheets are similar to the mint green of the powder room as if a continuation of what started in there. Dirty, open, and vulnerable.

Like the disco balls in the Hall of Mirrors, fragments of two glass souls mended together in beautiful unity. Dazzling, luminous. Capturing every fraction of light to reflect it in hues every spectrum can admire.

#harry styles filth #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #70s #wattpad #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #hslot #smut

654 notes · View notes

mystarsohee · 7 months ago

Note

can you write something with cg!jaemin?? 🥹🥹🫶 i love your works omg :<

silly face

genre: fluff, sorry thats like all im good at writing

you and jaemin take some silly photos on his macbook photobooth.

!!! non-sexual agere, only cg name used is jaem.

cg!jaemin gn!reader

jaemin sits on the bed and types away on his laptop, while you're located closer to the foot of his bed playing out some random scenario with your stuffed animals. you were honestly getting bored of playing with stuffies, its been almost an hour! looking at your jaem, he looks very serious. and very concentrated. you want to do anything but bother him, so you don't. instead you move closer to him, and lay down. being careful not to disturb jaemin, you still find a way to get into contact with his arm.

jaemin notices your movement, and moves you in a way that places you on his chest, facing the laptop. all you see are words that are too big for your tiny mind to comprehend, and all you feel is the slow rising of jaems chest.

while mindlessly staring at his computer screen, he clicks open an icon at the bottom. once clicked, your reflection stared back at you! he opened the photobooth app! wait, but why? wasn't he working on something..

"baby, sit up! lets take some photos." jaemin said to you, as you moved yourself to a comfortable position with his arm around you.

"jaem lets use a filter!!" you say, and he starts scrolling through the different filters. you decide on the filter with hearts floating above your head. they were so cute!

the both of you take a few photos with various poses! your favorite is when the two of you do the infamous "kyuu" pose.

"you're so cute!!!" jaemin giggles at you.

"you're face is silly!!" you giggle back at him.

you let jaem pick a filter this time, and this one distorted your face in a funny way! you two looked like little aliens. you found this absolutely hilarious, you couldn't stop laughing while jaemin took photos.

almost 10 more filters and a million poses later, you lay back down on his chest. jaemin takes this time to go through all the photos and take pictures of them with his phone. he sets the one of both of you doing "kyuu" as his wallpaper, replacing the previous selfie of the two of you.

you're busy looking up and admiring his face, you could never get enough. though you said his face was silly, it was still so beautiful.

author note: this one is so much shorter than my other works, sorry!! i'll try my best to write an even amount of both long and short. i hope you enjoyed this :< i just love jaemin kyuu

#mystarsohee #jaemin x reader #cg!jaemin #kpop agere #sfw agere #sfw #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct agere #nct #jaemin

64 notes · View notes

quasi-normalcy · 1 year ago

Text

On the face of it, it's kind of surprising that Star Trek has managed to get through almost 900 episodes without a single musical, but in some ways, it's not surprising at all: I don't thing musical episodes were really a thing during the 1960s, and during the 90s, Rick Berman was infamous for only letting his composers write boring "wallpaper" music for their episode scores (and he really doesn't seem the type to like musical theatre, what with being homophobic and all).

#star trek #strange new worlds #subspace rhapsody

184 notes · View notes

sakialumei · 1 year ago

Text

[ FULL SIZE WALLPAPER HERE ]

[ FULL SIZE PHONE BG HERE ]

Quiche x Ichigo Shoujo Fantasy Wallpaper lines/sketch/concept by @sakialumei colors by @your-netlord

Hey y'all! This was a super fun collab between myself and my friend Netty! She saw my sketch based on that one infamous Naoko Takeuchi Sailor Moon artwork and really brought it to life <3

Please feel free to use as your desktop bg or your phone bg. Use the links provided! Tumblr compresses the quality.

#tokyo mew mew #tokyo mew mew new #kishigo #tmm quiche #quiche tmm #ichigo momomiya #quiche x ichigo #kish x ichigo #my art #friend art #ive been following netty's progress on it just vibrating lol #so excited to finally share it!!#please like or reblog if you use

302 notes · View notes

dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 2 years ago

Text

The green-eyed, Green-Eyed Monster

(I was sent this beautiful pic which was found on Pinterest, and we can't find the owner, if anyone knows, please let me know so I can credit them.)

Summary: Y/N decides to get back at Jensen for walking away from her, by reminding him just what he's missing out on.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. Lots of smut. Unprotected P in V sex, sex in a mostly public place, sex in a slightly skeevy room, oral (m and f receiving) throat fucking, rough sex, spanking (just a bit) slight overstimulation, possessive!jensen, jealous!jensen, poor decision-making skills that would result in a much different outcome in real life - but hey fics are NOT real life, so bring on the fantasy! 😜 Oh, and some fluff to finish.

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Y/N

Word Count: 2,813

A/N: So, the other day, I wrote this little tongue-in-cheek post, and got some absolutely fabulous reblogs and comments, which encouraged me to combine some teeth-rotting fluff with my reader being fucked into oblivion. I said I would try it.

Then earlier today, the beautiful @myloversgone sent me the INCREDIBLE pic above and this story pretty much materialized in my brain instantly. It turned out to be a bit more smut based than fluff based, but there's definitely fluff at the end. Hope you all enjoy it! 😊

A/N 2: As always, this is a different version of Jensen from within the Multiverse who is single. Absolute and complete fiction, of course.

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist || Tag Lists

(Dumblr is currently messing with my Masterlist at the moment, and some links aren't working, but I've contacted support, and we'll see if they can fix it? I'm also working to get all my library of fics transfered and posted on Ao3, so when that happens, I'll share a link to read them over there. ❤️)

You watch Jensen across the club floor, and feel a thrill of vindication when you see him throw back his third shot of tequila in barely ten minutes. He’s obviously pissed, but it’s no less than he deserves for walking away from you and breaking your heart.

His eyes find you again on the dance floor, and you grind your ass back against the stranger dancing up against you. You have no idea who the guy is, and you have no interest in learning. All you know is that he’s the guy making Jensen’s eyes shoot jealousy-filled daggers your way, so you turn to face him and throw your arms around his neck.

The guy seems happy to dance close and not ask questions, so you look to where Jensen is standing on the VIP dais, behind the velvet rope and, keeping direct eye contact with him, you nibble gently on the guy’s earlobe. Jensen’s eyes flash and narrow, and you’re reminded of just how much he used to love it when you did that to him.

He downs tequila number four, tossing the shot glass down before storming away from the group around him. He disappears towards the back of the club and without thinking about anything, not the cute guy you're dancing with, or the consequences for your heart if you follow him, you run off the dance floor to find him.

The thumping house music is slightly muted as you move through a black velvet curtain into a long, red, wallpapered hallway. The club is infamous for this back hallway and the rooms that lead off of it; the regular club patrons have dubbed it the path of sin because there are constantly devilish things happening back there. As you pass by the first door, you can hear the distinct cracking sound of leather against skin followed by cries of pain and pleasure mingling together. You watch the woman in the next room through the wide open door as she snorts a line of white powder up her nose.

There’s no shame on the path of sin.

As you near the end of the hallway you’re beginning to think that maybe Jensen just left the club altogether. But then he casually steps out of the last room on your left - looking like walking sex, clothed entirely in black, and wearing an expression that makes your stomach clench in anticipation, desire, and just a hint of fear. Jensen’s anger can be intimidating, even if you know he’d never actually hurt you.

But nevertheless, you’d been working very hard to piss him off, and it looks like you succeeded.

He steps close to you and you back away; he continues to walk you backwards till you hit the wall opposite the room he just exited. You raise your chin defiantly and Jensen wraps his big hand around your throat, holding you in place.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing out there?” He asks in a low growl. “Who is that fucking guy?”

You shrug your shoulders and attempt a dispassionate expression, but you know Jensen can read the pulsating desire in your body and you’re so wet and needy for him that he can probably smell your arousal.

Still, your voice is impressively cool as you raise an eyebrow at his audacity. “I don’t think it’s any of your business who I dance with anymore, jackass. Since, you know, you took your name off my dance card.”

Jensen’s bright green eyes are dark with anger and lust, both of which make you want to start squirming, but you’re trying to hold on to a thread of dignity. Then he steps closer to you, pushing his leg between yours and it’s everything you can do not to grind down against the meaty thigh he’s purposely rubbing against your drenched pussy.

His voice is low and wicked as his delectable mouth is hovering just above yours. “I didn’t like seeing you with him.”

“Then I guess you shouldn’t have thrown me away, huh?” You say accusingly as you try to push his hand away from your throat.

But Jensen just grabs your wrist to pin your hand above your head and tightens his grip on your throat slightly as he rocks his lower body against you, making you finally let out an involuntary groan as you feel the hard ridge of his cock through his custom-tailored, black cotton pants.

A flash of victory sparks in his juniper eyes and he bucks against you again; you bite down on your lip to stifle another heated moan. But Jensen’s voice is full of persuasion and delicious promise and you know you’re lost. “You don’t want that loser you were dancing with, do you, baby girl? You still want me. Don’t you?”

You try to shake your head no, but he’s not buying it. You both know what you wanted when you followed him down the hallway.

Sin. You’re only here for sin.

He pushes your free hand against his cock, closing your fingers around the rock hard bulge there. “I still want you too,Y/N. Fuck, I want you so badly.” He says in your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. “I want to remind you what it feels like to be fucked stupid, to be ridden so hard and so good that every other guy is just a pathetic memory.”

His hand leaves your throat so he can yank down your sequined tank top, groaning at the fact that you’re wearing nothing underneath. His mouth is on you in an instant, pulling your tit into his mouth and sucking hard, making it impossible for you to stifle the cry of pleasure that tumbles from your lips.

He moves to your other breast and flicks his tongue across your nipple, making it pucker into a tight bud that he then sinks his teeth into, giving it a sharp tug.

“Jensen!” You cry out, and against your will, the fingers of your free hand push into his long, soft, honey brown locks, holding him in place as he continues to flick his tongue back and forth against your extremely sensitive skin.

He stands up straight and pulls your other wrist up to be trapped against the wall above your head. He holds them easily in one hand, using his other hand to slowly trace his forefinger over your lips.

“I missed this sweet fucking mouth, and all the filthy things you can do with it.” He clamps his hand around your jaw, forcing your mouth open so he can lick up into it “I wanna fuck down your throat till your gagging, and too full of my cock to ever think of anyone else.”

Your eyes roll back in your head and saliva dribbles out of the corner of your open mouth at the memory of his thick, smooth, delicious cock sliding across your tongue and down your throat, and the memory makes you whimper. Taking that as an invitation, Jensen pushes you down to your knees with one hand while the other keeps your hands tightly bound above your head.

He unbuckles his belt one-handed, before popping open the button on his pants and pulling down his zipper with easy dexterity. There’s a fleeting moment where you remember that for all intents and purposes, you’re on full display, in public, and you think of suggesting that you retreat to one of the rooms. But then he pulls his dick out and taps it against your lips and it’s immediately all you can think about.

“Open up, baby.” Jensen coos at you and you don’t hesitate to obey, sticking your tongue out in anticipation. He eases into your mouth slowly, giving you ample time to prepare for him, but your throat still bulges and you still gag around his giant cock as it pushes down your esophagus. Jensen fucks into your mouth unhurriedly and deliberately, sometimes sliding down your throat, and sometimes just hitting the back of it, causing a satisfying gluck, gluck sound as you choke around him.

Tears are streaming down your cheeks, and you know your mascara must be running black over your skin. He reaches out his thumb to smear the make-up further across your cheekbone.

“So fucking pretty, stuffed full of my cock. This throat is mine, this mouth is mine. Isn’t it, baby?” He asks roughly as he presses himself as far down your throat as he can. You refuse to nod, or give him the satisfaction of giving in easily. You don’t want him to think he’s won yet.

He pulls out completely and leaves you coughing, and gasping, precum and spit dripping out of your mouth. He pulls you up by the vice grip he still has on your wrists and crushes you against the wall, his big hand squeezing your breast hard. You bite down on your lip again, stifling another cry of pleasure.

“Answer me, Y/N. This mouth is mine, these tits are mine, your throat, your cunt, every inch of this body belongs to me, doesn’t it?”

“You left, remember? I thought you weren’t interested in them anymore.” You rasp, the words coming up harshly from your abused throat.

Jensen stares into you, his forest green eyes intense and piercing. “Oh, I’m interested.” His voice is thick with need and possessiveness, but there’s a hint of regret there too. “I want all of you, every atom of you to be mine. I didn’t realize how desperately I fucked up until I saw you out there tonight pressed up against that piece of shit douchebag.”

He pushes his hand up your short skirt and rubs his thick fingers over your soaked panties. “I’m never gonna let you go again. No one else’s hands are gonna touch what’s mine.”

Panting harshly into your mouth, Jensen pushes your panties aside and slips two fingers through your slick. “Now answer me, Y/N. Tell me you’re mine.”

Your body clenches tightly around his invading fingers and you buck your hips forward as he presses easily against your g-spot again and again, tapping out a rhythm of delirious pleasure.

“Yes, yes, yes.” Is all you can manage, but Jensen seems to accept it as confirmation and he pulls his hand out of your body so he can yank you into the room across from you. He closes and locks the door and pushes you forward onto the single bed in the corner of the room.

“Hands and knees.” He orders and you comply immediately.

He steps up behind you and you expect to feel his cock push into you, but instead you feel him sink to his knees on the floor behind you and you’re suddenly speared on his hard, thick tongue. His tongue fucks you into your first orgasm, but it doesn’t end there. His mouth is heaven and hell against your throbbing cunt, his beautiful plump lips suck your clit into his mouth and he nibbles and licks at the overly sensitive nub, until you’re screaming out your second and third orgasm in quick succession.

His fingers push into you, and he scissors you open wide, so his long, velvety tongue can reach deep into your pussy, making you push back against his face and let out inhuman noises of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. Your fourth orgasm hits you like a tidal wave and you flop forward on the bed. No longer able to hold your torso up, you bury your face into your folded arms as Jensen stands up straight behind you.

He rubs his hands soothingly down your back. “That was for me to say I’m sorry for being a jackass and hurting you.” You nod disjointedly in acceptance of his apology.

Then you jolt upright as a stinging slap connects with your right ass cheek. You let out a screech of pain and indignation as he does the same to the left. He delivers two more sharp spanks to each cheek, reddening your ass, and warming it significantly.

You scowl at him over your shoulder and he points his finger at you. “Uh uh.” He reprimands you, eyebrow raised. “That is for your little jealousy stunt that you pulled tonight. I know you only did it to piss me off. Well, this is what happens when you piss me off and make me jealous.”

His hard palms deliver one more simultaneous smack to each cheek, making you bite your lip from the sting even as your core clenches and slick drips down your thighs. He rubs his calloused palms over your skin, easing the fiery tingle he caused, and sweeps his hands down the backs of your thighs, dragging his blunt fingernails back up them and over your ass, making your whole body quiver.

After a minute, he speaks softly, but in a dark voice raging with heat. “Do you want me to fuck you now, baby girl?”

Your words are lost, but you grunt and push your hips back towards him. He chuckles softly and takes the nonverbal cue. You feel him line up at your entrance, but he just teases your hole, pushing in ever so slightly.

“How do you want me, baby? Hard and fast, or slow and sweet?”

You nod, because you just need him, but he waits for an answer so you bark out your request.

“Hard. Fast. Now!”

Jensen growls and ratchets you forward on the bed as he slams into you. “Yes, Ma’am.” He says as he pulls out and slams back immediately.

He does indeed give it to you hard and fast; his pace is unforgiving and relentless, pounding into you so fast and so powerfully that your knees are burned from sliding forward on the cheap polyester blanket covering the bed. His fingers dig into your pelvic bone, bruising you as he slams you back against him.

The guttural sounds that are coming from deep in his chest as he’s fucking you are what push you over the edge for the fifth time, and as you clench tightly around his cock, you feel him spurting hot and thick deep inside you, painting you, marking you, claiming you.

He collapses on you, and you let him crush you into the mattress. Eventually he slides out of your body and sits on the floor, pulling you into his lap and holding you close. He spreads soft kisses across your closed eyes and the bridge of your nose as his fingers trail soothingly over your breasts, teasing them softly.

“Y/N,” he says softly against your cheek, “I am sorry, you know. I never should have walked away from you. But…”

When he doesn’t immediately finish you look up at him and egg him on with your expression. “But?”

He let out a deep sigh. “You scare the shit out of me, woman. I don’t know what to do with someone like you.”

You frown, trying to decide if you’re insulted or not. “Someone like me?”

He nods.”Yes, someone who can absolutely bring me to my knees with a look, someone who drives me crazy with want, feeling like I need my hands on you 24/7, someone who makes me laugh and makes me happier than I’ve ever been.” He throws his hands up. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

You’re still frowning. “Um…sorry?”

He scoffs. “I know it’s stupid, but I got suddenly terrified that it was all too perfect, you were too perfect, we were too perfect together, everything fit, and everything was easy, and easy things scare me. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop and when it wouldn’t, I think I figured I’d help it along.”

He shakes his head and then kisses you slowly, sweetly, before dropping his forehead to yours. “Y/N, I’m a fucking idiot. Can you forgive me? If I promise to trust this, trust you, can we try again?”

You’d known from the first moment that the idiotic idea had come into your head to try and make him jealous, that this was what you were angling for; a way to show him what he was giving up, and maybe a way to try again.

So, you nod readily and throw your arms around his neck. “Yes, Jensen, we can try again. But promise me that the next time you start panicking, you’ll open your mouth and talk to me about it.”

He nods. “I will. And will you promise me something too?”

“Hmm?”

His hand cups your breast and squeezes making you gasp. “Only my hands are allowed to touch this perfection.” He tips your chin up with his forefinger to make you meet his intense green gaze. “Yes?”

“Fuck yes.” You sigh as he takes possession of your mouth once again.

Easiest promise you’ve ever made.

1 - Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@deans-spinster-witch

@impalaslytherin

@maggiegirl17

@akshi8278

@candy-coated-misery0731

@nt-multi-fandom

@deanswaywardgirl

@slytherinlyn314

@globetrotter28

@jensensgirl

@perpetualabsurdity

@tristanrosspada-ackles

@djs8891

@muhahaha303

@kayyay1219

@emily-winchester

@recoveringpastaaddict

@maximumkillshot

@mimaria420

@sacriceria

@envyaurora95

@lacilou

3 - Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@sunshineandwings86

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

@alexxavicry

@nancymcl

@spalady26

4 - Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@awkward-and-indecisive

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@mysherlock221b

@jensensgotyoudean

@stixnstripesworld

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@norman1967

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy

@b-i-t-c-h-i-e

@twirpbunwarrior

@mysweetlittledesire

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

@courtn92

@avanatural

@ellie-andthemachine

@this-is-me19

@roseblue373

@katbratsupernaturalwhore

@fanfic-n-tabulous

#jensen x reader #jensen ackles smut #jensen x y/n #jensen x you #jensen ackles fluff #jealous!jensen #possessive!jensen #jensen ackles rpf

279 notes · View notes